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THE K A A T E RS K I L L EDITION, 



LIFE AND WORKS 



OF 



WASHINGTON IRVING, 



EMBRACING THE FOLLOWING VOLUMES; 



THE SKETCH-BOOK.— THE ALHAMBRA.— THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 

LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN.— TALES OF A TRAVELLER.— 

BRACEBRIDGE HALL.— KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW YORK.— 

VOYAGES AND DISCOVERIES OF THE COMPANIONS OF 

COL UMB US.— S ALMA G UNDL— WO LEER T'S ROOS T; SLEEP Y 

HOLLOW; AND MISCELLANIES CONTRIBUTED TO 

THE KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE. 



PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL AND EARLY ISSUES, 



WITH AN ORIGINAL BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS EDITION 



By RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 



COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED. 



, p-'O 



NEW YORK: 
POLLARD & MOSS, PUBLISHERS, 

47 JOHN STREET. 

iSSo. 



I2z05o 



Eutered, according to Act of Congress, In tlic year 1879, by 

POLLARD & MOSS, 
In the Office of tbe Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



The paper hm. been manufacliired irom 
speciallv selected and prepared stock ex- 
pressly for this edition, by the " Hart Lot. 
raper Co." represented by 



John J. Murphv, 



Knffjinn O. Jkm£i\k, 

I'RINTEti A.vn STEHEOTi'PHa, 

Vt NiTlo WUIiiun Sirat. N. V. 



i'or/i. 



^) 



CONTENTS. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



Angler, The 

A Royal Poet 

Art of Book-Making 

Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap 

Broken Heart, The 

Christmas 

Christmas Day 

Christmas Dinner, The 

Christmas Eve 

Country Church, The 

English Writers on America 

John Bull 

Little Britain 

Mutability of Literature 

Philip of 'Pokanoket 



Sleepy Hollow, The Legend of. 
Spectre Bridegroom, The . 
Stage-Coach, The. 



83 
8 

4 
36 



Pride of the Village, 

Rip Van Winkle 

Roscoe 

Rural Funeral, The 

Rural Life in England 1° 

- - • ' 89 

39 
49 



Stratford-on-Avon ^7 



The Inn Kitchen. 

The Wife 

The Voyage. 

Traits of Indian Character. 

Westminster .\bbey 

Widow and her Son, The. . . 



39 
6 



44 
27 



THE A LH AM BRA, 



A SERIES OF TALES AND SKETCHES OF THE MOORS AND 

SPANIARDS. 



Alhambra, The, by Moonlight 

Inhabitants of 

Interior of the 

Finisher of the 

Founder of the 

Government of the 

Visitors to the 

A Ramble Among the Hills 

Boabdil El Chico 

Governor Manco and the Soldier ■ 

Jusef Abul Hagias, the Finisher of the Alhana- 

bra 

Legend of the Arabian Astrologer 

" of the Moor's Legacy 

" of the Page and the Ger-Falcon 

of Prince Ahmed El Kamel ■ 

of the Rose of the Alhambra 

" of the Three Beautiful Princesses 



114 
115 
106 
170 
16S 
105 
142 
iiS 
122 
158 

I/O 

124 

136 
152 

143 
152 
129 



Legend of the Two Discreet Statues 

Local Traditions ',' ', ' ' 'a',' 

Mahamad Aben Alahmar, the Founder of the Al- 
hambra • • . • ■ 

Reflections on the Moslem Domination in Spain. 

The Adventure of the Mason 

The Author's Chamber 

The Balcony 

The Court of Lions 

The Governor and the Notary 

The House and the Weather-cock 

The Household 

The Journey 

The Pilgrim of Love 

The Tower of Comares 

The Tower of Las Infantas 

The Truant 

The Veteran 



163 
135 

168 
no 

117 
113 
116 
120 
156 
124 
in 

lOI 

143 
loS 
124 
112 
156 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



PAGE 



CH.^PTER „ , , . 

I. —Of the Kingdom of Granada, and the 
tribute which it paid to the Castil- 

ian crown 

II._How the Catholic sovereigns sent to 

demand arrears of tribute of the 

Moor, and how the Moor replied. 

in. — How the Moor determined to stiike 

the first blow in the war I75 



■173 



174 



PAGE 

"^"^^^"^IV.— Expedition of Muley Aben Hassan 

against the fortress of Zahara. . . . 

v.— Expedition of the Marques of Cadiz 

against Alhama • "77 

VI —How the people of Granada were af- 
fected on hearing of the capture of 
Alhama; and how the Moorish 
King sallied forth to regain it. 



176 



179 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER 
VII 



VIII 

IX, 



X 
XI 



XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 



PAGE 

.—How the Duke of Medina Sidonia, 
and the Chivalry of Andalusia, 
hastened to the relief of Alhama. . 

. — Sequel of the events at Alhama. 

— Events at Granada, and rise of the 
Moorish King Boabdil El Chico.. 

— Royal e.\pedition against Lo.xa. ... 

— How Muley Aben Hassan made a 
foray into the lands of Medina 
Sidonia, and how he was received. 

— Foray of Spanish cavaliers among 
the mountains of Malaga. .... 

— Effects of the disasters among the 
mountains of Malaga 

— How King Boabdil El Chico marched 

over the borders ... 193 

— How the Count De Cabra sallied forth 
from his castle, in quest of King 



181 
1S2 

184 
185 



187 



192 



Boabdil. 



XVI.- 
XVII.- 

XVIII.- 



XIX.- 
XX.- 

XXI.- 
XXII.- 

XXIII.- 

XXIV.- 

XXV.- 

XXVI.- 

XXVII.- 



194 

-The battle of Lucena 195 

-Lamentations of the Moors for the 
battle of Lucena 197 

-How Muley Aben Hassan profited 
by the misfortunes of his son 
Boabdil 198 

-Captivity of Boabdil El Chico 199 

-Of the treatment of Boabdil by the 
Castilian sovereigns 200 

-Return of Boabdil from captivity.. 201 

-Foray of the Moorish Alcaydes and 
battle of Lopera 202 

-Retreat of Hamet El Zegri, Alcayde 
of Ronda 204 

-Of the reception at court of the 
Count De Cambraand the Alcayde 
De Los Donzeles 205 

-How the Marques of Cadiz con- 
certed to surprise Zahara, and the 
result of his enterprise 206 

-Of the fortress of Alhama, and how 
wisely it was governed by the 
Count De Tendilla 208 

-Foray of Christian knights into the 
territory of the Moors. ... 209 



CHAPTER p^oE 

XXVIII.— Attempt of El Zagal to surprise 

Boabdil in Almeria 211 

XXIX. — How King Ferdinand commenced 
another campaign against the 
Moors, and how he laid siege to 

Coin and Cartama 212 

XXX.— Siege of Ronda 213 

XXXI. — How the people of Granada invited 
El Zagal to the throne, and how 

he marched to the capital 214 

XXXII. — How the Count De Cabra attempted 
to capture another King, and how 

he fared in his attempt 216 

XXXIII. — Expedition against the castles of 

Cambil and Albahar 217 

XXXIV. — Enterprise of the Knights of Cala- 

trava against Zalea 219 

XXXV. — Death of Muley Aben Hassan .... 220 
XXXVI. — Of the Christian army which as- 
sembled at the city of Cordova. . 221 
XXXVII. — How fresh commotions broke out 
in Granada, and how the people 

undertook to allay them 223 

XXXVIII. — How King Ferdinand held a council 

of war at the Rock of the Lovers . 224 
XXXIX. — How the royal army appeared be- 
fore the city of Loxa, and how it 
was received ; and of the doughty 
achievements of the English Earl 225 
XL. — Conclusion of the siege of Loxa. . . . 226 

XLI. — Capture of lUora 227 

XLII. — Of the arrival of Queen Isabella at 
the camp before Moclin ; and of the 
pleasant sayings of the English Earl 227 
XLIII. — How King Ferdinand attacked Moc- 
lin, and of the strange events 

that attended its capture 229 

XLIV. — How King Ferdinand foraged the 
Vega ; and of the battle of the 
Bridge of Pinos, and the fate of 

the two Moorish brothers 23c 

XLV. — Attempt of El Zagal upon the life 
of Boabdil, and how the latter was 
roused to action 231 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



VOLUME SECOND. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — How Boabdil returned secretly to 

Granada, and how he was received 232 
II. — How King Ferdinand laid siege to 

Velez Malaga 233 

III- — How King Ferdinand and his army 
were exposed to imminent peril be- 
fore Velez Malaga 235 

IV. — Result of the stratagem of El Zagal 

to surprise King Ferdinand ... . 237 
V. — How the people of Granada rewarded 

the valor of El Zagal 23S 

VI. — Surrender of Velez Malaga and other 

places 23S 

VII.— Of the city of Malaga and its inhabit- 



anis 239 

VIII. — Advance of King Ferdinand against 

Malaga 241 

IX. — Siege of Malaga 242 

X. — Siege of Malaga continued, obstinacy 

of Hamet El Zegri 242 

XI. — Attack of the Marques of Cadiz upon 



Gibralfaro. 



243 

XII. — Siege of Malaga continued, strata- 
gems of various kinds 244 



PAGE 
245 



CHAPTER 

XIII. — Sufiferingsof the people of Malaga 

XIV. — How a Moorish Santon undertook 
to deliver the city of Malaga from 

the power of its enemies 246 

XV. — How Hamet El Zegri was hardened 
in his obstinacy by the arts of a 
Moorish astrologer 247 

XVI. — Siege of Malaga continued, destruc- 
tion of a tower by Francisco Ra- 
mirez De Madrid ... 248 

XVII. — How the people of Malaga expostu- 
lated with Hamet El Zegri 249 

XVIII.— How Hamet El Zegri sallied forth 
with the sacred banner, to attack 
the Christian camp 249 

XIX. — How the city of Malaga capitulated 251 
XX. — Fulfilment of the prophecy of tlie 
dervise — Fate of Hamet El Zegri 

XXI. — How the Castilian sovereigns took 
possession of the city of Malaga, 
and how King Ferdinand signal- 
ized himself by his skill in bargain- 
ing with the inhabitants for their 
ransom 2'',2 



\ 



252 



CONTENTS. 



vn 



CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. — How King Ferdinand prepared to 
carry the war into a different part 
of the territories of the Moor^. . . . 254 
XXIII. — How King Ferdinand invaded the 
eastern side of the kingdom of 
Granada, and how he was received 

by EI Zagal 255 

XXIV. — How the Moors made various enter- 
prises against the Christians 256 

XXV. — How King Ferdinand prepared to be- 
siege the City of Baza, and hovr 

the city prepared for defence 257 

XXVI.— The Battle of the Gardens before 

Baza 25g 

XXVII. — Siege of Baza — Embarrassments of 

the army 260 

XXVIII. — Siege of Baza continued — How King 
Ferdinand completely invested the 

city 260 

XXIX.— E.xploit of Hernando Perez Del Pul- 

gar and other cavaliers 261 

XXX. — Continuation of the siege of Baza. .. 262 
XXXI. — Ho.v two friars arrived at the camp 
and how they came from the Holy 

Land 263 

XXXII. — How Queen Isabella devised means 
to supply the army with provis- 
ions 264 

XXXIII. — Of the disasters that befell the camp 265 
XXXIV. — Encounters between the Christians 
and Moors before Baza ; and the 
devotion of the inhabitants to the 

defence of their city 266 

XXXV. — How Queen Isabella arrived at the 
camp, and the consequences of her 

arrival 267 

XXXVI.— Surrender of Baza 268 

XXXVII. — Submission of El Zagal to the Cas- 

tilian sovereigns 269 

XXXVIII. — Events at Granada subsequent to the 

submission of El Zagal 270 



CHAPTER PAGE 

XXXIX. — How King Ferdinand turned his hos- 
tilities against the city of Granada 272 
XL. — The fate of the Castle of Roma. . . . 273 
XLI. — How Bobadil El Chico took the 
field ; and his expedition against 

Alhendin 274 

XLII.— Exploit of the Count De Tendilla.. 275 
XLIII. — Expedition of Boabdil El Chico 
against Salobrena — Exploit of 

Hernando Perez Del Pulgar 276 

XLIV. — How King Ferdinand treated the 
people of Guadi.x, and how El Za- 
gal finished his regal career 277 

XLV. — Preparations of Granada for a des- 
perate defence 278 

XLVI.— How King Ferdinand conducted the 
siege cautiously ; and how Queen 

Isabella arrived at the camp 280 

XLVII. — Of the insolent defiance of Yarfe, 
the Moor, and the daring exploit 
of Hernando Perez Del Pulgar. . 2S0 
XLVIII. — How Queen Isabella took a view of 
the city of Granada, and how her 
curiosity cost the lives of many 

Christians and Moors 281 

XLIX. — Conflagration of the Christian camp 283 
L. — The last ravage before Granada. . . . 283 
LI. — Building of the City of Sante Fe— 

Despair of the Moors 284 

LII. — Capitulation of Granada 285 

LIII. — Commotions in Granada 286 

LI\^ — Surrender of Granada 287 

LV. — How the Castilian sovereigns took 

possession of Granada 288 

APPENDIX. 

Fate of Boabdil El Chico 289 

Death of the Marques of Cadiz 290 

The legend of the death of Don Alonzo De 

Aguilar 291 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 

THE LEGEND OF DON RODERICK. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Of the ancient inhabitants of Spain 

Of the misrule of Witiza the Wicked 295 
II. — The rise of Don Roderick — His gov- 
ernment 297 

III. — Of the loves of Don Roderick and 

the Princess Elyata 298 

IV. — Of Count Julian 299 

V. — The story of Florinda 299 

VI. — Don Roderick receives an extraor- 
dinary embassy 301 

VII. — Story of the marvellous and portent- 
ous tower 302 

VIII. — Count Julian — His fortunes in Africa 

— He hears of the dishonor of his 

child — His conduct thereupon.... 304 

IX. — Secret visit of Count Julian to the 

Arab camp — First expedition of 

Taric El Tuerto 305 

X. — Letter of Muza to the Caliph — Sec- 
ond expedition of Taric El Tuerto 306 
XL — Measures of Don Roderick on hear- 



CHAPTER PAGE 

ing of the invasion — Expedition of 

Ataulpho — Vision of Taric 307 

XII. — Battle of Calpe — Fate of Ataulpho. 308 
XIII. — Terror of the country — Roderick 

rouses himself to arms 310 

XIV. — March of the Gothic army — Encamp- 
ment on the banks of the Guada- 
lete — Mysterious predictions of a 
Palmer — Conduct of Pelistes there- 
upon 311 

XV. — Skirmishing of the armies — Pelistes 
and his son — Pelistes and the 

bishop 312 

XVI. — Traitorous message of Count Julian 313 

XVII. — Last day of the battle 313 

XVIII. — The field of battle after the defeat — 

The fate of Roderick 315 

APPENDIX. 
Illustrations of the foregoing legend — The tomb 

of Roderick 316 

The cave of Hercules 316 



CONTENTS. 



LEGENDS OF THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN. 



CHAPTER PACE 

I. — Consternation of Spain — Conduct of the 
Conquerors — Missives between Taric 

and Muza 31S 

II. — Capture of Granada — Subjugation of tlie 

Alpuxarra Mountains 319 

III. — Expedition of Magued against Cordova — 

Defence of tlie patriot Pelistes 320 

IV. — Defence of the Convent of St. George by 

Pelistes 321 

V. — Meeting between the patriot Pelistes and 

the traitor Julian 322 

VI. — How Taric El Tuerto captured the city 
of Toledo through the aid of the Jews, 
and how he found the famous talis- 

manic table of Solomon 323 

VII. — Muza Ben Nozier's entrance into Spain 

and capture of Carmona 324 

VIII. — Muza marches against the city of Seville, 325 
IX. — Mu:a besieges the city of Merida 325 



CHAPTER PACE 

X. — Expedition of Abdalasis against Seville 

and the "land of Tadmir" 327 

XI. — Muza arrives at Toledo — Interview be- 
tween him and Taric 329 

XII. — Muza prosecutes the scheme of conquest 
— Siege of Saragossa — Complete subju- 
gation of Spain 330 

XIII. — Feud between the Arab Generals — They 
are summoned to appear before the 
Caliph at Damascus — Reception of 

Taric 331 

XIV. — Muza arrives at Damascus — His inter- 
view with the Caliph — The Table of 

Solomon — A rigorous sentence 332 

XV. — Conduct of Abdalasis as Emir of Spain. . 333 

XVI. — Loves of Abdalasis and Exilona 333 

XVII.— Fate of Abdalasis and Exilona — Death of 

Muza 334 

LEGEND OF COUNT JULIAN AND HIS 

FAMILY 336 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



PART FIRST. 
STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 



A Hunting Dinner 341 

The Adventure of my Aunt 346 

The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture 350 

The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger 353 



The Adventure of my Uncle 343 

The Adventure of my Grandfather 348 

The Bold Dragoon 348 

The Story of the Young Italian 355 



PART SECOND. 
BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 



A Literary Dinner 364 

Buckthorne; or, the Young Man of Great Expec- 
tations 372 

Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man 3S5 

Literary Life 363 



The Booby Squire 386 

The Club of Queer Fellows 365 

The Poor Devil Author 367 

The Strolling Manager 388 



PART THIRD. 
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 



The Adventure of the Little Antiquary 395 

The Adventure of the Popkins Family 397 

The Inn at Terracina 392 



The Painter's Adventure 399 

The Story of the Bandit Chieftain 401 

The Story of the Young Robber 405 



PART FOURTH. 
THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 



Hell Gate 410 

Kidd the Pirate 411 

' The Devil and Tom Walker 412 



The Adventure of Sam, the Black Fisherman, 

commonly denominated Mud Sam 423 

Wolfert Webber ; or Golden Dreams 416 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL; OR, THE HUMOURISTS. 



A Bachelor's Confessions 488 

A Literary Antiquity 452 

An Old Soldier 441 

Annette Delarbre 502 

A Stage-Coach Romance 447 

A Village Politician 496 

Bachelors 445 

Dolph Heyliger 51S 

English Country Gentleman 4S6 

English Gravity 489 

Falconry 456 

Family Misfortunes 514 

Family Reliques 440 

Family Servants 436 

Forest Trees 450 

Fortune-Telling 462 

Gentility 461 

Gipsies 490 

Hawking 457 

Horsemanship 454 

Love-Charms 463 

Love Symptoms 455 

Lover's Troubles 515 

May-Day Customs 492 

May-Day 499 

Popular Superstitions 510 



Ready-Money Jack 443 

St. Mark's Eve 459 

Story-Telling 447 

The Author's Farewell 539 

The Busy Man 435 

The Culprit 512 

The Farm-House 453 

The Hall 434 

The Haunted House 517 

The Historian 516 

The Library 464 

The Lovers 439 

The Manuscript 501 

The Rookery 497 

The School 495 

The Schoolmaster 493 

The Storm-Ship 529 

The Stout Gentleman 447 

The Student of Salamanca 465 

The Wedding 536 

The Widow's Retinue 442 

The Widow 438 

Travelling 50S 

Wives 445 

Village Worthies 493 



KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 

VOLUME ONE. 



Account of the Author 541 

Address to the Public 544 

BOOK L 

CONTAINING DIVERS INGENIOUS THEORIES AND PHILO- 
SOPHIC SPECULATIONS, CONCERNING THE CREATION 
AND POPULATION OF THE WORLD, AS CONNECTED 
WITH THE HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 
CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Description of the World 546 

n. — Cosmogony, or Creation of the World ; 
with a multitude of excellent theories, 
by which the creation of a world is 
shown to be no such difficult matter as 

common folk would imagine 547 

in. — How that famous navigator, Noah, was 
shamefully nicknamed ; and how he 
committed an unpardonable oversight, 
in not having four sons. W'ith the 
great trouble of philosophers caused 
thereby, and the discovery of America. 549 
IV. — Showing the great difficulty philosophers 
have had in peopling America — and 
how the Aborigines came to be begot- 
ten by accident — to the great relief and 

satisfaction of the Author 551 

V. — In which the Author puts a mighty ques- 
tion to the rout, by the assistance of 
the Man in the Moon — which not only 
delivers thousands of people from great 
embarrassment, but likewise concludes 
this introductory book 552 

BOOK II. 

TREATING OF THE FIRST SETTLEMENT OF THE PROV- 
INCE OF NIEUW-NEDERLANDTS. 
CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — In which are contained divers reasons 
why a man should not write in a hurry. 
Also, of Master Hendrick Hudson, his 



CHAPTER PAGE 

discovery of a strange country — and 
how he was magnificently rewarded by 
the munificence of their High Mighti- 
nesses 556 

II. — Containing an account of a mighty Ark, 
which floated, under the protection of 
St. Nicholas, from Holland to Gibbet 
Island — the descent of the strange Ani- 
mals therefrom — a great victory, and 
a description of the ancient village of 
Communipaw 559 

III. — In which is set forth the true art of mak- 
ing a bargain — together with the mi- 
raculous escape of a great Metropolis 
in a fog — and the biography of certain 
Heroes of Communipaw 560 

IV. — How the Heroes of Communipaw voyaged 
to Hell-Gate, and how they were re- 
ceived there 562 

V. — How the Heroes of Communipaw re- 
turned somewhat wiser than they went 
— and how the sage Oloffe dreamed a 
dream — and the dream that he dreamed 565 

VI. — Containing an attempt at etymology — ■ 
and of the founding of the great city of 

New-Amsterdam 560 

VII. — How the city of New-Amsterdam waxed 
great, under the protection of Oloffe 
the Dreamer 567 

BOOK III. 
IN WHICH IS RECORDED THE GOLDEN REIGN OF 
WOUTER VAN TWILLER. 
I. — Of the renowned Walter Van Twiller, his 
unparalleled virtues — and likewise his 
unutterable wisdom in the lawcase of 
Wandle Schoonhoven and Barent 
Bleecker — and the great admiration of 
the public thereat 569 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

II. — Containing some account of the grand 
council of New-Amsterdam, as also 
divers especial good philosophical rea- 
sons why an alderman should be fat — • 
with other particulars touching the 

state of the province 571 

III. — How the town of New-Amsterdam arose 
out of mud, and came to be marvel- 
lously polished and polite — together 
with a picture of the manners of our 

great-great-grandfathers 573 

IV. — Containing further particulars of the 
Golden Age, and what constituted a 
fine Lady and Gentleman in the days 

of Walter the Doubter 575 

V. — In which the reader is beguiled into a de- 
lectable walk, which ends very differ- 
ently from what it commenced 576 

VI. — Faithfully describing the ingenious peo- 
ple of Connecticut and thereabouts — 
Shiwing, moreover, the true meaning 
of liberty of conscience, and a curious 
device among these sturdy barbarians, 
to keep up a harmony of intercourse, 

and promote population 577 

VII. — How these singular barbarians turned 
out to be notorious squatters — how they 
built air castles, and attempted to 
initiate the Nederlanders in the mys- 
tery of bundling 579 

VIII. — How the Fort Goed Hoop was fearfully 
beleaguered — how the renowned Wou- 
ter fell into a profound doubt, and how 
he finally evaporated 580 

BOOK IV. 

CONTAINING THE CHRONICLES OF THE REIGN OF WIL- 
LIAM THE TESTY. 
I. — Showing the nature of history in general; 
containing furthermore the universal 



CHAPTER PAGE 

acquirements of William the Testy, 
and how a man may learn so much as 
to render himself good for nothing. . 581 

II. — In which are recorded the sage projects 
of a ruler of universal genius — the art 
of fighting by proclamation — and how 
that the valiant Jacobus Van Curlet 
came to be foully dishonoured at Fort 
Goed Hoop 584 

III. — Containing the fearful wrath of William 
the Testy, and the great dolour of the 
New-Amsierdammers, because of the 
affair of Fort Goed Hoop — and, more- 
over, how William the Testy did strong- 
ly fortify the city — together with the 
exploits of Stoffel Brinkerhoff 586 

IV. — Philosophical refl'ections on the folly of 
being happy in times of prosperity — 
Sundry troubles on the southern fron- 
tiers — How William the Testy had well- 
nigh ruined the province through a 
cabalistic word — As also the secret ex- 
pedition of Jan Jansen Alpendam, and 

his astonishing reward 587 

v.— How William the Testy enriched the 
province by a multitude of laws, and 
came to be the patron of lawyers and 
bum-bailiffs — and how the people be- 
came exceedingly enlightened and un- 
happy under his instructions 58^ 

VI. — Of the great pipe plot — and of the dolor 
ous perplexities into which William the 
Testy was thrown, by reason of his 

having enlightened the multitude 591 

VII. — Containing divers fearful accounts of 
Border Wars, and the flagrant outrages 
of the Mosstroopers of Connecticut — 
with the rise of the great Amphyctionic 
Council of the east, and the decline of 
William the Testy 593 



KNICKERBOCKER'S HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 

VOLUME TWO. 



BOOK V. 

CONTAINING THE FIRST PART OF THE REIGN OF PETER 
STUYVESANT, AND HIS TROUBLES WITH THE AM- 
PHYCTIONIC COUNCIL. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — In which the death of a great man is 
shown to be no very inconsolable 
matter of sorrow — and how Peter 
Stuyvesant acquired a great name 
from the uncommon strength of 

his. head 595 

II. — Showing how Peter the Headstrong 
bestirred himself among the rats 
and cobwebs on entering into 
office— and the perilous mistake he 
was guilty of in his dealings with 

the Amphyctions 597 

III. — Containing divers speculations on 
war and negotiations — showing that 
a treaty of peace is a great national 

eyil 59S 

IV, — How Peter Stuyvesant was greatly 
belied by his adversaries, the Moss- 
troopers — and his conduct there- 
upon 600 

V. — How the New-.'Vmsterdammers be- 
came great in arms, and of the 



CHAPTER PAGE 

direful catastrophe of a mighty 
army — together with Peter Stuves- 
ant's measures to fortify the city, 
and how he was the original 

founder of the Battery 602 

VI. — How the people of the east country 
were suddenly afflicted with a dia- 
bolical evil, and their judicious 
measures for the extirpation there- 
of 603 

VII. — Which records the rise and renown 
of a valiant commander, showing 
that a man, like a bladder, may be 
puffed up to greatness and impor- 
tance by mere wind 605 

BOOK VI. 

CONTAINING THE SECOND PART OF THE REIGN OP 
PETER THE HEADSTRONG, AND HIS GALLANT ACHIEVE- 
MENTS ON THE DELAWARE. 

I. — In which is exhibited a warlike portrait 
of the great Peter — and how General 
Van Poffenburgh distinguished himself 

at Fort Casimir 607 

11. — Showing how profound secrets are often 
brought to light ; with the proceedings 
of Peter the Headstrong when he heard 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

of the misfortunes of General Van Pof- 
fenburgh 609 

III. — Containing Peter Stuyvesant's voyage up 
the Hudson, and the wonders and de- 
lights of that renowned river 611 

IV. — Describing the powerful army that as- 
sembled at the City of New Amsterdam 
— together with the interview between 
Peter the Headstrong and General Van 
Poffenburgh, and Peter's sentiments 

touching unfortunate great men 613 

V. — In which the author discourses very in- 
genuously of himself — after which is to 
be found much interesting history about 
Peter the Headstrong and his fol- 
lowers 615 

VI. — Showing the great advantage that the 
author has over his reader in time of 
battle — together with divers portentous 
movements, which betoken that some- 
thing terrible is about to happen 617 

VII. — Containing the most horrible battle ever 
recorded in poetry or prose — with the 
admirable exploits of Peter the Head- 
strong 618 

VIII. — In which the author and the reader, while 
reposing after the battle, fall into a 
very grave discourse — after which is 
recorded the conduct of Peter Stuyves- 
ant after his victory 621 

BOOK VII. 

CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF THE REIGN OF 
PETER THE HEADSTRONG — HIS TROUBLES WITH THE 
BRITISH NATION, AND THE DECLINE AND FALL OF 
THE DUTCH DYNASTY. 

I. — How Peter Stuy vesant relieved the sover- 
eign people from the burthen of taking 



CHAPTER PAGE 

care of the nation — with sundry partic- 
ulars of his conduct in time of peace. 623 
II. — How Peter Stuyvesant was much mo- 
lested by the Mosstroopers of the East, 
and the Giants of Merryland — and how 
a dark and horrid conspiracy was car- 
ried on in the British Cabinet against 
the prosperity of the Manhattoes 626 

III. — Of Peter Stuyvesant's expedition into the 
East Country — showing that, though 
an old bird, he did not understand 
trap 62S 

IV. — How the people of New-Amsterdam were 
thrown into a great panic by the news 
of a threatened invasion, and the 
manner in which they fortified them- 
selves 630 

V. — Showing how the grand Council of the 
New-Netherlands came to be miracu- 
lously gifted with long tongues — to- 
gether with a great triumph of Econ- 
omy 631 

VI. — In which the troubles of New-Amsterdam 
appear to thicken — showing the bravery 
in time of peril of a people who de- 
fend themselves by resolutions 632 

VII. — Containing a doleful disaster of Antony 
the Trumpeter — and how Peter Stuy- 
vesant, like a second Cromwell, sud- 
denly dissolved a rump Parliament. . . 634 
VIII. — How Peter Stuyvesant defended the city 
of New-Amsterdam, for several days, 
by dint of the strength of his head. . . . 636 

IX. — Containing the dignified retirement, and 
mortal surrender, of Peter the Head- 
strong 63S 

X. — The Author's reflections upon what has 

been said 639 



SALMAGUNDI; 

OR, THE 

WHIM-WHAMS AND OPINIONS OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, Esq., AND 

OTHERS. 

VOLUME ONE. 



NO. PAGE 

I. — Editor's advertisement 641 

Publisher's notice ■» . . 641 

Introduction to the work 642 

Theatrics — by Will Wizard 643 

New York Assembly — by A. Evergreen. 644 
II. — Launcelot Langstaft's account of his 

friends 645 

Mr. Wilson's concert — by A. Evergreen 646 
Pindar Cockloft to Launcelot Langstaff. 64S 
III. — Account of Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan 649 

Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan to Asem Hacchem 650 

Fashions — by A. Evergreen 651 

Fashionable morning-dress for walking. . 651 

The progress of Salmagundi 652 

Poetical proclamation from the mill of 

Pindar Cockloft, Esq 653 

IV. — Some account of Jeremy Cockloft the 

younger .... 653 

Memorandums for a tour to be entitled 
"The Stranger in New Jersey; or. 
Cockney travelling " — by Jeremy Cock- 
loft the younger 654 

V. — Introduction to a letter from Mustapha 

Rub-a-dub Keli Khan 656 



NO. PAGE 

Letter from Mustapha to Abdallah Eb'n 
al Rahab 656 

Account of Will Wizard's expedition to a 
modern ball — by A. Evergreen 65S 

Poetical epistle to the ladies — from the 

mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq 660 

VI. ^Account of the family of the Cocklofts. . 660 

Theatrics — by William Wizard, Esq.... 663 
VII. — Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan to Asem Hacchem 665 

Poetical account of ancient times — from 
the mill of Pindar Cockloft, Esq 668 

Notes on the above, by W. Wizard, Esq. 668 
VIII. — Anthony Evergreen's account of his 

friend Langstaff 669 

On style — by William Wizard, Esq 671 

The editors and the public 673 

IX. — Account of Miss Charity Cockloft 674 

From the elbow-chair of the author 675 

Letter from Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to 
Asem Hacchem 676 

Poetry, from the mill of Pindar Cock- 
loft, Esq 67S 

X. — Introduction to the number 679 

Letter from Demi Semiquaver to Launce- 
lot Langstaff, Esq 679 

Note by the publisher 68i 



xii CONTENTS. 

SALMAGUNDI; 

OR, THE 

WHIM-WHAMS AND OPINIONS OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, Esq., 

AND OTHERS. 

VOLUME TWO. 



NO. PAGE 

XI. — Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan to Asem Hacchem 6S2 

Account of " mine uncle John " 6S4 

XII. — Christopher Cockloft's company 686 

The Stranger at Home ; or, a tour in 
Broadway — by Jeremy Cockloft the 

younger 6Sg 

Introduction to Pindar Cockloft's poem . . 691 
A poem, from the mill of Pindar Cock- 
loft, Esq 691 

XIII. — Introduction to Will Wizard's plan for 

defending our harbor 692 

"Plans for defending our Harbor," by 

William Wizard, Esq 693 

A Retrospect ; or, " IV hat you will" . . ■ ■ 695 

To readers and correspondents 697 

XIV. — Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan to Asem Hacchem 698 

Cockloft Hall— by L. Langstaff 7°° 

Theatrical Intelligence — by William Wiz- 
ard, Esq 7°2 

XV. — Sketches from Nature — by A. Evergreen, 

gent 704 

On Greatness — by L. Langstaff, Esq. . . . 705 



NO. P.\GE 

XVI.— Style at Ballston— by W. Wizard, Esq.. 70S 
From Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to 

Asem Hacchem 7°9 

XVII. — Autumnal Reflections — by Launcelot 

Langstaff, Esq 712 

Description of the library at Cockloft 

Hall— by L. Langstaff 713 

Chap. CIX. of the Chronicles of the re- 
nowned and ancient City of Gotham. . 714 
XVIII — The little man in black — by Launcelot 

Langstaff, Esq 7'^ 

Letter from Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli 

Khan to Asem Hacchem 71S 

XIX. — Introduction to the number 720 

Letter from Rub-a-dub Keli Khan to 

Muley Helim al Raggi 720 

Anthony Evergreen's introduction to the 

" winter campaign " 723 

Tea, a poem, from the mill of Pindar 

Cockloft, Esq 724 

XX. — On the new year 725 

To the ladies — from A. Evergreen, gent 727 
Farewell address 729 



VOYAGES AND DISCOVERIES 

OF THE 

COMPANIONS OF COLUMBUS. 

, ALONZO DE OJEDA. 

HIS FIRST VOYAGE, IN WHICH HE WAS ACCOMPANIED BY AMERIGO VESPUCCI. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Some account of Ojeda — of Juan De La 
Cosa — of Amerigo Vespucci. — Prep- 
arations for the voyage (1499) 732 

II. — Departure from Spain — Arrival on the 

coast of Paria — Customs of the natives 733 
III. — Coasting off Terra Firma — Military ex- 
pedition of Ojeda 734 

IV. — Discovery of the Gulf of Venezuela — 
Transactions there — Ojeda explores the 

Gulf — Penetrates to Maracaibo 735 

V. — Prosecution of the voyage and return to 

Spain 736 

Pedro Alonzo Nino (1499) 736 

Christoval Guerra (1499) 736 

Vicente Yanez Pinzon (1499) 737 

Diego De Lepe (1500) 739 

Rodrigo De Bastides (1500) 739 

Second voyage of Alonzo De Ojeda (1502) 740 

THIRD VOYAGE OF ALONZO DE OJEDA. 

I. — Ojeda applies for a command — Has a 
rival candidate in Diego De Nicuesa — 
His success 741 



CHAPTER PAGE 

II. — Feud between the rival governors, Ojeda 

and Nicuesa — A challenge (1509) 743 

III. — Exploits and disasters of Ojeda on the 
coast of Carthagena — Fate of the vete- 
ran Juan De La Cosa (1509) 744 

IV. — Arrival of Nicuesa — Vengeance taken on 

the Indians 745 

V. — Ojeda founds the colony of San Sebastian 

— Beleaguered by the Indians 746 

VI. — Ojeda supposed by the savages to have a 
■ charmed life — Their experiment to try 

the fact 747 

VII. — .\rrival of a strange ship at San Sebastian . 747 
VIII. — Factions in the colony — A convention 

made 748 

IX. — Disastrous voyage of Ojeda in the pirate 

ship 749 

X. — Toilsome march of Ojeda and his com- 
panions through the morasses of Cuba 749 
XI. — Ojeda performs his vow to the Virgin . . 750 
XII. — Arrival of Ojeda at Jamaica — His recep- 
tion by Juan De Esquibel 750 

XIII. — Arrival of Ojeda at San Domingo — Con- 
clusion of his story 751 



CONTENTS. 



THE VOYAGE OF DIEGO DE NICUESA. 



CHAPTER PAGE 
I. — Nicuesa sails to the westward ; his ship- 
wreck and subsequent disasters 752 

II. — Nicuesa and his men on a desolate 

island 753 

III. — Arrival of a boat — Conduct of Lope De 

Olano 753 

IV. — Nicuesa rejoins his crews 754 

V. — Sufferings of Nicuesa and his men on the 

coast of the Isthmus 754 

VI. — E.xpedition of the Bachelor Enciso in 
search of the seat of government of 
Ojeda (1510) 755 



CHAPTER PAGE 

VII. — The Bachelor hears unwelcome tidings of 

his destined jurisdiction 756 

VIII. — Crusade of the Bachelor Enciso against 

the sepulchres of Zenu 756 

IX. — The Bachelor arrives at San Sebastian — 
his disasters there, and subsequent ex- 
ploits at Darien 757 

X. — The Bachelor Enciso undertakes the 

command — His downfall 758 

XI. — Perplexities at the colony — Arrival of 

Colmenares 758 

XII. — Colmenares goes in quest of Nicuesa. . . 758 
XIII. — Catastrophe of the unfortunate Nicuesa. 759 



VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA, 
DISCOVERER OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Factions at Darien — Vasco Nunez elected 

to the command 760 

II. — Expedition to Coyba — Vasco Nunez re- 
ceives the daughter of a Cacique as 

hostage 761 

III. — Vasco NuSez hears of a sea beyond the 

mountains 762 

IV.— Expedition of Vasco Nunez in quest of 

the golden temple of Dobayba (1512). 763 
V. — Disaster on the Black River — Indian 

plot against Darien 765 

VI. — Further factions in the colony — Arro- 
gance of Alonzo Perez and the Bachelor 

Corral ( 1 5 1 2) 765 

VII. — Vasco Nunez determines to seek the sea 

beyond the mountains (1513) 766 

VIII. — Expedition in quest of the Southern Sea 767 

IX — Discovery of the Pacific Ocean 768 

X. — Vasco Nunez marches to the shores of 

the South Sea 769 

XI. — Adventures of Vasco Nunez on the 

borders of the Pacific Ocean 770 

XII. — The same continued 771 

XIII. — Vasco Nunez sets out on his return 
across the mountains — His contests 

with the savages 772 

XIV. — Enterprise against Tubanama, the war- 
like Cacique of the mountains — Re- 
turn to Darien 773 

XV. — Transactions in Spain — Pedrarias Da- 
vila appointed to the command of Da- 
rien — Tidings received in Spain of the 
discovery of the Pacific Ocean 774 



CHAPTER PAGE 
XVI. — Arrival and grand entry of Don Pedra- 
rias Davila into Darien 776 

XVII. — Perfidious conduct of Don Pedrarias 

towards Vasco Nunez 777 

XVIII. — Calamities of the Spanish cavaliers at 

Darien 777 

XIX. — Fruitless expedition of Pedrarias 77S 

XX. — Second Expedition of Vasco Nunez in 

quest of the Gold Temple of Dobayba 779 
XXI. — Letters from the king in favor of Vasco 
Nufcez — Arrival of Garabito — Arrest 

of Vasco Nunez (15 15) 779 

XXII. — Expedition of Morales and Pizarro to 
the shores of the Pacific Ocean — • 
Their visit to the Pearl Islands — 
Their disastrous return across the 

mountains 

XXIII. — Unfortunate enterprises of the officers 
of Pedrarias — Matrimonial compact 
between the Governor and Vasco 

Nunez 7S2 

XXIV. — Vasco Nunez transports ships across 

the mountains to the Pacific Ocean. . 7S3 
XXV. — Cruise of Vasco Nunez in the Southern 

Sea — Rumors from Ada 7S4 

XXVI. — Stratagem of Pedrarias to entrap Vasco 

Nufiez 7S4 

XXVII. — Vasco Nunez and the astrologer — His 

return to Ada 7S5 

XXVIII.— Trial of Vasco Nunez 7S6 

XXIX. — Execution of Vasco Nunez (1517) 787 

The Fortunes of Valdivia and his companions . . . 787 
Micer Codro, the Astrologer 790 



JUAN PONCE DE LEON, 

CONQUEROR OF PORTO RICO AND DISCOVERER OF FLORIDA. 



CHAPTER P.\GE 

I. — Reconnoitering Expedition to the Island 

of Boriquen (1508) 791 

II. — Juan Ponce aspires to the government of 

Porto Rico (1509I 791 

III. — Exasperation of the Indians — Their ex- 
periment to prove whether the Span- 
iards were mortal 792 

IV. — Conspiracy of the Caciques — The fate of 

Sotomayor 793 

V. — War of Juan Ponce with the Cacique 

Agueybana 793 



CHAPTER PAGE 

VI. — Juan Ponce hears of a wonderful country 

and Miraculous Fountain 795 

VII. — Cruise of Juan Ponce in search of the 

Fountain of Youth (1512) 795 

VIII. — Expedition of luan Ponce against the 

Caribs— His death (1514) 79^ 

APPENDIX. 

A Visit to Palos 797 

Manifesto of Alonzo De Ojeda 802 



XIV 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANIES, 

CONTRIBUTED TO THE KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE 
BY GEOFFREY CRAYON. 



A Chronicle of Wolfert's Roost 805 

A Legend of Communipaw S36 

A Legend of St. Brandan 821 

A Shaksperian Research 840 

Birds of Spring 815 

Communipaw 832 

Conspiracy of the Cocked Hats 834 

Desultory Thoughts on Criticism S28 

Enchanted Island 821 

Guests from_ Gibbet-Island 836 

Legend of Lion Munio Sancho De Hinojosa 830 

Legend of the Engulphed Convent. 851 

National Nomenclature 826 



Pelayo and the Merchant's Daughter 843 

Recollections of the Alhambra 816 

Sleepy Hollow .'.'.'..' 811 

Spanish Romance 820 

The Abencerrage. A Spanish Tale 817 

The Adelantado of the Seven Cities ... ....'.'.'.. S21 

The Bermudas ' ' 840 

The Count Van Horn 852 

The Grand Prior of Minorca. A veritable ghost 

story s^^ 

The Knight of Malta 846 

The Three Kings of Bermuda 842 

Wolfert's Roost ..,.'... 805 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



BY 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 



The life of Washington Irving was one of the 
brightest ever led by an author. He discovered 
his genius at an early age ; was graciously wel- 
comed by his countrymen ; answered the literary 
condition of the period when he appeared ; won 
easily, and as easily kept, a distinguished place 
in the republic of letters ; was generously re- 
warded for his 'Work; charmed his contempora- 
ries by his amiability and modesty; lived long, 
wisely, happily, and died at a ripe old age, in the 
fullness of his powers and his fame.' He never 
learned the mournful truth which the lives of so 
many authors force upon us : 

Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed ; '* 

he never felt the ills which so often assail the 
souls of scholars : 

" Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail ; " 

he never wrote for his bread like Johnson and 
Goldsmith, and never hungered like Otway and 
Chatterton ; but lived in learned ease, surrounded 
by friends, master of himself and his time — a 
prosperous gentleman. Born under a lucky star, 
all good things sought him out, and were turned 
by him to delightful uses. He made the world 
happier by his gifts, and the world honors his 
memory. 

The ancestry of Washington Irving reaches 
back to the days of Robert Bruce, who, when a 
fugitive from the court of Edward I., concealed 
himself in the house of William De Irwin, his 
secretary and sword-bearer. William De Irwin 
followed the changing fortunes of his royal 
master ; was with him when he was routed at 
Methven ; shared his subsequent dangers ; and 
was one of the seven who were hidden with him 
in a copse of holly when his pursuers passed by. 
When Bruce came to his own again he made him 
Master of the Rolls, and ten years after the battle 
of Bannockburn, gave him in free barony the 
forest of Drum, near Aberdeen. He also permit- 
ted him to use his private badge of three holly 
leaves, v/ith the motto, S2ib sols sub umbra virens, 
which are still the arms of the Irving family. Our 



concern, however, is not with the ancestors of 
Irving, but with his father, William Irving, who 
was from Shapinsha, one of the Orkney Islands, 
and who, on the death of his mother, determined 
to follow the sea. He was born in 173 1, a year 
before Washington, and when his biographers 
find him, was a petty officer on board of an 
armed packet-ship in the service of his British 
Majesty, plying between Falmouth and New 
York. At the former port he met and became 
enamored of Sarah Sanders, a beautiful girl 
about two years younger than himself, the only 
daughter of John and Anna Sanders, and grand- 
daughter of an English curate named Kent. They 
were married at Falmouth, on the iSth of May, 
1 76 1, and two years and two months later em- 
barked for New York, leaving the body of their 
first child in an English grave-yard. William 
Irving now abandoned the sea, and entering into 
trade, was prospering in a small way when the 
Revolution broke out. His house was under the 
guns of the English ships of war in the harbor, so 
he concluded to remove to the country, and tool- 
refuge with his family in Rahwaj-, New Jersey. He 
was safer, perhaps, than he would have been in 
New York ; but business was at an end. He was 
pointed out as a rebel, and British troops were 
billeted in his best rooms, while the family was 
banished to the garret, so he made up his mind to 
return to New York. He vi-as still a rebel, as well 
as his wife, who supplied prisoners with food from 
her own table, visited them in prison v,-hen they 
were ill, and furnished them with clothes, blank- 
ets, and the like. " I'd rather you'd send them a 
rope, Mrs. Irving," said the brutal Cunningham, 
who, nevertheless, allowed her charities to pass 
through his hands. 

Washingtop Irving, the youngest of eleven 
children, and the eighth son of William and 
Sarah Irving, was born toward the close of these 
troublous times in Ne'^York, on April 3d, 17S3. 
The house in which h(* was born, a plain, two- 
story dwelling in William Street (131), between 
Fulton and John, has long since disappeared, as 
well as the house on the opposite side of the 

(XV) 



. XVI 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



same street (12S) to which the family moved 
within a year after his birth. If the boy differed 
in any respect from the average boy, the particu- 
lars have not reached us. The earliest recorded 
anecdote in which he figures connects him 
with the illustrious name of Washington, who en- 
tered the city with his army not many months 
after his birth. The enthusiasm which greeted 
the great man was showed by a young Scotch 
maid-servant of the family, who followed him one 
morning into a shop, and showing him the lad, 
said : " Please, your honor, here's a bairn was 
named after you." He placed his hand on the 
head of his little namesake and blessed him. 

Master Irving was not a prodigy; for at the 
first school, kept by a woman, to which he was 
sent in his fourth year, and where he remained 
upwards of two years, he learned little beyond 
his alphabet ; and at the second, where boys 
and girls were taught, and where he remained 
until he was fourteen, he was more noted for 
his truth-telling than for his scholarship. He 
distinguished himself while at school by playing 
the part of Juba in Addison's Cato, at a public 
exhibition, and by amusing the audience by 
struggling at the same time with a mass of 
honey-cake which he was munching behind the 
scenes, when he was suddenly summoned upon 
the stage. The first book he is known to have 
read with pleasure was Hoole's translation of 
" Orlando Furioso," which fired him to emulate 
the feats of its heroes, by combatting his play- 
mates with a wooden sword in tl^e yard of his 
father's house. His ne.xt literary favorites were 
" Robinson Crusoe " and " Sinbad the Sailor," 
and a collection of voyages and travels, entitled 
"The World Displayed," which he used to read 
at night by the glimmer of secreted candles after 
he had retired to bed, and v/hich begot in him 
a desire to go to sea — a strong desire that by 
the time he left school almost ripened into a 
determination to run away from home and be a 
sailor. It led him, at any rate, to try to eat salt 
pork, which he abominated, and to lie on the 
hard floor, which, of course, was distasteful to 
him. These preliminary hardships proved too 
much for his heroism, so the notion of becoming 
a gallant tar was reluctantly abandoned. 

Irving's first known attempt at original com- 
position was a couplet levelled against a larger 
school-fellow, who was attentive to the servant- 
girl of his master, and who was so enraged at the 
fun it occasioned, that he gave the writer a severe 
threshing. The young poet was discouraged in 
his personalities, but not his art ; for he contrib- 
uted metrical effusions to the Weekly Museum, a 
little periodical of four pages, published in Peck 
Slip, to which he also contributed moral essays. 
At the age of thirteen he wrote a play, which was 
represented at the house of a friend, and stim- 
ulated his boyish fondness for the stage. He 



was abetted in his dramatic passion by James K. 
Paulding, who was between four and five years his 
senior, and was residing with his brother William 
Irving, who had married his sister. The theater 
was situated in John Street, between Broadway 
and Nassau, not far from his father's house, from 
which he used to steal to see the play, returning 
in time for the evening prayer, after which he 
would pretend to retire for the night to his own 
room in the second story, whence he would climb 
out of the window on a woodshed, and so get 
back to the theater, and the enjoyment of the 
after-piece. These youthful escapades, if detected, 
would no doubt have subjected him to a severe 
lecture from his father, who was a strict, God- 
fearing man, and to tender reproaches from bis 
mother. " Oh, Washington ! " sighed the old 
lady, " if you were only good ! " 

After a year or two more of school-life, during 
which he acquired the rudiments of a classical 
education, he concluded to study law, a profes- 
sion to which his brother John had devoted him- 
self, and accordingly entered the office of Henry 
Masterton, with whom he remained until the 
summer of 1801, when he transferred his services 
to Brockholst Livingston, and, on that gentle- 
man being called to the bench of the Supreme 
Court of the State in the following January, he 
continued his legal pursuits in the office of Josiah 
Ogden Hoffman. Why Irving conceived that he 
had the makings of a lawyer in him, we are not 
told ; nor why his father, who was averse to law, 
should have permitted him to mistake his tal- 
ents. It was not a very dangerous mistake, how- 
ever, for he soon awoke from it ; nor was it sedu- 
louslj' indulged in while it lasted ; for when not 
employed, like Cowper before him, in giggling 
and making giggle, he passed his daj's in reading 
the belle-lettre literature of England, and such 
literature as America then possessed, which was 
not much, nor worth dwelling upon now. He 
found his vocation in his nineteenth year, in the 
beginning of December, 1802, or it was found for 
him, by his brother Peter, who, a couple of 
months before, had started a daily paper in New 
York, under the title of the Morning Chronicle, 
of which he was the editor and proprietor, and 
in which he persuaded his clever young brother 
to assist him. He furnished a series of essays 
over the signature of " Jonathan Oldstyle," which 
betrayed the bent of his mind and his early read- 
ing, and which were generally of a humorous 
character. They were so much superior to the 
newspaper writings of the period that they at- 
tracted great attention, and in spite of their local 
and temporary interest, were copied into the 
journals of other cities. Among those who were 
struck by their talent was Charles Brockden 
Brown, who was the first American that made 
literature a profession, and who had already pub- 
lished four or five novels, remarkable both fortheii 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



svu 



extravagance and their power. He was a con- 
tributor to the periodicals of the day — such as 
they were — of which the best, perhaps, was The 
Monthly Magazine and American Register, of 
which he was the proprietor. It soon died, 
and was followed by The Literary Magazine and 
American Register, of which he was also the 
proprietor, and it was in this latter capacity, 
rather than as the first American author, that he 
visited Irving, and besought him to aid him in his 
new enterprise. He was not successful, for, 
whatever may have been his inclinations, " Mr. 
Jonathan Oldstyle " had not yet decided upon 
■being an author. 

Irving's love of adventure, which had been 
Stimulated by the reading of voyages and travels, 
and which would have led him to follow a mari- 
time life, if he could have gratified his inclina- 
tions, expended itself in long rambles about the 
rural neighborhoods of the city, which he knew 
by heart, and in more distant e.xcursions into th-j 
country. He spent a holiday in Westchester 
County in his fifteenth year, and explored the 
recesses of Sleepy Hollow ; and, in his seven- 
teenth year, made a voyage up the Hudson, the 
beauties of which, as Bryant has pointed out, he 
was the first to describe. He was greatly im- 
pressed by the sight of the Highlands, crowned 
with forests, with eagles sailing and screaming 
around them, and unseen streams dashing down 
their precipices ; and was fairly bewitched by the 
Kaatskill Mountains. " Never shall I forget," he 
wrote, " the effect upon me of the first view of them 
predominating over a wide extent of country, 
part wild, woody, and rugged, part softened away 
into all the graces of cultivation. As we slowly 
floated along, I lay on the deck and watched 
them through a long summer's day ; undergoing 
a thousand mutations under the magical effects 
of atmosphere ; sometimes seeming to approach, 
at other times to recede ; now almost melting 
into hazy distance, now burnished by the setting 
sun, until, in the evening, they printed them- 
selves against the glowing sky in the deep purple 
of an Italian landscape." In his twentieth year 
he made a visit to Johnstown, the residence of 
his eldest sister, which he reached in a wagon, 
after a voyage by sloop to Albany. This visit 
seems to have been undertaken on account of his 
health, for he was troubled with a constant pain 
in his breast, and a harassing cough at night. " I 
have been unwell almost all the time I have been 
up here," he wrote to a friend. " I am too weak 
to take any exercise, and too low-spirited half 
the time to enjoy company." " Was that young 
Irving," asked Judge Kent of his brother-in-law, 
" who slept in the room next to me, and kept 
up such an incessant cough during the night ? " 
" It was." " He is not long for this world." 
This lugubrious judgment of the great jurist was 
shared by the family of Irving, who determined 



to send him to Europe. The expense was mainly 
borne by his brother William, who told him, 
speaking in behalf of his relatives, that one of 
their greatest sources of happiness was that for- 
tune put it in their power to add to the comfort 
and happiness of one so dear to them. They ac- 
cordingly secured a passage for him to Bordeaux, 
for which he started on the 19th of Mav, 1804. 
"There's a chap," said the captain, " wlio will 
go overboard before we get across." 

The first European visit of an American was a 
greater event seventy years ago than it is to-day. 
It was less common, at any rate, and was attended 
with dangers which no longer e.xist. What it 
was to Irving we gather from his letters, which 
may still be read with pleasure, though nothing 
like the pleasure they afforded his friends, who 
were more interested in his itinerary than it is 
possible for us to be. He reached Bordeaux after 
what the sailors call "a lady's voyage," much im- 
proved in health, and enough of a sailor to climb 
to the masthead, and go out on the mn.in topsail 
yard. He remained at Bordeaux about si.x weeks, 
seeing what there was to see, and studying to im- 
prove himself in the language. From Bordeaux 
he proceeded to Marseilles by diligence, accom- 
panied by an eccentric American doctor, who 
pretended that Irving was an English prisoner, 
whom a young French officer that was with 
them had in custody, much to the regret of 
some girls at Tonneins, who pitied "le pauvre 
gar(jon," and his prospect of losing his head, and 
supplied him with a bottle of wine, for which 
they would not take any recompense. At Nismes 
he began to have misgivings about his passports, 
of which he had two, neither accurate, his eyes 
being described as blue in one, and gray in the 
other. He had a great deal of trouble with his 
passports, first and last, but he worried through 
it, with considerable loss of temper, and, after a 
detention at Nice, finally set sail in a felucca for 
Genoa. From Genoa, where he resided up- 
wards of two months, he started for Messina, 
falling in with a privateer, or pirate, on the way, 
who frightened the captain and crew, and relieved 
them of about half their provisions, besides some 
of their furniture, and a watch and some clothes 
out of the trunks of the passengers. From 
Genoa he proceeded to Syracuse, where he ex- 
plored the celebrated Ear of Dionysius, and set 
out with a party for Catania, and thence to Pa- 
lermo, where he arrived at the latter end of the 
Carnival. He reached Naples on March 7, 1805, 
and after resting a few days, made a night ascent 
of Mount Vesuvius, where he had a tremendous 
view of the crater, that poured out a stream of red- 
hot lava, the sulphurous smoke of which stifled 
him, so much so, that but for the shifting of the 
wind he might have shared the fate of Pliny. 
Twenty days later he entered Rome by the Lat- 
eran Gate. Here he met a fellow-countryman, 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



in the person of Washington Alston, who vvaj 
about four years his elder, whose taste for art had 
been awakened at Newport by his association with 
Malbone, the famous miniature painter, and who 
was already more than a painter of promise. " I 
do not think," Irving wrote years after, " that I 
have ever been more completely captivated on 
a first acquaintance. He was of a light and 
graceful form, with large, blue eyes, and black, 
silken hair, waving and curling round a pale, ex- 
pressive countenance. Everything about him 
bespoke the man -of intellect and refinement. 
His conversation was copious, animated, and 
highly graphic, warmed by genial sensibility and 
benevolence, and enlivened by chaste and gentle 
humor." 

Irving and Alston fraternized, and spent the 
twenty-second birthday of the former in seeing 
some of the finest collections of paintings in 
Rome, the painter teaching the traveller how to 
visit them to the most advantage, leading him al- 
ways to the masterpieces, and passing the others 
without notice. They rambled in company 
around the Eternal City and its environs, and 
Irving contrasted their different pursuits and 
prospects, favoring as he did so those of Alston, 
who was to reside amid the delightful scenes 
among which they were, surrounded by famous 
works of art and classic and historic monu- 
ments, and by men of congenial tastes, while he 
was to return home to the dry study of the law, 
for which he had no relish, and, as he feared, no 
talent. " Why might I not remain here, and be 
a painter ? " he thought, and he mentioned the 
idea to his friend, who caught at it with eager- 
ness. They would take an apartment together, 
and he would give him all the instruction and 
assistance in his power. But it was not to be ; 
their lots in life were different!)' cast. So Irving- 
resigned the transient, but delightful, prospect of 
becoming a painter. During his sojourn in Rome 
he attended the conversaziones of Torlonia, the 
banker, who treated him with great distinction, 
and, calling him aside when he came to make his 
adieu, asked him, in French, if he was not a rela- 
tive of General Washington .' He was also intro- 
duced to the Baron de Humboldt, Minister of 
Prussia to the Court of Rome, and brother to 
the celebrated traveller and savant, and to Madam 
de Stael, who astounded him by the amazing flow 
of her conversation, and the multitude of ques- 
tions with which she plied him. 

Irving started for Paris on the nth of April,- 
and reached it on the 24th of May. His stay in 
Paris, which extended over four months, was a 
round of sight-seeing and amusement. One 
night he went to the Theatre Montansier, where 
the acting was humorous, but rather gross ; an- 
other night he went to the Imperial Academy of 
Music, where he saw the opera of " Alceste "; a 
third night he went to the theatre of Jeunes 



Artistes, where boys acted plays ; and a fourth to 
the theatre of Port St. Martin. He made the 
acquaintance at this time of another American 
painter, Vanderlyn, a man of genius, in whom he 
was much interested, and who made a sketch of 
him in crayons. His mental improvement was 
not neglected in the gay capital, for he bought a 
botanical dictionary, and took two months' tui- 
tion in French. 

Ir\'ing arrived in London on the 8th of Octo- 
ber, after a tour through the Netherlands. He 
found lodgings to his liking in Norfolk Street, 
Strand, not far from the city, and being in the 
vicinity of the theatres, he devoted most of his 
evenings to visiting them. Three great actors 
were then playing — John Kemble, Cooke, and 
Mrs. Siddons, and in his correspondence with his 
brother William he described the impression they 
made on him. Kemble was a very studied actor, 
he thought. His performances were correct and 
highly-finished paintings, but much labored. He 
never led the spectators to forget him in "Othello;" 
it was Kemble they saw throughout, not the jeal- 
ous Moor. He was cold, artificial, and unequal, 
and he wanted mellowness in the tender scenes. 
He was fine in passages when he played" Jaffier," 
but great only in Zanga, whom, for the moment, 
he fancied himself. Cooke was next to him, 
though rather confined in his range. His lago 
was admirable; his Richard, he was told, was 
equally good ; and in Sir Pertinax Mc Sycophant 
he left nothing to be desired. But Mrs. Siddons — • 
if he wrote what he thought of her, his praises 
would be thought exaggerated. " Her looks, her 
voice, her gestures delighted mc. She penetrated 
in a moment to my heart. She froze and melted it 
by turns. A glance of her eye, a start, an excla- 
mation, thrilled through my very frame. The 
more I see her, the more I admire her. I hardly 
breathe while she in on the stage. She v/orks 
up my feelings till I am like a mere child." 

Irving set out from Gravesend on the iSth of 
January, 1806, and reached New York after a 
stormy passage of sixty-four days. He had contra- 
dicted the prophecy of the captain with whom he 
originally sailed — that he vv-ould go overboard be- 
fore he got across ; and of Judge Kent, who de- 
clared he was not long for this world. He re- 
turned in good health, and resumed his legal 
studies.which were advanced enough to enable him 
to pass an examination in the ensuing Novem- 
ber, which ended in his admission to the bar. He 
entered the office of his brother John, at No. 3 
Wall Street, and while waiting for clients who 
never came, he turned his attention to literature 
more seriously than he had ever done before. 
There was more room in it than in the over- 
crowded profession of the law ; so much room, 
indeed, that a young man of his talents might do 
almost anything that he chose. There was no 
fear of competitors, at any rate ; for authorship, 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



as a craft, had no followers, except Charles Brock- 
den Brown, who was still editing the Literary 
Magazine, and perhaps John Dennie, whose rep- 
utation, such as it was, rested on his Lay Preacher, 
and who was editing the Port Folio. The few 
poets of which America boasted were silent. 
Trumbull, the author of " McFingal," which was 
published the year before Irving's birth, was a 
Judge of the Superior Court; Dwight, whose 
" Conquest of Canaan " was published three years 
later, was merely the President of Yale College ; 
Barlow, whose " Vision of Columbus " was 
published two years later still, and who had re- 
turned to this country after shining abroad as a 
diplomatist, was living in splendor on the banks 
of the Potomac, and brooding over that unread- 
able poem which he expanded into the epic of 
" The Columbiad " ; and Freneau, by all odds the 
best of our earlier versifiers, who had published 
a collection of his effusions in 1795, had aban- 
doned the Muses, and was sailing a sloop between 
Savannah, Charleston, and the West Indies. 
Pierpont, who was two years younger than Irving, 
was a private tutor in South Carolina; Dana was 
a student at Harvard, and Br)-ant, a youth of 
twelve, at Cummington, was scribbling juvenile 
poems, which were being published in a news- 
paper at Northampton. 

The library of Irving's father was rich in Eliza- 
bethan writers, among whom Chaucer and Spen- 
ser were his early favorites, and it contained 
the classics of the eighteenth century, in verse 
and prose, not forgetting the Spectator and Tat- 
ter and Rambler, and the works of the ingenious 
Dr. Goldsmith. Everybody who read fiction was 
familiar with the novels of Fielding and Smol- 
lett, and lovers of political literature were 
familiar with the speeches of Burke and the 
letters of Junius. Everj-body read (or could 
read) the poetical works of Cowper and Burns, 
Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope," and Scott's 
" Lay of the Last Minstrel," and whatever else 
in the shape of verse American publishers 
thought it worth their while to reprint for them ; 
for then, as now, they were willing to enlighten 
their countr\'mcn at the expense of British 
authors. 

Equipped with a liberal education, which he 
had imbibed from English literature, and with 
the practice which he had gained in writing for 
the paper of his brother Peter, which was dis- 
continued shortly before his return to America, 
Irving cast about for a field of authorship in 
which he might safely venture. His inclination 
was toward the writing of essays, in which he 
had had considerable experience, and the taste 
of his friend Paulding, who was still living 
under the roof of his brother William, was in 
the same direction. They put their heads to- 
gether, and sketched out a plan of publication, 
in which they might have their fling at men and 



things, and which should come out in numbers 
whenever it suited their pleasure and conven- 
ience. The title that they selected was " Salma- 
gundi," w-hich is derived from the French word 
salinigondis, which is made up of two Latin 
words salgama and cotidita, signifying preser\-ed 
pickles. Johnson defines the word as " a mi.xture 
of chopped meat and pickled herring with oil, 
vinegar, pepper, and onions," which, no doubt, i-; 
an appetizing dish when one has become accus- 
tomed to it. Irving and Paulding were joined 
by William Irving, and the three resolved them- 
selves into what the Spaniards call a junta, — i. e. 
Launcelot Langstaff, Anthony Evergreen, and 
William Wizard. The first number of " Salma- 
gundi " was issued on January 24th, 1807, the 
last on January 25th, 1808, the twenty numbers 
of which it consisted covering just the true-love 
epoch of the old ballads, " A twelvemonth and 
a day." The time, which was ripe for almost 
anything in the shape of American literature, 
was so propitious for a periodical of this kmd, 
that the success of the first number was decisive. 
There was no home literature then to speak of, 
as I have already hinted, and the city in which 
this bright venture appeared was a mere town 
compared with the Babel of to-day, scarcely 
numbering 80,000 inhabitants. It was not difficult 
to make a sensation in a place of that size, in a 
barren literary period, and " Salmagundi " cer- 
tainly made a great one. Everybody talked 
about it, and wondered who its writers could 
be, and nobody was much the wiser for his 
wonderment, for the secret was well kept. It 
would be idle now to attempt to distinguish the 
share of the different writers, for, as Paulding 
wrote afterward, in the uniform edition of his 
works, in which it was included, " The thoughts 
of the authors were often so mingled together in 
these essays, and they were so literally joint pro- 
ductions, that it would be difficult as well as use- 
less to assign each his exact share." 

Authors, there were none in New York, with 
the exception of the authors of " Salmagundi," 
though there was no lack of writers, so called, 
among whom figured Samuel Latham Mitchill, 
practicer in physic (like Johnson's friend Levett), 
lawyer and retired Indian commissioner, member 
of Congress, and of various learned societies, 
and editor of the Medical Repository. This gen- 
tleman, who wrote largely, and was a butt to the 
wits of the day, had lately published a " Picture 
of New York," which, if not funny itself, was a 
source of fun to others, particularly to Irving 
and his brother Peter, who determined to bur- 
lesque it. With this object in view they made 
many notes, and not to be behind its erudite 
author, who began his work with an account of 
the aborigines, they began theirs with the 
creation of the world. Started shortly after the 
publication of " Salmagundi," it proceeded slowly 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and with many interruptions, until the following 
January, when Peter Irving departed for Liver- 
pool on urgent business. Left to himself, his 
forsaken collaborateur changed the whole plan of 
the work, condensing the great mass of notes 
which they had accumulated into five introduc- 
tory chapters, and commencing at a considerably 
later period, the new Genesis being the dynasty 
of the Dutch in New York. Laid aside for a 
time, he resumed it in the summer, at a country 
house, at Ravenswood, near Hellgate, whither he 
had retired in order to prepare it for the press. 
A stupendous hoax, it was launched with a series 
of small hoaxes, the first of which appeared in 
the Evening Post of October 25th, 1809, in the 
shape of a paragraph narrating the disappearance 
from his lodging of a small elderly gentleman, 
by the name of Knickerbocker. He was stated 
to be dressed in an old black coat and a cocked hat, 
and it was intimated that there were some 
reasons for believing that he was not in his right 
mind. Great anxiety was felt, and any informa- 
tion concerning him would be thankfully re- 
ceived at the Columbian Hotel, Mulberry street, 
or at the office of the paper. This feeler was fol- 
lowed in a week or two by a communication 
from " A Traveller," who professed to have seen 
him some weeks before by the side of the road, 
a little above Kingsbridge. " He had in his hands 
a small bundle, tied in a red bandanna handker- 
chief; he appeared to be travelling northward, 
and was very much fatigued and exhausted." 
Ten days later (November 6th), Mr. Seth Han- 
daside, landlord of the Independent Columbian 
Hotel, inserted a card in the same paper, in 
which he declared that there had been found in 
the room of the missing man, Mr. Diedrich 
Knickerbocker, a cui-ioii'! kind of a ivritten hook, in 
his own handwriting; and he wished the editor 
10 notify him, if he was alive, that if he did not 
return and pay off his bill for board, he would 
have to dispose of his book to satisfy him for 
the same. The bait took, so much so that one 
of the city authorities actually waited upon 
Irving's brother, John, and consulted him on 
the propriety of offering a reward for the mythi- 
cal Diedrich ! 

To these "puffs preliminary" was added the 
precaution of having the manuscript set up in 
Philadelphia, which lessened the danger of the 
real character of the work being discovered be- 
fore its appearance. 

r\The " History of New York," which was pub- 
iKhed in this city on the 6th of December, 1809, 
was a success in more ways than one. Its whim 
and satire amused the lovers of wit and humor, 
and its irreverence towards the early Dutch set- 
tlers of the State annoyed and angered their 
descendants. ,] Between these two classes of read- 
ers it was much talked about, and largely circula- 
ted. The Monthly Anthology, the forerunner of 



the North American Review, pronounced it the 
wittiest book our press had ever produced ; and \ 
Scott, to whom a copy of the second edition was 
sent by Irving's friend, Henry Brevort, and upon 
whom, from his ignorance of American parties 
and politics, much of its concealed satire was 
lost, owned, that looking at its simple and 
obvious meaning only, he had never read any- 
thing so closely resembling the style of Dean 
Swift as the annals of Diedrich Knickerbocker, 
^^^gjjt, who was a youth at college when it came 
out, committed a portion of it to memory to re- 
peat as a declamation before his class, but was 
so overcome with laughter when he appeared on 
the floor, that he was unable to proceed, and 
drew upon himself the rebuke of his tutor, 
y^ifty years later, when he delivered a discourse 
on the life, character, and genius of Irving, his 
admiration had not subsided. "When I com- 
pare it with other works of wit and humor of a 
similar length," he said, "I find that, unlike most 
of them, it carries the reader to the conclusion 
without weariness or satiety, so unsought, spon- 
taneous, self-suggested are the wit and the | 
humor. The author makes us laugh, because he |^ 
can no more help it than we can help laughing.'! 
He refers to the opinion of Scott, already quoted, 
and remarks that the rich vein of Irving was of 
a quality quite distinct from the dry drollery of 
Swift, and he detects the influence of his read- 
ing. "I find in this work more traces than in his 
other writings, of what Irving owed to the 
earlier authors in our language. The quaint 
poetic coloring, and often the phraseology, be- 
tray the disciple of Chaucer and Spenser. 
We are conscious of a flavor of the olden time, 
as of a racy wine of some rich vintage — 

' Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth.' 

I will not say that there are no passages in this 
work which are not worthy of their context ; 
that we do not sometimes meet with phraseology 
which we could wish changed ; that the wit 
does not sometimes run wild, and drop here and 
there a jest which we could willingly spare. We 
forgive, we overlook, we forget all this as we 
read, in consideration of the entertainment we 
have enjoyed, and of that which beckons us for- 
ward in the ne.xt page. -Xlf all mock-heroic 
works, Knickerb ocker 's LHistary of New_Yoirk ' 
is. the gayest, the airiest, and thejeast tiresome ." 
Irving's next literary labor was the editorship 
of a monthly publication, which had been estab- 
lished in Philadelphia, and which, from its title, 
Select Reviews, would appear to have been of an 
eclectic character. Its name was changed to the 
Analcctic Maga::ine during his management, 
which extended through the years 1813 and 1814, 
and it bade fair to be successful, until its propri- 
etor was ruined by the failure of the New York 
publishers of "Salmagundi." Irving's contribu- 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



xzi 



tions to this dead and gone old periodical con- 
sisted of critical notices of new worlds by En- 
glish and American authors ; among others one 
by his friend Paulding, who had dropped into 
poetry with a " Lay of the Scottish Fiddle "; of a 
series of biographies of the naval heroes of our 
second war with England ; and of a revised 
and enlarged memoir of the poet Campbell, 
which he had written at the request of his 
brother a year or two before, to accompany an 
American edition of his poetical works. Irving 
signed off what was owing to him, and peace 
with England being declared shortly after, he 
departed for Europe for the second time on the 
25th of May, 181 5. He was a partner in a mer- 
cantile house, which his brothers Peter and 
Ebenezer had started in Liverpool, and it was 
quite as much to assist the former, who was in 
ill-health, as to divert himself, that he undertook 
the journey. He remained at Liverpool for some 
time, examining the affairs of " P. & E. Irving & 
Co.," which had fallen into confusion on account 
of the sickness of his brother and the death of 
his principal clerk, mastering details, and learn- 
ing book-keeping, in order to straighten out 
their books. The business of the Irving brothers 
ended in failure, owing to a variety of causes, 
which there is no occasion to specify now, and 
the literary member of the firm turned his at- 
tention again to the only business for v/hich he 
was really fitted. He had renewed his acquaint- 
ance with Alston, who was now residing in Lon- 
don, and had met Leslie, the artist, both of whom 
were making designs for a new edition of his 
" History of New York." 

The summer of 181 7 found Irving in London, 
whence he paid a visit to Sydenham to Camp- 
bell, who was simmering over his " Specimens 
of the English Poets," and where he dined with 
Murray, the bookseller, who showed him a long 
letter from Byron, who was in Italy, and was 
engaged on the fourth canto of "Childe Harold," 
and who had told him " that he was much hap- 
pier after breaking with Lady Byron — he hated i 
this still, quiet life." From London he proceeded 
to Edinburgh, whence he walked out to a man- 
sion, which had been taken by Jeffrey, with whom 
he dined, after which he rattled off by the mail 
coach to Selkirk, and by chaise to Melrose. On 
his way to the latter place he stopped at the gate 
at Abbotsford, and sent in his letter of introduc- 
tion to Scott. The glorious old minstrel him- 
self came hobbling to the gate, and took him by 
the hand in a way that made him feel as if they 
were old friends ; in a moment he was seated at 
his hospitable board among his charming family. 
He passed two days at Abbotsford, rambling 
about the hills with his host, and visiting the 
haunts of Thomas the Rhymer, and other spots 
rendered classic by border tale and song, in a 
kind of dream. He was delighted with the char- 



acter and manners of the great man, and it was 
a constant source of pleasure to him to watch 
his deportment toward his family, his neigh- 
bors, his domestics, his very dogs and cats. " It 
is a perfect picture to see Scott and his house- 
hold assembled of an evening — the dogs 
stretched before the fire, the cat perched on a 
chair, Mrs. Scott and the girls sewing, and Scott 
either reading out of some old romance, or tell- 
ing border stories. Our amusements were oc- 
casionally diversified by a border song from 
Sophia, who is as well versed in border min- 
strelsy as her father." This pilgrimage to Ab- 
botsford, which is described at length in the fifth 
volume of Lockhart's " Life of Scott," was 
brought about by Campbell. " When you see 
Tom Campbell," Scott wrote to one of his 
friends, " tell him, with my best love, that I have 
to thank him for making me known to Mr. 
Washington Irving, v/ho is one of the best and 
pleasantest acquaintances I have made this many 
a day." 

The house of the Irving brothers succeeded so 
ill in England that the two resident partners. 
Peter and Washington, finally made up their 
minds to go into bankruptcy. The necessary 
proceedings occupied some months, during 
which time the latter shut himself up from 
society, and studied German day and night, partly 
in the hope that it would be some service 
to him, and partly to keep off uncomfortable 
thoughts. His brother William, who was in 
Congress, had exerted himself to have him made 
Secretary of Legation at the Court of St. James, 
but in vain ; and his friend. Commodore Decatur, 
had kept a place for him in the Navy Board, the 
salary of which would enable him to live in 
Washington like a prince. He concluded not to 
accept it, however, greatly to the chagrin of his 
brothers, but to remain abroad, and battle with 
fortune on his own account. So he went up to 
London again in the summer of 1S18, to see if 
he could not live by his pen. 

Nearly nine years had elapsed since the pub- 
lication of the " History of New York," and with 
the exception of his reviews and biographies in 
the Analectic Maga::ine, he had written nothing. 
His mercantile connection with his brothers had 
proved disastrous to them as well as to himself, 
and he was now dependent on his own exertions. 
If there is anything in experience that fits one 
for literature, he was better fitted for it than ever 
before. He had passed through troubles which 
had deepened his knowledge of life, having lost 
his father, who died shortly before the completion 
of "Salmagundi," and his mother, who died 
about ten years later, and whose death was 
still fresh in his memory. Between these two 
sorrows came the tragedy which darkened his 
young manhood, and was never forgotten — the 
death of Matilda Hoffman, the young lady to 



XXII 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



whom he was attached, who closed her brief ex- 
istence at the age of eighteen, while he was com- 
posing the amusing annals of Mr. Diedrich 
Knickerbocker. He was a bold American who 
would dare to attempt at that time to live by 
authorship in his ov/n country, which had known 
but one professional author, Charles Brockden 
Brown, who had died about eight years before, 
at the early age of thirty-nine ; but he was a 
bolder American who would dare to attempt the 
same hazardous feat in England. Such a man 
was Irving, who settled down in London in his 
thirty-sixth year, to see if he could earn his 
living by his pen. His capital was the practice 
he already possessed, and some unfinished 
sketches, upon which he had been engaged, pre- 
cisely when, or where, we are not told. He set 
to work on these sketches, with the intention of 
issuing them in numbers as a periodical publica- 
tion, and when he had finished enough to make 
the first number he dispatched the manuscript 
across the Atlantic to his brother Ebenezer, in Feb- 
ruary, 1819. It was put to press under the title 
" The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon," and 
published in May, simultaneously in New York, 
Boston, Philadelphia and Baltimore. It con- 
tained si.K papers, or sketches, of which the per- 
ennial Rip Van Winkle soon became a general 
favorite. There was an immediate demand for 
"The Sketch-Book," for as one of Irving 's critics 
observed, the honor of our national literature 
was so associated with his name, that the pride 
as well as the better feelings of his countrymen, 
were interested in accumulating the gifts of his 
genius. He was congratulated on resuming the 
pen, in the Analcctic, by his friend Gulian C. 
Verplanck (who, by the way, had not taken kindly 
to his Knickerbocker), who saw in every page his 
rich, and sometimes extravagant humor, his gay 
and graceful fancy, his peculiar choice and 
felicity of original expression, as well as the 
pure and fine moral feeling which imperceptibly 
pervaded every thought and image. The second 
number, which was finished before the publica- 
tion of the first, was enriched by the exquisite 
paper on Rural Life in England, and the pathetic 
story of The Broken Heart. Mr. Richard Henry 
Dana wrote of the former, in the North American 
Review, that it left its readers as restored and 
cheerful as if they had been passing an hour 
or two in the very fields and woods themselves ; 
and that his scenery was so true, so full of little 
beautiful particulars, and so varied, and yet so, 
connected in character, that the distant was 
brought nigh, and the whole was seen and felt 
like a delightful reality. A copy of this number 
was placed by one of Irving's friends in the hands 
of William Godwin, the famous author of " Caleb 
Williams," who found everywhere in it the marks 
of a mind of the utmost elegance and refinement 
(a thing, you know, that he was not exactly pre- ! 



pared to look for in an American), and he was 
pleased to say that he scarcely knew an English- 
man who could have written it. Another English- 
man was of the same gracious opinion as this 
illustrious novelist — Mr. William Jerdan, the ed- 
itor of the London Literary Gazette, who began to 
reprint the first number of " The Sketch-Book " in 
his periodical, which was somehow regarded as 
an authority in literature. A copy of the third 
number, which was published in America in Sep- 
tember, reached England, and came into the 
possession of a London publisher, who was con- 
sidering the propriety of bringing out the 
whole work. This determined Irving to revise 
the numbers that he had already published, that 
they might, at least, come before the English 
public correctly, and he accordingly took them 
to Murray, with whom he left them for examina- 
tion, stating that he had materials on h.and for 
a second volume. The great man declined to 
engage in their publication, because he did not see 
" that scope in the nature of it to make satisfac- 
tory accounts " between them ; but he offered to 
do what he could to promote their circulation, and 
was ready to attend to any future plan of his. 
Irving then bethought himself of Scott, to whom 
he sent the printed numbers, with a letter, in 
which he observed that a reverse had taken place 
in his affairs since he had the pleasure of en- 
joying his hospitality, which made the exercise 
of his pen important to him. He soon received 
a reply from Scott, who spoke very highly of his 
talents, and offered him the editorship of an 
Anti-Jacobin periodical, which had been pro- 
jected at Edinburgh, the salary of which would 
be ^500 a year certain, with the reasonable pros- 
pect of further advantages. When the parcel 
reached him, as it did at Edinburgh, he added, 
in a postscript, " I am just here, and have glanced 
over the Sketch-Book ; it is positively beautiful, 
and increases my desire to crimp you if possible." 
Irving immediately declined the editorship pro- 
posed to him, feeling peculiarly unfitted for the 
post, and being as useless for regular service as 
one of his country Indians or a Don Cossack. 
Having by this time concluded to print the book 
at his own risk, he found no difficulty in finding 
a publisher, who was unlucky enough to fail just 
as it was getting into fair circulation. Scott 
came up to London at this juncture, for the pur- 
pose of receiving his baronetcy, and he called 
upon Murray, who now saw "that scope in the 
nature " of the Sketch-Book which it had lacked 
before, and who printed an edition of the first 
volume, and put the second volume to press, 
and so became Irving's publisher. 

The " Sketch-Book " put four hundred pounds 
in the pocket of Irving, and made him famous. 
Jeffrey wrote of it in the Edinburgh Review, 
that he had seldom seen a work that gave him 
a more pleasing impression of the writer's char- 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



xxiii 



acter, or a more favorable one of his judgment 
and taste ; Lockhart declared in Blackwood that 
" Mr. Washington Irving is one of our first favor- 
ites among the English writers of this age, and 
he is not a bit the less so for being born in 
America;" and Mrs. Siddons gave it the seal of 
her authority, and intimidated Irving, when he 
was introduced to her, by saying, in her most 
tragic way, " You've made me weep." Byron, 
who read all the new works of the time with 
avidity, wrote to his and Irving's publisher, Mur- 
ray, " Crayon is very good ;" and shortly before 
his death waxed eloquent in his praise to a young 
American, who had called upon him, and who, 
at his request, had brought him a copy of the 
" Sketch-Book." " I handed it to him, when, seiz- 
ing it with enthusiasm, he turned to the ' Broken 
Heart.' 'That,' said he, .'is one of the finest 
things ever written on earth, and I want to 
hear an American read it. But stay — do you 
know Irving.^ ' I replied that I had never seen 
him. 'God bless him!' exclaimed Byron: 'He 
is a genius ; and he has something better than 
genius — a heart. I wish I could see him, but I 
fear I never shall. Well, read the " Broken 
Heart"- — yes, the " Broken Heart." What a word ! ' 
In closing the first paragraph, I said, 'Shall I 
confess it .' I do believe in broken hearts.' ' Yes,' 
exclaimed Byron, 'and so do I, and so does 
cver}'body but philosophers and fools .-' ' While 
I was reading one of the most touching portions 
of that mournful piece, I observed that Byron 
v/ept. He turned his eyes upon me, and said, 
'You see me v/eep, sir. Irving himself never 
wrote that story without weeping; nor can I hear 
it without tears. I have not wept much in this 
world, for trouble never brings tears to my eyes, 
but I always have tears for the " Broken Heart." ' 
He concluded by praising the verses of Moore at 
the end of the stoi-y, and asking if there were 
many such men as Irving in America? 'God 
don't send many such spirits into this world.' " 

The lives of authors are not often interesting, 
apart from the light which they shed upon 
their writings, and the life of Irving was not, I 
think, an exception to the rule. What it was 
hitherto we have seen, and what it was hereafter 
I shall show, though not in its details, which 
were neither striking nor important. Five years 
had now elapsed since he left America, and 
twelve more years were to elapse before he re- 
turned to it. He had published his third book, 
and had made a name for himself in England ; 
in other words, he had found his true vocation, 
and it would be his own fault if he did not 
pursue it with honor and profit. The summer 
of 1820 found him in Paris with his brother 
Peter, and before the close of the year he had 
made the acquaintance of Moore, the poet, v/ho 
was sporting in exile in France, while his friends 
were trying to settle a claim which the English 



Government had against him, on account of the 
defalcation of the deputy who had filled, in his 
place, the office of Registrar of the Admiralty 
Court of Bermuda, to which he had been appoint 
ed about seventeen years before. Moore jotted 
down in his Diary that they met at the table 
d'hote, at Meurice's (the most expensive hotel in 
Paris), and that the successful author was "a 
good-looking and intelligent-mannered man." 
Seven days later they met at Moore's cottage in 
the Champs Elysees, and scarcely a day passed 
without their seeing each other. Moore was 
trying to work, now on his Life of Sheridan, and 
now on an Egyptian romance, but it was the 
merest pretence, as his Diary bears witness ; for 
he notes, in one entry, that he had been no less 
than five weeks in writing one hundred and 
ninety-two lines of verse ; and in another, when 
he thought he had been more industrious, that 
he had written nearly fifty lines in a week. The 
fertility of Irving, who wrote with ease, when he 
could write at all, astonished him. " Irving 
called near dinner time," he wrote on March 
19th, 1821; "asked him to stay and share our 
roast chicken with us, which he did. He has 
been hard at work writing lately ; in the course 
of ten days he has written about one hundred 
and thirty pages of the size of those in the 'Sketch- 
Book ;' this is amazing rapidity." 

Another writer was in exile in France at this 
time, a fellow townsman of Irving, John Howard 
Payne, who had taken the critics of Nev/ York 
by storm when he played Young Norval at the 
Park Theatre ; who had gone to England about 
two years before Irving, where he became a 
dramatic author, with some success, and a 
manager, with none at all ; and who is nov/ 
chiefiy remembered by the song of " Home, 
Sweet Home." London growing too small for him, 
he escaped to Paris, where Irving breakfasted 
with him, after which they paid a visit to Talma 
together. 

A whim for travelling, which frequently seized 
him, sent Irving back to London in the summer 
of 1S31, with no definite object in view, unless it 
was to see his friends, and the approaching 
coronation of George the Fourth. He was 
fortunate enough to witness the procession from 
a stand on the outside of Westmins'er Abbey, 
and to meet with Scott, who told him that he 
should have seen it from within the Abbey, 
which he might easily have done, as his name 
would have got him in anywhere. He brought 
over with him a petite comedy of Payne's, with 
the ominous title of " The Borrower," and made 
a fruitless attempt to have it produced on the 
stage. He also brought over the manuscript of 
a new book, his speed in writing whicli had so 
amazed Moore, and worked upon it when he was 
in the humor. When it was finished, which was 
not until the following winter, he was waited 



XXIV 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



upon by Colburn, the publisher, with a letter of 
introduction from Campbell, and an offer of a 
thousand guineas. He was not inclined to leave 
Murray, who had treated him very handsomely, 
and was anxious to publish another book for 
him. Irving named the price he wished — fifteen 
hundred guineas, which rather staggered the 
prince of booksellers. " If you had said a thou- 
sand guineas," he began. " You shall have it for 
a thousand guineas," replied Irving, and the 
bargain was completed. 

Concerning Irving 's fourth book, " Bracebridge 
Hall," which was published in England and 
America in May, 1832, critical opinions differed. 
The North Anterican Review for July, speaking 
in the person of Mr. Edward Everett, its editor, 
had no hesitation in pronouncing it equal to any- 
thing which the then age of English literature 
had produced in the department of essay- 
writing, and praised it for its admirable sketches 
of life and manners, highly curious in them- 
selves, and rendered almost important by the 
good-natured mock gravity, the ironical rever- 
ence, and lively wit with which they were de- 
scribed. Jeffrey recognized the singular sweet- 
ness of the composition, and the mildness of the 
sentiments, but thought the rhythm and melody 
of the sentences excessive, in that they wore an 
air of mannerism, and created an impression of 
the labor that must have been bestowed upon 
what was but a secondary attribute of good 
writing. 

Wearied by his London life, Irving started on 
a tour on the Continent, which lasted about a 
month, and which finally brought up at Paris. 
He was not in trim for composition when he 
settled down again, but was haunted by the 
dread of future failure, a kind of nervous horror 
which frequently overpowered him. His poetic 
friend, Moore, had returned to England, where 
he had been delivered of his " Loves of the 
Angels," but his dramatic friend, Payne, was still 
an exile in Paris, and was the tenant of two 
residences, one of which, in the Rue Richelieu, 
he rented to Irving. He succeeded in persuad- 
ing Irving to join him in his dramatic under- 
takings, one of which, already far advanced, 
was " La Jeunesse de Richelieu," a French play, 
which had been acted about thirty years before. 
They were to divide the profits, if there were 
any, and Irving's share in the projected manufac- 
tures was to be kept secret. They must have 
worked with great rapidity, for in addition to' 
the play just mentioned they completed a trans- 
lation of another, entitled " Azendai," which was 
intended to be set to music; besides two others, 
" Belles and Bailiff's," and " Married and Single," 
not forgetting " Abul Hassan," a German opera, 
which Irving had done into English at Dresden. 
Laden with these productions, Payne set off pri- 
vately for London, from which he was debarred by 



his creditors, and put himself in communication 
with Charles Kemble. While he was under- 
going the delay incident to acceptance or rejec« 
tion, Irving transmitted to him the manuscript 
of "Charles II., or the Merry Monarch," a three 
act comedy, from the French of "La leunesse de 
Henri 'V.," of which, as far as I can understand, 
he was nearly, if not quite, the sole author, or 
adapter. It was sold by Payne to Covent Garden 
Theatre for two hundred guineas, together with 
" La Jeunesse de Richelieu," and was produced 
in the following spring (May, 1824) with great 
success. " La Jeunesse de Richelieu " was pro- 
duced nearly two years later, and withdrawn 
after a few nights. 

Literary activity returned to Irving during this 
curious dramatic episode in his career, stimula- 
ted, no doubt, by a letter from Murray, who 
asked him what he might expect from him in 
the course of the winter. He replied that he 
should probably have two more volumes of the 
" Sketch-Book " ready by spring, and began to 
write the story of Wolfert Webber, which he 
soon laid aside. His journal chronicles the 
progress of his labor, which proceeded at a rapid 
rate, in spite of his dinings out, hastened, per- 
haps, by the title which he found for his new 
work, " Tales of a Traveller," and by Murray's 
offering twelve hundred guineas for it, without 
seeing the manuscript. When it was finished 
he took it over to London, where he met Murray, 
"who behaved like a gentleman," i. e., gave him 
fifteen hundred guineas for it, as well as several 
celebrities, including William Spencer, Proctor, 
Rogers, and Moore, the last of whom went with 
him to Bowood, the seat of Lord Lansdowne. 
He was not brilliant as a conversationist at this 
time, whatever he may have been later, for 
Moore notes in his Diary that at two dinners 
which he mentions, he was sleepy, and did not 
open his mouth, and adds, curtly, " Not strong as 
a lion, but delightful as a domestic animal." 

The " Tales of a Traveller " appeared in two 
volumes in England, and in America in four 
parts. It sold well in the former country ; but it 
can hardly be said to have been a literary suc- 
cess in either, especially in the latter, where the 
press were hostile to it. Wilson, speaking 
through the mouth of Timothy Tickler, in 
Blackivood, said, " I have been terribly disap- 
pointed in the ' Tales of a Traveller ; ' " and the 
reviewer of the London Quarterly, though he 
praises the story of Buckthorne, from which he 
thought it probable that he might, as a novelist, 
prove no contemptible rival to Goldsmith, warns 
him that he must in future be true to his own 
reputation throughout, and correct the habits 
of indolence, wliich so considerable a part of the 
work evince. 

Irving's next intellectual labor after his return 
to France, was the planning of a series of papers. 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the proper execution of which demanded. I 
think, a weightier pen than he possessed, con- 
sisting, as it did, of serious essays upon American 
Manners, National Life, Public Prosperity, 
Probity of Dealings, Education of Youth, and 
such like grave and momentous problems. He 
was interrupted in the writing by a letter from 
Mr. Alexander II. Everett, Minister Plenipoten- 
tiary of the United States at Madrid, whom he 
had previously met at Paris, and who had, at his 
request, attached him to the embassy. This 
letter contained his passport, and a proposition 
from Mr. Everett that he should translate Navar- 
rete's " Voyages of Columbus," which was then 
in the press. It was compiled by this accom- 
plished scholar from the papers of Columbus, 
as preserved by the famous Bishop Las Casas, 
and of extracts from his journal ; and it con- 
tained, as Irving found shortly after his arrival 
at Madrid, many documents hitherto unknown, 
which threw additional light on the discovery of 
the New World ; but was defective as a whole 
(at any rate for his purpose), in that it was rather 
a rich mass for history, than history itself. He 
abandoned, therefore, the idea of translating it, 
and began to institute fresh researclies on his 
own account, examining manuscripts, and taking 
voluminous notes for a regular Life of the great 
navigator. 

Irving commenced his task in February, 1S26, 
and labored upon it unceasingly for six months, 
sometimes writing all day, and until twelve at 
night. His attention was diverted from it in 
August by the " Conquest of Granada," which so 
interested him that he devoted himself to it till 
November, when he threw aside the rough draft, 
and returned to his greater work, which was not 
ready for the press until July of the following 
year. Leslie had sounded Murray about the letter 
before it was begun, but the wUy publisher fought 
shy at first. " He would gladly," he says, " re- 
ceive anything from you of original matter, 
which he considers certain of success, whatever 
it might be ; but with regard to the Voyages of 
Columbus, he can not form any opinion at 
present." When the manuscript was finished 
Irving sent it to England, to the care of his 
friend, Colonel Aspinwall, American Consul at 
London, whom he made his agent in the dis- 
posal of it, and wrote a letter to Murray, in 
which he stated the sum he wanted for it — three 
thousand guineas ; but also stated that he would 
be willing to publish on shares. Colonel As- 
pinwall played his cards so well that Murray con- 
cluded not to publish it on shares, but to pay the 
three thousand guineas out and out. The manu- 
script was shown to Southey, who pronounced 
the most unqualified praise of it, both as to 
matter and manner; and Murray himself said 
it was beautiful, beautiful — the best thing that 
Irving had ever written. 



/By the publication of "The Life and Voyages 
of Columbus," in 182S, the popularity of Irving, 
which had waned somewhat since the day when 
he first burst upon the world of English readers 
in his " Sketch-Book," rose anew, and shone 
with greater lustre. The importance of the work 
was recognized on both sides of the water, as 
well as the brilliancy of its execution.) Jeffrey, 
who reviewed it in the Edinburgli, declared that 
it was not only excellent, but that it would en- 
dure. " For we mean," he explained, " not merely 
that the book will be known and referred to 
twenty or thirty years hence, and will pass in 
solid binding into every considerable collection ; 
but that it will supersede all former works on the 
same subject, and never be itself superseded." 
Not less enthusiastic was the carefully considered 
opinion of Irving's friend, Everett, who origi- 
nally suggested the translation from Navarrete 
out of which it had grown, and who pronounced 
it, in the North American Review, one of the 
few books which are at once the delight of read- 
ers and the despair of critics. " It is as nearly 
perfect as any work can be ; and there is little 
or nothing left for the reviewer but to write at 
the bottom of every page, as Voltaire said he 
Would be obliged to do if he published a com- 
mentary on Racine, ' Pulchrc ! bene! optime!' 
He has at length filled up the void that before 
existed in this respect, in the literature of the 
world, and produced a work which will fully 
satisfy the public, and supersede the necessity of 
any future labors in the same field. While we 
venture to predict that the adventures of Co- 
lumbus will hereafter be read only in the work of 
Mr. Irving, we can not but think it a beautiful co- 
incidence that the task of duly celebrating the 
achievements of the discoverer of our continent 
should have been reserved for one of its. inhabit- 
ants ; and that the earliest professed author of first- 
rate talent who appeared among us should have 
devoted one of his most important and finished 
works to this pious purpose. 

' Such honors Ilion to her hero paid, 
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade.* 

For the particular kind of historical writing in 
which Mr. Irving is fitted to labor and excel, the 
' Life of Columbus' is undoubtedly one of the very 
best — perhaps we might say, without fear of any 
mistake, the very best — subject aff'orded by the 
annals of the world." 

The magnitude of the task which he had com- 
pleted so satisfactorily, left Irving leisure to 
make a tour which he had planned with his 
brother Peter, but the ill-health of that gentle- 
man, who now returned by slow stages to Paris, 
compelled him to forego the pleasure of his com- 
pany, and to replace it by the company of two Rus- 
sian diplomatists, with whom he set out on March 
1st, by the diligence for Cordova. They reached 



Xxvi 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Granada in safety, notwithstanding the robbers 
who were said to beset the roads, and spent several 
days in traversing the city and its environs. From 
Granada the travelers proceeded to Malaga, and 
thence by a circuitous route to Gibraltar, after 
which they started for Cadiz, where Ir\'ing left 
his companions, being impatient to get to Seville, 
and to correct and complete the rough draft of 
the manuscript of the " Conquest of Granada," 
which diverted his attention for upwards of 
three months at Madrid, while he was engaged 
upon his " Life of Columbus." 

The summer heat being overpowering at 
Seville, Irving removed to a little country-seat 
on a hill, about eight miles from Cadiz, of which 
and its beautiful bay, it commanded a view on 
one side, while another embraced the distant 
mountains of Ronda. Here he dispatched to 
England half the first volume of the " Conquest 
of Granada," as a fair sample of the whole, and 
authorized Colonel Aspinwall to dispose of it to 
Murray, or any other leading and respectable 
bookseller, for two thousand guineas, or as near 
that sum as he could get. Before a month was 
over he received a letter from Murray, who was 
waiting for the corrected copy of Columbus, in 
order to issue a new edition, and who had pur- 
chased from Wilkie a sketch that he had made 
of Irving's likeness, which he meant to prefix 
to it. A second letter from Murray contained 
what Irving considered the best critique that he 
had ever had as to his general reputation with 
the public. It was in relation to a monthly 
magazine which Murray was about to set up, on 
a purely literary and scientific basis, and which 
he offered Irving a thousand pounds a year to 
edit, besides paying him liberally for any articles 
which he might contribute. In fact, the salary, 
with other offers for casual writing, would insure 
him at least seven thousand dollars a year. 

Irving declined Murray's proposal, as he had 
declined a similar one from Scott nine years be- 
fore, partly because it would oblige him to fi.x 
his residence out of America, and partly because 
he was unwilling to shackle himself with any 
periodical labor. Murray concluded to purchase 
his new book at the price which he had demand- 
ed — two thousand guineas — and published it 
early in 1829, under the title of "4^hronicle of 
the Conquest of Granada," not as trofnthe 
"Tray 



manuscript ot fray Antonio Agapida, a noin de 
guerre, which Irving had adopted, but as by 
Irving himself — an unwarrantable liberty, he 
thought, in that it made him, gravely, in his 
own name, tell many round untruths, and made 
him, also, responsible as an author, for the exist- 
ence of the manuscript of AgapidaM Coleridge re- 
garded the work as a masterpiece of romantic nar- 
rative ; Prescott believed that Irving availed him- 
self of all the picturesque and animating move- 
ments of the period which he had treated, and 



that he was not seduced from historical accu- 
racy by the poetical aspect of his subject ; and 
Bryant, a fine Spanish scholar, as well as an ad- 
mirable literary critic, maintained that it was one 
of the most delightful of his works -an exact his- 
tory', for such it is admitted to be by those who 
have searched most carefully the ancient records 
of Spain — yet so full of personal incident, so 
diversified with surprising turns of fortune, and 
these wrought up with such picturesque effect, 
that, to use an expression of Pope, a young 
lady might read it by mistake for a romance. It 
is a pleasant thing for an author to win approba- 
tion from members of his own craft — much 
pleasanter, on the whole, perhaps, than to win 
the less intelligent approbation of the public ; 
but unfortunately for his ambition and his 
pocket, it is only the last which is of substantial 
benefit to him. It was now withheld from 
Irving, for the "Conquest of Granada" did not 
sell. Before it saw the light of publication 
Irving had returned to the line of biographic 
studies, which its composition had interrupted, 
and was busy in tracing out the Voyages of the 
Companions of Columbus, and had in contem-' 
plation a series of Legends connected with the 
Moorish domination in Spain, upon which he 
wrote from time to time as the spirit moved him. 
He made a second visit to Granada in May, 1829,^ 
and lodged in the Alhambra, over whose halls 
and courts he rambled at all hours of the day 
and night. While he was residing in this ro- 
mantic old Moorish palace, he was appointed 
Secretary of Legation to London, v/hither he 
repaired in October. Here two honors awaited 
him : the first being a gold medal, of the value of 
fifty guineas, which was adjudged, to him by the 
Council of the Royal Society of Literature, the 
other, the degree of LL.D., which was conferred 
upon him by the University of Oxford. Notwith- 
standing these honers, of which any man of let- 
ters might well be proud, and of the personal 
esteem and affection with which he was regard- 
ed, there can be no doubt that his reputation 
had lessened since the publication of the "Sketch- 
Book," in 1820, and of the " Life and Voyages of 
Columbus," in 1828. Whether his intermediate 
and later works were of a lower order of liter- 
ary excellence than these were admitted to 
possess, or whether that many-headed beast, 
the public, was weary of them, is a question 
I do not feel called upon to decide. It is 
enough to note here that his popularity was 
so greatly on the wane that he parted with the 
"Voyages of the Companions of Columbus "to 
Murray for only five hundred guineas ; and that 
his sharp business friend, Colonel Aspinwall, 
could only obtain a thousand guineas for his next 
work, " The Alhambra," and this not from Mur- 
ray, but from Colburn and. Bentley. Of the 
reception of these characteristic studies of old 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



XXV u 



Spain and the old voyagers, I have no knowledge, 
except, that Mr. Edward Everett wrote concern- 
ing the last, in the North American Review, that 
it was equal, in literary value, to any other of 
the same class, with the exception of the " Sketch- 
Book," and that he should not be surprised if it 
were read as extensively as even that very popu- 
lar production ; and that Prescott, the historian, 
characterized it in his " History of Ferdinand and 
Isabella," as the "beautiful Spanish Sketch-Book." 
Of Irving's diplomatic life, his presentation at 
court, etc., I shall not speak, nor of the celebri- 
ties whom he met, only one of whom is likely to 
interest now. It was Scott, who was then in 
London, a broken-down old man, on his way to 
Italy, and whom he met again at a family din- 
ner, at which he was the only stranger present. 
" Ah, my dear fellow," said Scott, who was seated 
as he entered, " time has dealt lightly with you 
since last we met." The mind of the great ma- 
gician flickered fitfully during the dinner; now 
and then he struck up a story in his old way, but 
the light soon died out, his head sank, and his 
countenance fell, when he saw that he had failed 
to bring out his points. When the ladies went 
up-stairs after dinner, Lockhart said to his 
guest, " Irving, give Scott your arm." The grand 
old man, mournful in ruin, took the arm that 
was offered him, and grasping his cane with the 
other hand, said, " Ah, the times are changed, 
my good fellow, since we went over the Eildon 
hills togetlier. It is all nonsense to tell a man 
that his mind is not affected when his body is in 
this state." They never met again ; for the 
mighty minstrel died the next year, and Irving 
returned to America after an absence of seven- 
teen years, lacking four days. 

Irving's arrival was anticipated by his friends, 
who received him with the greatest cordiality, 
and gave him a public dinner at the City Hotel, 
which was presided over by his early friend. 
Chancellor Kent, who had so promptly dismissed 
him to the world of shades thirty years before. 
The ordeal was a trying one to the modest man 
of letters, who had a nervous horror of personal 
. publicity, but he acquitted himself creditably, as 
the newspapers of that day testify. It was, of 
course, the happiest moment of his life, and was 
rendered more so because it proved that the 
misgivings which had haunted him, that his 
countrymen believed he was alienated from them, 
were groundless. He spoke of the changes 
which had come over New York during his ab- 
sence, the emotions which he had experienced 
when he beheld it, as he sailed up the harbor, 
seated in the midst of its watery domain, with 
the sunshine lighting up its domes, and the forest 
of masts at its piers as far as the eye could reach ; 
and how his heart throbbed with joy and pride 
as he felt he had. a birthright in the brilliant 
scene before him. " I am asked how long I 



' mean to remain here.' They know but little of 
my heart or my feelings who can ask me this 
question. I answer, as long as I live." Here 
the roof rang with bravos, handkerchiefs were 
waved, cheers were given over and over again, 
and he finally sat down, satisfied that he had 
done better than he expected. Shortly after this 
dinner Irving repaired to Washington, to settle 
his accounts with the Government, and to meet 
the friends of his earlier years — Mr. Louis 
McLane, late Minister to England, Henry Clay, 
General Jackson, and others. Returning to New 
York, he made a trip up the Hudson as far as i 
Tarrytown, and thence to Saratoga and Trenton 
Falls. He meditated a tour in the western part 
of New York, Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee, 
but he changed his plan, and joiaed an expedition * 
tojiieJEajuWest, in company with three commis- 
sioners appointed to treat with deputations of 
the different tribes of Indians. He started from 
Cincinnati on September 3d, reached Independ- 
ence, Missouri, on the 24th of that month. Fort 
Gibson, Arkansas, on October 9th, and Mont- 
gomery Point, at the mouth of the Arkansas, 
early in November. A voyage by steamboat 
down the Mississippi to New Orleans, and thence 
to Washington, and so back to New York, com- 
pleted the tour. The ground over which he had 
traversed, which was then but little known to 
the inhabitants of the more civilized portions of 
the United States, and the incidents and experi- 
ences of travel with which it was surrounded, 
determined him to turn them to account./ He 
set about a narrative of what he had seen and 
undergone, in the midst of other avocations, 
and writing leisurely, completed it by the end of 
the following year. It was entitled, "A Tour on 
the Prairies," and was published in London, in 
1835, by Murray, from whom Colonel Aspinwall 
succeeded in obtaining four hundred pounds for 
it. What reception it met with in England, I 
know not. It was welcomed here, and by none 
more warmly than Edward Everett, in the North 
American Review. ''To what class of compo- 
sitions the present v?ork belongs," he wrote, 
" we are hardly able to say. It can scarcely be 
called a book of t^vels, for there is too much 
painting of manners and scenery, and too little 
statistics ; it is not a novel, for there is no story ; 
and it is not a romance, for it is all true. It is 
a sort of sentimental journey, a romantic excur- 
sion, in which nearly all the elements of several 
different kinds of writing are beautifully and gayly 
blended into a production^ almost sui generis." 
He then expressed his pride in Irving's sketches of 
English life, and the gorgeous canvas upon which 
he had gathered in so much of the glowing 
imagery of Moorish times, but was more pleased 
to see him come back laden with the poetical 
treasures of the primitive wildernes.s, and with 
spoils from the uninhabited desert. " We thank 



XXVIU 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



him for turning these poor, barbarous steppes into 
classical land, and joining his inspiration to that 
of Cooper in breathing life and fire into a circle 
of imagery, which was not known before to ex- 
ist, for the purposes of the imagination." To 
revive, perhaps, the nam de plume, by which he 
had become best known among English-reading 
people, Irving published "A Tour on the 
Prairies " as the first number of the Crayon 
Miscellany. It was followed in the course of 
two or three months by a second number, en- 
titled, " Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey," for 
which Colonel Aspinwall obtained from Murray 
the sum of four hundred pounds, with a promise 
of two hundred pounds more when a second 
edition should be reached. It appears to have 
been successful, for Colonel Aspinwall wrote to 
Irving, " Murray says Abbotsford delights every- 
body, especially the Lockharts." The third num- 
ber of the Crayon Miscellany, " Legends of 
Spain," was sent about six weeks later to the 
same publisher, who declined it at the price de- 
manded, but put it to press on the author's ac- 
count, whereby Irving realized only one hundred 
pounds. 

Not long after his return to the United States, 
Irving was applied to by Mr. John Jacob Astor, to 
write about his settlement of Astoria at the 
mouth of the Columbia River. He declined the 
undertaking, being engrossed with other plans, but 
recommended his nephew, Mr. Pierre Munro 
Irving, as one who might aid him in preparing 
the materials, in which case he would have no 
objection in putting the finishing hand to the 
work. Mr. Astor caught at the idea, and Mr. 
Pierre Irving, who was then in Illinois, canie to 
New York, at the request of his uncle, and the 
pair commenced their joint labors at a country 
house, belonging to Mr. Astor, at Hellgate. He 
paid his authors liberally, the younger for his 
industry as a compiler, the elder for his skill as a 
literary artist and the use of his name, and was 
fully satisfied with their endeavors to hand him 
down to posterity as a colonist as well as a mil- 
lienaire. "Astoria " was published in 1836. Mr. 
Edward Everett, speaking, as usual, through the 
North American, saw in it, as a whole, the im- 
press of Irving's taste, and sketches of life and 
character worthy of the pen of Geoffrey Crayon ; 
and an anonymous writer in the London Specta- 
tor, considered it the most finished narrative of 
such a series of adventures that was ever written. 
While Irving was residing at the country seat of 
Mr. Astor, where he had for companions the 
poet Halleck, and Charles Astor Bristed, then a 
lad of fourteen, he met Captain Bonneville, of 
the United States army, a type of man not un- 
common at the time, who had engrafted the 
hunter and the trapper upon the soldier, and in 
whom he was much interested. He met this 
gentleman again in the following winter at 



Washington, where he was engaged in re-writing 
and extending his travelling notes, and making 
maps of the regions he had explored, and he 
purchased his materials, out of which, together 
with other facts and details gathered from differ- 
ent sources, conversations, journals of the cap- 
tain's contemporaries, and the like, he wrought 
a volume of frontier life, which was published 
in 1837, as the "Adventures of Captain Bonne- 
ville," and for which Bentley paid him nine hun- 
dred pounds for an English edition, which was 
four hundred pounds more than he had paid for 
"Astoria." 

In the course of his home-travels, shortly after 
his return to America, Irving saw a rural site 
at Tarrytown, on the Hudson, not far from the 
residence of his nephew, Oscar, which struck his 
fancy. It consisted in ten acres, when he pur- 
chased it in the summer of 1835, and contained 
a cottage about a century old, which he conclu- 
ded to rebuild into a little rookery in the old 
Dutch style. He accordingly sent up an architect 
and workmen, who between them built him a 
stone house at considerable cost, in which, sur- 
rounded with Christmas greens, he was settled 
with his brother Peter, in January, 1837. In this 
cosy mansion, which he at first christened 
" Wolfert's Roost," and afterwards " Sunny Side," 
he finished the " Adventures of Captain Bonne- 
ville," and, his mind still running on the might 
of Old Spain, which he had illustrated so bril- 
liantly in his " Life of Columbus," he commenced 
what promised to be a greater work than that, 
and which like that was to concern itself with 
Castilian domination in the New World — the 
"History of the Spanish Conquest of Mexico." 
When he had made a rough draft of the ground- 
work of the first volume, he came down to the 
city to consult authorities in the New York Soci- 
ety Library, where he met Mr. Joseph G. Cogs- 
well, whom he knew, and who asked him what 
new work he had in hand, sounding him in the 
interest of Prescott, who had lately published 
his "History of Ferdinand and Isabella." "Is 
Mr. Prescott engaged upon an Amciican sub- 
ject.'" inquired Irving. He was told that he 
was, and that it was the "Conquest of Mexico." 
With a generosity, of which few men could have 
been capable, Irving then and there abandoned 
his plan, and desired Mr. Cogswell to say as much 
to Prescott, whose claim to it (supposing he had 
any) was certainly less than his own, in that he 
had merely collected materials for it. Prescott 
acknowledged his courtesy in a grateful letter, 
in which he dwelt upon the mortification he 
would have felt if he found him occupying the 
ground, and expressed a fear that the public 
would not be so well pleased as himself by 
Irving's liberal conduct, of which he was not 
sure that he should have a right in their eyes to 
avail himself. The giving up of this great task. 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



which occupied Prescott five years, left Irving at 
leisure to renew his early acquaintance with the 
British Essayists, and to revise a biographical 
study which he had executed some fifteen years 
before. This was a " Life of Goldsmith," which 
he had prepared at Paris, for Galignani, for a col- 
lection of British Authors, that he undertook 
'.o edit, and which he now re-wrote for the 
• Family Library," of which the Harpers were the 
publishers. This was followed by a second and 
a much less important biographical study, a " Life 
of Margaret Davidson," the younger of two 
American sisters, who had a childish talent for 
writing verse, which her friends called poetry, 
and who had died of consumption in her six- 
teenth year. 

Two political honors were offered Irving in his 
fifty-fifth j'ear, one being an unanimous nomina- 
tion as Mayor of New York, from Tammany 
Hall, the other the appointment of Secretary 
of the Navy, from President Van Buren. He 
accepted neither, wisely preferring to the doubt- 
ful distinction they might have bestowed upon 
him, the peaceful security of his cottage and the 
society of his relatives. The relinquishment of 
the " Conquest of Mexico," left him at leisure 
for lesser undertakings, which he found in 
writing a series of papers for the Knickerbocker 
Magazine, his connection with which lasted from 
March, 1839, to March, 1841. Before the latter 
date (February loth) he received whalQie called 
"the crovr'ning honor of his life." It came in the 
shape of the appointment of Minister to SpairjJ 
which was forwarded to him by Daniel Webster, 
who remarked, when sufficient time had elapsed 
for the news to reach him, " Washington Irving 
is the most astonished man in New York." Hard 
upon his appointment the new minister was 
called on to attend the dinner which the citizens 
of New York gave Dickens, at which it was de- 
cided that he must preside, and where he did 
preside, with much trepidation, making one of 
the shortest dinner speeches on record. " There," 
he said, as he concluded his broken sentences by 
proposing the health of Dickens, as the guest of 
the nation, " There ! I told you I should break 
down, and I've done it." 

I Irving embarked for Europe for the third time, 
on April loth, 1841.^^ He soon reached London, 
where he waited upon his friend, Edward Everett, 
then American Minister, who presented him to 
Queen Victoria, at the levee, where he met sev- 
eral of his old acquaintances, among them the 
ministers. Lord Aberdeen, Sir Robert Peel, etc., 
who were cordial in their recognitions. He also 
met, at a diimer party at Mr. Everett's, the vete- 
ran poet and wit, Rogers, who took him in his 
arms in a paternal manner ; and at an anniver- 
sary dinner of the Literary Fund, he met Moore, 
upon whom the cares of the world were thicken- 
ing, and to whom he declared his intention of 



not speaking; " that ZJ/ir/ffWj dinner," as he ex- 
plained to the more glib-tongued poet, still 
haunting his imagination with the memory of 
his break-down. Irving hardly filled the charac- 
ter of an ambassador, as defined by Sir Henry 
Wotton, /. e., " one sent to lie abroad for the good 
of his country;" for, setting aside his natural 
incapacity for mendacity, the good of Ms coun- 
try demanded nothing of the kind from him, 
whatever it may have done from our Minister to 
England, who had the Oregon affair upon his 
hands. The diplomatic life of Irving, which oc- 
cupied four years, need not detain us long. 
From London he proceeded to Paris, where, as 
in duty bound, he called upon General Cass, our 
Minister to France, who drove out with him one 
evening to Neuilly, and presented him to Louis 
Philippe, his queen, and his sister, Madame Ade- 
laide, all of whom took occasion to say some- 
thing complimentary about his writings. He 
arrived at Madrid on July 25th, and installed 
himself in the appartments of his predecessor in 
the hotel of the Duke of San Lorenzo. Si-xdays 
later he had an audience of the Regent, Espar- 
tero, Duke of Victoria. He was then driven to 
the royal palace, and presented to the little 
queen, a child of twelve, a puppet in the hands 
of intriguing statesmen, who went through the 
part assigned to her with childish dignity. 
Irving's letters to his relatives are largely made 
up of accounts of the politics of the country to 
which he was accredited, and which are mildly de- 
scribed by the word stormy. The Regent, Espar- 
tero, for example, was speedily overthrown, and 
the child queen was in the hands of Narvaez and 
his adherents, who issued Juntas, pronunciamen- 
fos, and what not in the way of sounding pub- 
lic documents. He was a sagacious observer 
who could understand, and a rapid penman who 
could narrate, the events which Irving witnessed 
during his residence in Spain, and which it was 
his ambassadorial duty to communicate to his 
government. The amount of diplomatic busi- 
ness which now devolved upon him left him no 
time to perform a task which was near his heart, 
and upon which he had hoped to labor diligently. 
This was a Life of Washington, which had been 
proposed to him by Constable, the publisher, in 
1825, while he was residing at Pans, and which 
he declined at that time from a modest diffi- 
dence of his powers. " / stand in too great auie 
of it," he wrote. Long brooded over, and fairly 
begun, at " Wolfert's Roost," he made but little 
progress with it at Madrid. His post finally 
grew so irksome to him that he resigned it in 
December, 1845, and impatiently awaited his suc- 
cessor, who appeared during the following sum- 
mer, in the person of Gen. Romulus M. Saunders, 
of North Carolina. Irving turned his back on 
the Old World for the last time in London, early 
in September, 1846, and on the 19th of that 



LIFE OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



month was at home once more in his beloved 
" Sunny Side." 

The last years of Irving's life were passed in 
the enjoyment of the leisure and the honors that 
he had earned. His chief residence was at 
" Sunny Side," though he made occasional jour- 
neys, as in his early days, and his chief employ- 
ment was the task upon which he had long set his 
heart— the Life of Washington— and the collec- 
tion and revision of a complete edition of his 
works, many of which were by this time out of 
print. This edition, which was commenced in 
the summer of 1848, contained, in addition to 
the list of Irving's writings in the preceding 
pages, three later publications, " Oliver Gold- 
smith" (1849), "Mahomet and his Successors" 
(1850), and " Wolfert's Roost " (1855). The first 
was a subject which had engaged his attention 
twice before, and to which he was led to return 
by the appearance of Forster's " Life of Gold- 
smith," which his publisher thought of reprint- 
ing. This charming book so freshened the 
memory of his favorite author, and stimulated 
his power of work, that in less than two months 
the sheets of his third biographical study were 
in the printer's hands. /"Mahomet and his 
Successors," the last of the scries of writings which 
he had projected during his first residence in 
Madrid, illustrative of the Moorish domination 
in Spain, \vas originally prepared for Murray's 
" Family Library " in 1831, but circumstances pre- 
venting its publication at the time, it was thrown 
aside for years. The neglected manuscript was 
found by Minister Irving among his papers dur- 
ing his last residence in Spain, where he be- 
guiled the tediousness of illness by revising it, 
profiting, as he did, so by the light which later 
writers had shed upon the subject, particularly 
Dr. Gustav Weil, librarian of the University of 
Heidelburg, who is still an authority among the 
biographers of the great Arabian prophet. 
rThese additions to the body of his writings, excel- 
lent as they were in themselves, and important 
as they would have beer, in the life of a lesser 
author, were merely diversions from the labor 
which constantly occupied his mind and his pen 
as they slowly, but surely, proceeded with his 
" Life of Washington,'\he first v-olume of which 
was published shortly after " Wolfert's Roost," 
in 1S55, the fifth and last volume in 1S59, a few 
months before his death. 

Irving died on the night of November 28th, 
1859, and all that was mortal of him was buried 



on the 1st of December, at Tarry town. It was 
a beautiful winter day, clear and sunny, radiant 
with the still lingering Indian summer, which j 
shed a soft and melancholy light over the 
solemn scene. " It was one of his own days," 
said the mourners, as they rode from "Sunny 
Side " to Christ Church, where the funeral serv- 
ices were held, and thence to the cemetery, about 
a mile distant, on the side of a hill, with a view 
of the Hudson on one side, and on the other of ; 
the valley of Sleepy Hollow — classic ground, 
which the genius of Irving has made immortal. 

" His youth was innocent ; hh riper age 

Marked with some act of goodness every day ; 
And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, 

Faded his late declining years away. 
Meekly he gave his being up, and went 
To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent. 

" That life was happy ; every day he gave 

Thanks for the fair existence that was his ; 
For a sick fancy made him not his slave, 

To mock him with his phantom miseries. 
No chronic tortures racked his aged limb, 
For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him, 

" And I am glad that he has lived thus long, 

And glad that he has gone to his reward ; 
Nor can I deem that Nature did him wrong, 

Softly to disengage the vital cord. 
For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye 
Faint with the marks of age, it was his time to die." 

So sang the greatest of our poets, Bryant, in 
his early manhood, in " The Old Man's Funeral," 
a touching poem in which he celebrated a blame- 
less life like that of Irving ; and in his Oration 
in memory of the latter, a few months after his 
death, he addressed his departed friend in the 
following eloquent words : " Farewell ! thou who 
hast entered into the rest prepared, from the 
foundation of the world, for serene and gentle 
spirits like thine. Farewell! happy in thy life, 
happy in thy death, happier in the reward to 
which that death was the assured passage ; fortu- 
nate in attracting the admiration of the world to 
thy beautiful writings, still more fortunate in 
having written nothing which did not tend to 
promote the range of magnanimous forbearance 
and generous sympathies among thy fellow-men ; 
the lightness of that enduring fame which thou 
hast won on earth is but a shadowy symbol of 
the glory to which thou art admitted in the 
world beyond the grave. Thy errand upon earth 
was an errand of peace and good-will to men, and 
thou art in a region where hatred and strife 
never enter, and where the harmonious activity 
of those who inhabit it ackno\v'ledges no impulse 
less noble or less holy than that of love." 



The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. 



' I have no wife noi childten, good or bad, to provide for. A mere spectator of other 
men's fortunes and adventures, and how they play their parts ; which, methinks, are 
diversely presented unto me. as from a common theatre Of scene."— Burton. 



TO 

Sir WALTER SCOTT, B.\rt., 

THIS WORK. IS DEDICATED, IN TESTIMONY 

OF THE 

ADMIRATION AND AFFECTION 

OF 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE 

FIRST AMERICAN EDITION. 

The following writings are publisheii on experi- 
ment; should they please, they inay be followed by 
others. The writer will have to contend with some 
disadvantages. He is unsettled in his abode, subject 
to interruptions, ami has his share of cares and vicis- 
situdes. He cannot, therefore, promise a regular 
plan, nor regular periods of publication. Should he 
be. encouraged to proceed, much time may elapse be- 
tween the appearance of his numbers; and their size 
will depend on the materials he may have on hand. 
His writings will partake of the fluctuations of his own 
thoughts and feelings; sometimes treating of scenes 
befor'e him, sometimes of others purely imaginary, and 
sometimes wandering back with his recollections to 
his native country. He will not be able to give them 
that tranquil attention necessary to finished composi- 
tion ; and as they must be transmitted across the At- 
lantic for publication, he will have to trust to others 
to correct the frequent errors of the press. Should Ills 
writings, however, with all their imperfections, be well 
received, he cannot conceal that it would be a source 
of the purest gratification ; for though he does not as- 
pire to those high honours which are the rewards of 
loftier intellects ; yet it is the dearest wish of his heart 
to have a secure and cherished, though humble corner 
in the good opinions and kind feelings of his country- 
men. 

London, iSig. 



they be deemed of sufficient importance to attract the 
attention of critics, he solicits for them that courtesy 
and candour which a stranger has some right to claim 
who presents himself at the threshold of a hospitable 
nation. 

Fcbrnarv, 1820. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



FIRST ENGLISH EDITION. 

The following desultory papers are part of a series 
written in this country, but published in America. The 
author is aware of the austerity with which the writings 
of his countrymen have hitherto been treated by Brit- 
ish critics; he is conscious, too. that much of the con- 
tents of his papers can be interesting only in the eyes 
of American readers. It was not his intention, there- 
fore, to have them reprinted in this country. He has, 
however, observed several of them from time to time 
inserted in periodical works of merit, and has under- 
stood, that it was probable they would be republished 
in a collective form. He has been induced, therefore, 
to revise and bring them forward himself, that they 
may at least come correctly before the public. Should 



THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 

I am of this mind with Homer, that as tlie snaile that crept out 
of her shel was turned eflsoones into a toad, and thereby was forced 
to make a stoole to su on; so ttie traveller that str.igleth from his 
owne country is in a shrirt time transformed into so monstrous a 
shape, that he is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and 
to live where he can, not where he ^o\x\ii.—Lyty'^ Eiiphiies. 

I \v.\s always fond of visiting new scenes, and ob- 
serving strange characters and manners. Even when 
a mere°child I began my travels, and made many tours 
of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions 
of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, 
and the emolunient of the town crier. As I grew into 
boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. 
My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about 
the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with 
all its places famous in'historyor fable. I knew every 
spot where a murder or robbery had been committed, 
or a ghost seen. I visited the neighbouring villages, 
and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by not- 
ing their habits and customs, and conversing \vith 
their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long 
summer's day to the summit of the most distant hill, 
from whence! stretched my eye over many a mile of 
terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a 
globe I inhabited. 

This rambling propensity strengthened with my 
years. Books of voyages and travels became my 
passion, and in devouring their contents, I neglected 
the regular exercises of the school. How wistfully 
would^'l wander about the pier heads in fine weather, 
and watch the parting ships, bound to distant climes — 
with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessen- 
ing sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends 
of the earth ! 

Farther reading and thinking, though they brought 
this vague inclination into mote reasonable bounds, 
only se°rved to make it more decided. I visited va- 
rious parts of my own country ; and had I been merely 
influenced by a love of fine scenery, I should have felt 
little desire to seek elsewhere its gratification ; for on 
no country have the charms of nature been more prod- 
igally lavished. Her mighly lakes, like oceans of 
liquid silver; her mountains, with tlieir bright aijrial 
tints ; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility ; her 
tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; 
her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verd- 
ure ; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence 
to the ocean ; her trackless forests, where vegetation 
puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling 
with the magic ol summer clouds and glorious suri- 
shine ;— no, "never need an American look beyond his 
own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural 
scenery. 

But Europe held forth all the charms of storied and 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



poetical association. There were to be seen tlie mas- 
terpieces of art, the refinements of hijjlily cultivated 
societj-, the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local 
custom. My native country was full of youtliful 
promise ; Europe was rich in the accumulated treas- 
ures of age. Her very ruins told the history of times 
gone b)', and every mouldering stone was a clironicle. 
I longed to wander over the scenes of renowned 
acliievement — to tread, as it were, in the footsteps of 
antiquity — to loiter about the ruined castle — to medi- 
tate on the fallinijc tower — to escape, in short, from the 
commonplace realities of the present, and lose myself 
among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. 

I had. beside all this, an earnest desire to see the 
great men of the earth. We liave, it is true, our great 
men in America: not a city but has an ample share 
ol them. I have mingled among them in my time, and 
been almost withered by the shade into which they 
cast me; for there is nothing so baleful to a small man 
as the shade of a great one. particularly the great man 
of a city. But I was anxious to see the great men of 
Europe ; for I had read in the works of various phi- 
losophers, that all animals degenerated in America, 
and inan among the number. A great man of Europe, 
thought I, must therefore be as superior to a great 
man of America, as a peak of the .^Ips to a highland 
of the Hudson; and in this idea I was confirmed, by 
observing the comparative importance and swelling 
magnitude of many English travellers among us, who, 
I was assured, were very little people in their own 



country. I will visit this land of wonders, thought I, 
and see the gigantic race from wliich I am degenerated. 
It has been either my good or evil lot to have myj 
roving passion gratified. I have wandered tlirough 
difTerent countries, and witnessed many of the shifting: 
scenes of life. I cannot s.ay that I have studied thcni 
with the eye of a philosopher, but rather with the saun- 
tering gaze with which humble lovers of the pictur-! 
esque stroll from the window of one print-sliop to! 
another; caught sometimes by the dehneatlons of 
beauty, sometimes by the distortions of caricature, 1 
and sometimes by the loveliness of landscape. As iti 
is the fashion for modern tourists to travel pencil in 
hand, and bring home their portfolios filled with 
sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for tlie enter-' 
tainment of my friends. When, however, I look overl 
the hints and memorandums I have taken down fori 
the purpose, my heart almost fails me, at finding how 
my idle humour has led me aside from the great ob-i 
jecis studied by every regular traveller who would 
make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappoint- 
ment with an unlucky landscape-painter, who had 
travelled on the continent, but following the bent of 
his vagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks, and 
corners, and by-places. His sketch book wasaccoril- 
ingly crowded with cottages, and landscapes, and ob- 
scure ruins; but he had neglected to paint St. Peter's, 
or the Coliseum; the cascade of Terni, or the bay of 
Naples ; and had not a single glacier or volcano in 
his whole collection. 



THE VOYAGF. 



Ships, ships, I will descrie you 

Amidst the main, 
I will come and try you. 
What you are protecting, 
And projecting. 

What's your end and aim. 
One goes abroad for merchandise and trading. 
Another stays to keep his country from inv.iding, 
A third is coming home with rich and weaUhy lading, 
Hallo ! my fancle, whilher^wilt thou go ? 

Old Poem. 

To an Annerican visiting Europe, the long voyage 
he has to make is an excellent preparative. The 
temporary absence of worldly scenes and employ- 
ments produces a state of mind peculiarly fitted to 
receive new and vivid impressions. The vast space 
of waters that separates the hemispheres is like a 
blank page in existence. There is no gradual tran- 
sition by which, as in Europe, the features and pop- 
ulation of one country blend almost imperceptibly 
with those of another. From the moment you lose 
sight of the land you have left, all is vacancy, until 
you step on the opposite shore, and are launched at 
once into the bustle and novelties of another world. 

In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, 
and a connected succession of persons and incidents, 
that carry on the story of life, and lessen the effect 
of absence and separation. We drag, it is true, " a 
lengthening chain " at each remove of our pilgrim- 
age ; but the chain is unbroken; we can trace it 
back link by link ; and we feel that the last of them 
still grapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage 
severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being 
cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, 
and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes 
a gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us 
and our homes — a gulf, subject to teinpest, and fear, 
and uncertainty, that makes distance palpable, and 
return precarious. 

Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I 
saw the last blue line of my native land fade away 



like a cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had 
closed one volume of the world and its concerns, 
and had time for meditation, before 1 opened another. 
That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which 
contained all that was most dear to me in life ; what 
vicissitudes might occur in it — what changes might 
take place in me, before I should visit it again ! Who 
can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither he 
may be driven by the uncertain currents of exist- 
ence ; or when he may return ; or whether it ni.iv 
be ever his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood ^ 

I said, that at sea all is vacancy ; I should cornrt 
the expression. To one given to day dreaming;. i 
and fond of losing himself in reveries, a sea voyagcj 
is full of subjects for meditation ; but then they arc 
the wonders of the deep and of the air, and rath' i- 
tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. I 
delighted to loll over the quarter-railing or clitnb ii 
the main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours ti-. 
gether on the tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; — 
to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peering 
above the horizon ; fancy them some fairy realms, 
and people them with a creation of my own; — to 
watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling tluir 
silver volumes, as if to die away on those hapin 
shores. 

There was a delicious sensation of mingled secu- 
rity and awe with which I looked down, from iin 
giddy height, on the monsters of the deep at thr it 
uncouth gambols: shoals of porpoises tumbling about 
the bow of the ship; the grampus, slowly heaving 
his huge form above the surface ; or the ravenous 
shark, darting, like a spectre, through the bliit 
waters My imagination would conjure up all that 1 
had heard or read of the watery world beneath me : 
of the finny herds that roairi its fathomless valleys ; 
of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very 
foundations of the earth, and of those wild phantasms 
that swell the tales of fishermen and sailors. 

Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of 
the ocean, would be another theme of idle specula- 
tion. How interesting this fragment of a world, (I 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



3 



hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence ! What 
a glorious monument of human invention ; that has 
thus triumphed over wind and tvave ; has brought the 
ends of the world into communion ; has established 
an interchange of blessings, pouring into the steril 
regions of the north all the luxuries of the south ; has 
diffused the light of knowledge, and the charities of 
cultivated life ; and has thus bound together those 
scattered portions of the human race, between which 
nature seemed to have thrown an insuiTnountable 
barrier. 

We one day descried some shapeless object drift- 
ing at a distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the 
monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts at- 
tention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must 
have been completely wrecked ; for there were the 
remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew 
had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their 
being washed off by the waves. There was no trace 
by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. 
The wreck had evidently drifted about for many 
months ; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, 
and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, 
thought 1, is the crew ? Their struggle has long 
been over — they have gone down amidst the roar of 
the tempest — their bones lie whitening among the 
caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the 
waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell 
the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted 
after that ship ; what prayers offered up at the de- 
serted fireside of home ! How often has the mistress, 
the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to 
catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the 
deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety 
—anxiety into dread — and dread into despair ! Alas I 
not one memento shall ever return for love to 
cherish. All that shall ever be known, is, that she 
sailed from her port, " and was neverheard of more ! " 

The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to 
many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the 
case in the evening, when the weather, which had 
hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threaten- 
ing, and ga\'e indications of one of those sudden 
storms that will sometimes break in upon the serenity 
of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light 
of a lamp, in the cabin, that made the gloom more 
ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck and dis- 
aster. I was particularly struck with a short one 
related by the captain : 

" As I was once sailing," said he, " in a fine, stout 
ship, across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those 
heavy fogs that prevail in those parts rendered it im 
possible for us to see far a-head, even in the daytime ; 
but at night the weather was so thick that we could 
not distinguish any object at twice the length of the 
ship. I kept lights at the mast-heid, and a constant 
watch forward to look out for fishing smacks, which 
are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The 
wind was blowing a smacking breeze, and we were 
going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly 
the watch gave the alarm of ' a sail a-head ! ' — it was 
scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was 
a small schooner, at anchor, vvith a broadside toward 
us. The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to 
hoist a light. We struck her just a-mid-ships. The 
force, the size, the weight of our vessel, bore her 
down below the waves ; we passed over her and 
were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck 
was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or 
three half-naked wretches, rushing from her cabin ; 
they just started from their beds to be swallowed 
shrieking by the waves. I heard their drovvning cr}' 
mingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to 
our ears, swept us out of all farther hearing. I shall 
never forget that cry ! It was some time before we 



could put the ship about, she was under such head- 
way. We returned as nearly as we could guess, to 
the place where the smack had anchored. We 
cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. 
We fired signal-guns, and listened if we might hear 
the halloo of any survivors; but all was silent — we 
never saw or heard any thing of them more." 

I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to 
all my fine fancies. The storm increased with the 
night. The sea was lashed into tremendous confu- 
sion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing 
waves and brcken surges. Deep called unto deep. 
At times the black volume of clouds overhead seemed 
rent asunder by flashes of lightnmg that quivered 
along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding 
darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed 
over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and 
prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the 
ship staggering and plunging among these roaring 
caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her 
balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards 
would dip into the water ; her bow was almost 
buried beneath the waves. .Sometimes an impend- 
ing surge appeared ready to overvvhelm her, and 
nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm pre- 
served her from the shock. 

When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still 
followed me. The whistling of the wind through the 
rigging sounded like funereal wailings. The creak- 
ing of the masts ; the straining and groaning of bulk- 
heads, as the ship laboured in the weltering sea, were 
frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the 
side of the ship, and roaring in my verj' ear, it seemed 
as if Death were raging round this floating prison, 
seeking for his prey : the mere starting of a nail, the 
yawning of a seam, might give him entrance. 

A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favour- 
ing breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to 
flight. It is impossible to resist the gladdening in- 
fluence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When 
the ship is decked out in all her canvas, every sail 
swelled, and careering gaily over the curling waves, 
how lofty, how gallant, she appears — how she seems 
to lord it over the deep ! I might fill a volume with 
the reveries of a sea voyage ; for with me it is almost 
a continual reverie — but it is time to get to shore. 

It was a fine sunny morning when tne thrilling cry 
of "land! "was gi\en from the mast-head. None 
but those who have experienced it can form an idea 
of the delicious throng of sensations which rush into 
an American's bosom when he first comes in sight of 
Europe. There is a volume of associations with the 
very nam.e. It is the land of promise, teeming with 
everything of which his childhood has heard, or on 
which his studious years have pondered. 

From that time, until the moment of arrival, it was 
all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that 
prowled like guardian giants along the coast ; the 
headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel ; 
the Welsh mountains, towering into the clouds ; all 
were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up 
the Mersey, 1 reconnoitred the shores with a tele- 
scope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, 
with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plots. I 
saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with 
ivy, and the taper spire of a village church rising from 
the brow of a neighbouring hill — all were characteris- 
tic of England. 

The tide and wind were so favourable, that the ship 
was enabled to come at once to the pier. It was 
thronged with people ; some idle lookers-on, others 
eager expectants of friends or relatives. I could dis- 
tinguish the merchant to whom the ship was con- 
signed. I knew him by his calculating brow and 
restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; 



'4 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and 
fro, a small space having been accorded him by the 
crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. 
There were repeated cheerings and salutations in- 
terchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends 
happened to recognize each other. 1 particularly 
noticed one young woman of humble dress, but in- 
teresting demeanour. She was leaning forward from 
among the crowd ; her eye hurried over the ship as 
it nearcd the shore, to catch some wished-for coun- 
tenance. She seemed disappointed and agitated ; 
when I heard a laint voice call her name. — It was 
from a poor sailor who had been ill all the voyage, 
and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. 
When the weather was fine, his messmates had 
spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, but 
of late his illness had so increased that he had taken 
to his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he 
might see his wife before he died. He had been 
helped on deck as we came up the river, and was 
now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance 
so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder 
even the eye of affection did not recognize him. But 
at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on his 
leatures ; it read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow ; 
she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and 
stood wringing them in silent agony. 

All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of 
acquaintances— the greetings of friends — the consul- 
tations of men of business. I alone was solitar)- and 
idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. 
I stepped upon the land of my forefathers — but felt 
that I was a stranger in the land. 



ROSCOE. 



In the service of mankind to be 

A guardian god below ; still to employ 
The mind's brave ardour in heroic aims, 
Such as may raise us o'er the grovellins held. 
And make us shine for ever — that is life. 

Tho.mso.v. 

One of the first places to which a stranger is taken 
in Liverpool, is the Athenaeum. It is established on 
a liberal and judicious plan ; it contains a good li- 
brary, and spacious reading-room, and is the great 
literary resort of the place. Go there at what hour 
you may, you are sure to find it filled with grave- 
looking personages, deeply absorbed in the study of 
newspapers. 

As I was once visiting this haunt of the learned, 
my attention was attracted to a person just entering- 
the room. He was advanced in life, tall, and of a 
form that might once have been commanding, but it 
was a little bowed by time — perhaps by care. He 
had a noble Roman style of countenance ; a head 
that would have pleased a painter ; and though some 
slight furrows on his brow showed that wasting 
thought had been busy there, yet his eye still beamed 
with the fire of a poetic soul. There was something 
in his whole appearance that indicated a being of a 
different order from the bustling race around him. 

I inquired his name, and was informed that it was 
RoscoE. I drew back with an involuntary feeling 
of veneration. This, then, was an author of celeb'^ 
rity ; this was one of those men whose voices have 
gone forth to the ends of the earth; with whose 
minds I have communed even in the solitudes of 
America. Accustomed, as we are in our country, 
to know European writers only by their works, wt; 
cannot conceive of them, as of other men, engrossed 



by trivial or sordid pursuits, and jostling with the 
crowd of common minds in the dusty paths of life. 
They pass before our imaginations like superior 
beings, radiant with the emanations of their own 
genius, and surrounded by a halo of literary glory. 

To find, therefore, the elegant historian of the Me-ii 
dici mingling among the busy sons of traffic, at first 
shocked my poetical ideas ; but it is from the very 
circumstances and situation in which he has been 
placed, that Mr. Roscoe derives his highest claims 
to admiration. It is interesting to notice how some 
minds seem almost to create themselves ; springing 
up under every disadvantage, and working their 
solitary but irresistible way through a thousand ob- 
stacles. Nature seems to delight in disappointing 
the assiduities of art, with which it would rear legit- 
imate dulness to maturity ; and to glory in the vigour 
and luxuriance ot her chance productions. She scat- 
ters the seeds of genius to the winds, and though 
some may perish among the stony places of the 
world, and some be choked by the thorns and bram- 
bles of early adversity, yet others will now and then 
strike root even in the clefts of the rock, struggle 
bravely up into sunshine, and spread over their steril 
birth-place all the beauties of vegetation. 

Such has been the case with Mr. Roscoe. Born 
in a place apparently ungenial to the growth of liter- 
ary talent ; in the very market-place of trade ; with- 
out fortune, family connections, or patronage ; sel 
prompted, self-sustained, and almost self-taught, he 
has conquered every obstacle, achieved his way tol 
eminence, and having become one of the ornaments 
of the nation, has turned the whole force of his tal- 
ents and influence to advance and embellish his na- 
tive town. 

Indeed, it is this last trait in his character which 
has given him the greatest interest in my eyes, and 
induced me particularly to point him out to my coun- 
tr)-men. Eminent as are his literary merits, he is but 
one among the many distinguished authors of this 
intellectual nation. They, however, in general, live 
but for their own fame, or their own pleasures. 
Their private history presents no lesson to the world, 
or, perhaps, a humiliating one of human frailty and 
inconsistency. At best, they are prone to steal away 
from the bustle and commonplace of busy existence ; 
to indulge in the selfishness of lettered ease ; and to 
revel in scenes of mental, but exclusive enjoyment. 

Mr. Roscoe, on the contrary, has claimed none of 
the accorded privileges of talent. He has shut him- 
self up in no garden of thought, nor elysium of 
fancy; but has gone forth into the highways and 
thoroughfares of life, he has planted bowers by the 
way-side, for the refreshment of the pilgrim and the 
sojourner, and has opened pure fountains,- where the 
labouring man may turn aside from the dust and heat 
of the day, and drink of the living streams of knowl 
edge. There is a " daily beauty in his life," on which 
mankind .may meditate, and grow better. It exhibits 
no lofty and almost useless, because inimitable, ex- 
ample of excellence ; but presents a picture of active, 
yet simple and imitable virtues, which are within 
every man's reach, but which, unfortunately, are not 
exercised by many, or this world would be a para- 
dise. 

But his private life is peculiarly worthy the atten- 
tion of the citizens of our young and busy country, 
where literature and the elegant arts must grow up 
side by side with the coarser plants of daily necessity ; 
and must depend for their culture, not on the exclu- 
sive devotion of time and wealth ; nor the quickening 
rays of titled patronage ; but on hours and seasons 
snatched from the pursuit of woridly interests, by 
intelligent and public-spirited individuals. 

He has shown how much may be done for a place 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



n hours of leisure by one master spirit, and how 
:ompIetely it can give its own impress to surrounding 
jbjects. Lil<e his own Lorenzo De Medici, on whom 
le seems to have fixed his eye, as on a pure model of 
intiquity, he has interwoven the history of his life 
vith the histor\- of his native town, and has made the 
oundations of its fame the monuments of his virtues. 
.Vherever you go, in Liverpool, you perceive traces 
if his footsteps in all that is elegant and liberal. He 
ound the tide of wealth Howing merely in the chan- 
lels of traffic ; he has diverted from it invigorating 
ills to refresli the gardens of literature. By his own 
xample and constant exertions, he has effected that 
inion of commerce and the intellectual pursuits, so 
loquently recommended in one of his latest writings;* 
nd has practically proved how beautifully they may 
le brought to harmonize, and to benefit each other, 
he noble institutions for literary and scientific pur- 
poses, which reflect such credit on Liverpool, and 
re giving such an impulse to the public mind, have 
lostly been originated, and have all been effectively 
romoted, by Mr. Roscoe : and when we consider the 
apidly increasing opulence and magnitude of that 
Dvvn, which promises to vie in commercial importance 
,'ith the metropolis, it will be perceived that in 
wakening an ambition of mental improvement 
mong its inhabitants, he has effected a great benefit 
3 the cause of British literature. 
In America, we know Mr. Roscoe only as the 
uthor — in Liverpool, he is spoken of as the banker ; 
nd 1 was told of his having been unfortunate in busi- 
ess. I could not pity him, as I heard some rich 
len do. 1 considered him far above the reach of 
ly pity. Those who live only for the world, and in 
le world, may be cast down by the frowns of ad- 
ersity ; but a man like Roscoe is not to be overcome 
y the reverses of fortune. They do but drive him 
1 upon the resources of his own mind ; to the supe- 
ior society of his own thoughts ; which the best of 
len are apt sometimes to neglect, and to roam 
bread in search of less worthy associates. He is 
ndependent of the world around him. He lives with 
ntiquity, and with posterity : with antiquity, in the 
weet communion of studious retirement ; and with 
josterity, in the generous aspirings after future re- 
lown. The solitude of such a mind is its state of 
lighest enjovment. It is then visited by those ele- 
ated meditations which are the proper aliment of 
loble souls, and are, like manna, sent from heaven, 
n the wilderness of this world. 

While my feelings were yet alive on the subject, 
t was my fortune to light on farther traces of Mr. 
\oscoe. I was riding out with a gentleman, to view 
he environs of Liverpool, when he turned off, 
hrough a gate, into some ornamented grounds. After 
'iding a short distance, we came to a spacious man- 
iion of freestone, built in the Grecian style. It was not 
n the purest taste, yet it had an air of elegance, and 
he situation was delightful. A fine lawn sloped away 
rom it, studded with clumps of trees, so disposed as 
.0 break a soft fertile countiy into a variety of land- 
icapes. The Mersey was seen winding a broad quiet 
sheet of water through an expanse of green meadow 
and ; while the Welsh mountains, blending with 
:louds, and melting into distance, bordered the 
aorizon. 

This was Roscoe's favourite residence during the 
:!ays of his prosperity. It had been the seat of ele- 
gant hospitality and literary refinement. The house 
was now silent and deserted. I saw the windows of 
the study, which looked out upon the soft scenery I 
have mentioned. The windows were closed — the 
library was gone. Two or three ill-favoured beings 



* Address en Ihe opening of the Liverpool Institution. 



were loitering about the place, whom my fancy pict- 
ured into retainers of the law. It was like visiting 
some classic fountain that had once welled its pure 
waters in a sacred shade, but finding it dry and dusty, 
with the lizard and the toad brooding over the shat- 
tered marbles. 

I inquired after the fate of Mr. Roscoe's library, 
which had consisted of scarce and foreign books, 
from many of which he had drawn the materials for 
his Italian histories. It had passed under the ham- 
mer of the auctioneer, and was dispersed about the 
country. 

The good people of the vicinity thronged like 
wreckers to get some part of the noble vessel that 
had been driven on shore. Did such a scene admit 
of ludicrous associations, we might imagine some- 
thing whimsical in this strange irruption into the re- 
gions of learning. Pigmies rummaging the armoury 
of a giant, and contending for the possession of 
weapons which they could not wield. We might 
picture to ourselves some knot of speculators, debat- 
ing with calculating brow over the quaint binding 
and illuminated margin of an obsolete author ; or 
the air of intense, but baffled sagacity, with which 
some successful purchaser attempted to dive into the 
black-letter bargain he had secured. 

It is a beautiful incident in the story of Mr. Ros- 
coe's misfortunes, and one which cannot fail to in- 
terest the studious mind, that the parting with his 
books seems to have touched upon his tenderest feel- 
ings, and to have been the only circumstance that 
could provoke the notice of his muse. The scholar 
onlv knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, com- 
panions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become 
in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly 
turns to dross around us, these only retain their 
steady value. When friends grow cold, and the con- 
verse of intimates languishes into vapid civility and 
commonplace, these only continue the unaltered 
countenance of happier days, and cheer us with that 
true friendship which never deceived hope, nor de- 
serted sorrow. 

I do not wish to censure; but, surely, if the peo- 
ple of Liverpool had been properly sensible of what 
was due to Mr. Roscoe and to themselves, his library 
would never have been sold. Good worldly reasons 
may, doubtless, be given for the circumstance, which 
it would be difficult to combat with others that might 
seem merely fanciful ; but it certainly appears to me 
such an opportunitv as seldom occurs, of cheering a 
noble mind stniggling under misfortunes by one of 
the most delicate, but most expressive tokens of 
public sympathy. It is difficult, however, to estimate 
a man of genius properly who is daily before our 
eyes. He becomes mingled and confounded with 
other men. His great qualities lose their novelty, 
and we become too familiar with the common mate- 
rials which form the basis even of the loftiest char- 
acter. Some of Mr. Roscoe's townsmen may regard 
him merely as a man of business; others as a poli- 
tician ; all find him engaged like themselves in ordi- 
nary occupations, and surpassed, perhaps, by them- 
selves on some points of worldly wisdom. Even that 
amiable and unostentatious simplicity of character, 
which gives the name less grace to real excellence, 
may cause him to be undervalued by some coarse 
miiids, who do not know that true worth is always 
void of glare and pretension. But the man of letters 
who speaks of Liverpool, speaks of it as the resi- 
dence of Roscoe. — The intelligent traveller who vis- 
its it, inquires where Roscoe is to be seen. — He is 
the literary landmark of the place, indicating its ex- 
istence to the distant scholar. — He is like Pompey's 
column at Alexandria, towering alone in classic 
dignity. 



6 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The following sonnet, addressed by Mr. Roscoe to 
his books, on parting- with them, is alluded to in the 
preceding article. If any thing can add effect to the 
pure feeling and elevated thought here displayed, 
it is the conviction, that the whole is no effusion 
of fancy, but a faithful transcript from the writer's 
heart : 

TO MY BOOKS. 

As one, who, destined from his friends to part, 
Regrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile 
To share tlieir converse, and enjoy their smile, 

And tempers, as he may, affiiction's dart ; 

Thus, loved associates, chiefs of elder art, 

Teachers of wisdom, who could once beguile 
My tedious hours, and lighten every toil, 

I now resign you ; nor with fainting heart ; 

For pass a few short years, or days, or hours. 
And happier seasons may their dawn unfold, 
And all your sacred fellowship restore ; 
When freed from earth, unlimited its powers, 

Mind shall with mind direct communion hold, 
And kindred spirits meet to part no more. 



THE WIFE. 



The treasures of the deep are not so precious 
As are the concealed comforts of a man 
Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air 
Of blessings, when I come but near the house. 
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth — 
The violet bed 's not sweeter ! 

MiDDLETON. 

I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude 
with which woinen sustain the most overwhelming 
reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break 
down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the 
dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer 
sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their 
character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. 
Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft 
and tender female, who had been all weakness and 
dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness, 
while threading the prosperous paths of lite, suddenly 
rising in mental force to be the comforter and sup- 
porter of her husband under misfortune, and abiding, 
with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of 
adversity. 

As the vine, which has long twined its graceful 
foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sun- 
shine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the 
thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, 
and bind up its shattered boughs; so is it beautifully 
ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere 
dependant and ornament of man in his happier hours, 
should be his stay and solace when smitten with sud- 
den calamity ; winding herself into the rugged re- 
cesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the droop- 
ing head, and binding up the broken heart. 

I was once congratulating a friend, who had around 
him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest 
affection. " I can wish you no better lot," said he, 
with enthusiasm, "than to have a wife and children. 
If you are prosperous, there they are to share your 
prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort 
you." And, indeed, I have oliserved that a married 
man falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve 
his situation in the world than a single one ; partly, 
because he is more stimulated to exertion by the ne- 
cessities of the helpless and beloved beings who de- 
pend upon him for subsistence ; but chiefly, because 
his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic en- 
dearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding, 
that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, 
yet there is still a little world of love at home, of 



which he is the monarch. Whereas, a single man is 
apt to run to waste and self-neglect ; to fancy him- 
self lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to 
ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an in- 
habitant. 

These observations call to mind a little domestic 
story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate 
friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accom- 
plished girl, who had been brought up in the midst 
of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, 
but that of my friend was ample ; and he delighted 
in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant 
pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes 
and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about, the 
sex. — " Her life," said he, " shall be like a fairy tale." 

The very difference in their characters produced 
a harmonious combmalion ; he was of a romantic, 
and somewhat serious cast ; she was all life and 
gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture 
with which he would gaze upon her in company, of 
which her sprightly powers made her the delight ; 
and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would 
still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favour 
and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her 
slender form contrasted finely with his tall, manly 
person. The fond confiding air with which she 
looked up to him seemed to call forth a flush of tri- 
umphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he 
doated on his lovely burthen for its very helplessness. 
Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path 
of early and well-suited marriage with a fairer pros- 
pect of felicity. 

It was the misfortune of my friiend, however, to 
have embarked his property in large speculations ; 
and he had not been married many months, when, 
by a succession of sudden disasters it was swept 
from him, and he found himself reduced to almost 
penury. For a time he kept his situation to himself, 
and went about with a haggard countenance, and a 
breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony ; 
and what rendered it more insupportable was the 
necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his 
wife ; for he could not bring himself to overwhelm 
her with the news. She saw, however, with the 
quick eyes of affection, that all was not well with 
him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, 
and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid 
attempts at cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprightly 
powers and tender blandishments to win him back 
to happiness ; but she only drove the arrow deeper 
into his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, 
the more torturing was the thought that he was soon 
to make her wretched. A little while, thought he, 
and the smile will vanish from that cheek — the song 
will die away from those lips — the lustre of those 
eyes will be quenched with sorrow — and the happy 
heart which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be 
weighed down, like mine, by the cares and miseries 
of the world. 

At length he came to me one day, and related his 
whole situation in a tone of the deepest despair. 
When I had heard him through, I inquired, " Does 
your wife know all this } " At the question he burst 
into an agony of tears. "For God's sake !" cried 
he, " if you have any pity on me, don't mention my 
wife ; It is the thought of her that drives me almost 
to madness ! " 

" And why not ? " said I. " She must know it 
sooner or later : you cannot keep it long from her, 
and the intelligence may break upon her in a more 
startling manner than if imparted by yourself; for 
the accents of those we love soften the harshest 
tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself of the 
comforts of her sympathy ; and not merely that, but 
also endangering the only bond that can keep hearts 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



together — an unreserved community of thought and 
feeling-. She will soon perceive that something is 
secretly preying upon your mind ; and true love will 
not brook reserve: it feels undervalued and outraged, 
when even the sorrows of those it loves are con- 
cealed from it." 

" Oh, but my friend ! to think what a blow I am 
to give to all her future prospects— how I am to 
strike her very soul to the earth, by telling her that 
her husband is a beggar ! — that she is to forego all 
the elegancies of life — all the pleasures of society — 
to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity ! To 
tell her that I have dragged her down from the 
sphere in which she might have continued to move 
in constant brightness — the light of every eye — the 
admiration of every heart ! — How can she bear pov- 
erty .' She has been brought up in all the refine- 
ments of opulence. How can she bear neglect ? 
Slie has been the idol of society. Oh, it will break 
her heart — it will break her heart ! " 

I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its 
flow; for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his 
paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into 
moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and 
urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. 
He shook his head mournfully, but positively. 

"But how are you to keep it from her? It is 
necessary she should know it, that you may take the 
steps proper to the alteration of your circumstances. 
You must change your style of living — nay," observ- 
ing a pang to pass across his countenance, "din't 
let that afflict you. I am sure you have never placed 
your happiness in outward show — you have yet 
friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse 
of you for being less splendidly lodged : and surely it 
does not require a palace to be happy with Mary — " 
" I could be happy with her," cried he, convulsively, 
" in a hovel ! — I could go down with her into poverty 
and the dust ! — I could — I could — God bless her ! — 
God bless her ! " cried he, bursting into a transport 
of grief and tenderness. 

".■\nd believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, 
and grasping him warmly by the hand, " believe me, 
she can be the same with you. Ay, more : it will 
be a source of pride and triumph to her — it will 
call forth all the latent energies and fervent sympa- 
thies of her nature ; for she will rejoice to prove that 
she loves you for yourself There is in every true 
woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies 
dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity ; but 
which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark 
hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of 
his bosom is — no man knows what a ministering 
angel she is — until he has gone with her through the 
fierv trials of this world " 

There was something in the earnestness of my 
manner, and the figurative style of my language, that 
caught the excited imagination of Leslie. I knew 
the auditor I had to deal with ; and following up the 
impression I had made, I finished by persuading him 
to go home and unburthen his sad heart to his wife. 

I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I 
felt some little solicitude for the result. Who can 
calculate on the fortitude of one whose whole life has 
been a round of pleasures.'' Her gay spirits might 
revolt at the dark, downward path of low humility, 
suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to 
the sunny regions in which they had hitherto revelled. 
Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by 
so many galling mortifications, to which, in other 
ranks, it is a stranger. — In short, I could not meet 
Leslie, the next morning, without trepidation. He 
had made the disclosure. 

" And how did she bear it ? " 

" Like an angel ! It seemed rather to be a relief 



to her mind, for she threw her arms round my neck, 
and asked if this was all that had lately made me 
unhappy. — But, poor girl," added he, "she cannot 
realize the change we must undergo. She has no 
idea of poverty but in the abstract : she has only 
read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She 
feels as yet no privation : she suffers no loss of ac- 
customed conveniences nor elegancies. When we 
come practically to experience its sordid cares, its 
paltry wants, its petty humiliations — then will be the 
real trial." 

" But," said I, " now that you have got over the 
severest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner 
you let the world into the secret the better. The 
disclosure may be mortifying ; but then it is a single 
miser}', and soon over ; whereas you otherwise suffer 
it, in anticipation, every hour in the day. It is not 
poverty, so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined 
man — the struggle between a proud mind and an 
empty purse — the keeping up a hollow show that 
must soon come to an end. Have the courage to ap- 
pear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharpest 
sting." On this point I found Leslie perfectly pre- 
pared. He had no false pride himself, and as to 
his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their 
altered fortunes. 

Some days atterwards, he called upon me in the 
evening. He had disposed of his dwelling-house, 
and taken a small cottage in the country, a few miles 
from town. He had been busied all day in sending 
out furniture. The new establishment required few 
articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the 
splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, 
excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too 
closely associated with the idea of herself; it be- 
longed to the little story of their loves; for some of 
the sweetest moments of their courtship were those 
when he had leaned over that instrument, and 
listened to the melting tones of her voice. I could 
not but smde at this instance of romantic gallantry 
in a doating husband. 

He was now going out to the cottage, where his 
wife had been all day, superintending its arrange- 
ment. My feelings had become strongly interested in 
the progress of this family story, and as it was a fine 
evening, I offered to accompany him. 

He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and 
as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. 

" Poor Mary ! " at length broke, with a heavy sigh, 
from his lips. 

" And what of her," asked I, " has any thing hap- 
pened to her.' " 

" What," said he, darting an impatient glance, " is 
it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation — to 
be caged in a miserable cottage — to be ol)liged to 
toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched 
habitation ? " 

" Has she then repined at the change ? " 

" Repined ! she has been nothing but sweetness 
and good humour. Indeed, she seems in better 
spirits than I have ever known her ; she has been to 
me all love, and tenderness, and comfort ! " 

" Admirable girl ! " exclaimed I. " You call your- 
self poor, my friend ; you never were so rich — you 
never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you 
possessed in that woman." 

" Oh ! but my friend, if this first meeting at the 
cottage were over, I think I could then be comfort- 
able. But this is her first day of real experience : 
she has been introduced into an humble dwelling — 
she has been employed all day in arranging its mis- 
erable equipments — she has for the first time known 
the fatigues of domestic employment — she has for 
the first time looked around her on a home destitute 
of every thing elegant — almost of every thing con- 



8 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



venient ; and may now be sitting down, exiiausted 
and spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future 
poverty." 

There was a degree of probability in this picture 
that I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. 
After turning from the main road, up a narrow 
lane, so thickly shaded by forest trees as to give it a 
complete air of seclusion, we came in sight of the 
cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance 
lor the most pastoral poet ; and yet it had a pleasing 
rural look. A wild vine had overrun one end with a 
prolusion of foliage ; a few trees threw their branches 
gracefully over it ; and I observed several pots of 
flowers tastefully disposed about the door, and on 
the grass-plot in front. A small wicket-gate opened 
upon a footpath that wound through some shrubbery 
to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the 
sound of music — Leslie grasped my arm ; we paused 
and listened. It was Mary's voice, singing, in a style 
of the most touching simplicity, a little air of which 
her husband was peculiarly foiid. 

I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He step- 
ped forward, to hear more distinctly. His step made 
a noise on the gravel-walk. A bright beautiful face 
glanced out at the window, and vanished— a light 
footstep was heard— and Mary came tripping fortli 
to meet us. She was in a pretty rural dress of 
white ; a tew wild flowers were twisted in her fine 
hair ; a fresh bloom was on her cheek ; her whole 
countenance beamed with smiles— I had never seen 
her look so lovely. 

" My dear George," cried she, " I am so glad you 
are come ; I have been watching and watching for 
you ; and running down the lane, and looking out 
for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree 
behind the cottage; and I've been gathering some 
of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you 
are fond of them— and we have such excellent cream 
—and every thing is so sweet and still here.— Oh ! " 
said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up 
brightly in his face, " Oh, we shall be so happy ! " 

Poor Leslie was overcome.— He caught her to his 
bosom— he folded his arms round her— he kissed 
her again and again— he could not speak, but the 
tears gushed into his eyes ; and he has often assured 
me, that though the world has since gone prosper- 
ously with him, and his life has indeed been a happy 
one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more 
exquisite felicity. 



established ; and it is now admitted into all his(oric.iI 
collections, as a book of unquestionable anthorily. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publica- 
tion of his work, and now, that he is dead and gone, 
it cannot do much harm to his memory, to sai' that 
his time might have been much better employed in 
weightier labours. He, however, was apt to ride his 
hobby his own w.ay ; and tliough it did now and then 
kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbours, 
and grieve the spirit of some friends for whom lie felt 
the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and 
follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in an- 
ger,"* and it begins to be suspected, that he never 
intended to injure or offend. But however his mem- 
ory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear 
among many folk, whose good opinion is well worth 
having; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who 
have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their 
new-year cakes, and have thus given him a chance for 
immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a 
Waterloo medal, or a Queen Anne's farthing.] 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 

A POSTHU.MOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKER- 
BOCKER. 



Ey Woden, God of Savons, 

From whence comes Wcnsday. lti.it is Wodensday 

1 ruih is .1 thing th.it ever I will keep ' 

Unto thyike day in which I creep into 

My .sepulchre — 

Cartwricht. 



[The following Tale was found among the papers 
of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, au old gentle- 
man of New-York, who was very curious in the Dutch 
Histtjry of the province, and the manners of the de- 
scendants from its primitive settlers. His historical 
researches, however, did not lie so much among books 
as among men ; for the former are lamentably scanty 
on his favourite topics; whereas he found 'the old 
burghers, and still more, their wives, rich in that le- 
gendary lore, so invaluable to true history When- 
ever therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch 
family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farm-house 
under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a 
-little clasped volume of bl.ack-letter, and studied it 
•with the zeal of a bookworm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of 
ithe province, during the reign of the Dutch governors 
'Which he published some years since. There have 
;been various opinions as to the literary character of 
ihis work and to tell the truth, it is not a whit better 
uhan It should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous 
:accuracy, winch, indeed, w.as a little questioned, on 
Ills first appearance, but has since been completely 



Whoever has made a vovage up the Hudson, 
must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are 
a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian 
family, and are seen away to the west of the river, 
swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the 
surrounding country. Every change of season, e\ery 
change of weather, indeed every hour of the day, 
produces some change in the magical hues and 
shapes of these mountains ; and they are regarded 
by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect ba- 
rometers. When the weather is fair and settled, 
they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their 
bold outlines on the clear evening sky ; but some- 
times, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, 
they will gather a hood of gray vapours about their 
summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, 
will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 

At the foot of these faiiy mountains, the voyager 
may have descried the light smoke curling up from 
a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among the 
trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt 
away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. 
It is a little village of great antiquity, having been 
founded by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early 
times of the province, just about the beginning of 
the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant (may 
he rest in peace !^ and there were some of the houses 
of the original settlers standing within a few years, 
built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, 
having latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted 
with weathercocks. 

In that same village, and in one of these very 
houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly 
time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived many 
years since, while the countrv was )et a province of 
Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow, of the 
name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of 
the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the 



,Z V"^' (/""i^L^?""".' discourse of G. C. Verplanck, Esq., before 
the New-York Historical Society. h . "= " >- 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



9 



chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accom- 
panied him to the siege of fort Christina. He in- 
herited, however, but Httle of the martial character 
of his ancestors. I have observed tliat he was a 
simple good-natured man ; he was moreover a kind 
neighbour, and an obedient henpecked husband. 
Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing 
that meekness of spirit which gained him such uni- 
versal popularity ; for those men are most apt to be 
obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under 
the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, 
doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the 
fiery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a curtain 
lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for 
teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. 
A termagant wife may, therefore, in some respects, 
be considered a tolerable blessing ; and if so. Rip 
Van Winkle was thrice blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great favourite among 
all the good wives of the village, who, as usual with 
the amiable se.x, took his part in all family squabbles, 
and never failed, whenever they talked those matters 
over in their evening gossipings, to lay all the 
blame on Dame Van Winkle. The chddren of the 
village, too, would shout with joy whenever he ap- 
proached. He assisted at their sports, made their 
playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot mar- 
bles, and told them long stories of ghosts', witches, 
and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the 
village, he was surrounded by a troop of them hang- 
ing on his skirts, clambering on his back, and play- 
ing a thousand tricks on him with impunity ; and 
not a dog would bark at him throughout the neigh- 
bourhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was an in- 
superable aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. 
Jt could not be from the want of assiduity or perse- 
verance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod 
as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all 
day without a murmur, even though he should not 
be encouraged by a single nibble. He would carry 
a fowling-piece on his shoulder, for hours together, 
trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill 
and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild 
pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neigh- 
bour even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost 
man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, 
or building stone fences. The women of the village, 
too, used to emfiloy him to run their errands, and to 
do such little odd jobs as their less obliging hus- 
bands would not do for them ; — in a word, Rip was 
ready to attend to any body's business but his own ; 
but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in 
order, he found it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on 
his farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of 
ground in the whole country ; every thing about it 
went wrong, and would go wrong in spite of him. 
His fences were continually falling to pieces ; his 
cow would either go astray, or get among the cab- 
bages ; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his 
fields than any where else ; the rain always made a 
point of setting in just as he had some out-door 
work to do ; so that though his patrimonial estate 
had dwindled away under his management, acre by 
acre, until there was little more left than a mere 
patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the 
worst conditioned farm in the neighbourhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if 
they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin 
begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the 
habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was 
generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's 
heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off galli- 
gaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with 



one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad 
weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy 
mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take 
the world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever 
can be got with least thought or trouble, and would 
rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If 
left to himself, he would have whistled life away, in 
perfect contentment ; but his wife kept continually 
dinning in his ears about his idleness, his careless- 
ness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. 

Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was inces- 
santly going, and every thing he said or did was sure 
to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip 
had but one way of replying to all lectures of the 
kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a 
habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, 
cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, 
always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that 
he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the 
outside of the house — the only side which, in truth, 
belongs to a henpecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, 
who was as much henpecked as his master ; for 
Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions 
in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil 
eye, as the cause of his master's going so often 
astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an 
honourable dog, he was as courageous an animal as 
ever scoured the woods — but what courage can with- 
stand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a 
woman's tongue .-' The moment Wolf entered the 
house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, 
or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a 
gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame 
Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick 
or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping pre- 
cipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Win- 
kle, as years of matrimony rolled on : a tart temper 
never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the 
only edge tool that grow> keener with constant use. 
For a long while he used to console himself, when 
driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual 
club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle per- 
sonages of the village, which held its sessions on a 
bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund 
portrait of his majesty George the Third. Here they 
used to sit in the shade, of a long lazy summer's day, 
talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless 
sleepy stories about nothing. But it would have been 
worth any statesman's money to have heard the pro- 
found discussions which sometimes took place, when 
by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands, 
from some passing traveller. How solemnly they 
would listen to the contents, as drawled out by Der- 
rick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned 
little man, who was not to be daunted by the most 
gigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they 
would deliberate upon public events some months 
alter they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely con- 
trolled bv Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, 
and landlord of the inn, at the door of which he took 
his seat from morning till night, just moving suffi- 
ciently to avoid the sun, and keep in the shade of a 
large tree ; so that the neighbours could tell the hour 
by his movements as accurately as by a sun-dial. It 
is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked 
his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however, (tor 
every great man has his adherents,) perfectly under- 
stood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. 
When any thing that was read or related displeased 
him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, 
and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs ; 



10 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly 
and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, 
and sometimes talcing the pipe from his mouth, and 
letting the I'ragrant vapour curl about his nose, would 
gravely nod his head in token of perfect approbation. 

From even this strong hold the unlucky Rip was 
at length routed by his termagant wife, who would 
suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the assem- 
blage, and call the members all to nought ; nor was 
that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, 
sacred from 'he daring tongue of this terrible virago, 
who charged him outright with encouraging her hus- 
band in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, 
and his only alternative to escape from the labour of 
the farm and the clamour of his wife, was to take 
gun in hand, and stroll away into the woods. Here 
he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, 
and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with 
whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecu- 
tion. " Poor Wolf," he would say, " thy mistress leads 
thee a dog's life of it ; but never mind, my lad. 
whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand 
by thee ! " Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully 
in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily 
believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his 
heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal 
day. Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the 
highest parts of the Kaatskill mountains. He was 
after his favourite sport of squirrel-shooting, and the 
still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the re- 
ports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw 
himself, late m the afternoon, on a green knoll cov- 
ered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow 
of a precipice. From an opening between the trees, 
he could overlook all the lower country for manv a 
mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the 
lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its 
silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a 
purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and 
there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing 
itself in the blue highlands. 

On the other side he locked down into a deep 
mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom 
filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and 
scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting 
sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene ; 
evening was gradually advancing; the mountains 
began to throw their long blue shadows over the 
valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long before he 
could reach the village ; and he heaved a heavv sigh 
when he thought ot encountering the terrors of Dame 
Van Winkle. 

As he was about to descend he heard a voice from 
a distance hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van 
Winkle I " He looked around, but could see noth- 
ing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the 
mountain. He thought his fancy must have de- 
ceived him, and turned again to descend, when he 
heard the same cry ring through the still evening 
air, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! "—at the 
same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a 
low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fear- 
fully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague ap- 
prehension stealing over him : he looked anxiously 
in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure 
slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under''the 
weight of something he carried on his back. He 
was surprised to see any human being in this lonely 
a-nd unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some 
one of the neighbourhood in need of his assistance, 
he hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at 
the singularity of the stranger's appearance. He 



was a short square-built old fellow, with thick bushy 
hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the 
antique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin strapped 
round the waist — several pair of breeches, the outer 
one of ample volume, decorated with rows of but- 
tons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He 
bore on his shoulders a stout keg, that seemed full 
of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and 
assist him with the load. Though rather shy and dis- 
trustful of this new acquaintance. Rip complied with 
his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, 
they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry- 
bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended. Rip 
every now and then heard long rolling peals, like dis- 
tant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, 
or rather cleft between lofty rocks, toward which their 
rugged path conducted. He paused for an instant, 
but supposing it to be the muttering of one of those 
transient thunder-showers which often take place in 
mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through 
the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small am- 
phitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, 
over the brinks of which, impending trees shot their 
branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the 
azure sky, and the bright evening cloud. During the 
whole time. Rip and his companion had laboured on 
in silence ; for though the former marvelled greatly 
what could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor 
up this wild mountain, yet there was something 
strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, 
that inspired awe, and checked familiarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of won- 
der presented themselves. On a level spot in the 
centre was a company of odd looking personages 
playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaint 
outlandish fashion : some wore short doublets, others 
jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and most of 
them had enormous breeches, of similar st)le with 
that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were pe- 
culiar : one had a large head, broad face, and 
small piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to 
consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a 
white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's 
tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and 
colours. There was one who seemed to be the 
commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a 
weather - beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat 
and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, 
with roses in them. The whole group reminded 
Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the 
parlour of Dominie Van Schaick, the village parson, 
and which had been brought over from Holland at 
the time of the settlement. 

What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was, that 
though these folks were evidently amusing them- 
selves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the 
most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most 
melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. 
Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but 
the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were 
rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling 
peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they 
suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him 
with such a fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, 
uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his lieart 
turned within him, and his knees smote together. 
His companion now emptied the contents of the 
keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to 
wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and 
trembling ; they quaffed the liquor in profound si- 
lence, and then returned to their game. 

By degrees. Rip's awe and apprehension sub- 
sided. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



11 



upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had 
much of the flavour of excellent Hollands. He was 
naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to re- 
peat the draught. One taste provoked another, and 
he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often, that at 
length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam 
in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell 
into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll 
from whence he had first seen the old man of the 
glen. He rubbed his eyes — it was a bright sunny 
mornnig. The birds were hopping and twittering 
among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling alolt, 
and breasting the pure mountain breeze. " Surely," 
thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He 
recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The 
strange man with the keg of liquor — the mountain 
ravine — the wild retreat among the rocks — the vvo- 
begone party at nine-pins — the flagon — " Oh ! that 
wicked flagon ! " thought Rip — " what excuse shall 
I make to Dame Van Winkle } " 

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the 
clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old fire- 
lock lying by him, the barrel encrusted with rust, the 
lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now 
suspected that the grave roysters of the mountain 
had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him 
with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, 
had disappeared, but he might have strayed away 
after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, 
and shouted his name, but all in vain ; the echoes 
repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to 
be seen. 

He determined to revisit the soene of the last 
evening's gambol, and if he met with any of the 
party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to 
walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and want- 
ing in his usual activity. " These mountain beds do 
not agree with me," thought Rip, "and if this frolic 
should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I 
shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." 
With some difficulty he got down into the glen ; he 
found the gully up which he and his companion had 
ascended the preceding evening ; but to his aston- 
ishment a mountain stream was now foaming down 
it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen 
with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift 
to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way 
through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch- 
hazel ; and sometimes tripped up or entangled by 
the wild grape vines that twisted their coils and ten- 
drils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network 
in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had 
opened through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but 
no traces of such opening remained. The rocks 
presented a high impenetrable wall, over which the 
torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, 
and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the 
shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, 
poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called 
and whistled after his dog ; he was only answered 
by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high 
in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny preci- 
pice ; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to 
look down and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. 
What was to be done.' The morning was passing 
away, and Rip felt famished for want of his break- 
fast. He grieved to give up his dog and gun ; he 
dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not do to 
starve among the mountains. He shook his head, 
shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full 
of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village, he met a number of 
people, but none whom he knew, which somewhat 



surprised him, for he had thought himself acquainted 
with every one in the country round. Their dress, 
too, was of a different fashion from that to which he 
was accustomed. They all stared at him with equal 
marks of surprise, and whenever they cast eyes upon 
him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant 
recurrence of this gesture, induced Rip. involunta- 
rily, to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he 
j found his beard had grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A 
troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting 
after him, and pointing at his gray beard. The 
dogs, too, not one of which he recognised for an old 
acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The 
very village was altered : it w^as larger and more 
populous. There were rows of houses which he had 
never seen before, and those which had been his 
familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names 
were over the doors — strange faces at the windows 
— every thing was strange. His mind now misgave 
him ; he began to doubt whether both he and the 
world around him were not bewitched. Surely this 
was his native village, which he had left but a day 
before. There stood the Kaatskill mountains — there 
ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was ev- 
ery hill and dale precisely as it had always been — 
Rip was sorely perplexed — " That flagon last night," 
thought he. " has addled my poor head sadly ! " 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way 
to his own house, which he approached with silent 
awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice 
of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to 
decay — the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, 
and the doors off the hinges. A hall-starved dog, 
that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip 
called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed 
his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut 
indeed. — "My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has 
forgotten me ! " 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. 
Dame Van Winkle had always kept in neat order. 
It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. 
This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears — 
he called loudly for his wife and children — the lonely 
chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and 
then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old 
resort, the village inn — but it too was gone. A large 
rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great 
gaping windows, some of them broken, and mended 
with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was 
painted, "The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." 
Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the 
quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared 
a tall naked pole, with something on the top that 
looked like a red night-cap, and from it was flutter- 
ing a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of 
stars and stripes — all this was strange and incom- 
prehensible. He recognised on the sign, however, 
the ruby face of King George, under which he had 
smoked so many a peaceful pipe, but even this 
was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was 
changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held 
in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was deco- 
rated with a cocked hat, and underneath was paint- 
ed in large characters. General Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the 
door, but none that Rip recollected. The very char- 
acter of the people seemed changed. There was a 
busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of 
the accustomed jjhlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He 
looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with 
his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, utter- 
ing clouds of tobacco smoke, instead of idle speech- 
es ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth 



12 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of 
these, a lean bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets 
full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about 
rights of citizens — election — members of Congress — 
liberty — Bunker's hill — heroes of seventy-six — and 
other words, that were a perfect Babylonish jargon 
to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled 
beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and 
the army of women and children that had gathered 
a: his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tav- 
ern politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing 
him from head to foot, with great curiosity. The 
orator bustled up to him, and drawing him partly 
aside, inquired, "on which side he voted?" Rip 
stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy 
little fellow pulled him by the arm, and rising on 
tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "whether he was Federal 
or Democrat." Rip was equally at a loss to com- 
prehend the question ; when a knowing, self-im- 
portant old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made 
his way through the crowd, putting them to the 
right and left with his elbows as he passed, and 
planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm 
a-kimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes 
and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very 
soul, demanded in an austere tone, " what brought 
him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and 
a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to breed 
a riot in the village .' " 

" Alas ! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dis- 
mayed, " I am a poor, quiet man, a native of the 
place, and a loyal subject of the King, God bless 
him ! " 

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — 
" a tory ! a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! 
away with him ! " 

It was with great difficulty that the self-important 
man in the cocl^ed hat restored order; and having 
assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded 
again of the unknown culprit, what he came there 
for, and whom he was seeking. The poor man 
humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but 
merely came there in search of some of his neigh- 
bours, who used to keep about the tavern. 
" Well — who are they? — name them." 
Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, 
" Where's Nicholas Vedder? " 

There was a silence for a little while, when an old 
man replied, in a thin, piping voice, " Nicholas Ved- 
der ? why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years ! 
There was a wooden tomb- stone in the church-yard 
that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and 
gone too." 

"Where's Brom Dutcher?" 
" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of 
the war; some say he was killed at the storming of 
Stony-Point— others say he was drowned in the 
squall, at the foot of Antony's Nose. 1 don't know 
— he never came back again." 

" Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster? " 
" He went off to the wars, too ; was a great militia 
general, and is now in Congress." 

Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these sad 
changes in his home and friends, and finding him- 
self thus alone in the world. Every answer puzzled 
him, too, by treating of such enormous lapses of 
time, and of matters which he could not understand : 
war— Congress— Stony-Point !— he had no courage 
to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, 
" Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ? " 

" Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two or three. 
" Oh, to be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, 
leaning against the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of 



himself as he went up the mountain ; apparently as 
lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was 
now completely confounded. He doubted his own 
identity, and whether he was himself or another 
man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in 
the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what 
was his name ? 

" God knows," exclaimed he at his wit's end ; 
" I'm not myself — I'ln somebody else — that's me 
yonder — no — that's somebody else, got into my 
shoes — I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on 
the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and 
every thing's changed, and I'm changed, and 1 can't 
tell what's my name, or who I am ! " 

The by-standers began now to look at each other, 
nod, wink significantly, and tap their fingers against 
their foreheads. There was a whisper, also, about 
securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from 
doing mischief; at the very suggestion of which, the 
self-important man with the cocked hat retired with 
some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh 
comely woman passed through the throng to get a 
peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby 
child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, 
began to cry. " Hush, Rip," cried she, " hush, you 
little fool ; the old man won't hurt you." The name 
of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her 
voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his 
mind. 

" What is your name, my good woman ? " asked 
he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 
" And your father's name ? " 

" Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle ; 
it's twenty years since he went away from home with 
his gun, and never has been heard of since — his dog 
catne home without him ; but whether he shot him- 
self, or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can 
tell. I was then but a little girl." 

Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he put 
it with a faltering voice : 
" Where's your mother ? " 

Oh, she too had died but a short time since : she 
broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New- 
England pedlar. 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this in- 
telligence. The honest man could contain himself 
no longer. He caughc his daughter and her child in 
his arms. " I am your father ! " cried he — " Young 
Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip Van Winkle now ! 
— Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle ! " 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering 
out from among the crowd, put her hand to her 
brow, and peering under it in his face for a moment, 
exclaimed, " Sure enough ! it is Rip Yan Winkle — 
it is himself. Welcome home again, old neighbour 
— Why, where have you been these twenty long 
years ? " 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty 
years had been to him but as one night. The neigh- 
bours stared when they heard it ; some were seen to 
wink at each other, and put their tongues in their 
cheeks; and the self-important man in the cocked 
hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to 
the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, 
and shook his head — upon which there was a general 
shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion 
of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly ad- 
vancing up the road. He was a descendant of the 
historian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest 
accounts of the province. Peter was the most an- 
cient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all 
the wonderful events and traditions of the neighbour- 
hood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



13 



his story in the most satisfactoiy manner. He as- 
sured the company that it was a fact, handed down 
from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatsl<ill 
mountains had always been haunted by strange be- 
ings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick 
Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, 
kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his 
crew of the Half-moon, being permitted in this way 
to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a 
guardian eye upon the river and the great city called 
by his name. That his father had once seen them 
in their ok! Dutch dresses ])laying at nine-pins in a 
hollow of the mountain ; and that he himself had 
heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their 
balls, like distant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke 
up, and returned to the more important concerns of 
the election. Rip's daughter took him home to live 
with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and 
a stout cherry farmer for a husband, whom Rip rec- 
ollected for one of the urchins that used to climb 
upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was 
the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he 
was employed to work on the farm ; but evinced a 
hereditary disposition to attend to any thing else but 
his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he 
soon found many of his former cronies, though .all 
rather the worse for the wear and tear of time ; and 
preferred making friends among the rising genera- 
tion, with whom he soon grew into great favour. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived 
at that happy age when a man can do nothing" with 
impunity, he took his place once more on the bench, 
at the inn door, and was reverenced as one of the 
patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of the old 
times "before the war." It was some time before 
he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could 
be made to comprehend the strange events that had 
taken place during his torpor. How that there had 
been a revolutionary war — that the country had 
thrown off the yoke of old England — and that, in- 
stead of being a subject of his majesty George the 
Third, he was now a free citizen of the United Slates. 
Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the changes of states 
and empires made but little impression on him ; but 
there was one species of despotism under which he 
had long groaned, and that was — petticoat govern- 
Hicnt. Happily, that was at an end; he had got his 
neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in 
and out whenever he pleased, without dreading the 
tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name 
was mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrug- 
ged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes ; which might 
pass either for an expression of resignation to his 
fate, or joy at his deliverance. 

He used to tell his story to every stranger that ar- 
rived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at 
first, to vary on some points every time he told it, 
which was doubtless owing to his having so recently 
awaked. It at last settled down precisely to the tale 
I have related, and not a man, woman, or child in 
the neighbourhood, but knew it by heart. Some al- 
ways pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted 
that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was 
one point on which he always remained flighty. The 
old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally 
gave it full credit. Even to this day, they never hear 
a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the 
Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his 
crew are at their game of nine-pins ; and it is a com- 
mon wish of all henpecked husbands in the neigh- 
bourhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that 
they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van 
Winkle's flagon. 



Note.— The foregoing tale, one would suspect, had been sug- 
gested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about 
the Emperor Frederick der Rothbart and the Kypphauser moun- 
tain; the subjoined tiote, however, which he had apjjended to the 
tale, shows that It is an absolute fact, narrated with his usual 
fidelity. 

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, 
but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for 1 know the vicinity of 
our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous 
events and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger 
stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson; all of which 
were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked 
with Rip Van Winkle myself, who. when last I saw him. was a very 
venerable old man. and so perfectly rational and consistent on every 
other point, that I think no conscientious person could refuse to 
take this into the bargain ; nay, I have seen a certificate on the 
subject taken before a country justice, and signed with a cross, in 
the justice's own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond 
the possibility of doubt." 



ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA. 



"Methinks I see in my mind a noble puissant nation, rousing 
herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible 
Ifcks; methinks 1 see her as an eagle, mewing her mightjj youth, 
and kindling her endazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam. ' 

Milton on the Liberty of the Press. 

It is with feelings of deep regret that I observe the 
literary animosity daily growing up between England 
and America. Great curiosity has been awakened 
of late with respect to the United States, and the 
London press has teemed with volumes of travels 
through the Republic ; but they seem intended to 
diff"use error rather than knowledge ; and so success- 
ful have they been, that, notwithstanding the con- 
stant intercourse between the nations, there is no 
people concerning whom the great mass of the Brit- 
ish public have less pure information, or entertain 
more numerous prejudices. 

English travellers are the best and the worst in 
the world. Where no motives of pride or interest 
intervene, none can equal them for profound and 
philosophical views of society, or faithful and graph- 
ical descriptions of external objects; but when either 
the interest or reputation of their own country comes 
in colhsion with that of another, they go to the op- 
posite extreme, and forget their usual probity and 
candour, in the indulgence of splenetic remark, and 
an illiberal spirit of ridicule. 

Hence, their travels are more honest and accurate, 
the more remote the country described. I would 
place implicit confidence in an Englishman's descrip- 
tion of the regions beyond the cataracts of the Nile ; 
of unknown i'slands in the Yellow Sea; of the inte- 
rior of India ; or of any other tract which other 
travellers might be apt to picture out with the illu- 
sions of their fancies. But I would cautiously receive 
his account of his immediate neighbours, and of those 
nations with which he is in habits of most frequent 
intercourse. However I might be disposed to trust 
his probity, I dare not trust his prejudices. 

It has also been the peculiar lot of our country to 
be visited by the worst kind of English travellers. 
While men of philosophical spirit and cultivated 
minds have been sent from England to ransack the 
poles, to penetrate the deserts, and to study the man- 
ners and customs of barbarous nations, with which 
she can have no permanent intercourse of profit or 
pleasure ; it has been left to the broken-down trades- 
man, the scheming adventurer, the wandering me- 
chanic, the Manchester and Birmingham agent, to 
be her oracles respecting America. From such 
sources she is content to receive her information re- 
specting a country in a singular state of moral and 
physical developement; a country in which one of 
the greatest political experiments in the history of 
the world is now performing, and which presents the 



14 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



most profound and momentous studies to the states- 
man and the philosopher. 

That such men should give prejudiced accounts of 
America, is not a matter of surprise. The themes it 
offers for contemplation, are too vast and elevated 
for their capacities. The national character is yet 
in a state of fermentation : it may have its frothiness 
and sediment, but its ingredients are sound and 
wholesome: it has already given proofs of powerlul 
and generous qualities ; and the whole promises to 
settle down into something substantially excellent. 
But the causes which are operating to strengthen 
and ennoble it, and its daily indications of admirable 
properties, are all lost upon these purblind observers ; 
who are only affected by the little asperities incident 
to its present situation. They are capable of judging 
only of the surface of things ; of those matters which 
come in contact with their private interests and per- 
sonal gratifications. They miss some of the snug 
conveniences and petty comforts which belong to an 
old, highly-finished, and over-populous state of so- 
ciety ; where the ranks of useful labour are crowded, 
and many earn a painful and servile subsistence, by 
studying the very caprices of appetite and self-indul- 
gence. These minor comforts, however, are all-im- 
portant in the estimation of narrow minds ; which 
either do not perceive, or will not acknowledge, that 
they are "more than counterbalanced among us, by 
great and generally diffused blessings. 

They may, perhaps, have been disappointed in 
some unreasonable expectation of sudden gain. They 
may have pictured America to themselves an El Do- 
rado, where gold and silver abounded, and the na- 
tives were lacking in sagacity; and where they were 
to become strangely and suddenly rich, in some un- 
foreseen but easy manner. The same weakness of 
mind that indulges absurd expectations, produces 
petulance in disappointment. Such persons become 
embittered against the country on finding that there, 
as every where else, a man must sow before he can 
reap ; must win wealth by industry and talent ; and 
must contend with the common difficulties of nature, 
and the shrewdness of an intelligent and enterpris- 
ing people. 

Perhaps, through mistaken or ill-directed hospi- 
tality, or from the prompt disposition to cheer and 
countenance the stranger, prevalent among mv coun- 
trymen, they may have been treated with unwonted 
respect in America ; and, having been accustomed 
all their lives to consider themselves below the sur- 
face of good society, and brought up in a servile 
feeling of inferiority, they become arrogant on the 
common boon of civility ; they attribute to the low- 
liness of others their own elevation ; and underrate 
a society where there are no artificial distinctions, 
and where by any chance, such individuals as them- 
selves can rise to consequence. 

One would suppose, however, that information 
coming from such sources, on a subject where the 
truth is so desirable, would be received with caution 
by the censors of the press ; that the motives of these 
men, their veracity, their opportunities ol inquiry and 
observation, and their capacities for judging correctly, 
would be rigorously scrutinized, before their evidence 
was admitted, in such sweeping extent, against a 
kindred nation. The very reverse, however, is the 
case, and it furnishes a striking instance of human 
inconsistency. Nothing can surpass the vigilance 
with which English critics will examine the credibil- 
ity of the traveller who publishes an account of some 
distant, and comparatively unimportant, country. 
How warily will they compare the measurements of 
a pyramid, or the description of a ruin ; and how 
sternly will they censure any inaccuracy in these con- 
tributions of merely curious knowledge ; while they 



will receive, with eagerness and unhesitating faith, 
the gross misrepresentations of coarse and obscure 
writers, concerning a country with which their ow-n 
is placed in the most important and delicate relations. 
Nay, they will even make these apocryphal volumes 
text-books, on which to enlarge, with a zeal and an 
ability worthy of a more generous cause. 

I shall not, however, dwell on this irksome and 
hackneyed topic ; nor should I have adverted to it, 
but for the undue interest apparently taken in it by 
my countrymen, and certain injurious effects which 
I apprehend it might produce upon the national feel- 
ing. We attach too much consequence to these at- 
tacks. They cannot do us any essential injury. 
The tissue of misrepresentations attempted to be 
woven round us, are like cobwebs woven round the 
limbs of an infant giant. Our country continually 
outgrows them. One falsehood after another falls 
off of itself. We have but to live on, and every day 
we live a whole volume of refutation. All the writers 
of Englanil united, if we could for a moment sup- 
pose their great minds stooping to so unworthy a 
combination, could not conceal our rapidly growing 
importance and matchless prosperity. They could 
not conceal that these are owing, not merely to phys- 
ical and local, but also to moral causes ; — to the po- 
litical liberty, the general diffusion of knowledge, 
the prevalence of sound, moral, and religious prin- 
ciples, which give force and sustained energy to the 
character of a people ; and which, in fact, have been 
the acknowledged and wonderful supporters of their 
own national power and glory. 

But why are we so exquisitely alive to the asper- 
sions of England ? Why do we suffer ourselves to 
be so affected by the contumely she has endeavoured 
to cast upon us? It is not in the opinion of En- 
gland alone that honour lives, and reputation has its 
being. The world at large is the arbiter of a na- 
tion's fame: with its thousand eyes it witnesses a 
nation's deeds, and from their collective testimony 
is national glory or national disgrace established. 

For ourselves, therefore, it is comparatively of but 
little importance whether England does us justice or 
not ; it is, perhaps, of far more importance to her- 
self. She is instilling anger and resentment into the 
bosom of a youthful nation, to grow with its growth, 
and strengthen with its strength. If in America, as 
some of her writers are labouring to convince her, 
she is hereafter to find an invidious rival, and a 
gigantic foe, she may thank those very writers for 
having provoked rivalship, and irritated hostility. 
Every one knows the all-pervading influence of litera- 
ture at the present day, and how much the opinions 
and passions of mankind are under its control. The 
mere contests of the sword are temporary ; their 
wounds are but in the flesh, and it is the pride of 
the generous to forgive and forget them ; but the 
slanders of the pen pierce to the heart ; they rankle 
longest in the noblest spirits ; they dwell ever pres- 
ent in the mind, and render it morbidly sensitive to 
the most trifling collision.- It is but seldom that any 
one overt act produces hostilities between two na- 
tions ; there exists, most commonly, a previous jeal- 
ousy and ill-will, a predisposition to take offence. 
Trace these to their cause, and how often will they 
be found to originate in the mischievous effusions of 
mercenary writers ; who, secure in their closets, and 
for ignominious bread, concoct and circulate the 
venom that is to inflame the generous and the 
brave. 

I am not laying too much stress upon this point ; 
for it applies most emphatically to our particular 
case. Over no nation does the press hold a more 
absolute control than over the people of America ; 
for the universal education of the poorest classes 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



15 



makes every individual a reader. Tliere is notliing 
published in England on the subject of our coun- 
try, that does not circulate through every part of it. 
There is not a calumny dropt from an English pen, 
nor an unworthy sarcasm uttered by an English 
statesman, that does not go to blight good-will, and 
add to the mass of latent resentment. Possessing, 
then, as England does, the fountain-head from 
whence the literature of the language flows, how 
completely is it in her power, and how truly is it her 
duty, to make it the medium of amiable and mag- 
nanimous feeling — a stream where the two nations 
might meet together, and drink in peace and kind- 
ness. Should she, however, persist in turning it to 
waters of bitterness, the time may come when she 
may repent her folly. The present friendship of 
America may be of but little moment to her ; but 
the future destinies of that country do not admit of 
a doubt : over those of England, there lower some 
shadows of uncertainty. Should, then, a day of 
gloom arrive — should those reverses overtake her, 
from which the proudest empires have not been ex- 
empt — she may look back with regret at her infatu- 
ation, in repulsing from her side a nation she might 
have grappled to her bosom, and thus destroying 
her only chance for real friendship beyond the 
boundaries of her own dominions. 

There is a general impression in England, that 
the people of the United States are inimical to the 
parent country. It is one of the errors which has 
been diligently propagated by designing writers. 
There is, doubtless, considerable political hostility, 
and a general soreness at the illiberality of the En- 
glish press; but, collectively speaking, the prepos- 
sessions of the people are strongly in favour of En- 
gland. Indeed, at one time they amounted, in many 
parts of the Union, to an absurd degree of bigotry. 
The bare name of Englishman was a passport to 
the confidence and hospitality of every family, and 
too often gave a transient currency to the worthless 
and the ungrateful. Throughout the country, there 
was something of enthusiasm connected with the idea 
of England. We looked to it with a hallowed feeling 
of tenderness and veneration, as the land of our 
forefathers — the august repository of the monuments 
and antiquities of our race — the birth-place and 
mausoleum of the sages and heroes of our paternal 
history. After our own country, there was none in 
whose glory we more delighted — none whose good 
opinion we were more anxious to possess— none to- 
ward which our hearts yearned with such throbbings 
of warm consanguinity. Even during the late war, 
whenever there was the least opportunity for kind 
feelings to spring forth, it was the delight of the 
generous spirits of our country to show, that in the 
midst of hostilities, they still kept alive the sparks of 
future friendship. 

Is all this to be at an end ? Is this golden band 
of kindred sympathies, so rare between nations, to 
be broken forever? — Perhaps it is for the best — it 
may dispel an allusion which might have kept us in 
mental vassalage ; which might have interfered oc- 
casionally with our true interests, and prevented the 
growth of proper national pride. But it is hard to 
give up the kindred tie ! — and there are feelings 
dearer than interest — closer to the heart than pride — 
that will still make us cast back a look of regret as 
we wander farther and farther from the paternal 
roof, and lament the waywardness of the parent 
that would repel the affections of the child. 

Short-sighted and injudicious, however, as the 
conduct of England may be in this system of asper- 
sion, recrimination on our part would be equally ill- 
judged. I speak not of a prompt and spirited vin- 
dication of our countrj-, or the keenest castigation 



of her slanderers — but I allude to a disposition to 
retaliate in kind, to retort sarcasm and inspire pre- 
judice, which seems to be spreading widely among 
our writers. Let us guard particularly against such 
a temper ; for it would double the evil, instead of 
redressing the wrong. Nothing is so easy and in- 
viting as the retort of abuse and sarcasm ; but it is 
a paltry and unprofitable contest. It is the alterna- 
tive of a morbid mind, fretted into petulance, rather 
than warmed into indignation. If England is will- 
ing to permit the mean jealousies of trade, or the 
rancorous animosities of politics, to deprave the in- 
tegrity of her press, and poison the fountain of 
public opinion, let us beware of her example. She 
may deem it her interest to diffuse error, and en- 
gender antipathy, for the purpose of checking emi- 
gration ; we have no purpose of the kind to ser\'e. 
Neither have we any spirit of national jealousy to 
gratify ; for as yet, in all our rivalships with England, 
we are the rising and the gaining party. There can 
be no end to answer, therefore, but the gratification 
of resentment — a mere spirit of retaliation ; and 
even that is impotent. Our retorts are never repub- 
lished in England ; they fall short, therefore, of their 
aim ; but they foster a querulous and peevish temper 
among our writers ; they sour the sweet flow of our 
early literature, and sow thorns and brambles among 
its blossoms. What is still worse, they circulate 
through our own country, and, as far as they have 
effect, excite virulent national prejudices. This last 
is the evil most especially to be deprecated. Gov- 
erned, as we are, entirely by public opinion, the 
utmost care should be taken to preserve the purity 
of the public mind. Knowledge is power, and truth 
is knowledge ; whoever, therefore, knowingly propa- 
gates a prejudice, wilfully saps the foundation of his 
country's strength. 

The members of a republic, above all other men, 
should be candid and dispassionate. They are, in- 
dividually, portions of the sovereign mind and sov- 
ereign will, and should be enabled to come to all 
questions of national concern with calm and un- 
biassed judgments. From the peculiar nature of our 
relations with England, we must have more frequent 
questions of a difficult and delicate character with 
her, than with any other nation ; questions that 
affect the most acute and excitable feelings : and as, 
in the adjusting of these, our national measures 
must ultimately be determined by popular sentiment, 
we cannot be too anxiously attentive to purify it 
from all latent passion or prepossession. 

Opening too, as we do, an asylum for strangers 
from every portion of the earth, we should receive 
all with impartiality. It should be our pride to ex- 
hibit an example of one nation, at least, destitute of 
national antipathies, and exercising, not merely the 
overt acts of hospitality, but those more rare and 
noble courtesies which spring from liberality of 
opinion. 

What have we to do with national prejudices ? 
They are the inveterate diseases of old countries, 
contracted in nide and ignorant ages, when nations 
knew but little of each other, and looked beyond 
their own boundaries with distrust and hostility. 
We, on the contrary, have sprung into national ex- 
istence in an enlightened and philosophic age, when 
the different parts of the habitable world, and the 
various branches of the human family, have been 
indcfatigably studied and made known to each other ; 
and we forego the advantages of our birth, if we do 
not shake off the national prejudices, as we would 
the local superstitions, of the old world. 

But above all, let us not be influenced by any 
angry feelings, so far as to shut our eyes to the per- 
ception of what is really excellent and amiable in 



16 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the English character. We are a young people, 
necessarily an imitative one, and must take our ex- 
amples and models, in a great degree, from the ex- 
isting nations of Europe. There is no countiy more 
worthy of our study than England. The spirit of 
her constitution is most analogous to ours. The 
manners of her people — their intellectual activity — 
their freedom of opinion — their habits of thinking 
on those subjects which concern the dearest inter- 
ests and most sacred charities of private life, are all 
congenial to the American character; and, in fact, 
are all intrinsically excellent : for it is in the moral 
feeling of the people that the deep foundations of 
British prosperity are laid ; and however the super- 
structure may be time-worn, or overrun by abuses, 
there niust be something solid in the basis, admira- 
ble in the materials, and stable in the structure of 
an edifice that so long has towered unshaken amidst 
the tempests of the world. 

Let it be the pride of our writers, therefore, dis- 
carding all feelings of irritation, and disdaining to 
retaliate the illiberality of British authors, to speak 
of the English nation without prejudice, and with 
determined candour. While they rebuke the indis- 
criminating bigotry with which some of our country- 
men admire and imitate every thing English, merely 
because it is English, let them frankly point out 
what is really worthy of approbation. We may thus 
place England before us as a perpetual volume of ref- 
erence, wherein are recorded sound deductions from 
ages of experience ; and while we avoid the errors 
and absurdities which may have crept into the page, 
we may draw thence golden maxims of practical 
wisdom, wherewith to strengthen and to embellish 
our national character. 



RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. 



Oh ! friendly to the best pursuits of man. 
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
Domestic life in rural pleasures past ! 

COWPER. 

The stranger who would form a correct opinion 
of the English character, must not confine his ob- 
ser\-ations to the metropolis. He must go forth into 
thecountr)'; he must sojourn in villages and ham- 
lets ; he must visit castles, villas, farm-houses, cot- 
tages ; he must wander through parks and gardens ; 
along hedges and green lanes ; he must loiter about 
country churches ; attend wakes and fairs, and other 
rural festivals ; and cope with the people in all their 
conditions, and all their habits and humours. 

In some countries, the large cities absorb the 
wealth and fashion of the nation ; they are the only 
fixed abodes of elegant and intelligent society, and 
the country is inhabited almost entirely by boorish 
peasantry. In England, on the contrary, the metrop- 
olis is a mere gathering place, or general rendez- 
vous, of the polite classes, where they devote a small 
portion of the year to a hurry of gayety and dissipa- 
tion, and having indulged this kind of carnival, re- 
turn again to the apparently more congenial habits 
of rural life. The various orders of society are 
therefore diffused over the whole surface of tlie king- 
dom, and the most retired neighbourhoods afford 
specimens of the different ranks. 

The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the 
rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to 
the beauties of nature, and a keen relish for the 
pleasures and emplojTnents of the countrj-. This 
passion seems inherent in them. Even the inhabit- 



ants of cities, born and brought up among brick 
walls and bustling streets, enter wilh facility into 
rural habits, and evince a tact for rural occupation. 
The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of 
the metropolis, where he often displays as much 
pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-garden, 
and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the con- 
duct of his business, and the success of a commer- 
cial enterprise. Even those less fortunate indi- 
viduals, who are doomed to pass their lives in the 
midst of din and traffic, contrive to have something 
that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. 
In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city, the 
drawing-room window resembles frequently a bank 
of flowers ; every spot capable of vegetation has its 
grass-plot and flower-bed ; and every square its 
mimic park, laid out with picturesque taste, and 
gleaming with refreshing verdure. 

Those who see the Englishman only in town, are 
apt to form an unfavourable opinion of his social 
character. He is either absorbed in business, or 
distracted by the thousand engagements that dis- 
sipate time, thought, and feeling, in this huge me- 
tropolis. He has, therefore, too commonly, a look 
of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he happens to 
be, he is on the point of going somewhere else ; at 
the moment he is talking on one subject, his mind is 
wandering to another ; and while p.aying a friendly 
visit, he is calculating how he shall economize time 
so as to pay the other visits allotted to the morning. 
An immense metropolis, like London, is calculated 
to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their 
casual and transient meetings, they can but deal 
briefly in commonplaces. They present but the 
cold superficies of character — it's rich and genial 
qualities have no time to be warmed into a flow. 

It is in the country that the Englishman gives 
scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose 
gladly from the cold formalities and negative civili- 
ties of town ; throws off his habits of shy reseiTe, 
and becomes joyous and free-hearted. He manages 
to collect round him all the conveniencies and ele- 
gancies of polite life, and to banish its restraints. 
His country-seat abounds with every requisite, either 
for studious retirement, tasteful grat'ilication, or rural 
exercise. Books, paintings, music, horses, dogs, 
and sporting implements of all kinds, are at hand. 
He puts no constraint, either upon his guests or 
himself, but, in the true spirit of hospitality, pro- 
vides the means of enjoyment, and leaves every one 
to partake according to his inclination. 

The taste of the English in the cultivation of land, 
and in what is called landscape gardening, is un- 
rivalled. They have studied Nature intently, and 
discovered an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms 
and harmonious combinations. Those charms which, 
in other countries, she lavishes in wild solitudes, 
ai^e here assembled round the haunts of domestic 
life. They seem to have caught her coy and fur- 
tive graces, and spread them", like witchery, about 
their rural abodes. 

Nothing can be more imposing than the magnifi- 
cence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that ex- 
tend like sheets of vivid green, with here and there 
clumps of gigantic trees, heaping up rich piles of 
foliage. The solemn pomp of groves and woodland 
glades, with the deer trooping in silent herds across 
them ; the hare, bounding away to the covert ; or 
the pheasant, suddenly bursting upon the wing. The 
brook, taught to wind in natural meanderings, or 
expand into a glassy lake — the sequestered pool, re- 
flecting the quivering trees, with the yellow leaf 
sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roaming fear- 
lessly about its limpid waters : while some rustic 
temple, or sylvan statue, grown green and dank 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



17 



with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to tlie 
seclusion. 

These are but a few of the features of park scenery; 
but what most delights me, is the creative talent with 
which the English decorate the unostentatious abodes 
of middle life. The ru-Jest habitation, the most un- 
promising and scanty portion of land, in the hands 
of an Englisliman of taste, becomes a little paradise. 
Willi a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once 
upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the 
future landscape. The steril spot grows into loveli- 
ness under his hand ; and yet the operations of art 
which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. 
The cherisliing and training of some trees ; the 
cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of 
flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage ; 
the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the 
partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver 
gleam of water — all these are managed with a deli- 
cate tact, a pervading yet quiet assiduity, like the 
magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a 
favourite picture. 

The residence of people of fortune and refinement 
in the country, has diffused a degree of taste and 
defiance in rural economy, that descends to the low- 
est class. The \ery labourer, with his thatched cot- 
tage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their 
embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot 
before the door, the little flower-bed bordered with 
snug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall, 
and hanging its blossoms about the lattice ; the pot 
nf llowers in the window ; the holly, providently 
planted about the house, to cheat winter of its 
dreariness, and to throw in a semblance of green 
summer to cheer the fireside : — all these bespeak the 
influence of taste, flowing down from high sources, 
and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. 
If ever Love, as poets sing, delights to visit a cot- 
tage, it must be the cottage of an English peasant. 

The fondness for rural life among the higher 
classes of the English, h.as had a great and salutary 
effect upon the national character. I do not know 
a finer race of men than the English gentlemen. 
Instead of the softness and effeminacy which char- 
acterize the men of rank in most countries, they e.x- 
hibit an union of elegance and strength, a robustness 
of frame and freshness of complexion, which I am 
inclined to attribute to their living so much in the 
open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating 
recreations of the country. The hardy exercises 
produce also a healthlul tone of mind and spirits, 
and a manliness and simplicity of manners, which 
even the follies and dissipations of the town cannot 
easily pervert, and can never entirely destroy. In 
the country, too, the different orders of society seem 
to approach more freely, to be more disposed to 
blend and operate favourably upon each other. 
The distinctions between them do not appear to be 
so marked and impassable, as in the cities. The 
manner in which property has been distributed into 
small estates and farms, has established a regular 
gradation from the noblemen, through the classes 
of gentry, small landed proprietors, and substantial 
farmers, down to the labouring peasantry ; and 
while it has thus banded the extremes of society to- 
gether, has infused into each intermediate rank a 
spirit of independence. This, it must be confessed, 
is not so universally the case at present as it was 
tormerly ; the larger estates having, in late years of 
distress, absorbed the smaller, and, in some parts of 
the country, almost annihilated the sturdy race of 
small farmers. These, however, I believe, are but 
casual breaks in the general system I have men- 
tioned. 

In rural occupation, there is nothing mean and 
•A 



debasing. It leads a man forth among scenes of 
natural grandeur and beauty ; it leaves him to the 
workings of his own mind, operated upon by the 
purest and most elevating of external influences. 
Such a man may be simple and rough, but he can- 
not be vulgar. The man of refinement, therefore, 
finds nothing revolting in an intercourse with the 
lower orders in rural lite, as he does when he casu- 
ually mingles with the lower orders of cities. He 
lays aside his distance and reserve, and is glad to 
waive the distinctions of rank, and to enter into the 
honest, heart-felt enjoyments of common life. In- 
deed, the very amusements of the country bring men 
more and more together ; and the sound of hound 
and horn blend all feelings into harmony. 1 believe 
this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry 
are more popular among the inferior orders in En- 
gland, than they are in any other country ; and why 
the latter have endured so many excessive pressures 
and extremities, without repining more generally at 
the unequal distribution of fortune and privilege. 

To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society, 
may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs 
through British literature ; the frequent use of illus- 
trations from rural life; those incomparable descrip- 
tions of Nature, that abound in the British poets — 
that have continued down from " the Flower and 
the Leaf " of Chaucer, and have brought into our 
closets all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy 
landscape. The pastoral writers of other countries 
appear as if they had paid Nature an occasional 
visit, and become acquainted with her general 
charms ; but the British poets have lived and revelled 
with her — they have wooed her in her most secret 
haunts — they have watched her minutest caprices. 
A spray could not tremble in the breeze — a leaf 
could not rustle to the ground — a diamond drop 
could not patter in the stream — a fragrance could 
not exhale from the humble violet, nor a daisy un- 
fold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has 
been noticed by these impassioned and delicate ob- 
servers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality. 

The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to ru- 
ral occupations, has been wonderful on the face of 
the country. A great part of the island is rather 
level, and would be monotonous, were it not for the 
charms of culture ; but it is studded and gemmed, 
as it were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered 
with parks and gardens. It does not abound in 
grand and sublime prospects, but rather in little 
home scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. 
Every antique farm-house and moss-grown cottag;e is 
a picture ; and as the roads are continually winding, 
and the view is shut in by groves and hedges, the. 
eye is delighted by a continual succession of small 
landscapes of captivating loveliness. 

The great charm, however, of English scenery„is 
the moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is as- 
sociated in the mind with ideas of order, of quiet, af 
sober well-established principles, of hoary usage and 
reverend custom. Every thing seems to be the growth 
of ages of regular and peaceful existence. The old 
church, of remote architecture, with its low massive 
portal ; its gothic tower ; its windows, rich with tra- 
cer\' and painted glass, in scrupulous preservation — 
its stately monuments of warriors and worthies of the 
olden time, ancestors of the present lords of the soil 
— its tombstones, recording successive generations of 
sturdy yeomanrj-, whose progeny still plough tho 
same'fields, and kneel at the same altar— the parson- 
age, a quaint irregular pile, partly antiquated, but re- 
paired and altered in the tastes of various ages and 
occupants— the stile and footpath leading from the 
church-yard, across pleasant fields, and along shady 
hedge-rows, according to an immemorable right of, 



]{ 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



way— the neighbouring village, with its venerable cot- 
tages, its public green, sheltered by trees, under 
which the forefathers of the present race have sported 
— the antique family mansion, standing apart in some 
little rural domain, but looking down with a protect- 
ing air on the surrounding scene— all these common 
features of English landscape evince a calm and 
settled security, a hereditary transmission of home- 
bred virtues and local attachments, that speak 
deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the 
nation. 

It is a pleasing sight, of a Sunday morning, when 
the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet 
fields, to behold the peasantry in their best finery, 
with ruddy faces, and modest cheerfulness, throng- 
ing tranquilly along the green lanes to church ; but 
it is still more pleasing to see them in the evenings, 
gathering about their cottage doors, and appearing 
to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments 
which their own hands have spread around them. 

It is this sweet home feeling, this settled repose of 
affection in the domestic scene, that is. after all, the 
parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments; 
and I cannot close these desultory remarks better, 
than by quoting the words of a modern English poet, 
who has depicted it with remarkable felicity. 

Through each gradation, from the castled hall, 
The city dome, the villa crowned with shade, 
But chief from modest mansions numberless, 
In town or hamlet, shell'ring middle life, 
Down to the cottaged vale, and straw-roof'd shed, 
This western isle has long been famed for scenes 
Where bliss domestic finds a dwelling-place : 
Domestic bliss, that like a harmless dove, 
(Honour and sweet endearment keeping guard,) 
Can centre in a little quiet nest 
All that desire would fly for through the earth ; 
That can, the world eluding, be itself 
A world enjoyed ; that wants no witnesses 
But its own sharers, and approving Heaven. 
That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft, 
Smiles, though 't is looking only at the sky.* 



THE BROKEN HEART. 



I never heard 
Of any true affection, but 't was nipt 
With care, that, like the caterpillar, eats 
The leaves of the spring's sweetest book, the rose. 
Mi DDLETON. 

It is a common practice with those who have out- 
lived the susceptibility of early feeling, or have been 
brought up in the gay hcartlessness of dissipated life, 
to laugh at all love stories, and to treat the tales of 
romantic passion as mere fictions of novelists and 
poets. My observations on human nature have 
induced me to think otherwise. They have con- 
vinced me, that however the surface of the character 
may be chilled and frozen by the cares of the world, 
or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts of society! 
still there are dormant fires lurking in the depths of 
the coldest bosom, which, when once enkindled, be- 
come impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in 
their effects. Indeed, I am a true believer in the 
blind deity, and go to the full extent of his doctrines 
Shall I confess it ?— I believe in broken hearts, and 
the possibihty of dying of disappointed love i 'l do 
not, however, consider it a malady often fatal to my 
own sex ; but I firmly believe that it withers down 
many a lovely woman into an early grave. 

Man is the creature of interest and ambition His 
nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle 

•Froma poem on the death of the Princess Charlotte bv the 
Keverend Rann Kennedy, A.M. v-i'ar,oiie, uy tne 



of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his 
early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the 
acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the 
world's thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. 
But a woman's whole life is a history of the affec- 
tions. The heart is her world ; it is there her ambi- 
tion strives for empire— it is there her avarice seeks 
for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympa- 
thies on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul in 
the traffic of aftection ; and if shipwrecked, her case 
is hopeless — for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. 

To a man, the disappointment of love may occa- 
sion some bitter pangs : it wounds some feelings of 
tenderness — it blasts some prospects of felicity; but 
he is an active being; he may dissipate his thoughts 
in the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge into 
the tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of disappoint- 
ment be too full of painful associations, he can shift 
his abode at will, and taking, as it were, the wings 
of the morning, can " fly to the uttermost parts of 
the earth, and be at rest." 

But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, 
and a meditative life. She is more the companion 
of her own thoughts and feelings ; and if they are 
turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look 
for consolation ? Her lot is to be wooed and won ; 
and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some 
fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and 
abandoned, and left desolate. 

How many bright eyes grow dim — how many soft 
cheeks grow pale — how many lovely forms fade away 
into the tomb, and none can tell the cause that 
blighted their loveliness! As the dove will clasp its 
wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow 
that is preying on its vitals — so is it the nature of 
woman, to hide from the world the pangs of wound- 
ed affection. The love of a delicate female is always 
shy and silent. Even when fortunate, she scarcely 
breathes it to herself; but when otherwise, she bur- 
ies it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it 
cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. 
With her, the desire of her heart has failed — the I 
great charm of existence is at an end. She neglects ' 
all the cheerful exercises which gladden the spirits, 
quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life in health- 
ful currents through the veins. Her rest is broken — 
the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned by mel- 
ancholy dreams — " dry sorrow drinks her blood," 
until her enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest 
external injury. Look for her, after a little while, 
and you find friendship weeping over her untimely 
grave, and wondering that one, who but lately glow- , 
ed with all the radiance of health and Ireauty, should 
so speedily be brought down to " darkness and the 
worm." You will be told of some wintry chill, some 
casual indisposition, that laid her low— but no one 
knows the mental malady that previously sapped her 
strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler. 

She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty 
of the grove : graceful in its form, bright in its foliage,; 
but with the worm preying at its heart. We find it 
suddenly withering, when it should be most fresh andj 
luxuriant. We see it drooping its branches to the 
earth, and shedding leaf by leaf; until, wasted andl 
perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the for-i 
est ; and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive 
m vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could 
have smitten it with decay. 

I have seen many instances of women running to 
waste and self-neglect, and disappearing gradually 
from the earth, almost as if they had been exh.aled to 
heaven ; and have repeatedly fancied, that I could 
trace their deaths through the various declensions 
of consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, 
until I reached the first .symptom of disappointed 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



19 



love. But an Instance of the kind was lately told to 
me ; the circumstances are well known in the coun- 
try where they happened, and I shall but give them 
in the manner in which they were related. 

Every one must recollect the tragical story of 

young E , the Irish patriot : it was too touching 

to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ire- 
land Tie was tried, condemned, and executed, on a 
charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression 
on public sympathy. He was so young — so intelli- 
gent — so generous — so brave — so every thing that 
we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct 
under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The no- 
ble indignation with which he repelled the charge 
of treason against his country — the eloquent vindica- 
tion of his name — and his pathetic appeal to posteri- 
ty, in the hopeless hour of condemnation — all these 
entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even 
his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated 
his execution. 

But there was one heart, whose anguish it would 
be impossible to describe. In happier days and 
fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beau- 
tiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late cele- 
brated Irish barrister. She loved him with the dis- 
interested fervour of a woman's first and early love. 
When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against 
him ; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and dan- 
ger darkened around his name, she loved him the 
more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate 
could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, wha.t 
must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul 
was occupied by his image ? Let those tell who 
have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed be- 
tween them and the being they most loved on earth — 
who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a 
cold and lonely world, from whence all that was 
most lovely and loving had departed. 

But then the horrors of such a grave ! — so fright- 
ful, so dishonoured ! There was nothing for mem- 
ory to dwell on that could soothe the pang of sepa- 
ration — none of those tender, though melancholy 
circumstances, that endear the parting scene — noth- 
ing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like 
the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting 
hour of anguish. 

To render her widowed situation more desolate, 
she had incurred her father's displeasure by her un- 
fortunate attachment, and was an exile from the pa- 
ternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind oflices 
of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven 
in by horror, she would have experienced no want 
of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and 
generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cher- 
ishing attentions were paid her, by families of wealth 
and distinction. She was led into society, and they 
tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to 
dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical 
story of her loves. But it was all in vain. There are 
some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the 
soul — that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness — 
and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. 
She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, 
but she was as much alone there, as in the depths of 
solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, appa- 
rently unconscious of the world around her. She 
carried with her an inward wo that mocked at all the 
blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the 
song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely." 

The person who told me her story had seen her at 
a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of tar- 
gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to 
meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a 
spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay — 
:to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and 



looking so wan and wo-begone, as if it had tried in 
vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary for- 
getfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the 
splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter 
abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an 
orchestra, and looking about for some time with a 
vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish 
scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly 
heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an 
exquisite voice : but on this occasion it was so 
simple, so touching— it breathed forth such a soul of 
wretchedness — that she drew a crowd, mute and 
silent, around her, and melted every one into tears. 

The story of one so true and tender could not but 
excite great interest in a countr\' remarkable for en- 
thusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave 
officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought 
that one so true to the dead, could not but prove af- 
fectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, 
for her thoughts were irrecoverably engrossed by the 
memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted 
in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her 
esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his 
worth, and her sense of her own destitute and de- 
pendent situation, for she was existing on the kind- 
ness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded 
in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assur- 
ance, that her heart was unalterably another's. 

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a 
change of scene might wear out the remembrance of 
early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary 
wife, and made an effort to be a happy one ; but 
nothing could cure the silent and devouring melan- 
choly that had entered into her very soul. She wasted 
away in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at length 
sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart. 

It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish 
poet, composed the following lines : 

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 

And lovers around her are sighing ; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 

For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 

Every note which he loved awaking — 
Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains. 

How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! 

He h.ad lived for his love — for his country he died. 
They were all that to life had entwined him — 

Nor soon shall the tears of his country' be dried. 
Nor long will his love slay behind him ! 

Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 

When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, 

rrom her own loved island of sorrow ! 



THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING- 



" If that severe doom of Synesius be true — ' it is a greater offence 
to steal dead men's labours than their clothes,' — what shall become 
of most writers ? " 

Burton's A natomy of Melancholy. 

I HAVE often wondered at the extreme fecundity 
of the press, and how it comes to pass that so many 
heads, on which Nature seems to have inflicted the 
curse of barrenness, yet teem with voluminous pro- 
ductions. As a man travels on, however, in the jour- 
ney of life, his objects of wonder daily diminish, and 
he is continually finding out some very simple cause 
for some great matter of marvel. Thus have I 
chanced, in my peregrinations about this great me- 
tropolis, to blunder upon a scene which unfolded to 
me some of the mysteries of the book-making craft, 
and at once put an end to my astonishment. 



20 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



I was one summer's day loitering through the great 
saloons of the British Museum, with that listlcssness 
with which one is apt to saunter about a room in 
warm weather ; sometimes lolling over the glass cases 
of minerals, sometimes studying the hieroglyphics on 
an Egyptian mummy, and sometimes trying, with 
nearly equal success, to comprehend the allegorical 
paintings on the lofty ceilings. While I was gazing 
about in this idle way, my attention was attracted to 
a distant floor, at the end of a suite of apartments. 
It was closed, but every now and then it would open, 
and some strange-favoured being, generally clothed 
in black, would steal forth, and glide through the 
rooms, without noticing any of the surrounding ob- 
jects. There was an air of mystery about this that 
piqued my languid curiosity, and I determined to at- 
tempt the passage of that strait, and to explore the 
unknown regions that lay beyond. The door yielded 
to my hand, with all that facility with which the por- 
tals of enchanted castles yield to the adventurous 
knight-errant. 1 found myself in a spacious chamber, 
surrounded with great cases of venerable books. 
Above the cases, and just under the cornice, were 
arranged a great number of quaint black-looking 
portraits of ancient authors. About the room were 
placed long tables, with stands for reading and writ- 
ing, at which sat many pale, cadaverous personages, 
poring intently over dusty volumes, rummaging 
among mouldy manuscripts, and taking copious 
notes of their contents. The most hushed stillness 
reigned through this mysterious apartment, except- 
ing that you might hear the racing of pens over sheets 
of paper, or, occasionally, the deep sigh of one of 
these sages, as he shifted his position to turn over 
the page of an old folio ; doubtless arising from that 
hollowness and flatulency incident to learned re- 
search. 

Now and then one of these personages would 
write something on a small slip ot paper, and ring a 
bell, whereupon a familiar would appear, take the 
paper in profound silence, glide out of the room, 
and return shortly loaded with ponderous tomes, 
upon which the other would fall, tooth and nail, 
with famished voracity. I had no longer a doubt 
that I had happened upon a body of magi, deeply 
engaged in the study of occult sciences. The scene 
reminded me of an old Arabian tale, of a philoso- 
pher, who was shut up in an enchanted library, in 
the bosom of a mountain, that opened only once a 
year ; where he made the spirits of the place obey 
his commands, and bring him books of all kinds of 
dark knowledge, so that at the end of the year, 
when the magic portal once more swung open on its 
hinges, he issued forth so versed in forbidden lore, 
as to be able to soar abov:; the heads of the multi- 
tude, and to control the powers of Nature. 

jVIy curiosity being now fully aroused, I whispered 
to one ot the familiars, as he was about to leave the 
room, and begged an interpretation of the strange 
scene before me. A few words were sufficient for 
the purpose :— I found that these mysterious person- 
ages, whom I had mistaken for magi, were princi- 
pally authors, and were in the very act of manufac- 
turing books. I was, in fact, in the reading-room 
of the great British Library, .an immense collection 
of volumes of all ages and Languages, manv of which 
are now forgotten, and most of which are seldom 
read. To these sequestered pools of obsolete litera- 
ture, therefore, do many modern authors repair, and 
draw buckets full of classic lore, or "pure English, 
undefiled," wherewith to swell their own scanty rills 
of thought. 

Being now in possession of the secret, I sat down 
in a corner, and watched the process of this book 
manufactory. I noticed one lean, biliousdooking 



wight, who sought none but the most worm-eaten 
volumes, printed in black-letter. He was evidently 
constructing some work of profound erudition, that 
would be purchased by every man who wished to 
be thought learned, placed upon a conspicuous shelf 
of his library, or laid open upon his table — but 
never read. I observed him, now and then, draw a 
large fragment of biscuit out of his pocket, and 
gnaw ; whether it was his dinner, or whether he 
was endeavouring to keep off that exhaustion of the 
stomach, produced by much pondering over dry 
works, I leave to harder students than myself to 
determine. 

There was one dapper little gentleman in bright 
coloured clothes, with a chirping gossiping expres- 
sion of countenance, who had all the appearance of 
an author on good terms with his bookseller. After 
considering him attentively, 1 recognised in him a 
diligent getter-up of miscellaneous works, which 
bustled off well with the trade. I was curious to 
see how he manufactured his wares. He made more 
stir and show of business than any of the others ; 
dipping into various books, fluttering over the leaves 
of manuscripts, taking a morsel out of one, a morsel 
out of another, " line upon line, precept upon precept, 
here a little and there a little." The contents of his 
book seemed to be as heterogeneous as those of the 
witches' cauldron in Macbeth. It was here a finger 
and there a thumb, toe of frog and blind worm's 
sting, with his own gossip poured in like " baboon's 
blood," to make the medley " slab and good." 

After all, thought I, may not this pilfering dispo- 
sition be implanted in authors for wise purposes? 
may it not be the way in which Providence has taken 
care that the seeds of knowledge and wisdom shall 
be preserved from age to age, in spite ol the inevita- 
ble decay of the works in which they were first pro- 
duced .'' We see that Nature has wisely, though 
whimsically provided for the conveyance of seeds 
from clime to clime, in the maws of certain birds ; 
so that animals, which, in themselves, are little bet- 
ter than carrion, and apparently the lawless plunder- 
ers of the orchard and the corn-field, are, in fact. 
Nature's carriers to disperse and perpetuate her 
blessings. In like manner, the beauties and fine 
thoughts of ancient and obsolete writers are caught 
up by these flights of predatory authors, and cast 
forth, again to flourish and bear fruit in a remote 
and distant tract of time. Many of their works, 
also, undergo a kind of metempsychosis, and spring 
up under new forms. What was formerly a ponder- 
ous history, revives in the shape of a romance — an 
old legend changes into a modern play — and a sober 
philosophical treatise furnishes the body for a whole 
series of bouncing and sparkling essays. Thus it is 
in the clearing of our American woodlands ; where 
we burn down a forest of stately pines, a progeny 
of dwarf oaks start up in their place ; and we never 
see the prostrate trunk of a tree, mouldering into 
soil, but it gives birth to a whole tribe of fungi. 

Let us not, then, lament over the decay and ob- 
livion into which ancient writers descend ; they do 
but submit to the great law of Nature, which de- 
clares that all sublunary shapes of matter shall be 
limited in their duration, but which decrees, also, 
that their elements shall never perish. Generation 
after generation, both in animal and vegetable life 
passes away, but the vital principle is transmitted 
to posterity, and the species continue to flourish. 
Thus, also, do authors beget authors, and having 
produced a numerous progeny, in a good old age 
they sleep with their fathers ; that is to say, with 
the authors who preceded them — and from whom 
they had stolen. 

Whilst 1 was indulging in these rambling fancies. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



21 



I had leaned my head against a pile of reverend folios. 
Whether it was owing to the soporific emanations 
from these works ; or to the profound quiet of the 
room ; or to the lassitude arising from much wander- 
ing ; or to an unlucky habit of napping at improper 
times and places, with which I am grievously afflicted, 
so it was, that 1 fell into a doze. Still, however, my 
imagination continued busy, and indeed the same 
scene remained belbre my mind's eye, only a little 
changed in some of the details. I dreamt that the 
chamber was still decorated with the portraits of an- 
cient authors, but the number was increased. The 
long tables had disappeared, and in place of the sage 
magi, 1 beheld a ragged, threadbare throng, such as 
may be seen plying about the great repository of 
cast-off clothes, Monmouth-street. Whenever they 
seized upon a book, bv one of those incongruities 
common to dreams, methought it turned into a gar- 
ment of foreign or antique fashion, with which they 
proceeded to equip themselves. I noticed, however, 
that no one pretended to clothe himself from any 
particular suit, but took a sleeve from one, a cape 
from another, a skirt from a third, thus decking him- 
self out piecemeal, while some of his original rags 
would peep out from among his borrowed finery. 

There was a portly, rosy, well-fed parson, whom I 
observed ogling several mouldy polemical writers 
through an eye-glass. He soon contrl\ed to slip on 
the voluminous mantle of one of the old fathers, and 
having purloined the gray beard of another, endea- | 
voured to look exceedingly wise ; but the smirking 
commonplace of his countenance set at nought all the 
trappings of wisdom. One sickly-looking gentleman 
was busied embroidering a very flimsy garment with 
gold thread drawn out of several old court-dresses of 
the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Another had trimmed 
himself magnificently from an illuminated manu- 
script, had stuck a nosegay in his bosom, culled from 
"The Paradise of Dainty Devices," and having put 
Sir Philip Sidney's hat on one side of his head, 
strutted off with an exquisite air of vulgar elegance. 
A third, who was but of puny dimensions, had bol- 
stered himself out bravely with the spoils from sev- 
eral obscure tracts of philosophy, so that he had a 
very imposing front, but he was lamentably tattered 
in rear, and I perceived that he had patched his 
small-clothes with scraps of parchment from a Latin i 
author. 

There were some well-dressed gentlemen, it is true, 
who only helped themselves to a gem or so, which 
sparkled among their own ornaments, without eclips- 
ing them. Some, too, seemed to contemplate the 
costumes of the old writers, merely to imbibe their 
principles of taste, and to catch their air and spirit ; 
but I grieve to say, that too many were apt to array 
themselves, from top to toe, in the patch-work man- 
ner I have mentioned. I should not omit to speak of 
one genius, in drab breeches and gaiters, and an 
Arcadian hat, who had a violent propensity to the 
pastoral, but whose rural wanderings had been con- 
fined to the classic haunts of Primrose Hill, and the 
solitudes of the Regent's Park. He had decked 
himself in wreaths and ribands from all the old pas- 
toral poets, and hanging his head on one side, went 
about with a fantastical, lack-a-daisical air, "bab- 
bling about green fields." But the personage that 
most struck my attention, was a pragmatical old 
gentleman, in clerical robes, with a remarkably large 
and square, but bald head. He entered the room 
wheezing and pufting, elbowed his way through the 
throng, with a look of sturdy self-confidence, and 
having laid hands upon a thick Greek quarto, 
clapped it upon his head, and swept majestically 
away in a formidable frizzled wig. 

In the height of this literary masquerade, a cry 



suddenlv resounded from every side, of " thieves ! 
thieves 1 " 1 looked, and lo ! the portraits about the 
walls became animated ! The old authors thrust out 
first a head, then a shoulder, from the canvas, looked 
down curiouslv, for an instant, upon the motley 
throng, and then descended, with fury in their eyes, 
to claim their rifled property. The scene of scam- 
pering and hubbub that ensued baffles all description. 
The unhappy culprits endeavoured in vain to escape 
with their plunder. On one side might be seen half- 
a-dozen old monks, stripping a modern professor ; on 
another, there was sad devastation carried into the 
ranks of modern dramatic writers. Beaumont and 
Fletcher, side by side, raged round the field like Cas- 
tor and Pollux, and sturdy Ben Jonson enacted more 
wonders than when a volunteer with the army in 
Flanders. As to the dapper little compiler of farragos, 
mentioned some time since, he had arrayed himselt 
in as many patches and colours as Harlequin, and 
there was as fierce a contention of claimants about 
him, as about the dead body of Patroclus. I was 
grieved to see many men, whom I had been ac- 
customed to look upon with awe and reverence, fain 
to steal off with scarce a rag to cover their naked- 
ness. Just then my eye was caught by the pragmati- 
cal old gentleman in the Greek grizzled v\ ig, who was 
scrambling away in sore affright with half a score of 
authors in full cry after him. They were close upon 
his haunches ; in a twinkling off went his wig ; at 
every turn some strip of raiment was peeled away ; 
until in a few moments, from his domineering pomp, 
he shrunk into a little pursy, "chopp'd bald shot," 
and made his exit with only a few tags and rags flut- 
tering at his back. 

There was something so ludicrous in the catastro- 
phe of this learned Theban, that I burst into an im- 
moderate fit of laughter, which broke the whole illu- 
sion. The tumult and the scufile were at an end. 
The chamber resumed its usual appearance. The 
old authors shrunk back into their picture-frames, and 
hung m shadowy solemnity along the walls. In short, 
I found myself wide awake in my corner, with the 
whole assemblage of bookworms gazing at me with 
astonishment. Nothing of the drea.n had been real 
but my burst of laughter, a sound never before heard 
in that grave sanctuary, and so abhorrent to the ears 
of wisdom, as to electrify the fraternity. 

The librarian now stepped up to me, and de- 
manded whether I had a card of admission. At first 
I did not comprehend him, but I soon found that the 
library was a kmd of literary " preserve," subject to 
game laws, and that no one must presume to hunt 
there without special license and permission. In a 
word, I stood convicted of being an arrant poacher, 
and was glad to make a precipitate retreat, lest 
I should have a whole pack ot authors let loose 
upon me. 



A ROYAL POET. 



Though your body be confined 

And soft love a prisoner bound. 
Yet the beauty of your mind 

Neither cheek nor chain hath found. 
I,ook out nobly, then, and dare 
Even the fetters that you wear, 

Fletcher. 

On a soft sunny morning in the genial month of 
May, I made an excursion to Windsor Castle. It is 
a place full of storied and poetical associations. The 
very external aspect of the proud old pile is enough 
to inspire high thought. It rears its irregular walls 



22 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and massive towers, like a mural crown around the 
brow of a lofty ridge, waves its royal banner in the 
clouds, and looks down with a lordly air upon the 
surrounding world. 

On this morning, the weather was of this voluptu- 
ous vernal kind whicli calls forth all the latent ro- 
mance of a man's temperament, filling his mind with 
music, and disposing him to quote poetry and dream 
of beauty. In wandering through the magnificent 
saloons and long echoing galleries of the castle, I 
passed with indifference by whole rows of portraits 
of warriors and statesmen, but lingered in the cham- 
ber where hang the likenesses of the beauties that 
graced the gay court of Charles the Second ; and as 
I gazed upon them, depicted with amorous half- 
dishevelled tresses, and the sleepy eye of love, I 
blessed the pencil of Sir Peter Lely, which had thus 
enabled me to bask in the reflected rays of beauty. 
In traversing also the "large green courts," with 
sunshine beaming on the gray walls and glancing 
along the velvet turf, my mind was engrossed with 
the image of the tender, the gallant, but hapless 
Surrey, and his account of his loiterings about them 
in his stripling days, when enamoured of the Lady 
Geraldine — 

" with eyeii cast up unto the maiden's tower. 
With easie sighs, such as men draw in love.'* 

In this mood of mere poetical susceptibility, I vis- 
ited the ancient keep of the castle, where James the 
First of Scotland, the pride and theme of Scottish 
poets and historians, was for many years of his youth 
detained a prisoner of state. It is a large gray 
tower, that has stood the brunt of ages, and is still 
in good preservation. It stands on a mound which 
elevates it above the other parts of the castle, and 
a great flight of steps leads to the interior. In the 
armoury, which is a Gothic hall, furnished with 
weapons of various kinds and ages, I was shown a 
coat of armour hanging against the wall, which I 
was told had once belonged to James. From hence 
I was conducted up a stair-case to a suite of apart- 
ments of faded magnificence, hung with storied tap- 
estry, which formed his prison, and the scene of that 
passionate and fanciful amour, which has woven into 
the web of his story the magical hues of poetry and 
fiction. 

The whole history of this amiable but unfortunate 
prince is highly romantic. At the tender age of 
eleven, he was sent from his home by his father, 
Robert III., and destined for the French court, to 
be reared under the eye of the French monarch, se- 
cure Irom the treacherj' and danger that surrounded 
the royal house of Scotland. It was his mishap, in 
the course of his voyage, to fall into the hands of the 
English, and he was detained a prisoner by Henry 
IV., notwithstanding that a truce existed between 
the two countries. 

The intelligence of his capture, coming in the train 
of many sorrows and disasters, proved fatal to his 
unhappy father. 

"The news," we are told, "was brought to him 
while at supper, and did so overwhelm him with 
grief, that he w\as almost ready to give up the ghost 
into the hands of the servants that attended him. 
But being carried to his bed-chamber, he abstained 
from all food, and in three days died of hunger and 
grief, at Rothesay."* 

James was detained in captivity above eighteen 
years ; but, though deprived of personal liberty, he 
was treated with the respect due to his rank. Care 
was taken to instruct him in all the branches of use- 
ful knowledge cultivated at that period, and to give 

* Buchanan, 



him those mental and personal accomplishments 
deemed proper for a prince. Perhaps in this re- 
spect, his imprisonment was an advantage, as it en- 
abled him to apply himself the more exclusively to 
his improvement, and quietly to imbibe that rich 
fund of knowledge, and to cherish those elegant 
tastes, which have given such a lustre to his mem- 
ory. The picture drawn of him in early lile, by the 
Scottish historians, is highly captivating, and seems 
rather the description of a hero of romance, than of 
a character in real history. He was well learnt, we 
are told, " to fight with the sword, to joust, to tour- 
nay, to wrestle, to sing and dance ; he was an expert 
mediciner, right crafty in playing both of lute and 
harp, and sundry other instruments of music, and 
was expert in grammar, oratory, and poetrv."* 

With this combination of manly and dehcate ac- 
complishments, fitting him to shine both in active 
and elegant life, and calculated to give him an in- 
tense relish for joyous existence, it must have been 
a severe trial, in an age of bustle and chivalry, to 
pass the spring-time of his years in monotonous 
captivity. It was the good fortune of James, how- 
ever, to be gifted with a powerful poetic fancy, and 
to be visited in his prison by the choicest inspira- 
tions of the muse. Some minds corrode, and grow 
inactive, under the loss of personal libertv ; others 
grow morbid and irritable; but it is the nature of 
the poet to become tender and imaginative in the 
loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the 
honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive 
bird, pours forth his soul in melody. 

Have you not seen the nightingale 

A pilgrim coop'd into a cage, 
How doth she chant her wonted tale, 

In that her lonely hermitage ! 

Even there her charming melody doth prove 
That all her boughs are trees, her cage a grove. + 

Indeed, it is the divine attribute of the imagina- 
tion, that it is irrepressible, unconfinable ; that when 
the real world is shut out, it can create a world for 
itself, and. with necromantic power, can conjure up 
glorious shapes and forms, and brilliant visions, to 
make solitude populous, and irradiate the gloom 
of the dungeon. Such was the world of pomp and 
pageant that lived round Tasso in his dismal cell at 
Ferrara, when he conceived the splendid scenes of 
his Jerusalem ; and w-e may conceive the " King's 
Quair,"! composed by James during his captivity at 
Windsor, as another of those beautiful breakings 
forth of the soul from the restraint and gloom of the 
prison-house. 

The subject of his poem is his love for the lady 
Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset, and 
a princess of the blood-royal of England, of whom 
he became enamoured in the course of his captivity. 
What gives it peculiar value, is, that it may be con- 
sidered a transcript of the royal bard's true feelings, 
and the story of his real loves and fortunes. It is 
not often that sovereigns write poetrj'. or that poets 
deal in fact. It is gratifying to the pride of a com- 
mon man, to find a monarch thus suing, as it were, 
for admission into his closet, and seeking to win his 
favour by administering to his pleasures. It is a 
proof of the honest equ.ality of intellectual competition, 
which strips off all the trappings of factitious dignity, 
brings the candidate down to a level w ith his fellow- 
men, and obliges him to depend on his own native 
powers for distinction. It is curious, too, to get at 
the history of a monarch's heart, and to find the 
simple affections of hum.m nature throbbing under 
the ermine. But James had learnt to be a poet be- 



* Ballenden's translation of Hector Boyce. 
t Roger L'Estrange. $ Quair, i 



an old term for Book. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



23 



fore he was a king ; he was schooled in adversity, 
and reared in the company of his own thoughts. 
Monarchs have seldom time to parley with their 
hearts, or to meditate their minds into poetry ; and 
had James been brought up amidst the adulation 
and gayety of a court, we should never, in all proba- 
bility, have had such a poem as the Quair. 

I have been particularly interested by those parts 
of the poem which breathe his immediate thoughts 
concerning his situation, or which are connected 
with the a|)artment in the Tower. They have thus 
a personal and local charm, and are given with such 
circumstantial truth, as to make the reader present 
with the captive in his prison, and the companion of 
his meditations. 

Such is the account which he gives of his weari- 
ness of spirit, and of the incident that first suggested 
the idea of writing the jjoem. It was the still mid- 
watch of a clear moonlight night ; the stars, he says, 
were twinkling as the fire in the high vault of heaven, 
and "Cynthia raising her golden locks in Aquarius" 
— he lay in bed wakeful and restless, and took a 
book to beguile the tedious hours. The book he 
chose was Boetius' Consolations of Philosophy, a 
work popular among the writers of that day, and 
which had been translated by his great prototype 
Chaucer. I'rom the high eulogium in which he 
indulges, it is evident this was one of his favour- 
ite volumes while in prison ; and indeed, it is an ad- 
mirable text-book for meditation under adversity. It 
is the legacy of a noble and enduring spirit, purified 
by sorrow and suffering, bequeathing to its success- 
ors in calamity the maxims of sweet morality, and 
the trains of eloquent but simple reasoning, by which 
it was enabled to bear up against the various ills of 
life. It is a talisman which the unfortunate may 
treasure up in his bosom, or, like the good King 
James, lay upon his nightly pillow. 

A-fter closing the volume, he turns its contents 
over in his mind, and gradually falls into a fit of 
musing on the fickleness of fortune, the vicissitudes 
of his own life, and the evils that had overtaken him 
even in his tender youth. Suddenly he hears the 
bell ringing- to matins, but its sound chiming in 
with his melancholy fancies, seems to him like a 
voice exhorting him to write his story. In the spirit 
of poetic errantry, he determines to comply with 
this intimation ; he therefore takes pen in hand, 
makes with it a sign of the cross, to implore a bene- 
diction, and sallies forth into the fairy land of poetry. 
There is something extremely fanciful in all this, and 
it is interesting, as furnishing a striking and beautiful 
instance of the simple manner in which whole trains 
of poetical thought are sometimes awakened, and 
literary enterprises suggested to the mind. 

In the course of his poem, he more than once be- 
wails the peculiar hardness of his fate, thus doomed 
to lonely and inactive life, and shut up from the 
freedom and pleasure of the world, in which the 
meanest animal indulges unrestrained. There is a 
sweetness, however, in his very complaints ; they 
are the lamentations of an amiable and social spirit, 
at being denied the indulgence of its kmd and gener- 
ous propensities; there is nothing in them harsh or 
exaggerated ; they flow with a natural and touching 
pathos, and are perhaps rendered more touching by 
their simple brevity. They contrast finely with those 
elaborate and iterated repinings which we sometimes 
meet with in poetry, the effusions of morbid minds, 
sickening under miseries of their own creating, and 
venting their bitterness upon an unoffending world. 
James speaks of his privations with acute sensibility ; 
but having mentioned them, passes on, as if his 
manly mind disdained to brood over unavoidable 
calamities. When such a spirit breaks forth into 



complaint, however brief, we are aware how great 
must be the suffering that extorts the murmur. We 
sympathize with James, a romantic, active, and ac- 
complished prince, cut off in the lustihood of youth 
from all the enterprise, the noble uses and vigorous 
delights of life, as we do with Milton, alive to all 
the beauties of nature and glories of art, when he 
breathes forth brief but deep-toned lamentations 
over his perpetual blindness. 

Had not James evinced a deficiency of poetic arti- 
fice, we might almost have suspected that these low- 
erings of gloomy reflection were meant as prepara- 
tive to the brightest scene of his story, and to con- 
trast with that effulgence of light and loveliness, 
that exhilarating accompaniment of bird, and song, 
and foliage, and flower, and all the revel of the year, 
with which he ushers in the lady of his heart. It is 
this scene in particular which throws all the magic 
of romance about the old castle keep. He had risen, 
he says, at day-break, according to custom, to escape 
from the dreary meditations of a sleepless pillow. 
" Bewailing in his chamber thus alone," despairing 
of all joy and remedy, "for, tired of thought, and 
wo-begone," he had wandered to the window to in- 
dulge the captive's miserable solace, of gazing wist- 
fully upon the world from which he is excluded. The 
window looked forth upon a small garden which lay 
at the foot of the tower. It was a quiet, sheltered 
spot, adorned with arbours and green alleys, and 
protected from the passing gaze by trees and haw- 
thorn hedges. 

Now was there made f^st by the tower's walk 

A garden faire. and in the corners set, 
An arbour green with wandis lung and small 

Railed about, and so with leaves beset 
Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, 

That lyf * was none, walkyng there forbye. 

That might within scarce any wight espye. 

So thick the branches and the leves grene, 

Beshaded all the alleys that there were, 
And midst of every arbonr might be seen 

The sharpe, grene. swete juniper. 
Growing so faire with brandies here and there. 

That as it seemed to a lyf without, 

The boughs did spread the arbour all about. 

And on the smalt green twistist set 

The lytel swete nyghtingales, and sung 

So loud and clere, t!ie hymnis consecrate 
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud amon^, 

That all the garden and the wallis rung 
Kyght of their song — 

It was the month of May, when every thing was 
in bloom, and he interprets the song of the night- 
ingale into the language of his enamoured feeling : 

Worship all ye that lovers be this May ; 

For of your bliss the kalends are begun, 
And sing with us, away, winter, away, 

Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun. 

As he gazes on the scene, and listens to the notes 
of the birds, he gradually lapses into one of those 
tender and undefinable reveries, which fill the youth- 
ful bosom in this delicious season. He wonders 
what this love may be, of which he has so often 
read, and which thus seems breathed forth in the 
quickening breath of May, and melting all nature 
into ecstacy and song. If it really be so great a 
felicity, and if it be a boon thus generally dispensed 
to the most insignificant of beings, why is he alone 
cut off from its enjoyments ? 

Oft would I think, O Lord, what may this be, 
That love is of such noble myght and kynde ? 

Loving his folk, and such prosperilee. 
Is It of him, as we in books do find ; 

May he oure hertes settenj and unbynd : 
Hath he upon oure hertes such maistrye ? 

Or is all this but feynlt fantasye ? 



* Ly/^ person. 

t T-wislis, small boughs or twi^s, X Sel/cn^ incline. 

Note. — The language of the quotations is generally modernized. 



24 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



For giff he be of so grate excellence 
That he of every wight hath care and charge, 

What have I gilt * to him, or done offence. 
That I am thral'd and birdis go at large? 

In the midst of his musing-, as he casts his eyes 
downward, he beholds " the fairest and the freshest 
young floure " that ever he had seen. It is the 
lovely Lady Jane, walking in the garden to enjoy 
the beauty of that " fresh May morrowe." Break- 
ing thus suddenly upon his sight in a moment of 
loneliness and excited susceptibility, she at once 
captivates the fancy of the romantic prince, and 
becomes the object of his wandering wishes, the 
sovereign of his ideal world. 

There is in this charming scene an evident re- 
semblance to the early part of Chaucer's Knight's 
Tale, where Palamon and Arcite fall in love with 
Emilia, whom they see walking in the garden of 
their prison. Perhaps the similarity of the actual 
fact to the incident which he had read in Chaucer, 
may have induced James to dwell on it in his poem. 
His description of the Lady Jane is given in the pict- 
uresque and minute manner of his master, and be- 
ing, doubtless, taken from the life, is a perfect por- 
trait of a beauty of that day. He dwells v. ith the 
fondness of a lover on every article of her apparel, 
from the net of pearl, splendent with emeralds and 
sapphires, that confined her golden hair, even to the 
" goodly chai-.e of small orfeverye "t about her neck, 
whereby there hung a ruby in shape of a heart, that 
seemed, he says, like a spark of lire burning upon 
her white bosom. Her dress of white tissue was 
looped up, to enable her to walk with more freedom. 
She was accompanied by two female attendants, and 
about her sported a little hound decorated with 
bells, probably the small Italian hound, of exquisite 
symmetry, which was a parlour favourite and pet 
among the fashionable dames of ancient times. 
James closes his description by a burst of general 
eulogium : 

In her was youth, beauty with bumble port, 

Bountee, richesse. and womanly feature, 
God belter knows than my pen can report. 

Wisdom, largesse, t estate, § and cunning || sure. 
In every point so guided her measure. 

In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance, 

That nature might no more her child advance. 

The departure of the Lady Jane from the garden 
puts an end to this transient riot of the heart. With 
her departs the amorous illusion that had shed a 
temporary charm over the scene of his captivity, and 
he relapses into loneliness, now rendered tenfold 
more intolerable by this passing beam of unattain- 
able beauty. Through the long and wearv day he 
repines at his unhappy lot, and when evening ap- 
proaches and Phoebus, as he beautifully expresses it, 
had "bad farewell to every leaf and flower," he still 
lingers at the window, and, laying his head upon the 
cold stone, gives vent to a mingled flow of love and 
sorrow, until gradually lulled by the mute melan- 
choly of the twilight hour, he lapses, " half-sleeping, 
half swoon," into a vision, whi?h occupies the re- 
mainder of the poem, and in which is allegorically 
sh.adowed out the history of his passion. 

When he wakes from his trance, he rises from his 
stony pillow, and pacing his apartment full of dreary 
reflections, questions his spirit whither it has been- 
wandering; whether, indeed, all that has passed be- 
fore his dreaming fancy has been conjured up by 
preceding circumstances, or whether it is a vision 
intended to comfort and assure him in his despond- 
ency. If the latter, he prays that some token may 



♦ Gilt^ what injury have 1 done, &c. 
t Wrought gold. 
§ Estate^ dignity. 



% Largesse^ bounty. 
\ Cunnin^^ discretion. 



be sent to confirm the promise of happier days, given 
him in his slumbers. 

Suddenly a turtle-dove of the purest whiteness 
comes flying in at the window, and alights upon his 
hand, bearing in her bill a branch of red gilliflower, 
on the leaves of which is written in letters of gold, 
the following sentence : 

Awake ! awake ! I bring, lover, I bring 
The newis glad, that blissful is and sure. 

Of thy comfort ; now laugh, and play, and sing, 
For in the hea\en decretit is thy cure. 

He receives the branch with mingled hope and 
dread; reads it with rapture, and this he says was 
the first token of his succeeding happiness. Whether 
this is a mere poetic fiction, or whe;her the Lady 
Jane did actually send him a token of her favour in 
this romantic way, remains to be determined accord- 
ing to the faith or fancy of the reader. He concludes 
his poem by intimating that the promise conveyed in 
the vision, and by the flower, is fulfilled by his being 
restored to liberty, and made happy in the possession 
of the sovereign of his heart. 

Such is the poetical account given by James of his 
love adventures in Windsor Castle. How much of 
it is absolute fact, and how much the embellishment 
of fancy, it is fruitless to conjecture ; do not, how- 
ever, let us always consider whatever is romantic as 
incompatible with real life, but let us sometimes 
take a poet at his word. I have noticed meiely such 
parts of the poem as were immediately connected 
with the tower, and have passed over a large part 
which was in the allegorical vein, so much cultivated 
at that day. The language of course is quaint and 
antiquated, so that the beauty of many of its golden 
phrases will scarcely be perceived at the present day ; 
but it is impossible not to be charmed with the gen- 
uine sentiment, the delightful artlessness and ur- 
banity, which prevail throughout it. The descrip- 
tions of Nature, too, with which it is embellished, are 
given with a truth, a discrimination, and a freshness, 
worthy of the most cultivated period of the arts. 

As an amatory poem, it is edifying, in these days 
of coarser thinking, to notice the nature, refinement, 
and exquisite delicacy which pervade it, banishing 
every gross thought, or immodest expression, and 
presenting female loveliness clothed in all its chival- 
rous attributes of almost supernatural purity and 
grace. 

James flourished nearly about the time of Chaucer 
and Gower, and was evidently an admir.-rand studier 
of their writings. Indeed, in one of his stanzas he 
acknowledges them as his masters, and in some parts 
of his poem we find traces of similarity to their pro- 
ductions, more especially to those of Chaucer. There 
are always, however, general features of resemblance 
in the works of cotemporary authors, which are not 
so much borrowed from each other as from the 
times. Writers, like bees, toll their sweets in the 
wide world ; they incorporate with their own con- 
ceptions, the anecdotes and thoughts which are cur- 
rent in society, and thus each generation has some 
features in common, characteristic of the age in 
which it lives. James in fact belongs to one of the 
most brilliant eras of our literary history, and estab- 
lishes the claims of his country to a participation in 
its primitive honours. Whilst a small cluster of En- 
glish writers are constantly cited as the fathers u{ 
our verse, the name of their great Scottish compeer 
is apt to be passed over in silence ; but he is evi- 
dently worthy of being enrolled in that little constel- 
lation ol remote, but never-failing luminaries, who 
shine in the highest firmament of literature, and who, 
like morning stars, sang together at the bright dawn- 
ing of British poesy. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



25 



Such of my readers as may not be familiar with | human pride, seems to have passed lightly over this 



Scottish history, (though the manner in which it has 
of late been woven with captivating- fiction has made 
it a universal study,) may be curious to learn some- 
thing of the subsequent history of James, and the 
fortunes of his love. His passion for the Lady Jane, 
as it was the solace of his captivity, so it facilitated 
his release, it being imagined by the Court, that a 
connexion with the blood-royal of England would 
attacli him to its own interests. He was ultimately 
restored to his liberty and crown, having previously 
espoused the Lady Jane, who accompanied him to 
Scotland, and made him a most tender and devoted 
wife. 

He found his kingdom in great confusion, the 
feudal chieftains having taken advantage of the 
troubles and irregularities of a long interregnum, to 
strengthen themselves in their possessions, and place 
themselves above the power of the laws. James 
sought to found the basis of his power in the affec- 
tions of his people. He attached the lower orders to 
him by the reformation of abuses, the temperate and 
equable administration of justice, the encouragement 
of the arts of peace, and the promotion of every 
thing that could diffuse comfort, competency, and 
innocent enjoyment, through the humblest ranks of 
society. He mingled occasionally among the com- 
mon people in disguise ; visited their firesides ; en- 
tered mto their cares, their pursuits, and their amuse- 
ments ; informed himself of the mechanical arts, and 
how they could best be patronized and improved ; 
and was thus an all-pervading spirit, watching with j 
a benevolent eye over the meanest of his subjects. 
Having in this generous manner made himself strong 
in the hearts of the common people, he turned him- 
self to curb the power of the factious nobility ; to 
strip them of those dangerous immunities which 
they had usurped ; to punish such as had been 
guilty of flagrant offences ; and to bring the whole 
into proper obedience to the crown. For some time 
they bore this with outward submission, but with 
secret impatience and brooding resentment. A con- 
spiracy was at length formed against his life, at the 
head of which was his own uncle, Robert Stewart, 
Earl of Athol, who. being too old himself for the 
perpetration of the deed of blood, instigated his 
grandson, Sir Robert Stew.art, together with Sir 
Robert Graham, and others of less note, to commit 
the deed. They broke into his bed-chamber at the 
Dominican convent near Perth, where he was resid- 
ing, and barbarously murdered him by oft- repeated 
wounds. His faithful queen, rushing to throw her 
tender body between him and the sword, was twice 
wounded in the ineffectual attempt to shield him 
from the assassin ; and it was not until she had been 
forcibly torn from his person, that the murder was 
accomplished. 

It was the recollection of this romantic tale of 
former times, and of the golden little poem, which 
had its birth-place in this tower, that made me visit 
the old pile with more than common interest. The 
suit of armour hanging up in the hall, richly gilt and 
embellished, as if to figure in the tournay, brought 
the image of the gallant and romantic prince vividly 
before my imagination. I paced the deserted cham- 
bers where he had composed his poem ; I leaned 
upon the window, and endeavoured to persuade my- 
self it was the very one where he had been visited 
by his vision ; I looked out upon the spot where he 
had first seen the Lady Jane. It was the same 
genial and joyous month : the birds were again 
vying with each other in strains of liquid melody : 
every thing was bursting into vegetation, and bud- 
ding forth the tender promise of the year. Time, 
which delights to obliterate the sterner memorials of 



ttle scene of poetry and love, and to have withheld 
his desolatin v har.d. Several centuries have gone by, 
yet the garden still flourishes at the foot of the 
tower. It occupies what was once the moat of the 
keep, and though some parts have been separated 
by dividing walls, yet others have still their arbours 
and shaded walks, as in the days of James ; and the 
whole is sheltered, blooming, and retired. There is 
a charm about the spot that has been printed by the 
footsteps of departed beauty, and consecrated by the 
inspirations of the poet, which is heightened, rather 
than impaired, by the lapse of ages. It is, indeed, 
the gift of poetry, to hallow every place in which it 
moves ; to breathe round nature an odour more ex- 
quisite than the perfume of the rose, and to shed 
over it a tint more magical than the blush of morn- 
ing. 

Others may dwell on the illustrious deeds of James 
as a warrior and a legislator ; but I have delighted to 
view him merely as the companion of his fellow-men, 
the benefactor of the human heart, stooping from 
his high estate to sow the sweet flowers of poetry 
and song in the paths of common life. He was the 
first to cultivate the vigorous and hardy plant of 
Scottish genius, which has since been so prolific of 
the most wholesome and highly flavoured fruit. He 
carried with him into the sterner regions of the 
north, all the fertilizing arts of southern refinement. 
He did every thing in his power to win his country- 
men to the gay, the elegant, and gentle arts which 
soften and refine the character of a people, and 
wreathe a grace round the loftiness ot a proud and 
warlike spirit. He wrote many poems, which, un- 
fortunately for the fulness of his tame, are now lost 
to the world ; one, which is still preserved, called 
" Christ's Kirk of the Green," shows how diligently 
he had made himself acquainted with the rustic 
sports and pastimes, which constitute such a source 
of kind and social feeling among the Scottish peas- 
antry ; and with what simple and happy humour he 
could enter into their enjoyments. He contributed 
greatly to improve the national music ; and traces 
of his tender sentiment and elegant taste are said to 
exist in those witching airs, still piped among the 
wild mountains and lonely glens of Scotland. He 
has thus connected his image with whatever is most 
gracious and endearing in the national character ; 
he has embalmed his memory in song, and floated 
his name down to after-ages in the rich stream of 
Scottish melody. The recollection of these things 
was kindling at my heart, as I paced the silent scene 
of his imprisonment. I have visited Vaucluse with 
as much enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the 
shrine at Loretto ; but I have never lelt more poet- 
ical devotion than when contemplating the old 
tower and the little garden at Windsor, and musing 
over the romantic loves of the Lady Jane, and the 
Royal Poet of Scotland. 



THE COUNTRY CHURCH. 



A gentleman ! 
What o' the woolpack? or the sugar-chest ? 
Or lists of velvet ? which is't, pound, or yard^ 
Vou vend your gentry by ? 

Beggar's Bush, 

There are few places more favourable to the 
study of character, than an English countr)' church. 
1 was once passing a few weeks at the seat of a 
friend, who resided in the vicinity of one, the ap- 



26 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



pearance of which particularly struck my fancy. It 
was one of those rich morsels of quaint antiquity, 
which give such a peculiar ch.irm to English land- 
scape. It stood in the midst of a county tilled with 
ancient families, and contained, within its cold and 
silent aisles, the congregated dust of many noble 
generations. The interior walls were encrusted 
with monuments of every age and style. The light 
streamed through windows dimmed with armorial 
bearings, richly emblazoned in stained glass. In 
various parts of the church were tombs of knights, 
and high-born dames, of gorgeous workmanship, 
with their effigies in coloured marble. On every 
side, the eye was struck with some instance of aspir- 
ing mortality ; some haughty memorial which hu- 
man pride had erected over its kindred dust, in this 
temple of the most humble of all religions. 

The congregation was composed of the neighbour- 
ing people of rank, who sat in pews sumptuously 
lined and cushioned, furnished with richly-gilded 
prayer-books, and decorated with their arms upon 
the pew doors; of the villagers and peasantry, who 
filled the back seats, and a small gallery beside the 
organ; and of the poor of the parish, who were 
ranged on benches in the aisles. 

The service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed 
vicar, who had a snug dwelling near the church. 
He was a privileged guest at all the tables of the 
neighbourhood, and had been the keenest fo.\- 
hunter in the countiy, until age and good living had 
disabled him from doing any thing more than ride to 
see the hounds throw otf, and make one at the hunt- 
ing dinner. 

Under the ministry of such a pastor, I found it im- 
possible to get into the train of thought suitable to 
the time and place ; so having, like many other feeble 
Christians, compromised with my conscience, by lay- 
ing the sin of my own delinquency at another per- 
son's threshold, I occupied myself by making obser- 
vations on my neighbours. 

I was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to 
notice the manners of its fashionable classes. I 
found, as usual, that there was the least pretension 
where there was the most acknowledged title to re- 
spect. I was particularly struck, for instance, with 
the family of a nobleman of high rank, consisting of 
several sons and daughters. Nothing could be more 
simple and unassuming than their appearance. They 
generally came to church in the plainest equipage, 
and often on foot. The young ladies would stop 
and converse in the kindest manner with the 
peasantiy, caress the children, and listen to the 
stories of the humble cottagers. Their countenances 
were open and beautifully fair, with an expression of 
high refinement, but at the same time, a frank 
cheerfulness, and engaging affability. Their brothers 
were tall, and elegantly formed. They were dressed 
fashionably, but simply ; with strict neatness and 
propriety, but without any mannerism or fopishness. 
Their whole demeanour was easy and natural, with 
that lofty grace, and noble frankness, which bespeak 
free-born souls that have never been checked in 
their growth by feelings of inferiority. There is a 
healthful hardmess about real dignity, that never 
dreads contact and communion with others, how- 
ever humble. It is only spurious pride that is mor- 
bid and sensitive, and shrinks from every touch. T 
was pleased to see the manner in which they would 
converse with the peasantry about those rural con- 
cerns and field sports, in which the gentlemen of 
this country so much delight. In these conversa- 
tions, there was neither haughtiness on the one part, 
nor servility on the other; and you were only re- 
minded of the difference of rank by the habitual re- 
spect of the peasant. 



In contrast to these, was the family of a wealthy 
citizen, who had amassed a vast fortune, and, having 
purchased the estate and mansion of a ruined noble- 
man in the neighbourhood, was endeavouring to as- 
sume all the style and dignity of a hereditary lord 
of the soil. The family always came to church en 
prince. They were rolled majestically along in a 
carriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glittered 
in silver radiance from every part of the harness 
where a crest could possibly be placed. A fat coach- 
man in a three-cornered hat, richly laced, and a fla.xen 
wig, curling close round his rosy face, was seated on 
the box, with a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two 
footmen in gorgeous liveries, with huge bouquets, 
and gold-headed canes, lolled behind. The carriage 
rose and sunk on its long springs with a peculiar 
stateliness of motion. The very horses champed 
their bits, arched their necks, and glanced their eyes 
more proudly than common horses ; either because 
they had got a little of the family feeling, or were 
reined up more tightly than ordinary. 

I could not but admire the style with which this 
splendid pageant was brought up to the gate of the 
churchyard. There was a vast effect produced at 
the turning of an angle of the wall ; — a great smack- 
ing of the whip ; straining and scrambling of the 
horses ; glistening of harness, and flashing of wheels 
through gravel. This was the moment of triumph 
and vain-glory to the coachman. The horses were 
urged and checked, until they were fretted into a 
foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing trot, 
dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of 
villagers sauntering quietly to church, opened pre- 
cipitately to the right and left, gaping in vacant ad- 
miration. On reaching the gate, the horses were 
pulled up with a suddenness that produced an im- 
mediate stop, and almost threw them on their 
haunches. 

There was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen 
to alight, open the door, pull down the steps, and 
prepare every thing for the descent on earth of this 
august family. The old citizen first emerged his 
round red face from out the door, looking about him 
with the pompous air of a man accustomed to rule 
on 'change, and shake the stock-market with a nod. 
His consort, a fine, fleshy, comfortable dame, fol- 
lowed him. There seemed, I must confess, but 
little pride in her composition. She was the picture 
of broad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world 
went well with her ; and she liked the world. She 
had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine carriage, fine 
children, every thing was fine about her : it was 
nothing but driving about, and visiting and feasting. 
Life was to her a perpetual revel ; it was one long 
Lord Mayor's day. 

Two daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. 
They certainly were handsome ; but had a super- 
cilious air that chilled admiration, and disposed the 
spectator to be critical. They were ultra-fashion- 
ables in dress, and, though no one could deny the rich- 
ness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness 
might be questioned amidst the simplicity of a country- 
church. They descended loftily from the carriage, 
and moved up the line of peasantiy with a step that 
seemed dainty of the soil it trod on. They cast an 
excursive glance around, that passed coldly over the 
burly faces of the peasantry, until they met the eyes 
of the nobleman's family, when their countenances 
immediately brightened into smiles, and they made 
the most profound and elegant courtesies, which 
were returned in a manner that showed they were 
but slight acquaintances. 

I must not lorget the two sons of this aspiring 
citizen, who came to church in a dashing curricle, 
with outriders. They were arrayed in the extremity 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



27 



of the mode, with all that pedantry of dress which 
marks the man of questionable pretensions to style. 
They kept entirely by themselves, eyeing every one 
askance that came near them, as if measuring his 
claims to respectability ; yet they were without con- 
versation, except the exchange of an occasional cant 
phrase. They even moved artificially, for their 
bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day, 
had been disciplined into the absence of all ease and 
freedom. Art had done every thing to accomplish 
them as men of fashion, but Nature had denied them 
the nameless grace. They were vulgarly shaped, 
like men formed for the common purposes of life, 
and had that air of supercilious assumption which is 
never seen in the true gentleman. 

I have been rather minute in drawing the pictures 
of these two families, because I considered them 
specimens of what is often to be met with in this 
country — the unpretending great, and the arrogant 
little. I have no respect for titled rank, unless it be 
accompanied by true nobility of soul ; but I have re- 
marked, in all countries where these artificial dis- 
tinctions exist, that the very highest classes are al- 
ways the most courteous and unassuming. Those 
who are well assured of their own standing, are 
least apt to trespass on that of others : whereas, 
nothing is so offensive as the aspirings of vulgarity, 
which thinks to elevate itselt by humiliating its 
neighbour. 

As I have brought these families into contrast, I 
must notice their behaviour in church. That of the 
nobleman's family was quiet, serious, and attentive. 
Not that they appeared to have any fervour of devo- 
tion, but rather a respect for sacred things, and 
sacred places, inseparable from good-breeding. The 
others, on the contrary', were in a perpetual flutter 
and whisper ; they betrayed a continual conscious- 
ness of finery, and the sorry ambition of being the 
wonders of a rural congregation. 

The old gentleman was the only one really atten- 
tive to the service. He took the whole burden of 
family devotion upon himself; standing bolt upright, 
and uttering the responses with a loud voice that 
might be heard all over the church. It was evident 
that he was one of these thorough church and king 
men, who connect the idea of devotion and loyalty ; 
who consider the Deity, some how or other, of the 
government party, and religion " a very excellent 
sort of thing, that ought to be countenanced and 
kept up." 

When he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed 
more by way of example to the lower orders, to 
show them, that though so great and wealthy, he 
was not above being religious ; as I have seen a 
turtle-fed alderman swallow publicly a basin of 
charity soup, smacking his lips at every mouthful, 
and pronouncing it "excellent food for the poor." 

When the service was at an end, 1 was curious to 
witness the several exits of my groups. The young 
noblemen and their sisters, as the day was fine, pre- 
ferred strolling home across the fields, chatting with 
the country people as they went. The others de- 
parted as they came, in grand parade. Again were 
the equipages wheeled up to the gate. There was 
again the smacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, 
and the glittering of harness. The horses started 
off almost at a bound ; the villagers again hurried 
to right and left ; the wheels threw up a cloud of 
dust, and the aspiring family was wrapt out of sight 
in a whirlwind. 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 



Pittie olde age, within whose silver haires 
Honoui and reverence evermore have raign'd. 

Marlowe's Tamhttrlaine, 

During my residence in the country, I used fre- 
quently to attend at the old village church. Its 
shadowy aisles, its mouldering monuments, its dark 
oaken panelling, all reverend with the gloom of de- 
parted years, seemed to fit it for the haunt of solemn 
meditation. A Sunday, too, in the country, is so holy 
in its repose — such a pensive quiet reigns over the 
face of Nature, that every restless passion is charmed 
down, and we feel all the natural religion of the soul 
gently springing up within us. 

'' Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky ! " 

I cannot lay claim to the merit of being a devout 
man ; but there are feelings that visit me in a country 
church, amid the beautiful serenity of Nature, which 
I experience nowhere else ; and if not a more religious, 
I think I am a better man on Sunday, than on any 
other day of the seven. 

But in this church 1 felt myself continually thrown 
back upon the world, by the frigidity and pomp of the 
poor worms around me. The only being that seemed 
thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate piety of 
a true Christian, was a poor decrepit old woman, 
bending under the weight of years and infirmities. 
She bore the traces of something better than abject 
poverty. The lingerings of decent pride were visible 
in her appearance. Her dress, though humble in the 
extreme, was scrupulously clean. Some trivial re- 
spect, too, had been awarded her, for she did not 
take her seat among the village poor, but sat alone 
on the steps of the altar. She seemed to have sur- 
vived all love, all friendship, all society ; and to have 
nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. When I 
saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in 
prayer ; habitually conning her prayer-book, which 
her palsied hand and failing eyes could not permit 
her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart ; 
I felt persuaded that the faltering voice of that poor 
woman arose to heaven far before the responses of 
the clerk, the swell of the organ, or the chanting of 
the choir. 

I am fond of loitering about country churches ; and 
this was so delightfully situated, that it frequently at- 
tracted me. It stood on a knoll, round which a small 
stream made a beautiful bend, and then wound its 
way through a long reach of soft meadow scenery. 
The church was surrounded by yew trees, which 
seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic 
spire shot up lightly from among them, with rooks 
and crows generally wheeling about it. I was seated 
there one still sunny morning, watching two labourers 
who were digging a grave. They had chosen one 
of the most remote and neglected corners of the 
churchyard, where, by the number of nameless graves 
around, it would appear that the indigent and friend- 
less were huddled into the earth. I was told that the 
new-made grave was for the only son of a poor widow. 
While I was meditating on the distinctions of worldly 
rank, which extend thus down into the very dust, the 
toll of the bell announced the approach of the funeral. 
They were the obsequies of poverty, with which 
pride had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest 
materials, without pall or other covering, was borne 
by some of the villagers. The sexton walked before 
with an air of cold indifference. There were no mock 
mourners in the trappings of affected wo, but there 



28 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



was one real mourner who feebly tottered after the 
corpse. It was the aged mother of the deceased — 
the poor old woman whom I had seen seated on the 
steps of the altar. She was supported Ijy an humble 
friend, who was endeavouring to comiort her. A 
few of the neighbouring poor had joined the train, 
and some children of the village were running hand 
in hand, now shouting with unthinking mirth, and 
now pausing to gaze, with childish curiosity, on the 
grief of the mourner. 

As the funeral train approached the grave, the par- 
son issued from the church porch, arrayed in the sur- 
plice, with prayer-book in hand, and attended by the 
clerk. The service, however, was a mere act of 
charity. The deceased had been destitute, and the 
survivor was pennyless. It was shuffled through, 
therefore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The 
well-fed priest moved but a few steps from the church 
door ; his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave ; 
and never did I hear the funeral service, that sublime 
and touching ceremony, turned into such a frigid 
mummery of words. 

1 approached the grave. The coffin was placed 
on the ground. On it were inscribed the name and 
age of the deceased — "George Somers, aged 26 
years." The |)oor mother had been assisted to kneel 
down at the head of it. Her withered hands were 
clasped, as if in prayer; but I could perceive, by a 
feeble rocking of the body, and a convulsive motion 
of the lips, that she was gazing on the last relics of 
her son witli the yearnings of a mother's heart. 

Preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the 
earth. There was that bustling stir, which breaks so 
harshly on the feelings of grief and affection : direc- 
tions given in the cold tones of business ; the striking 
of spades into sand and gravel ; which, at the grave 
of those w'c love, is of all sounds the most withering. 
The bustle around seemed to waken the mother from 
a wretclied reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and 
looked about with a faint wildness. As the men ap- 
proached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, 
she wrung her hands, and broke into an agony of 
grief. The poor woman who attended her, took her 
by the arm, endeavoured to raise her from the earth, 
and to whisper something like consolation — " Nay, 
now — nay, now — don't take it so sorely to heart." 
She could only shake her head, and wring her hands, 
as one not to be comforted. 

As they lowered the body into the earth, the 
creaking of the cords seemed to agonize her ; but 
when, on some accidental obstruction, there was a 
jostling of the coffin, all the tenderness of the moth- 
er burst forth ; as if any harm could come to him 
who was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering. 

I could see no more — my heart swelled into my 
throat — my eyes filled with tears — I felt as if I were 
acting a barbarous part in standing by and gazing 
idly on this scene of maternal anguish. 1 wandered 
to another part of the churchyard, where I remained 
until the funeral train had dispersed. 

When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quit- 
ting the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all 
that was dear to her on earth, and returning to si- 
lence and destitution, my heart ached for her. What, 
thought I, are the distresses of the rich ? They have 
friends to soothe — pleasures to beguile — a world to 
divert and dissipate their griefs. What are the sor- 
rows of the young.? Their growing minds soon 
close above the wound — their elastic spirits soon 
rise beneath the pressure — their green and ductile 
affections soon twine around new objects. But the 
sorrows of the poor, who have no outward appli- 
ances to soothe — the sorrows of the aged, with whom 
life at best is but a wintry day, and who can look for 
no after-growth of joy — the sorrows of a widow, aged. 



solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last 
solace of her years ; — these are indeed sorrows which 
make us feel the impotency of consolation. 

It was some time before I left the churchyard. On 
my way homeward, I met with the woman who had 
acted as comforter : she was just returning from ac- 
companving her mother to her lonely habitation, and 
I drew from her some particulars connected with the 
affecting scene I had witnessed. 

The parents of the deceased had resided in the 
village from childhood. They had inhabited one of 
the neatest cottages, and by various rural occupa- 
tions, and the assistance of a small garden, had sup- 
ported themselves creditably and comfortably, and 
led a happy and a blameless life. They had one son, 
who had grown up to be the staff" and pride of their 
age. — "Oh, sir!" said the good woman, "he was 
such a comely lad, so sweet-tempered, so kind to 
every one around him, so dutiful to his parents ! It 
did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, drest 
out in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, sup- 
porting his old mother to church — for she was al- 
ways fonder of leaning on George's arm, than on her 
good man's ; and, poor soul, she might well be proud 
of him, for a finer lad there was not in the country 
round." 

Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year 
of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into 
the service of one of the small craft that plied on a 
neighbouring river. He had not been long in this 
employ, when he was entrapped by a press-gang, and 
carried off to sea. His parents received tidings of his 
seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothing. 
It was the loss of their main prop. The father, who 
was already infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, 
and sunk into his giave. The widow, left lonely in 
her age and feebleness, could no longer support her- 
self, and came upon the parish. Still there was a 
kind of feeling toward her throughout the village, 
and a certain respect as being one of the oldest in- 
habitants. As no one applied for the cottage in 
which she had passed so many happy days, she was 
permitted to remain in it, where she lived solitary 
and almost helpless. The few wants of nature were 
chiefly supplied from the scanty productions of 
her little garden, which the neighbours would now 
and then cultivate for her. It was but a few days be- 
fore the time at which these circumstances were told 
me, that she was gathering some vegetables for her 
repast, when she heard the cottage-door which faced 
the garden suddenly opened. A stranger came out, 
and seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly around. 
He was dressed in seamen's clothes, was emaciated 
and ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by 
sickness and hardships. He saw her, and hastened 
toward her, but his steps were faint and faltering ; 
he sank on his knees before her, and sobbed like a 
child. The poor woman gazed upon him with a va- 
cant and wandering eye — " Oh my dear, dear inoth- 
er ! don't you know your son .' your poor boy 
George.'" It was, indeed, the wreck of her once 
noble lad ; who, shattered by wounds, by sickness, 
and foreign imprisonment, had, at length, dragged 
his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among the 
scenes of his childhood. 

I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such 
a meeting, where sorrow and joy were so completely 
blended : still he was alive ! — he was come home ! — 
he might yet live to comfort and cherish her old age ! 
Nature, however, was exhausted in him ; and if any 
thing had been wanting to finish the work of fate, 
the desolation of his native cottage would have been 
sufficient. He stretched himself on the pallet on 
which his widowed mother had passed many a 
sleepless night, and he never rose from it again. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent, 



29 



The villagers, when they heard that George Som- 
ers had returned, crowded to see him, offering every 
comfort and assistance that their humble means af- 
forded. He was too weak, however, to talk — he 
could only look his thanks. His mother was his 
constant attendant ; and he seemed unwilling to be 
helped by any other hand. 

There is something in sickness that breaks down 
the pride of manhood ; that softens the heart, and 
brings it back to the feelings of infancy. Who tha.t 
has languished, even in advanced life, in sickness 
and despondency ; who that has pined on a weary 
bed in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land ; 
but has thought on the mother "that looked on his 
childhood," that smoothed his pillow, and adminis- 
tered to his helplessness ? Oh ! there is an enduring 
tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that tran- 
scends all other affections of the heart. It is neither 
to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, 
nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by in- 
gratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his 
convenience ; she will surrender every pleasure to 
his enjoyment ; she will glory in his fame, and exult 
in his prosperity ; — and, if misfortune overtake him, 
he will be the dearer to her from misfortune ; and if 
disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and 
cherish him in spite of his disgrace ; and if all the 
world beside cast him off, she will be all the world 
to him. 

Poor George Somers had known what it was to 
be in sickness, and none to soothe — lonely and in 
prison, and none to visit him. He could not endure 
his mother from his sight ; if she moved away, his 
eye would follow her. She would sit for hours by 
his bed, watching him as he slept. Sometimes he 
would start from a feverish dream, and looking an.x- 
iously up until he saw her bending over him, when 
he would take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall 
asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In this way 
he died. 

My first impulse, on hearing this humble tale of 
affliction, was to visit the cottage of the mourner, 
and administer pecuniary assistance, and, if possi- 
ble, comfort. I found, however, on inquiry, that the 
good feelings of the villagers had prompted them to 
do every thmg that the case admitted ; and as the 
poor know best how to console each other's sorrows, 
I did not venture to intrude. 

The next Sunday I was at the village church ; 
when, to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman 
tottering down the aisle to her accustomed seat on 
the steps of the altar. 

She had made an effort to put on something like 
mourning for her son ; and nothing could be more 
touching than this struggle between pious affection 
and utter poverty: a black riband or so — a faded 
black handkerchief — and one or two more such 
humble attempts to express by outward signs that 
grief which passes show. — When I looked round 
upon the storied monuments, the stately hatch- 
ments, the cold marble pomp, with which grandeur 
mourned magnificently over departed pride, and 
turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and 
sorrow at the altar of her God, and offering up the 
prayers and praises of a pious, though a broken 
heart, I felt that this living monument of real grief 
was w^orth them all. 

I related her stoiy to some of the wealthy mem- 
bers of the congregation, and they were moved by 
it. They exerted themselves to render her situation 
more comfortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It 
was, however, but smoothing a few steps to the 
grave. In the course of a Sunday or two after, she 
was missed from her usual seat at church, and be- 
fore I left the neighbourhood, I heard, with a feeling 



of satisfaction, that she had quietly breathed her 
last, and had gone to rejoin those she loved, in that 
world where sorrow is never known, and friends are 
never parted. 



THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP. 

A SHAKSPERIAN RESEARCH. 



"A tavern is the rendezvous, the exchange, the staple of good 
fellows. I ha\"e heard my great-grandfather tell, how his great- 
great-grandfather should say, that it was an old proverb when his 
great-grandfather was a child, that ' it was a good wind that blew a 
man to the wine.^ " 

Mother Bombie. 

It is a pious custom, in some Catholic countries, 
to honour the memory of saints by votive lights 
burnt before their pictures. The popularity of a 
saint, therefore, may be known by the number of 
these offerings. One, perhaps, is left to moulder in 
the darkness of his little chapel ; another may have 
a solitary lamp to throw its blinking rays athwart 
his effigy ; while the whole blaze of adoration is 
lavished at the shrine of some beatified father of re- 
nown. The wealthy devotee brings his huge lumi- 
nary of wax; the eager zealot, his seven-branched 
candlestick ; and even the mendicant pilgrim is by 
no means satisfied that sufficient light is thrown 
upon the deceased, unless he hangs u|) his little lamp 
of smoking oil. The consequence is, in the eager- 
ness to enlighten, they are often apt to obscure ; and 
I have occasionally seen an unlucky saint almost 
smoked out of countenance by the officiousness of 
his followers. 

In like manner has it fared with the immortal 
Shakspeare. Every writer considers it his boundcn 
duty, to light up some portion of his character or 
works, and to rescue some merit from oblivion. The 
commentator, opulent in words, produces vast tomes 
of dissertations ; the common herd of editors send 
up mists of obscurity from their notes at the bottom 
of each page ; and every casual scril.ibler brings his 
farthing rush-light of eulogy or research, to swell 
the cloud of incense and of smoke. 

As I honour all established usages of my brethren 
of the quill, I thought it but proper to contriljute my 
mite of homage to the memory of the illustrious 
bard. I was for some time, however, sorely puzzled 
in what way I should discharge this duty. I found 
myself anticipated in every attempt at a new read- 
ing ; every doubtful line had been explained a dozen 
different ways, and perplexed beyond the reach of 
elucidation ; and as to fine passages, they had all 
been amply praised by previous admirers : nay, so 
completely had the bard, of late, been overlarded 
with panegyric by a great German critic, that it was 
difficult now to find even a fault that had not been 
argued into a beauty. 

In this perplexity, I was one morning turning over 
his pages, when I casually opened upon the comic 
scenes of Henry IV., and was, in a moment, com- 
pletely lost in the madcap revelry of the Boar's Head 
Tavern. So vividly and naturally are these scenes 
of humour depicted, and with such force and con- 
sistency are the characters sustained, that they be- 
come mingled up in the mind with the facts and 
personages of real life. To few readers does it oc- 
cur, that these are all ideal creations of a poet's 
brain, and that, in sober truth, no such knot of 
merry roysters ever enlivened the dull neighbour- 
hood of Eastcheap. 

For my part, I love to give myself up to the illusions 



30 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of poetry. A hero of fiction that never existed, is 
just as valuable to me as a hero of history that ex- 
isted a thousand years since: and, if I maybe ex- 
cused such an insensibility to the common ties ol 
human nature, I would not give up fat Jack for half 
the great men of ancient chronicle. What have the 
heroes of yore done for me, or men like me ? They 
have conquered countries of which I do not enjoy an 
acre ; or they have gained laurels of which I do not 
inherit a leaf; or they have furnished examples of 
hair-brained prowess, which I have neither the op- 
portunity nor the inclination to follow. But old Jack 
Falstaff !— kind Jack Falstaff!— sweet Jack Falstaff ! 
has enlarged the boundaries of human enjoyment ; 
he has added vast regions of wit and good-humour, 
in which the poorest man may revel ; and has be- 
queathed a never-failing inheritance of jolly laughter, 
to make mankind merrier and better to the latest 
posterity. 

A thought suddenly struck me : " I will make a 
pilgrimage to Eastcheap," said I, closing the book, 
" and see if the old Boar's Head Tavern still exists. 
Who knows but I may light upon some legendary 
traces of Dame Quickly and her guests ; at any rate, 
there will be a kindred pleasure, in treading the halls 
once vocal with their mirth, to that the toper enjoys 
in smelling to the empty cask, once filled with gener- 
ous wine." 

The resolution was no sooner formed than put in 
execution. I forbear to treat of the various advent- 
ures and wonders I encountered in my travels, of 
the haunted regions of Cock-lane ; of the faded 
glories of Little Britain, and the parts adjacent ; 
what perils I ran in Cateaton-street and Old Jewry ; 
of the renowned Guildhall and its two stunted giants, 
the pride and wonder of the city, and the terror of 
all unlucky urchins ; and how I visited London 
Stone, and struck my staff upon it, in imitation of 
that arch-rebel. Jack Cade. 

Let it suffice to say, that I at length arrived in 
merry Eastcheap, that ancient region of wit and was- 
sail, where the very names of the streets relished of 
good cheer, as Pudding-lane bears testimony even at 
the present day. For Eastcheap, says old Stow, 
" was always famous for its convivial doings. The 
cookes cried hot ribbes of beef roasted, pies well 
baked, and other victuals ; there was clattering of 
pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and sawtrie." Alas ! how 
sadly is the scene changed since the roaring days of 
Falstaff and old Stow ! The madcap royster has 
given place to the plodding tradesman ; the clatter- 
ing of pots and the sound of '• harpe and sawtrie," 
to the din of carts and the accurst dinging of the 
dustman's bell ; and no song is heard, save, haply, 
the strain of some syren from Billingsgate, chanting 
the eulogy of deceased mackerel. 

I sought, in vain, for the ancient abode of Dame 
Quickly. The only relict of it is a boar's head, 
carved in relief stone, which formerly served as the 
sign, but, at present, is built into the parting line 
of two houses which stand on the site of the re- 
nowned old tavern. 

For the history of this little empire of good fellow- 
ship, I was referred to a tallow-chandler's widow, 
opposite, who had been born and brought up on the 
spot, and was looked up to, as the indisputable 
chronicler of the neighbourhood. I found her seated 
in a little back parlour, the window of which looked 
out upon a yard about eight feet square, laid out as a 
flower-garden ; while a glass door opposite afforded 
a distant peep of the street, through a vista of soap 
and tallow candles ; the two views, which comprised, 
in all probability, her prospects in life, and the little 
world in which she had lived, and moved, and had 
her being, for the better part of a century. 



To be versed in the histoiy of Eastcheap. great 
and little, from London Stone even unto the Alonu- 
ment, was, doubtless, in her opinion, to be actpiaint- 
ed with the history of the universe. Yet. with all 
this, she possessed the simplicity of true wisdom, and 
that liberal, communicative disposition, which I 
have generally remarked in intelligent old ladies, 
knowing in the concerns of their neighbourhood. 

Her information, however, did not extend far b.ack 
into antiquity. She could throw no light upon the 
history of the Boar's Head, from the time that Dame 
Quickly espoused the valiant Pistol, until the great 
fire of London, when it was unfortunately burnt 
down. It was soon rebuilt, and continued to flourish 
under the old name and sign, until a dying landlord, 
struck with remorse for double scores, bad measures, 
and other iniquities which are incident to the sinful 
race of publicans, endeavoured to make his peace 
with Heaven, by bequeathing the tavern to St. 
Michael's church. Crooked-lane, toward the support- 
ing of a chaplain. For some time the vestry meet- 
ings were regularly held there ; but it was observed 
that the old Boar never held up his head under 
church government. He gradually declined, and 
finally gave his last gasp about thirty years since. 
The tavern was then turned into shops ; but she in- 
formed me that a picture of it was still preserved in 
St. Michael's church, which stood just m the rear. 
To get a sight of this picture was now my determi- 
nation ; so, having informed myself of the abode of 
the sexton, I took my leave of the venerable chronicler 
of Eastcheap, my visit having doubtless raised greatly 
her opinion of her legendary lore, and furnished an 
important incident in the history of her life. 

It cost me some difficulty, and much curious in- 
quiry, to ferret out the humble hanger-on to the 
church. 1 had to explore Crooked-lane, and divers 
little alleys, and elbows, and dark passages, with 
which this old city is perforated, like an ancient 
cheese, or a worm-eaten chest of drawers. At length 
1 traced him to a corner of a small court, surround- 
ed by lofty houses, where the inhabitants enjoy about 
as much of the face of heaven, as a community of 
frogs at the bottom of a well. The sexton was a 
meek, acquiescing little man, of a bowing, lowly 
habit ; yet he had a pleasant twinkling in his eye, 
and if encouraged, would now and then venture a 
small pleasantry ; such as a man of his low estate 
might venture to make in the company of high church 
wardens, and other mighty men of the earth. I 
found him in company with the deputy organist, 
seated apart, like Milton's angels ; discoursing, no 
doubt, on high doctrinal points, and settling the af- 
fairs of the church over a friendly pot of ale; for the 
lower classes of English seldom deliberate on any 
weighty matter, without the assistance of a cool 
tankard to clear their understandings. I arrived at 
the moment when they had finished their ale and 
their argument, and were about to repair to the 
church to put it in order ; so, having made known 
my wishes, I received their gracious permission to 
accompany them. 

The church of St. Michael's, Crooked-lane, stand- 
ing a short distance from Billingsgate, is enriched 
with the tombs of many fishmongers of renown ; and 
as every profession has its galaxy of glor)', and its 
constellation of great men, I presume the monument 
of a mighty fishmonger of the olden time is regarded 
with as much reverence by succeeding generations 
of the craft, as poets feel on contemplating the tomb 
of Virgil, or soldiers the monument of a Marlbor- 
ough or Turenne. 

I cannot but turn aside, while thus speaking of il- 
lustrious men, to observe that St. Michael's, Crook- 
ed-lane, contains also the ashes of that doughty cham- 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



31 



pion. William Walworth, Knight, who so manfully 
clove clown the sturdy wig^ht, Wat Tyler, in Smith- 
field ; a hero worthy of honourable blazon, as almost 
the only Lord Mayor on record famous for deeds of 
arms ; the sovereigns of Cockney being generally re- 
nowned as the most pacific of all potentates.* 

Adjoining the church, in a small cemetery, imme- 
diately under the back windows of what vvas once 
the Boar's Head, stands the tombstone of Robert 
Preston, whilome drawer at the tavern. It is now 
nearly a century since this trusty drawer of good 
liquorclosed his bustling career, and was thus quietly 
deposited within call of his customers. As I was 
clearing away the weeds from his epitaph, the little 
sexton drew me on one side with a mysterious air, 
and informed me, in a low voice, that once upon a 
time, on a dark wintry night, when the wind was un- 
ruly, howling and whistling, banging about doors and 
windows, and twirling weathercocks, so that the liv- 
ing were frightened out of their beds, and even the 
dead could not sleep quietly in their graves, the ghost 
of honest Preston, which happened to be airing itself 
in the churchyard, was attracted by the well-known 
call of "waiter," from the Boar's Head, and made 
its sudden appearance in the midst of a roaring club, 
just as the parish clerk was singing a stave from the 
"mirrie garland of Captain Death ;" to the discom- 
fiture of sundry train-band captains, and the conver- 
sion of an infidel attorney, who became a zealous 
Christian on the spot, and was never known to twist 
the truth afterwards, except in the way of business. 

I beg it may be remembered, that I do not pledge 
myself for the authenticity of this anecdote; though 
it is well known that the churchyards and bye-corners 
of this old metropolis are very much infested with 
perturbed spirits ; and every one must have heard 
of the Cock-lane ghost, and the apparition that guards 
the regalia in the Tower, which has frightened so 
many bold sentinels almost out of their wits. 

Be all this as it may, this Robert Preston seems to 
have been a worthy successor to the nimble-tongued 
Francis, who attended upon the revels of Prince Hal ; 
to have been equally prompt with his " anon, anon, 
sir," and to have transcended his predecessor in 
honesty ; for Falstaff, the veracity of whose taste no 
man will venture to impeach, flatly accuses Francis 
ot putting lime in his sack; whereas, honest Preston's 
epitaph lauds him for the sobriety of his conduct, the 
soundness of his wine, and the fairness of his meas- 
ure.t The worthy dignitaries of the church, however, 
did not appear much captivated by the sober virtues 
of the tapster : the deputy organist, who had a moist 
look out of the eye, made some shrewd remark on 
the abstemiousness of a man brought up among full 
hogsheads ; and the little sexton corroborated his 
opinion by a significant wink, and a dubious shake of 
the head. 

Thus far my researches, though they threw much 
light on the histoiy of tapsters, fishmongers, and Lord 
Mayors, yet disappointed me in the great object of 

* The following was the ancient inscription on the monument 
of this worthy, which, unl " ' ... 



flagration. 



nhappily, was destroyed in the great con- 

Hereunder lyth a man of fame, 
William Walworth callyd by name ; 
Fishmonger he was in lyfftime here, 
And twise Lord Maior, as in book.-; appeare ; 
Who, with courage stout and manly myght, 
Slew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard's sight, 
For which act done, and trew entent, 
The Kyng made him knyght incontinent ; 
And gave him armes, as here you see, 
To declare his fact and chivaldrie : 
He left this lyff the year of our God 
Thirteen hondred fourscore and three odd. 

An error in the foregoing inscription has been corrected by the 
venerable Stew : " Whereas," saith he, '' It hath been far spread 
abro.ad by vulgar opmion. that the rebel smitten down so manfully 
by Sir William Walworth, the then worthy Lord Maior, was named 



my quest, the picture of the Boar's Head Tavern. 
No such painting was to be found in the church of 
St. Michael's. "Marry and amen !" said I, "here 
endeth my research ! " So I was giving the matter up, 
with the air of a baffled antiquary, when my friend 
the sexton, perceiving me to be curious in every thing 
relative to the old tavern, offered to show me the 
choice vessels of the vestry, which had been handed 
down from remote times, when the parish meetings 
were held at the Boar's Head. These were deposited 
in the parish club-room, which had been transferred, 
on the decline of the ancient establishment, to a 
tavern in the neighbourhood. 

A few steps brought us to the house, which stands 
No. 12, Mile-lane, bearing the title of The Mason's 
Arms, and is kept by Master Edward Honeyball, the 
" bully-rock " of the establishment. It is one of those 
little taverns, which abound in the heart of the citv, 
and form the centre of gossip and intelligence of the 
neighbourhood. We entered the bar-room, which 
was narrow and darkling ; for in these close lanes but 
few rays of reflected light are enabled to struggle 
down to the inhabitants, whose broad day is at best 
but a tolerable twilight. The room was partitioned 
into boxes, each containing a table spread with a 
clean white cloth, ready for dinner. This showed 
that the guests were of the good old stamp, and di- 
vided their day equally, for it was but just one o'clock. 
At the lower end of the room was a clear coal fire, 
before which a breast of lamb was roasting. A row 
of bright brass candlesticks and pewter mugs glis- 
tened along the mantelpiece, and an old-fashioned 
clock ticked in one corner. There was something 
primitive in this medley of kitchen, parlour, and hall, 
that carried me back to earlier times, and pleased 
me. The place, indeed, was humble, but eveiy thing 
had that look of order and neatness which bespeaks 
the superintendence of a notable English housewife. 
A group of amphibious-looking beings, who might 
be either fishermen or sailors, were regaling them- 
selves in one of the boxes. As I was a visitor of 
rather higher pretensions, I was ushered into a little 
misshapen back room, having at least nine corners. 
It was lighted by a sky-light, furnished with anti- 
quated leathern chairs, and ornamented with the 
portrait of a fat pig. It was evidently appropriated 
to particular customers, and I found a shabby gentle- 
man, in a red nose, and oil-cloth hat, seated in one 
corner, meditating on a half-empty pot of porter. 

The old sexton had taken the landlady aside, and 
with an air of profound importance imparted to her 
my errand. Dame Honeyball was a likely, plump, 
bustling little woman, and no bad substitute lor that 
paragon of hostesses. Dame Quickly. She seemed 
delighted with an opportunity to oblige ; and hurry- 
ing up stairs to the archives of her house, where 
the precious vessels of the parish club were deposit- 
ed, she returned, smiling and courtesying with them 
in her hands. 

The first she presented me was a japanned iron 



Jack Straw, and not Wat Tyler, I thought good to reconcile this 
rash conceived doubt by such testimony as 1 find in ancient and 
good records. The principal leaders, or captains, of the commons, 
were Wat Tyler, as the first man ; the second was John, or Jack, 
Straw, &c., &c." Stow's Lando,,. 

t As this inscription is rife with excellent morality, I transcribe 
it for the admonition of delinquent tapsters. It is, no doubt, the 
production of some choice spirit, who once frequented the Boar's 
Head. 

Bacchus, to give the toping world surprise, 
Produced one sober son, and here he lies. 
Though rear'd among full hogsheads, he defied 
The charms of wine, and every one beside. 
O reader, if to justice thou 'rt inclined. 
Keep honest Preston daily in thy mind. 
He drew good wine, look care to fill his pots. 
Had sundry virtues that excused his faults. 
You that on Bacchus have the like dependence, 
Pray copy Bob, in measure and attendance. 



32 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tobacco-box, of gigantic size, out of which, I was 
told, the vestry had smoked at their stated meetings, 
since time immemorial ; and which was never suf- 
fered to be profaned by vulgar hands, or used on 
common occasions. I received it with becoming 
reverence ; but what was my delight, at beholding 
on its cover the identical painting of which I was in 
quest ! There was displayed the outside of the 
Boar's Head Tavern, and before the door was to be 
seen the whole convivial group, at table, in full revel, 
pictured with that wonderful fidelity and force, with 
which the portraits of renowned generals and com- 
modores are illustrated on tobacco boxes, for the 
benefit of posterity. Lest, however, there should 
be any mistake, tlie cunning limner had warily in- 
scribed the names of Prince Hal and Falstaff oii the 
bottoms of their chairs. 

On the inside of the cover was an inscription, 
nearly obliterated, recording that this box was the 
gift of Sir Richard Gore, for the use of the vestry 
meetings at the Boar's Head Tavern, and that it 
was " repaired and beautified by his successor, Mr. 
John Packard, 1767." Such is a faithful descrip- 
tion of this august and venerable relic, and I ques- 
tion whether the learned Scriblerius contemplated 
his Roman shield, or the Knights of the Round Table 
the long-sought sangreal, with more exultation. 

While I was meditating on it with enra])tured gaze. 
Dame Honeyball, who was highly gratified by the 
interest it excited, put in my hands a drinking cup or 
goblet, which also belonged to the vestrv, and was 
descended from the old Boar's Head. It bore the 
inscription of having been the gift of Francis Wythers, 
Knight, and was held, she told me, in exceeding 
great value, being considered very " antyke." This 
last opinion was strengthened bv the shabby gentle- 
man with the red nose, and oil-cloth hat, arid whom 
I strongly suspected of being a lineal descendant 
from the valiant Bardolph. He suddenly aroused 
from his meditation on the pot of porter, and cast- 
ing a knowing look at the goblet, exclaimed, " Ay, 
ay, the head don't ache now that made that there 
article." 

The great miportance attached to this memento of 
ancient revelry by modern churchwardens, at first 
puzzled me ; but there is nothing sharpens the appre- 
hension so much as antiquarian research ; for I im- 
mediately perceived that this could be no other than 
the identical " parcel-gilt goblet " on which Falstaff 
made his loving, but faithless vow to Dame Quickly ; 
and which would, of course, be treasured up with 
care among the regalia of her domains, as a testi- 
mony of that solemn contract.* 

Mine hostess, indeed, gave me a long history how 
the goblet had been handed down from generation 
to generation. She also entertained me with many 
particulars concerning the worthy vestrymen who 
have seated themselves thus quietly on the stools jf 
the ancient roysters ol Eastcheap, and, like so many 
co.mmentators, utter clouds of smoke in honour of 
Shakspeare. These I forbear to relate, lest my 
readers should not be as curious in these matters as 
myself. Suffice it to say, the neighbours, one and all, 
about Eastcheap, believe that Falstaff and his merry 
crew actually lived and revelled there. Nay, there 
are several legendary anecdotes concerning him still 
extant among the oldest frequenters of the Mason's 
Arms, which they give as transmitted down from 
their forefathers; and Mr. M'Kash, an Irish hair- 

*Thou didst sivear to me upon ^ parcel-gUt goiltt. MUxig'm 
my Dolphm Ch.imber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire on 
Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the Prince broke thy head 
forlikenmg his father to a singing man of Windsor; thou didst 
swear to me then, as I w.is washing thy wound, to marry me and 
make me my lady, thy wife. Canst lliou deny it?— 'I 

Henry IV. part 2, I 



dresser, whose shop stands on the site of the old 
Boar's Head, has several dry jokes of Fat Jack's, 
not laid down in the books, with which he makes 
his customers ready to die of laughter. 

I now turned to my friend the sexton to make 
some farther inquiries, but 1 found him sunk in pen- 
sive meditation. His head had declined a little on 
one side ; a deep sigh heaved from the very bottom 
of his stomach, and, though I could not see a tear 
trembling in his eye, yet a moisture was evidently 
stealing from a corner of his mouth. I followed 
the direction of his eye through the door which stood 
open, and found it fixed wistfully on the savoury 
breast of lamb, roasting in dripping richness before 
the fire. 

I now called to mind, that in the eagerness of my 
recondite investigation, I was keeping the poor man 
from his dinner. My bowels yearned with sympa- 
thy, and putting in his hand a small token of my 
gratitude and good-will, I departed with a hearty 
benediction on him, Dame .Honeyball, and the parish 
club of Crooked-lane— not forgetting my shabby, but 
sententious friend, in the oil-cloth hat and copper 
nose. 

Thus have I given a " tedious brief " account of 
this interesting research ; for which, if it prove too 
short and unsatisfactory, 1 can only plead my inex- 
perience in this branch of literature, so deservedly 
popular at the present day. I am aware that a more 
skilful illustrator of the immortal bard would have 
swelled the materials I have touched upon, to a good 
merchantable bulk, comprising the biographies of 
William Walworth, Jack Straw, and Robert Pres- 
ton ; some notice of the eminent fishmongers of St. 
Michael's ; the history of Eastcheap, great and little ; 
private anecdotes of Dame Honeyball and her pretty 
daughter, whom I have not even mentioned: to say 
nothing of a damsel tending the breast of lamb, (and 
whom, by the way, I remarked to be a comely lass, 
with a neat foot and ankle ;) the whob enlivened by 
the riots of Wat Tyler, and illuminated by the great 
fire of London. 

All this I leave as a rich mine, to be worked by 
future commentators ; nor do I despair of seeing the 
tobacco-box, and the " parcel-gilt goblet," which I 
have thus brought to light, the subject of future en- 
gravings, and almost as fruitful of voluminous dis- 
sertations and disputes as the shield of Achilles, or 
the far-famed Portland vase. 



THE MUTABILITy OF LITERATURE. 

ACOLLOQUY IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



I know that all beneath the moon decays, 
And what by mortals in thi-i world is brought. 
In time's great periods shall return to nought. 

I know that all the muses' heavenly layes. 
With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, 
As idle sounds of few or none are sought. 

That there is nothing lighter than mere praise. 

Dru.mmond of Hawthornden. 

There are certain half-dreaming moods of mind, 
in which we naturally steal away from noise and 
glare, and seek some quiet haunt, where we may in- 
dulge our reveries, and build our air castles undis- 
turbed. In such a mood, I was loitering about the 
old gray cloisters of Westminster Abbey, enjoying 
that luxury of wandering thought which one is apt 
to dignify with the name of reflection ; when sud- 
denly an irruption of madcap boys from Westminster 
school, playing at foot-ball, broke in upon the monas- 
tic stillness of the place, making the vaulted passages 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



33 



ml mouldering tombs echo with their merriment. I 
MU-ht to take refuge from their noise by penetrat- 
ny'till deeper into the solitudes of the pile, and ap- 
)li~ il to one of the vergers for admission to the hbra- 
y. He conducted me through a portal rich with the 
rumbling sculpture ot former ages, which opened 
ipi .n a gloomy passage leading to the Chapter-house, 
inil the chamber in which Doomsday Book is depos- 
tiil. Just within the passage is a small door on the 
ill . To this the verger applied a key ; it was double 
ucki-d, and opened with some difficulty, as if seldom 
1S..1. We now ascended a dark narrow staircase, 
.11.1 passing through a second door, entered the 
ibrary. 

I found myself in a lofty antique hall, the roof 
.upported by massive joists of old English oak. It 
vas soberly lighted by a row of Gothic windows at a 
•onsiderable height from the floor, and which ap- 
)arently opened upon the roofs of the cloisters. An 
indent picture of some reverend dignitary of the 
:hurch in his robes hung over the fire-place. Around 
he hall and in a small gallery were the books, ar- 
anged in carved oaken cases. They consisted princi- 
)ally of old polemical writers, and were much more 
vor'n by time than use. In the centre of the library 
vas a solitary table, with two or three books on it, 
'.n inkstand without ink, and a few pens parched by 
ong disuse. The place seemed fitted for quiet study 
^nd profound meditation. It was buried deep among 
he massive walls of the abbey, and shut up from the 
umult of the world. I could only hear now and 
hen the shouts of the schoolboys faintly swelling 
rom the cloisters, and the sound of a bell tolling for 
irayers, that echoed soberly along the roofs of the 
,bl)ey. By degrees the shouts of merriment grew 
ainter and famter, and at length died away. The 
)ell ceased to toll, and a profound silence reigned 
hrough the dusky hall. 

I had taken down a little thick quarto, curiously 
)0und in parchment, with brass clasps, and seated 
nyself at the table In a venerable elbow chair. In- 
itead of reading, however, I was beguiled by the 
iolemn monastic air and lifeless quiet of the place, 
nto a train of musing. As I looked around upon 
.he old volumes in their mouldering covers, thus 
•anged on the shelves, and apparently never dis- 
.urbed in their repose, 1 could not but consider the 
ibrary a kind of literary catacomb, where authors, 
ike mummies, are piously entombed, and lelt to 
slacken and moulder in dusty oblivion. 

How much, thought I, has each of these volumes, 
now thrust aside with such mdiflerence, cost some 
iching head— how many weary days! how many 
sleepless nights! How have their authors buried 
themselves in the solitude of cells and cloisters ; 
shut themselves up from the face of man, and the 
still more blessed face of nature ; and devoted them- 
selves to painful research and intense reflection ! 
And all for what.'' to occupy an inch of dusty shelf 
—to have the titles of their works read now and 
then in a future age, by some drowsy churchman, or 
casual straggler like myself ; and in another age to 
be lost even to remembrance. Such is the amount 
of this boasted immortality. A mere temporary 
rumour, a local sound ; like the tone of that bell 
which has just tolled among these towers, filling 
the ear for a moment — lingering transiently in 
echo — and then passing away, like a thing that was 
not ! 

While I sat half-murmuring, half-meditating these 
unprofitable speculations, with my head resting on 
my hand, I was thrumming with the other hand 
upon the quarto, until I accidentally loosened the 
clasps ; when, to my utter astonishment, the little 
book gave two or three yawns, like one awaking 
3 



from a deep sleep; then a husky hem, and at length 
began to talk. At first its voice was very hoarse and 
broken, being much troubled by a cobweb which 
some studious spider had woven across it ; and hav- 
ing probably contracted a cold from long exposure 
to the chills and damps of the abbey. In a short time, 
however, it became more distinct, and I socn found 
it an exceedingly fluent conversable little tome. Its 
language, to be sure, was rather quaint and obsolete, 
and its pronunciation what in the present day would 
be deemed barbarous ; but I shall endeavour, as far 
as I am able, to render it in modern parlance. 

It began with railings about the neglect of the 
world — about merit being suffered to languish in 
obscurity, and other such commonplace topics of 
literary repining, and complained bitterly that it had 
not been opened for more than two centuries ; — that 
the Dean only looked now and then into the library, 
sometimes took down a volume or two, trifled with 
them for a few moments, and then returned them to 
their shelves. 

•' What a plague do they mean," said the little 
quarto, which I began to perceive was somewhat 
choleric, " what a plague do they mean by keeping 
several thousand volumes of us shut up here, and 
watched by a set of old vergers, like so many beau- 
ties in a harem, merely to be looked at now and then 
bv the Dean ? Books were written to give pleasure 
and to be enjoyed ; and 1 would have a rule passed 
that the Dean should pay each of us a visit at least 
once a year ; or if he is not equal to the task, let 
them once in a while turn loose the whole school of 
Westminster among us, that at any rate we may now 
and then have an airing." 

"Softly, my worthy friend," replied I, "you are 
not aware how much better you are off than most 
books of your generation. By being stored away in 
this ancient library, you are like the treasured re- 
mains of those saints and monarchs which lie en- 
shrined in the adjoining chapels ; while the remains 
of their cotemporaiy mortals, left to the ordinary 
course of nature, have long since returned to dust." 
"Sir," said the little tome, ruffling his leaves and 
looking big, " I was written for all the world, not 
for the bookworms of an abbey. I was intended to 
circulate from hand to hand, like other great cotem- 
porary works ; but here have I been clasped up for 
more than two centuries, and might have silently 
fallen a prey to these worms that are playing the 
very vengeance with my intestines, if you had not 
by chance given me an opportunity of uttering a few 
last words before I go to pieces." 

"My good friend," rejoined I, "had you been left 
to the circulation of which you speak, you would 
long ere this have been no more. To judge from 
your physiognomy, you are now well stricken in 
years ; very few of your contemporaries can be at 
present in existence ; and those few owe their lon- 
gevity to being immured like yourself in old libraries ; 
which, suffer me to add, instead of likening to ha- 
rems, you might more properly and gratefully have 
compared to those infirmaries attached to religious 
establishments, for the benefit of the old and de- 
crepid, and where, by quiet fostering and no em- 
ployment, they often endure to an amazingly good- 
for-nothing old age. You talk of your contempo- 
raries as if in circulation — where do we meet with 
their works ?— what do we heir of Robert Groteste 
of Lincoln ? No one could have toiled harder than 
he for immortality. He is said to have written 
nearly two hundred volumes. He built, as it were, 
a pyramid of books to perpetuate his name : but. 
alas ! the pyramid has long since fallen, and only a 
few fragments are scattered in various libraries, 
where they are scarcely disturbed even by the anti- 



34 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



quarian. What do we hear of Giraldus Cambrensis, 
the historian, antiquary, philosopher, theolosjian, and 
poet? He declined two bishoprics, that he mijjht 
shut himself up and write for posterity ; but poster- 
ity never inquires after his labours. What of Henry 
of Huntingdon, who, besides a learned history of 
England, wrote a treatise on the contempt of the 
world, which the world has revenged by forgetting 
him ? What is quoted of Joseph of Exeter, styled 
the miracle of his age in classical composition? Of 
his three great heroic poems, one is lost for ever, ex- 
cepting a mere fragment ; the others are known only 
to a few of the curious in literature; and as to his 
love verses and epigrams, they have entirely disap- 
peared. What is in current u;e of John Wallis, the 
Franciscan, who acquired the naine of the tree of 
life? — of William, of Malmsbury ; of Simeon of 
Durham ; of Benedict of Peterborough ; of John 
Hanvill of St. Albans ; of " 

" Prithee, friend," cried the quarto in a testy tone, 
"how old do you think me? You are talking of 
authors that lived long before my time, and wrote 
either in Latin or French, so that they in a manner 
expatriated themselves, and deserved to be forgot- 
ten;* but I, sir, was ushered into the world from 
the press of the renowned Wynkyn de Worde. 1 
was written in my own native tongue, at a time 
when the language had become fi,xed ; and, indeed, 
I was considered a model of pure and elegant En- 
glish." 

[I should observe that these remarks were couched 
in such intolerably antiquated terms, that I have had 
infinite difficulty in rendering them into modern 
phraseology.] 

" I cry you mercy," said I, " for mistaking your 
age ; but it matters little; almost all the w. iters of 
your time have likewise passed into forgetfulness ; 
and De Worde's publications are mere literary rarities 
among book-collectors. The purity and sta'bility of 
language, too, on which you found your claims to 
perpetuity, have been the fallacious dependence of 
authors of every age, even back to the times of the 
worthy Robert of Gloucester, who wrote his history 
in rhymes of mongrel Saxon.f Even now, many talk 
of Spenser's 'well of pure English undefiled,' as if the 
language ever sprang from a well or fountain-head, 
and was not rather a mere confluence of various 
tongues, perpetually subject to changes and inter- 
mixtures. It is this which has made English liter- 
ature so extremely mutable, and the reputation built 
upon it so fleeting. Unless thought can be commit- 
•ted to something more perinanent and unchangeable 
than such a medium, even thought must share the 
fate of every thing else, and fall into decay. This 
should serve as a check upon the vanity and exulta- 
tion of the most popular writer. He finds the lan- 
guage in which he has embarked his fame gradually 
altering, and subject to the dilapidations of time and 
the caprice of fashion. He looks back, and beholds 
the early authors of his country, once the favourites 
of their day, supplanted by modern writers : a few 
short ages have covered them with obscurity, and 
their merits can only be relished by the quaint taste 

*In Latin and French hath many soueraine wittes had great 
delyte to endyte, and have many noble things fulfildc, hut certes 
there ben some that spealcen their poisye in Frencli, of whicii 
speche the Frenchmen have as good a fantasye as we h,ave iji 
hearing of Frenchmenis Englishe. 

CH.tuCER's Testament of Love. 

+ Holinshed, in his Chroniple, observes, "afterwards, also by 
diligent travell of GefTry Chaucer and John Cowrie, in the tim'c of 
Richard the Second, and after them of John Scogan and John 
Lydgate, monke of Berrie, our said tonng was hrought to an 
excellent passe, notwithstanding that it never came unto the 
type of perfection until the time of Queen Elizabeth, wherein 
lohn Jewell, Bishop of Sarum, John Fox, and sundrie learned and 
excellent writers, have fully accomplished the ornaturc of the 
same, to their great praise and immortal commendation." 



of the bookworm. And such, he anticipates, will be 
the fate of his own work, which, however it niav be 
admired in its day, and held up as a model of purity, 
will, in the course of years, grow antiquated and ob- 
solete, until it shall become almost as unintelligible 
in its native land as an Egyptian obelisk, or one of 
those Runic inscriptions, said to exist in the deserts 
of Tartary. I declare," added I, with some emotion, 
" when I contemplate a modern library, filled with 
new works in all the bravery of rich gilding and 
binding, I feel disposed to sit down and weep ; like 
the good Xerxes, when he surveyed his army, prank- 
ed out in all the splendour of military array, and re- 
flected that in one hundred years not one of them 
would be in existence ! " 

" Ah," said the little quarto, with a heavy sigh, " I 
see how it is ; these modern scribblers have super- 
seded all the good old authors. I suppose nothing is 
read now-a-days but Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, 
Sackville's stately plays and Mirror for Magistrates, 
or the fine-spun euphuisms of the ' unparalleld John 
Lyly.' " 

"There you are again mistaken," said I; "the 
writers whom you suppose in vogue, because they 
happened to be so when you were last in circulation, 
have long since had their day. Sir Philip Sidney's 
Arcadia, the immortality of which was so fondly pre- 
dicted by his admirers,* and which, in truth, was full 
of noble thoughts, delicate images, and graceful turns 
of language, is now scarcely ever mentioned. Sack- 
ville has strutted into obscurity ; and even Lyly, 
though his writings were once the delight of a court, 
and apparently perpetuated by a proverb, is now 
scarcely known even by name. A whole crowd of 
authors who wrote and wrangled at the time, have 
likewise gone down with all their writings and their 
controversies. Wave after wave of succeeding liter- 
ature has rolled over them, until they are buried so 
deep, that it is only now and then that some indus- 
trious diver after fragments of antiquity brings up a 
specimen for the gratification of the curious. 

" For my part," I continued, " I consider this mu- 
tability of language a wise precaution of Providence 
for the benefit of the world at large, and of authors 
in particular. To reason from analogy : we dailv be- 
hold the varied and beautiful tribes of vegetables 
springing up, flourishing, adorning the fields for a 
short time, and then fading into dust, to make way for 
their successors. Were not this the case, the fecundity 
of nature would be a grievance instead of a blessing : 
the earth would groan with rank and excessive vege- 
tation, and its surface become a tangled wilderness. 
In like manner, the works of genius and learning de- 
cline and make way for subsequent productions. 
Language gradually varies, and with it fade away- 
the writings of authors who have flourished their 
allotted time ; otherwise the creative powers of 
genius would overstock the world, and the mind 
would be completely bewildered in the endless mazes, 
ot literature. Formerly there were some restraints 
on this excessive multiplication : works had to be 
transcribed by hand, which was a slow and laborious 
operation ; they were written either on parchment, 
which was expensive, so that one work was often 
erased to make way for another ; or on papyrus, 
which was fragile and extremely perishable. Au- 
thorship was a limited and unprofitable craft, pursued 



* " Live e^■er swcete booWe ; the simple image of his gentle Mitt, 
and the eolden pillar of his noble courage; and ever notify unto 
the world that thy writer was the secretary of eloquence, the 
breath of the muses, the honey bee of the daintyest flowers of witt 
and arte, the pith of morale and the intellectual virtues, the arme 
of Bellona in the field, the tongue of Suada in the chamber, 
the spirile of Practise in esse, and the paragon of excellency ia 
print. ' " 

Hakvey's P'erce's Supererogation. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



35 



;hiefly by monks in the leisure and solitude of their 
;loisters. The accumulation of manuscripts was 
ilow and costly, and confined almost entirely to 
nonasteries. To these circumstances it may, in 
iome measure, be owing that we have not been in- 
mdated by the intellect of antiquity ; that the foun- 
ains of thought have not been broken up, and 
noderii genius drowned in the deluge. But the in- 
■entions of paper and the press have put an end to 
ill these restraints : they have made every one a 
vriter, and enabled every mind to pour itself into 
irint, and diffuse itself over the whole intellectual 
vorld. The consequences are alarming. The stream 
if literature has swollen into a torrent— augmented 
nto a river — expanded into a sea. A few centuries 
ince, five or si.x hundred manuscripts constituted a 
Teat library; but what would you say to libraries, 
uch as actually exist, containing three or four hun- 
Ired thousand volumes ; legions of authors at the 
ame time busy ; and a press going on with fearfully 
tcreasing activity, to double and quadruple the 
.umber ." Unless some unforeseen mortality should 
■rcak out among the progenv of the Muse, now that 
he has become so prolific, 1 tremble for posterity. 1 
5ar the mere fluctuation of language will not be suf- 
cient. Criticism may do much ; it increases with 
he increase of literature, and resembles one of those 
alutary checks on population spoken of by econ- 
mists. All possible encouragement, therefore, should 
e given to the growth of critics, good or bad. But 

fear all will be in vam ; let criticism do what it 
lay, writers will write, printers will print, and- the 
■orld will ineviiably be overstocked with good books, 
t will soon be the employment of a lifetime merely 
) learn their names. Many a man of passable in- 
jrmation at the present day reads scarcely any 
ling but reviews, and before long a man of erudi- 
on will be little better than a mere walking cata- 
)gue." 

" My veiy good sir," said the little quarto, yawn- 
ig most drearily in my face, " excuse my inteVrupt- 
ig you, but I perceive you are rather given to prose, 
would ask the fate of an author who was making 
ome noise just as I left the world. His reputation"^ 
owevcr, was considered quite temporary. The 
earned shook their heads at him, for he was a poor, 
all-educated varlet, that knew little of Latin, and 
othmg of Greek, and had been obliged to run the 
ountry for deer-stealing. I think his name was 
hakspeare. I presume he soon sunk into oblivion." 

"On the contrary," said I, "it is owing to that 
ery man that'the literature of his period has expe- 
ienced a duration beyond the ordinary term of En- 
lish literature. There arise authors now and then, 
.•ho seem proof against the mutability of language, 
■ecause they have rooted themselves in the unchang- 
ig principles of human nature. They are V&e 
igantic trees that we sometimes see on the banks 
f a stream, which, by their vast and deep roots, 
lenetrating through the mere surface, and laying 
lold on the veiy foundations of the earth, preserve 
he soil around them from being swept away by the 
iverflowing current, and hold up many a neighbour- 
ng plant, and, perhaps, worthless 'weed, to per- 
letuity. Such is the case with Shakspeare, whom 
ve behold, defying the encroachments of time, re- 
aining in modern use the language and literature of 
li'; day, and giving duration to manv an indifferent 
lUthor merely from having flourished in his vicinity. 
Jut even he, I grieve to say, is gradually assuming 
he tint of age, and his whole form is overrun by a 
irofusion of commentators, who, like clambering 
ines and creepers, almost bury the noble plant that 
upholds them." 

Here the little quarto began to heave his sides and 



chuckle, until at length he broke out into a plethoric 
fit of laughter that had well nigh choked him, by 
reason of his excessive corpulency. " Mighty well ! " 
cried he, as soon as he could recover breath, 
" mighty well ! and so you would persuade me that 
the literature of an age is to be perpetuated by a 
vagaliond deer-stealer ! by a man without learning! 
by a poet ! forsooth— a poet ! " And here he wheezed 
forth another fit of laughter. 

I confess that I felt somewhat nettled at this rude- 
ness, which, however, I pardoned on account of his 
having flourished in a less polished age. I deter- 
mined, nevertheless, not to give up my point. 

"Yes," resumed I positively, "a poet; for of all 
writers he has the best chance for immortality. 
Others may write from the head, but he writes from 
the heart, and the heart will always understand him. 
He is the faithful portrayer of Nature, whose features 
are always the same, and always interesting. Prose 
writers are voluminous and unwieldy ; their pages 
crowded with commonplaces, and their thoughts 
expanded into tediousness. But with the true poet 
every thing is terse, touching, or brilliant. He gives 
the choicest thoughts in the choicest language. He 
illustrates them by every thing that he sees most 
striking in nature and art. He enriches them by pict- 
ures of human life, such as it is passing before him. 
His writings, therefore, contain the spirit, the aroma, 
if I may use the phrase, of the age in which he lives. 
They are caskets which inclose within a small com- 
pass the wealth of the language— its family jewels, 
which are thus transmitted m a portable form to pos- 
terity. The setting may occasionally be antiquated, 
and require now and then to be renewed, as in the 
case of Chaucer ; but the brilliancy and intrinsic 
value of the gems continue unaltered. Cast a look 
back over the long reach of literary history. What 
vast valleys of dulness, filled with monkish legends 
antl academical controversies I What bogs of theo- 
logical speculations ! What dreary wastes of meta- 
physics! Here and there only do we behold the 
heaven-illumined bards, elevated like beacons on 
their widely-separated heights, to transmit the pure 
light of poetical intelligence from age to age."* 

I was just about to launch forth into eulogiums 
upon the poets of the day, when the sudden opening 
of the door caused me to turn my head. It was the 
verger, who came to inform me {hat it was time to 
close the library. I sought to have a parting word 
with the quarto, but the worthy little tome was si- 
lent ; the clasps were closed ; and it looked perfectly 
unconscious of all that had passed. I have been to 
the library two or three times since, and have en- 
deavoured to draw it into further conversation, but 
in vain : and whether all this rambling colloquy 
actually took place, or whether it was another of 
those odd day-dreams to which I am subject, I have 
never, to this moment, been al.ile to discover. 



* Thorow earth, and waters deepe, 

The pen by skill doth passe : 
And featly nyps the worldes abuse, 

And shoes us in a giasse, 
The vertu and the \ ice 

Of every wight alyve ; 
The honey combe that bee doth make. 

Is not so sweet in hyve, 
As are the golden leves 

That drops from poet's head ; 
Which doth surmount our common talke, 

As farre as dross doth lead. 

Churchyard. 



36 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



RURAL FUNERALS. 



Here's a few flowers ! but about midnight more: 
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night 

Are strewings titt'st for graves 

Vou were as flowers now withered : even so 
These herb'Iets shall, which we upon you strow. 

Cymbeline. 

Among the beautiful and simple-hearted customs 
of rural life which still linger in some parts of En- 
gland, are those of strewing flowers before the funerals 
and planting them at the graves of departed friends. 
These, it is said, are the remains of some of the rites 
of the primitive church ; but they are of still higher 
antiquity, having been observed among the Greeks 
and Romans, and frequently mentioned by their 
writers, and were, no doubt, the spontaneous tributes 
of unlettered affection, originating long before art had 
tasked itself to modulate sorrow into song, or story 
it on the monument. They are now only to be met 
with in the most distant and retired places of the 
kingdom, where fashion and innovation have not 
been able to throng in, and trample out all the curi- 
ous and interesting traces of the olden time. 

In Glamorganshire, we are told, the bed whereon 
the corpse lies is covered with flowers, a custom al- 
luded to in one of the wild and plaintive ditties of 
Ophelia : 

White his shroud as the mountain snow, 

Larded all with sweet flowers ; 
Which be-wept to the grave did go. 

With true luve showers. 

There is also a most delicate and beautiful rite 
observed in some of the remote villages of the south, 
at the funeral of a female wlio has died young and 
unmarried. A chaplet of white flowers is borne be- 
fore the corpse by a young girl, nearest in age, size, 
and resemblance, and is afterwards hung up in the 
church over the accustomed seat of the deceased. 
These chaplets are sometimes made of white paper, 
in imitation of flowers, and inside of them is generally 
a pair of white gloves. They are intended as em- 
lilems of the purity of the deceased, and the crown 
of glory which she has received in heaven. 

In some parts of the country, also, the dead are 
carried to the grave with the singing of psalms and 
hymns ; a kind of triumph, " to show," says Bourne, 
" that they have finished their course with joy, and 
are becorne conquerors." This, I am informed, is 
observed in some of the northern counties, particu- 
larly in Northumberland, and it has a pleasing, though 
melancholy effect, to hear, of a still evening, in some 
lonely country scene, the mournful melody of a funeral 
dirge swelling from a distance, and to see the train 
slowly moving along the landscape. 

Thus, thus, and thus, we compass round 
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground, 
And as we sing thy dirge, we will 

The UaffodiU 
And other flowers lay upon 
The altar of our love, thy stone. 

Herri CK. 

There is also a solemn respect paid by the travel- 
ler to the passing funeral, in these sequestered 
places ; for such spectacles, occurring among the 
quiet abodes of Nature, sink deep into the soul. As 
the mourning train approaches, he pauses, uncovered, 
to let it go by ; he then follows silently in the rear ; 
sometimes quite to the grave, at other times for a 
few hundred yards, and having paid this tribute of 
respect to the deceased, turns and resumes his 
journey. 

The rich vein of melancholy which runs through 
tlie English character, and gives it some of its most 



touching and ennobling graces, is finely evidenced in 
these pathetic customs, and in the solicitude shown 
by the common people for an honoured and a peace- 
ful grave. The humblest peasant, whatever may be 
his lowly lot w^hile living, is an.xious that some little 
respect may be paid to his remains. Sir Thomas 
Overbury, describing the " faire and happy milk- 
maid," observes, " thus lives she, and all her care is, 
that she may die in the spring time, to have store of 
flowers stucke upon her winding-sheet." The poets, 
too, who always breathe the feeling of a nation, con- 
tinually advert to this fond solicitude about the 
grave. In "The Maid's Tragedy," by Beaumont 
and Fletcher, there is a beautiful instance of the 
kind, describing the capricious melancholy of a 
broken-hearted girl. 

When she sees a bank 
Stuck full of flowers, she, with a sigh, will tell 
Her servants, what a pretty place it were 
To bury lovers in ; and make her maids 
Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse. 

The custom of decorating graves was once univer- 
sally prevalent ; osiers were carefully bent ovet them 
to keep the turf uninjured, and about them were 
planted evergreens and flowers. " We adorn their 
graves," says Evelyn, in his Sylva, " with flowers 
and redolent plants, just emblems of the life of man, 
which has been compared in Holy Scriptures to those 
fading beauties, whose roots being buried in dis- 
honour, rise again in glory." This usage has now- 
become extremely rare in England ; but it may still 
be met with in the churchyards of retired villages, 
among the Welsh mountains ; and ] recollect an in- 
stance of it at the small town of Ruthven, which lies 
at the head of the beautiful vale of Clewyd. I have 
been told also by a friend, who was present at the 
funeral of a young girl in Glamorganshire, that the 
female attendants had their aprons full of flowers, 
which, as soon as the body was interred, they stuck 
about the grave. 

He noticed several graves which had been deco- 
rated in the same manner. As the flowers had been 
merely stuck in the ground, and not planted, they 
had soon withered, and might be seen in various 
states of decay ; some drooping, others quite 
perished. They were afterwards to be supplanted 
by holly, rosemaiy, and other evergreens ; which on 
some graves had grown to great luxuriance, and 
overshadowed the tombstones. 

There was formerly a melancholy fancifulness in 
the arrangement of these rustic oflerings, that had 
something in it truly poetical. The rose was some- 
times blended with the lily, to form a general em- 
blem of frail mortality. "This sweet flower," said 
Evelyn, " borne on a branch set with thorns, and 
accompanied with the lily, are natural hieroglyphics 
of our fugitive, umbratile, anxious, and transitory 
life, which, making so fair a show for a time, is not 
yet without its thorns and crosses." The nature 
and colour of the flowers, and of the ribands with 
which they were tied, had often a particular refer- 
ence to the qualities or story of the deceased, or 
were expressive of the feelings of the mourner. In 
an old poem, entitled "Corydon's Doleful Knell," a 
lover specifies the decorations he intends to use : 

A garland sh.iU be framed 

By Art and Nature's skill, 
Of sundry-coloured flowers. 

In token of good will. 

And sundry-coloured ribands 

On it 1 win bestow ; 
But chiefly blacke and yellowe 

With her to grave shall go. 

I'll deck her tomb with flowers 

The rarest ever seen ; 
And with my tears as showers 

I'll keep them fresh and green. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



37 



The white rose, we are told, was planted at the 
grave of a virgin ; her chaplet was tied with white 
ribands, in tol<en of her spotless innocence ; though 
sometimes blacl< ribands were intermingled, to be- 
speak the grief of the survivors. The red rose was 
occasionallv used, in remembrance of such as had 
been remarkable for benevolence ; but roses in gen- 
eral were appropriated to the graves of lovers. Eve- 
lyn tells us that the custom was not altogether ex- 
tinct in his time, near his dwelling in the county of 
Surrey, " where the maidens yearly planted and 
decked the graves of their defunct sweethearts with 
rose-bushes." And Camden likewise remarks, in 
his Brittania : "Here is also a certain custom, ob- 
served time out of mind, of planting rose-trees upon 
the graves, especially by the young men and maids 
who have lost their loves ; so that this churchyard is 
now full of them." 

When the deceased had been unhappy in their 
loves, emblems of a more gloomy character were 
used, such as the yew and cypress ; and if flowers 
were strewn, they were of the most melancholy col- 
ours. Thus, in poems by Thomas Stanley, Esq , 
(published in 1651,) is the following stanza : 

Yet strew 
Upon my dismall grave 
Such offeiings as you have, 

Forsaken cypresse and yewe ; 
For kinder flowers can take no birth 
Or growth from such unhappy earth. 

In " The Maid's Tragedy," a pathetic little air is 
ntroduced, illustrative of this mode of decorating 
■.he funerals of females who have been disappointed 
m love. 

Lay a garland on my hearse 

Of the dismal yew. 
Maidens willow branches wear, 

Say I died true. 

My love was false, but I was firm, 

From my hour of birlh, 
Upon my buried body lie 

Lightly, gentle earth. 

The natural effect of sorrow over the dead is to 
refine and elevate the mind ; and we have a proof 
of it in the purity of sentiment, and the unaffected 
degance of thought, which pervaded the whole of 
these funeral observances. Thus, it was an especial 
precaution, that none but sweet-scented evergreens 
and flowers should be employed. The intention 
seems to have been to soften the horrors of the tomb, 
to beguile the mind from brooding over the disgraces 
of perishing mortality, and to associate the memory 
of the deceased with the most delicate and beautiful 
objects in Nature. There is a dismal process going 
on in the grave, ere dust can return to its kindred 
dust, which the imagination shrinks from contem- 
plating; and we seek still to think of the form we 
have loved, with those refined associations which it 
awakened when blooming before us in youth and 
beauty. " Lay her i' the earth," says Laertes of his 
virgin sister. 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring. 

Herrick, also, in his " Dirge of Jephtha," pours 
forth a fragrant flow of poetical thought and image, 
which in a manner embalms the dead in the recol- 
lections of the living. 

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice. 

And make this place all Paradise : 

May sweets grow here ! and smoke from hence 

Fat frankincense. 
Let balme and cassia send their scent 
From out thy maiden monument. 
***** 

May all sbie maids at wonted hours 

Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers ! 

May virgins, when they come to mourn 

-Male incense burn 
Upon thine altar! then return 
And leave thee ilceping in thy urn. 



I might crowd my pages with extracts from the 
older British poets, who wrote when these rites were 
more prevalent, and delighted frequently to allude 
to them ; but I have already quoted more than is 
necessary. I cannot, however, refrain from giving a 
passage from Shakspeare, even though it should ap- 
pear trite, which illustrates the emblematical mean- 
ing often conveyed in these floral tributes, and at 
the same time possesses that magic of language 
and appositeness of imagery for which he stands 
pre-eminent. 

With fairest flowers. 
Whilst summer lasts, and 1 live here, Fidele, 
rU sweeten thy sad grave ; thou shah not lack 
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
The a2ured harebell like thy veins ; no, nor 
The leaf of eglantine ; whom not to slander, 
Outsweetened not thy breath. 

There is certainly something more affecting in 
these prompt and spontaneous offerings of nature, 
than in the most costly monuments of art; the hand 
strews the flower while the heart is warm, and the 
tear falls on the grave as affection is binding the 
osier round the sod ; but pathos expires under the 
slow labour of the chisel, and is chilled among the 
cold conceits of sculptured marble. 

It is greatly to be regretted, that a custom so truly 
elegant and touching has disappeared from general 
use, and exists only in the most remote and insig- 
nificant villages. But it seems as if poetical custom 
always shuns the walks of cultivated society. In 
proportion as people grow polite, they cease to be 
poetical. They talk of poetry, but they have learnt 
to check its free impulses, to distrust its sallying 
emotions, and to supply its most affecting and pict- 
uresque usages, by studied form and pompous cere- 
monial. Few pageants can be more stately and 
frigid than an English funeral in town. It is made 
up of show and gloomy parade : mourning carriages, 
mourning horses, mourning plumes, and hireling 
mourners, who make a mockery of grief. " There is 
a grave digged," says Jeremy Taylor, " and a solemn 
mourning, and a great talk in the neighbourhood, 
and when the dales are finished, they shall be, and 
they shall be remembered no more." The associate 
in the gay and crowded city is soon forgotten ; the 
hurrying succession of new intimates and new pleas- 
ures effaces him from our minds, and the very scenes 
and circles in which he moved are incessantly fluc- 
tuating. But funerals in the country are solemnly 
impressive. The stroke of death makes a wider 
space in the village circle, and is an awful event in 
the tranquil uniformity of rural life. The passing 
bell tolls its knell in every ear; it steals with its per- 
vading melancholy over hill and vale, and saddens 
all the landscape. 

The fixed and unchanging features of the country, 
also, perpetuate the memory of the friend with whom 
we once enjoyed them ; who was the companion of 
our most retired walks, and gave animation to every 
lonely scene. His idea is associated with every 
charm of Nature: we hear his voice in the echo 
which he once delighted to awaken ; his spirit haunts 
the grove which he once frequented ; we think of 
him in the wild upland solitude, or amidst the pen- 
sive beauty of the valley. In the freshness of joyous 
morning, we remember his beaming smiles and 
bounding gayety ; and W'hen sober evening returns, 
with its gathering shadows and subduing quiet, we 
call to mind many a twilight hour of gentle talk and 
sweet-souled melancholy. 

Each lonely place shall him restore, 

For him the tear be duly shed. 
Beloved, till life can charm no more. 

And mourn'd till pity's self be dead. 

Another cause that perpetuates the memory of 
the deceased in the country, is, that the grave is 



38 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



more immediately in sight of the survivors. They 
pass it on their way to prayer ; it meets their eyes 
when their hearts are softened by the exercise of de- 
votion ; they linger about it on the Sabbath, when 
the mind is diseng-aged from worldly cares, and most 
disposed to turn aside from present pleasures and 
present loves, and to sit down among the solemn 
mementos of the past. In North Wales, the peas- 
antry kneel and pray over the graves of their de- 
ceased friends for several Sundays after the inter- 
ment ; and where the tender rite of strewing and 
planting flowers is still practised, it is always re- 
newed on Easter, Whitsuntide, and other festivals, 
when the season brings the companion of former 
festivity more vividly to mind. It is also invariably 
performed by the nearest relatives and friends; no 
menials nor hirelings are employed, and if a neigh- 
bour yields assistance, it would be deemed an insult 
to offer compensation. 

I have dwelt upon this beautiful rural custom, be- 
cause, as it is one of the last, so is it one of the ho- 
liest offices of love. The grave is the ordeal of true 
affection. It is there that the divine passion of the 
soul manifests its superiority to the instinctive im- 
pulse of mere animal attachment. The latter must 
be continually refreshed and liept alive by the pres- 
ence of its object ; but the love that is seated in 
the soul can live on long remembrance. The mere 
inclinations of sense languish and decline with the 
charms which excited them, and turn with shudder- 
ing and disgust from the dismal precincts nf the 
tomb; but it is thence that truly spiritual affection 
rises purilied from every sensual desire, and returns, 
like a holy flame, to illumine and sanctify the heart 
of the survivor. 

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from 
which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound 
we seek to heal — every other affliction to forget ; but 
this wound we consider it a duty to keep open — this 
affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. 
Where is the mother who would willingly forget the 
infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, 
though ever)' recollection is a pang ? Where is the 
child that would willingly forget the most tender of 
Jiarents, though to remember be but to lament? 
Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the 
friend over whom he mourns .'' Who, even when the 
tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most 
loved ; when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed 
in the closing of its portal ; would accept of conso- 
lation that must be bought by forgetfulness .'' — -No, 
the love which survives the tomb is one of the no- 
blest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has 
likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming 
burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recol- 
lection — when the sudden anguish and the convul- 
sive agony over the present ruins of all that we most 
loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on 
all that it was in the days of its loveliness — who 
would root out such a sorrow from the heart .'' 
Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud 
over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper 
sadness over the hour of gloom ; yet who would ex- 
change it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst 
of revelry ? No, there is a voice from the tomb 
sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the 
dead, to which we turn even from the charms of the 
living. Oh, the grave ! — the grave ! — It buries eveiy 
error — covers every defect — extinguishes every re- 
sentment ! From its peaceful bosom spring none 
but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can 
look down upon the grave even of an enemy and not 
feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have 
warred with the poor handful of earth that lies 
mouldering before him.-' 



But the grave of those we loved — what a place fo 
meditation ! There it is that we call up in long re 
view the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and I 
the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost 
unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy ; — there 
it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, 
awful tenderness of the parting scene. The bed of 
death, with all its stifled griefs — its noiseless attend- 
ance — its mute, watchful assiduities. The last tes- 
timonies of expiring love ! The feeble, fluttering, 
thrilling, oh! how thrilling ! — pressure of the hand. 
The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon 
us even from the threshold of existence. The faint, 
faltering accents, struggling in death to give one 
more assurance of affection ! 

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! 
There settle the account with thy conscience for 
every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment 
unregarded, of that departed being, who can never — 
never — never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! 

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow 
to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an 
affectionate parent — if thou art a husband, and hast 
ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole 
happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy 
kindness or thv truth — if thou art a friend, and hast 
ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit 
that generously confided in thee — if thou art a lover 
and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true 
heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet ; 
then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious 
word, every ungentle action, will come thronging 
back ui)on thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy 
soul — then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing 
and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard 
groan, and pour the unavailing tear — inore deep, 
more bitter, because unheard and unavailing'. 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew th ; 
beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy 
broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, jet 
futile tributes of regret ; — but take warning by the 
bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, 
and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in 
the discharge of thy duties to the living. 



In writing the preceding article, it was not intend- 
ed to give a full detail of the funeral customs of the 
English peasantry, but merely to furnish a few hints 
and quotations illustrative of particular rites, to be 
appended, by way of note, to another paper, which 
has been withheld. The article swelled insensibly 
into its present form, and this is mentioned as an 
apology for so brief and casual a notice of these 
usages, after they have been amply and learnedly in- 
vestigated in other works. 

I must observe, also, that 1 am well aware that this 
custom of adorning graves with flowers, prevails in 
other countries besides England. Indeed, in some it 
is much more general, and is observed even by the 
rich and fashionable ; but it is then apt to lose its 
simplicity, and to degenerate into affectation. Bright, 
in his travels in Lower Hungary, tells of monuments 
of marble, and recesses formed for retirement, with 
seats placed among bowers of green-house plants ; 
and that the graves generally are covered with the 
gayest flowers of the season. He gives a casual pict- 
ure of final piety, which I cannot but describe, for I 
trust it is as useful as it is delightful to illustrate the 
amiable virtues of the sex. " When I was at Berlin," 
says he, " I followed the celebrated Iffland to the 
grave. Mingled with some pomp, you might trace, 
much real feeling. In the midst of the ceremony,! 
my attention was attracted by a young woman who' 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



39 



stood on a mound of earth, newly covered with turf, 
which she anxiously protected from the feet of the 
passing crowd. It was the tomb of her parent ; and 
the figure of this affectionate daughter presented a 
monument more striking than the most costly work 
of art." 

I will barely add an instance of sepulchral decora- 
tion that I once met with among the mountains of 
Switzerland. It was at the village of Gersau, which 
stands on tlie borders of the lake of Luzerne, at the 
foot of Mount Kigi. It was once the capital of a 
miniature republic, shut up between the Alps and the 
lake, and accessible on the land side only by foot- 
paths. The whole force of the republic did not e.\- 
ceed six hundred fighting men ; and a few miles of 
circumference, scooped out, as it were, from the 
bosom of the mountains, comprised its territory. 
The village of Gersau seemed separated from the 
rest of the world, and retained the golden simplicity 
of a purer age. It had a small church, with a bury- 
ing ground adjoining. At the heads of the graves 
were placed crosses of wood or iron. On some were 
affixed miniatures, rudely executed, but evidently at- 
tempts at likenesses of the deceased. On the crosses 
were hung chaplets of flowers, some withering, others 
fresh, as if occasionally renewed. I paused with in- 
terest at this scene ; I felt that I was at the source 
of poetical description, for these were the beautiful, 
but unaffected offerings of the heart, which poets are 
fain to record. In a gayer and more populous place, 
[ should have suspected them to have been suggcst- 
5d by factitious sentiment, derived from books ; but 
die good people of Gersau knew little of books ; there 
»vas not a novel nor a love poem in the village ; and 
I question whether any peasant of the place dreamt, 
vvhile he was twining a fresh chaplet for the grave 
3f his mistress, that he was fulfilling one of the most 
fanciful rites of poetical devotion, and that he was 
practically a poet. 



THE INN KITCHEN, 



Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn ? 

Falstaff. 

During a journey that I once made through the 
Netherlands, I had arrived one evening at the Pomme 
d'Or, the principal inn of a small Flemish village. It 
was after the hour of the table d'hote, so that I was 
obliged to make a solitaiy supper from the relics of 
its ampler board. The. weather was chilly; I was 
seated alone in one end of a great gloomy dining- 
room, and my repast being over, I had the prospect 
before me of a long dull evening, without any visible 
means of enlivening it. I summoned mine host, and 
requested something to read ; he brought me the 
whole literary stock of his household, a Dutch family 
bible, an almanac in the same language, and a num- 
ber of old Paris newspapers. As 1 sat dozing over 
one of the latter, reading old news and stale criti- 
cisms, my ear was now and then struck with bursts 
of laughter which seemed to proceed from the kitchen. 
Ever)' one that has travelled on the Continent must 
know how favourite a resort the kitchen of a country 
inn is to the middle and inferior order of travellers ; 
particularly in that equivocal kind of weather when a 
fire becomes agreeable toward evening. I threw aside 
the newspaper, and explored my way to the kitchen, 
to take a peep at the group that appeared to be so 
merry. It was composed partly of travellers who 
had arrived some hours before in a diligence, and 
partly of the usual attendants and hangers-on of inns. 



They were seated round a great burnished stove, that 
might have been mistaken for an altar, at which 
they were worshipping. It was covered with various 
kitchen vessels of resplendent brightness ; among 
which steamed and hissed a huge copper tea-kettle. 
A large lamp threw a strong mass of light upon the 
group, bringing out many odd features in strong 
relief. Its yellow rays partially illumined the spacious 
kitchen, dying duskily away into remote corners ; 
except where they settled in mellow radiance on the 
broad side of a flitch of bacon, or were reflected 
back from well-scoured utensils that gleamed from 
the midst of obscurity. A strapping Flemish lass, 
with long golden pendants in her ears, and a neck- 
lace with a golden heart suspended to it, was the 
presiding priestess of the temple. 

Many of the company were furnished with pipes, 
and most of thein with some kind of evening pota- 
tion. I found their mirth was occasioned by anec- 
dotes which a little swarthy Frenchman, with a dry 
weazen face and large whiskers, was giving of his 
love adventures; at the end of each of which there 
was one of those bursts of honest unceremonious 
laughter, in which a man indulges in that temple of 
true liberty, an inn. 

As I had no better mode of getting through a 
tedious blustering evening, I took my seat near 
the stove, and listened to a variety of traveller's 
tales, some very extravagant, and most veiy dull. 
All of them, however, have faded from my treacher- 
ous memory, except one, which I will endeavour to 
relate. I fear, however, it derived its chief zest from 
the manner in which it was told, and the peculiar 
air and appearance of the narrator. He was a cor- 
pulent old .Swiss, who had the look of a veteran 
traveller. He was dressed in a tarnished green 
travelling-jacket, with a broad belt round his waist, 
and a pair of overalls with buttons from the hips to 
the ankles. He was of a full, rubicund countenance, 
with a double chin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant 
twinkling eye. His hair was light, and curled from 
under an old green velvet traveliing-cap, stuck on 
one side ot his head. He was interrupted more than 
once by the arrival of guests, or the remarks of his 
auditors ; and paused, now and then, to replenish 
his pipe ; at which times he had generally a roguish 
leer, and a sly joke, for the buxom kitchen maid. 

I wish my reader could imagine the old fellow 
lolling in a huge arm-chair, one arm a-kimbo, the 
other holding a curiously twisted tobacco-pipe, 
formed of genuine ccuine de mcr, decorated with 
silver chain and silken tassel — his head cocked on 
one side, and a whimsical cut of the eye occasionally, 
as he related the following story : 



THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 



A TRAVELLER S TALE.^ 



He that supper for is dight. 

He lyes fall cold, I trow", this night ! 

Yestreen to chamber I him led. 

This night Gray-steel has made his bed ! 

Sir Eger, Sir Grahame, and Sir Gray-steel. 

On the summit of one of the heights of the Oden- 
wald, a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany, 
that lies not far from the confluence of the Maine 
and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since,- 



*The erudite reader, well versed in good-for-nothing lore, will 
perceive that the above Tale must have been suggested to the oldi 
Swiss by a little French anecdote, of a circumstance said to have- 
taken place at Paris. 



40 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the Castle of the Baron Von Landshort. It is now 
quite fallen to decay, and almost buried among 
beech trees and dark firs ; above which, however, 
its old watch-tower may still be seen struggling;, like 
the former possessor I have mentioned, to carry a high 
head, and look down upon a neighbouring country. 

The Baron was a dry branch of the great family 
of Katzenellenbogen,* and inherited the relics of the 
property, and all the pride, of his ancestors. Though 
the warlike disposition of his predecessors had much 
impaired the family possessions, yet the Baron still 
endeavoured to keep up some show of former state. 
The times were peaceable, and the German nobles, 
in general, had abandoned their inconvenient old 
castles, perched like eagle's nests among the mount- 
ains, and had built more convenient residences in 
the valleys ; still the Baron remained proudly drawn 
up in his little fortress, cherishing with hereditary 
inveteracy all the old family feuds ; so that he was 
on ill terms with some of his nearest neighbours, on 
account of disputes that had happened between their 
great-great-grandfathers. 

The Baron had but one child, a daughter ; but 
Nature, when she grants but one child, always com- 
pensates by making it a prodigy; and so it was with 
the daughter of the Baron. All the nurses, gossips, 
and country cousins, assured her father that she had 
not her equal for beauty in all Germany ; and who 
should know better than they? She had, moreover, 
been brought up with great care, under the superin- 
tendence of two maiden aunts, who had spent some 
years of their early life at one of the little German 
courts, and were skilled in all the branches of knowl- 
edge necessai7 to the education of a fine lady. Un- 
der their instructions, she became a miracle of ac- 
complishments. By the time she was eighteen she 
could embroider to admiration, and had worked 
whole histories of the saints in tapestry, with such 
strength of expression in their countenances, that 
they looked like so many souls in purgatory. She 
could read without great difficulty, and had spelled 
her way through several church legends, and almost 
all the chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She 
had even made considerable proficiency in writing, 
could sign her own name without missing a letter, 
and so legibly, that her aunts could read it without 
spectacles. She excelled in making little good-for- 
nothing lady-like knicknacks of all kinds ; was versed 
in the most abstruse dancing of the day ; played a 
number of airs on the harp and guitar ; and knew 
all the tender ballads of the Minnie-lieders by heart. 

Her aunts, too, having been great flirts and co- 
quettes in their younger days, were admirably calcu- 
lated to be vigilant guardians and strict censors of 
the conduct of their niece ; for there is no duenna so 
rigidly prudent, and inexorably decorous, as a sui)er- 
annuated coquette. She was rarely suffered out of 
their sight ; never went beyond the domains of the 
castle, unless well attended, or rather well watched ; 
had continual lectures read to her about strict deco- 
rum and implicit obedience ; and, as to the men — 
pah ! she was taught to hold them at such distance 
and distrust, that, unless properly authorized, she 
would not have cast a glance upon the handsomest 
cavalier in the world — no, not if he were even dying 
at her feet. 

The good effects of this system were wonderfully 
apparent. The young lady was a pattern of docility 
and correctness. While others were wasting their 
sweetness in the glare of the world, and liable to be 
.plucked and thrown aside by every hand, she was 



* /. c, Cat's Elbow — the name of a family of those parts, 
very powerful in former times. The appellation, we are told, was 
1 given in compliment to a peerless dame of the family, celebrated 
:for a fine arm. 



coyly blooming into fresh and lovely womanhood 
under the protection of those immaculate spinsters, 
like a rose-bud blushing forth among guardian thorns. 
Her aunts looked upon her with pride and exultation, 
and vaunted that though all the other young ladies 
in the world might go astray, yet, thank Heaven, 
nothing of the kind could happen to the heiress of 
Katzenellenbogen. 

But however scantily the Baron Von Landshort 
might be provided with children, his household was 
by no means a small one, for Providence had enrich- 
ed him with abundance of poor relations. They, one 
and all, possessed the affectionate disposition com- 
mon to humble relatives ; were wonderfully attached 
to the Baron, and took every possible occasion to 
come in swarms and enliven the castle. All family 
festivals were commemorated by these good people 
at the Baron's expense; and when they were filled 
with good cheer, they would declare that there was 
nothing on earth so delightful as these family meet- 
ings, these jubilees of the heart. 

The Baron, though a small man, had a large soul, 
and it swelled with satisfaction at the consciousness 
of being the greatest man in the little world about 
him. He loved to tell long stories about the stark 
old warriors whose portraits looked grimly down 
from the walls around, and he found no listeners 
equal to those who fed at his expense. He was 
much given to the marvellous, and a firm believer in 
all those supernatural tales with which every mount- 
ain and valley in Gennany abounds. The faith of 
his guests even exceeded his own : they listened to 
every tale of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and 
never failed to be astonished, even though repeated 
for the hundredth time. Thus lived the Baron Von 
Landshort, the oracle of his table, the absolute mon- 
arch of his little territory, and happy, above all 
things, in the persuasion that he was the wisest 
man of the age. 

At the time of v.hich my story treats, there was a 
great family-gathering at the castle, on an affair of 
the utmost importance : — it was to receive the des- 
tined bridegroom of the Baron's daughter. A ne- 
gotiation had been carried on between the father 
and an old nobleman of Bavaria, to unite the dignity 
of their houses by the marriage of their children. 
The preliminaries had been conducted with proper 
punctilio. The young people were betrothed with- 
out seeing each other, and the time was appointed 
for the marriage ceremony. The young Count Von 
Altenburg had been recalled from the army for the 
purpose, and was actually on his way to the Baron's 
to receive his bride. Missives had even been re- 
ceived from him, from Wurtzburg, where he was 
accidentally detained, mentioning the day and hour 
when he might be expected to arrive. 

The castle was in a tumult of preparation to give 
him a suitable welcome. The fair bride had been 
decked out with uncommon care. The two aunts 
had superintended her toilet, and quarrelled the 
whole morning about every article of her dress. 
The young lady had taken advantage of their con- 
test to follow the bent of her own taste ; and fortu- 
nately it was a good one. She looked as lovely as 
youthful bridegroom could desire ; and the flutter of 
expectation heightened the lustre of her charms. 

The suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the 
gentle heaving of the bosom, the eye now and then 
lost in reverie, all betrayed the soft tumult that was 
going on in her little heart. The aunts were con- 
tinually hovering around her ; for maiden aunts are 
apt to take great interest in affairs of this nature : 
they were giving her a world of staid counsel how to 
deport herself, what to say, and in what manner to 
receive the expected lover. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



41 



The Baron was no less busied in preparations. 
He had, in truth, nothing exactly to do ; but he was 
naturally a fuming, bustling little man, and could not 
remain passive when all the world was in a hurry. 
He worried IVom top to bottom of the castle, with an 
air of infinite anxiety ; he continually called the serv- 
ants from their work to exhort them to be diligent, 
and buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly 
restless and importunate as a blue-bottle fly of a 
warm summer's day. 

In the mean time, the fatted calf had been killed ; 
the forests had rung with the clamour of the hunts- 
men ; the kitchen was crowded svith good cheer ; the 
cellars had yielded up whole oceans of Rhcin-wein 
and Fer?ie-wt'i>i, and even the great Heidelburgh tun 
had been laid under contribution. Every thing was 
ready to receive the distinguished guest with Satis 
tiitd Brazis in the true spirit of German hospitality — 
but the guest delayed to make his appearance. Hour 
rolled after hour. The sun that had poured his down- 
ward rays upon the rich forests of the Odenwald, now- 
just gleamed along the summits of the mountains. 
The Baron mounted the highest tower, and strained 
his eyes in hopes of catching a distant sight of the 
Count and his attendants. Once he thought he be- 
held them ; the sound of horns came floating troni 
the valley, prolonged by the mountain echoes : a 
number of horsemen were seen far below, slowly ad- 
vancing along the road ; but when they had nearly 
reached the foot of the mountain, they suddenly 
struck off in a different direction. The last ray of 
sunshine departed — the bats began to flit by in the 
twilight — the road grew dimmer and dimmer to the 
view ; and nothing appeared stirring in it, but now 
and then a peasant lagging homeward from his 
labour. 

While the old castle of Landshort was in this state 
of perplexity, a very interesting scene was transacting 
in a different part of the Odenwald. 

The young Count Von Altenburg was tranquilly 
pursuing his route in that sober jog-trot way in 
which a man travels toward matrimony when his 
friends have taken all the trouble and uncertainty of 
courtship off his hands, and a bride is waiting for 
him, as certainly as a dinner, at the end of his jour- 
ney. He had encountered at Wurtzburg a youthful 
companion in arms, with whom he had seen some 
service on the frontiers ; Herman Von Starkenfaust. 
one of the stoutest hands and worthiest hearts of 
German chivalry, who was now returning from the 
army. His father's castle was not far distant from 
the old fortress of Landshort, although a hereditary 
feud rendered the families hostile, and strangers to 
each other. 

In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the 
young friends related all their past adventures and 
fortunes, and the Count gave the whole history of 
his intended nuptials with a young lady whom he had 
never seen, but of whose charms he had received the 
most enrapturing descriptions. 

As the route of the friends lay in the same direc- 
tion, they agreed to perform the rest of their journey 
together ; and that they might do it more leisurely, 
set off from Wurtzburg at an early hour, the Count 
having given directions for his retinue to follow and 
overtake him. 

They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections 
of their military scenes and adventures ; but the 
Count was apt to be a little tedious, now and then, 
.ibout the reputed charms of his bride, and the felicity 
that awaited him. 

In this way they had entered among the mountains 
cf the Odenwald, and were traversing one of its most 
lonely and thickly wooded passes. It is well known 
that the forests of Germany have always been as 



much infested with robbers as its castles by spectres ; 
and, at this time, the former were particularly nu- 
merous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wan- 
dering about the country. It will not appear extra- 
ordinary, therefore, that the cavaliers were attacked 
by a gang of these stragglers, in the midst of the 
forest. They defended themselves with bravery, but 
were nearly overpowered when the Count's retinue 
arrived to their assistance. At sight of them the 
robbers fled, but not until the Count had received a 
mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully con- 
veyed back to the city of Wurtzburg, and a friar 
summoned from a neighbouring convent, who was 
famous for his skill in administering to both soul and 
body. But half of his skill was superfluous ; the 
moments of the unfortunate Count were numbered. 

With his dving breath he entreated his friend to 
repair instantly to the castle of Landshort, and ex- 
plain the fatal cause of his not keeping his appoint- 
ment with his bride. Though not the most ardent 
of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious of men, 
and appeared earnestly solicitous that this mission 
should be speedily and courteously executed. " L'n- 
less this is done," said he, " I shall not sleep quietly 
in my grave I " He repeated these last words with 
peculiar solemnity. A request, at a moment so im- 
pressive, admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust en- 
deavoured to soothe him to calmness ; promised 
faithfully to execute his wish, and gave him his hand 
in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in ac- 
knowledgment, but soon lapsed into delirium — raved 
about his bride — his engagements — -his plighted 
word ; ordered his horse, that he might ride to the 
castle of Landshort, and expired in the fancied act 
of vaulting into the saddle. 

Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh, and a soldier's tear 
on the untimely fate of his comrade ; and then pon- 
dered on the awkward mission he had undertaken. 
His heart was heavy, and his head perplexed ; for he 
was to present himself an unbidden guest among 
hostile people, and to damp their festivity with tid- 
ings fatal to their hopes. Still there were certain 
whisperings of curiosity in his bosom to see this far- 
famed beauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut 
up from the world ; for he was a passionate admirer 
of the sex, and there was a dash of eccentricity and 
enterprise in his character, that made him fond of all 
singular adventure. 

Previous to his departure, he made all due arrange- 
ments with the holy fraternity of the convent for the 
funeral solemnities of his friend, who was to be 
buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg, near some of 
his illSstrious relatives ; and the mourning retinue 
of the Count took charge of his remains. 

It is now high time that we should return to the 
ancient family of Katzenellenbogen, who were im- 
patient for their guest, and still more for their din- 
ner ; and to the worthy little Baron, whom we left 
airing himself on the watch-tower. 

Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The 
Baron descended from the tower in despair. The 
banquet, which had been delayed from hour to hour, 
could no longer be postponed. The meats were al- 
ready overdone ; the cook in an agony ; and the 
whole household had the look of a garrison that had 
been reduced by famine. The Baron was obliged 
reluctantly to give orders for the feast without the 
presence of the guest. All were seated at table, and 
i just on the point of commencing, when the sound 
of a horn from without the gate gave notice of the 
approach of a stranger. Another long blast filled 
the old courts of the castle with its echoes, and was 
answered by the warder from the walls. The Baron 
hastened to receive his future son-in-law. 

The drawbridge had been let down, and the stran- 



A2 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ger was before the gate. He was a tall gallant cava- 
lier, mounted on a black steed. His countenance 
■was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye, and 
an air of stately melancholy. The Baron was a lit- 
tle mortified that he should'have come in this simple, 
solitary style. His digTiity for a moment was rufHed, 
and he feU disposed to consider it a want of proper 
respect for the important occasion, and the important 
family with which he was to be connected. He 
pacified himself, however, with the conclusion that 
it must have been youthful impatience which had 
induced him thus to spur on sooner than his attend- 
ants. 

" I am sorry," ."said the stranger, " to break in 
upon you thus unseasonably — " 

Here the Baron interrupted him with a worJd of 
compliments and greetings ; for, to tell the truth, he 
prided himself upon his courtesy and his eloquence. 
The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stem the 
torrent of words, but in vain ; so he bowed his head 
and suffered it to flow on. By the time the Baron 
had come to a pause, they had reached the inner 
court of the castle ; and the stranger w-as again 
about to speak, w-hen he was once more interrupted 
by the appearance of the female part of the family, 
leading forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He 
gazed on her for a moment as one entranced ; it 
seemed as if his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze, 
and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maiden 
aunts whispered something in her ear ; she made 
an effort to speak ; her moist blue eye was timidly 
raised, gave a shy glance of inquiry on the stranger, 
and was cast again to the ground. The words died 
away ; but there was a sweet smile playing about 
her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek, that 
showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It 
was impossible for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, 
highly predisposed for love and matrimony, not to 
be pleased with so gallant a cavalier. 

The late hour at which the guest had arrived, left 
no time for parley. The Baron was peremptory, and 
deferred all particular conversation until the morn- 
ing, and led the way to the untasted banquet. 

It was served up in the great hall of the castle. 
Around the walls hung the hard-favoured portraits 
of the heroes of the hotise of Katzenellenbogen, and 
the trophies which they had gained in the held and 
in the chase. Hacked croslets, splintered jousting 
spears, and tattered banners, were mingled with the 
spoils of sylvan warfare: the jaws of the wolf, and 
the tusks of the boar, grinned horribly among cross- 
bows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers 
branched immediately over the head of the youthful 
bridegroom. 

The cavalier took but little notice of the company 
or the entertainment. He scarcely tasted the ban- 
quet, but seemed absorbed in admiration of his 
bride. He conversed in a low tone, that could not 
be overheard — for the language of love is never 
loud; but where is the female ear so dull that it 
cannot catch the softest whisper of the lover.' There 
was a mingled tenderness and gravity in his maimer, 
that appeared to have a powerful effect upon the 
young lady. Her colour came and went, as she 
listened with deep attention. Now and then she 
made some blushing reply, and when his eye was_ 
turned away, she would steal a sidelong glance at 
his romantic countenance, and heave a gentle sigh 
of tender happiness. It was evident that the young 
couple were completely enamoured. The aunts, who 
were deeply versed in the mysteries of the heart, de- 
clared that they had fallen in love with each other 
at first sight. 

The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for 
the guests were all blessed with those keen appetites 



that attend upon light purses and mountain air. The 
Baron told his best and longest stories, and never 
had he told them so well, or with such great effect. 
If there was any thing marvellous, his auditors were 
lost in astonishment ; and if any thing facetious, 
they were sure to laugh exactly in the right place. 
The Baron, it is true, like most great men, was too 
dignified to utter any joke but a dull one : it was 
always enforced, however, by a bumper of excellent 
Hoch-heimer ; and even a dull joke, at one's own 
table, served up with jolly old wine, is irresistible. 
Many good things were said by poorer and keener 
wits, that would not bear repeating, except on simi- 
lar occasions ; many sly speeches whispered in 
ladies' ears, that almost convulsed them with sup- 
pressed laughter ; and a song or two roared out by 
a poor, but merry and broad-faced cousin of the 
Baron, that absolutely made the maiden aunts hold 
up their fans. 

Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest main- 
tained a most singular and unseasonable gravity. 
His countenance assumed a deeper cast of dejection 
as the evening advanced, and, strange as it may ap- 
pear, even the Baron's jokes seemed only to render 
him the more melancholy. At times he was lost in 
thought, and at times there was a perturbed and 
restless wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind 
but ill at ease. His conversation with the bride 
became more and more earnest and mysterious. 
Lowering clouds began to steal over the fair serenitv 
of her brow, and tremors to run through her tender 
frame. 

All this could not escape the notice of the com- 
pany. Their gayety was chilled by the unaccounta- 
ble gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits were in- 
fected ; wdiispers and glances were interchanged, 
accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of the 
head. The song and the laugh grew less and less 
frequent : there were dreary pauses in the conversa- 
tion, which were at length succeeded by wild tales, 
and supernatural legends. One dismal story pro- 
duced another still more dismal, and the Baron 
nearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics 
with the history of the goblin horseman that carried 
away the fair Leonora — a dreadful, but true story, 
which has since been put into excellent verse, and is 
read and believed by all the world. 

The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound 
attention. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the 
Baron, and as the story drew to a close, began grad- 
ually to rise from his seat, growing taller and taller, 
until, in the Baron's entranced eye, he seemed almost 
to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was 
finished, he heaved a deep sigh, and took a solemn 
farewell of the company. They were all amazement. 
The Baron was perfectly thunderstruck. 

" What ! going to leave the castle at midnight ? 
why, every thing was prepared for his reception ; a 
chamber was ready for him if he wished to retire." 

The stranger shook his head mournfully, and 
mysteriously ; " I must lay my head in a different 
chamber to-night ! " 

There was something in this reply, and the tone 
in which it was uttered, that made the Baron's 
heart misgive him ; but he rallied his forces, and re- 
peated his hospitable entreaties. The stranger 
shook his head silently, but positively, at every offer; 
and wa^'ing his farewell to the company, stalked 
slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were ab- 
solutely petrified — the bride hung her head, and a 
tear stole to her eye. 

The Baron followed the stranger to the great 
court of the castle, where the black charger stood 
pawing the earth, and snorting with impatience. 
When they had reached the portal, whose deep 



THE SKETCK-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gex\t. 



43 



archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, the stranger 
paused, and addressed the Baron in a hollow tone 
of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more 
sepulchral. " Now that we are alone," said he, " I 
will impart to you the reason of my going. I have 
a solemn, an indispensable engagement — " 

"Why," said the Baron, "cannot you send some 
one in your place ? " 

" It admits of no substitute — I must attend it in 
person — 1 must away to Wurtzburg cathedral — " 

"Ay," said the Baron, plucking up spirit, "but 
noc Until to-morrow — to-morrow you shall take your 
bride there." 

" No I no ! " replied the stranger, with ten-fold 
solemnity, " my engagement is with no bride — the 
worms ! the worms expect me ! I am a dead man — 
I have bien slain by robbers — my body lies at 
Wurtzburg — at midnight I am to be bu''ied — the 
grave is waiting for me — I must keep my appoint- 
ment ! " 

He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the 
drawbridge, and the clattering of his horse's hoofs 
was lost in the whistling of the night-blast. 

The Baron returned to the hall in the utmost 
consternation, and related what had passed. Two 
ladies fainted outright ; others sickened at the idea 
' of having banqueted with a spectre. It was the 
opinion of some, that this might be the wild hunts- 
man famous in German legend. Some talked of 
mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and of other 
supernatural beings, with which the good people- of 
Germany have been so grievously harassed since 
time immemorial. One of the poor relations ven- 
tured to suggest that it might be some sportive 
evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very 
gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with so 
melancholy a personage. This, however, drew on 
him the indignation of the whole company, and es- 
pecially of the Baron, who looked upon him as little 
better than an infidel ; so that he was fain to abjure 
his heresy as speedily as possible, and come into the 
faith of the true believers. 

But, whatever may have been the doubts enter- 
tained, they were completely put to an end by the 
arrival, next day, of regular missives, confirming the 
intelligence of the young Count's murder, and his 
interment in Wurtzburg cathedral. 

The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. 
The Baron shut himself up in his chamber. The 
guests who had come to rejoice with him, could not 
think of abandoning him in his distress. They wan- 
dered about the courts, or collected in groups in the 
hall, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoul- 
ders, at the troubles of so good a man ; and sat 
longer than ever at table, and ate and drank more 
stoutly than ever, by way of keeping up their 
spirits. But the situation of the widowed bride was 
the most pitiable. To have lost a husband before 
she had even embraced him — and such a husband ! 
if the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, 
what must have been the living man ? She filled 
the house with lamentations. 

On the night of the second day of her widowhood, 
she had retired to her chamber, accompanied by one 
of her aunts, who insisted on sleeping with her. 
The aunt, who was one of the best tellers of ghost 
stories in all Germany, had just been recounting one 
of her longest, and had fallen asleep in the very 
midst of it. The chamber was remote, and over- 
looked a small garden. The niece lay pensively gaz- 
ing at the beams of the rising moon, as they trem- 
bled on the leaves of an aspen tree before the lattice. 
The castle clock had just told midnight, whea a soft 
strain of music stole up from the garden. She rose 
hastily from her bed, and stepped lightly to the win- 



dow. A tall figure stood among the shadows of the 
trees. As it raised its head, a beam of moonlight 
fell upon the countenance. Heaven and earth ! she 
beheld the Spectre Bridegroom ! A loud shriek at 
that inoment burst upon her ear, and her aunt, who 
had been awakened by the music, and had followed 
her silently to the window, fell into her arms. When 
she looked again, the spectre had disappeared. 

Of the two females, the aunt now recjuired the 
most soothing, for she was perfectly beside herself 
with terror. As to the young lady, there was some- 
thing, even in the spectre of her lover, that seemed 
endearing.- There was still the semblance of manly 
beauty ; and though the shadow of a man is but little 
calculated to satisfy the affections of a love-sick girl, 
yet, where the substance is not to be had, even that 
is consoling. The aunt declared she would never 
sleep in that chamber again ; the niece, for once, was 
refractory, and declared as strongly that she would 
sleep in no other in the castle : the consequence was, 
that she had to sleep in it alone ; but she drew a 
promise from her aunt not to relate the story of the 
spectre, lest she should be denied the only melan- 
choly pleasure left her on earth — that of inhabiting 
the chamber over which the guardian shade of her 
lover kept its nightly vigils. 

How long the good old lady would have observed 
this promise is uncertain, for she dearly loved to talk 
of the marvellous, and there is a triumph in being 
the first to tell a frightful story ; it is, however, still 
quoted in the neighbourhood, as a memorable in- 
stance of female secrecy, that she kept it to herself for 
a whole week ; when she was suddenly absolved from 
all farther restraint, by intelligence brought to the 
breakfast-table one morning that the young lady was 
not to be found. Her room was empty — the bed 
had not been slept in — the window was open — and 
the bird had flown ! 

The astonishment and concern with which the 
intelligence was received,' can only be imagined by 
those who have witnessed the agitation which the 
mishaps of a great man cause among his friends. 
Even the poor relations paused for a moment from 
the indefatigable labours of the trencher ; when the 
aunt, who had at first been struck speechless, wrung 
her hands and shrieked out, " the goblin I the 
goblin ! she's carried away by the goblin ! " 

In a few words she related the fearful scene of the 
garden, and concluded that the spectre must have 
carried off his bride. Two of the domestics corrob- 
orated the opinion, for they had heard the clatter- 
ing of a horse's hoofs down the mountain about mid- 
night, and had no doubt that it was the spectre on 
his black charger, bearing her away to the tomb. 
All present were struck with the direful probabil- 
ity ; for events of the kind are extremely common 
in Germany, as many well-authenticated histories 
bear witness. 

What a lamentable situation was that of the poor 
Baron I What a heart-rending dilemma for a fond 
father, and a member of the great family of Katzenel- 
lenbogen ! His only daughter had either been wrapt 
away to the grave, or he was to have some wood- 
demon for a son-in-law, and, perchance, a troop of 
goblin grand-children. As usual, he was completely 
bewildered, and all the castle in an uproar. The 
men were ordered to take horse, and scour every 
road and path and glen of the Odenwald. The Baron 
himself had just drawn on his jack-boots, girded on 
his sword, and was about to mount his steed to sally 
Ibrth on the doubtful quest, wdien he was brought to 
a pause by a new apparition. A lady was seen ap- 
proaching the castle, mounted on a palfrey attended 
by a cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to the 
gate, sprang from her horse, and falling at the Baron's 



44 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



feet embraced his knees. It was his lost daughter, 
and her companion— the Spectre Bridegroom ! The 
Baron was astounded. He looked at his daughter, 
then at the Spectre, and almost doubted the evidence 
of his senses. The latter, too, was wonderfully im- 
proved in his appearance, since his visit to the world 
of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set off a 
noble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer 
pale and melancholy. His fine countenance was 
flushed with the glow of youth, and joy rioted in 
his large dark eye. 

The mystery was soon cleared up. The cavaher 
(for in truth, as you must have known all the while, 
he was no goblin) announced himself as Sir Herman 
Von Starkenfaust. He related his adventure with 
the young Count. He told how he had hastened 
to the castle to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but 
that the eloquence of the Baron had interrupted him 
in every attempt to tell his tale. How the sight of 
the bride had completely captivated him, and that to 
pass a few hours near her, he had tacitly suffered 
the mistake to continue. How he had been sorely 
perplexed in what way to make a decent retreat, 
until the Baron's gobhn'stories had suggested his 
eccentric exit. How, fearing the feudal hostility 
of the family, he had repeated his visits by 
stealth— had haunted the garden beneath the young 
lady's window — had wooed— had won — had borne 
away in triumph — and, in a word, had wedded the 
fair. 

Under any other circumstances, the Baron would 
have been inflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal 
authority, and devoutly obstinate in all family feuds ; 
but he loved his daughter ; he had lamented her as 
lost ; he rejoiced to find her still alive ; and, though 
her husband was of a hostile house, yet, thank 
Heaven, he was not a goblin. There was some- 
thing, it must be acknowledged, that did not ex- 
actly accord with his notions of strict veracity, in 
the joke the knight had passed upon him of his be- 
ing a dead man ; but several old friends present, 
who had served in the wars, assured him that every 
stratagem was excusable in love, and that the cava- 
lier was entitled to especial privilege, having lately 
served as a trooper. 

Matters, therefore, were happily arranged. The 
Baron pardoned the young couple on the spot. The 
revels at the castle were resumed. The poor rela- 
tions overwhelmed this new member of the family 
with loving kindness ; he was so gallant, so gener- 
ous—and so rich. The aunts, it is true, were some- 
what scandalized that their system of strict seclusion, 
and passive obedience, should be so badly exempli- 
fied, but attributed it all to their negligence in not 
having the windows grated. One of them was par- 
ticularly mortified at having her marvellous story 
marred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen 
should turn out a counterfeit ; but the niece seemed 
perfectly happy at having found him substantial flesh 
and blood — and so the story ends. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



When I behold, with deep astonishment, 
To famous Westminster liovv there resorte. 
Living in brasse or stony monument. 
'J'he princes and the worthies of all sorte ; 
Doe not I see reformde nobilitie, 
Without contempt, or pride, or ostentation, 
And looke upon ofFenseless majesty. 
N.iked of pomp or earthly domination ? 
And how a play-game of a painted stone 
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites. 
Whome all the world v,hich late they stood upon, 
Could not content nor quench their appetites. 
Life is a frost of cold felicitie, 
And death the thaw of all our vanitie. 

Christolero^ s Epigrams^ by T. E. 1598. 

On one of those sober and rather melancholy 
days, in the latter part of autumn, when the shad- 
ows of morning and evening almost mingle to- 
gether, and throw a gloom over the decline of the 
year, I passed several hours in rambling about West- 
minster Abbey. There was something congenial to 
the season in the mournful magnificence of the old 
pile ; and as I passed its threshold, it seemed like 
stepping back into the regions of antiquity, and los- 
ing myself among the shades of former ages. 

I entered from the inner court of Westminster 
school, through a long, low, vaulted passage, that 
had an almost subterranean look, being dimly lighted 
in one part by circular perforations in the massive 
walls. Through this dark avenue I had a distant 
view of the cloisters, with the figure of an old verger, 
in his black gown, moving along their shadowy 
vaults, and seeming like a spectre from one of the 
neighbouring tombs. 

The approach to the abbey through these gloomy 
monastic remains, prepares the mind for its solemn- 
contemplation. The cloister still retains something 
of the quiet and seclusion of former days. Tne gray 
walls are discoloured by damps, and crumbling with 
age ; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the 
inscriptions of the mural monuments, and obscured 
the death's heads, and other funeral emblems. The 
sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich 
traceiy of the arches ; the roses which adorned the 
key-stones have lost their leafy beauty ; every thing 
bears marks of the gradual dilapidations of time, 
which yet has something touching and pleasing in 
its very decay. 

The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray 
into the square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a 
scanty plot of grass in the centre, and lighling up an 
angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusty 
splendour. From between the arcades, the eye 
glanced up to a bit of blue sky, or.a passing cloud ; 
and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles of the abbey tow- 
ering into the azure heaven. 

As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating 
this mingled picture of glory and decay, and some- 
times endeavouring to decipher the inscriptions on the 
tombstones, which formed the pavement beneath my 
feet, my eyes were attracted to three figures, rudely 
carved in relief, but nearly worn away by the foot- 
steps of many generations. They were the effigies 
of three of the early abbots ; the epitaphs were en- 
tirely effaced ; the names alone remained, having no 
doubt been renewed in later times ; (Vitalis. Abbas. 
1082, and Gislebertus Crispinus. Abbas. 1 114, and 
Laurentius. Abbas. 1 176.) I remained some little 
while, musing over these casual relics of antiquity, 
thus left like wrecks upon this distant shore of lime, 
telling no tale but that such beings had been and 
had perished ; teaching no moral but the futility of 
that pride which hopes still to exact homage in its 
ashes, and to live in an inscription. A little longer, 
and even these faint records will be obliterated, and 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



45 



the monument will cease to be a memorial. Whilst 
I was yet looking down upon the gravestones, I was 
roused by the sound of the abbey clock, reverberat- 
ing from buttress to buttress, and echoing among 
the cloisters. It is almost startling to hear this 
warning of departed time sounding among the 
tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like 
a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave. 

I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to 
the interior of the abbey. On entering here, the mag- 
nitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind, 
contrasted with the vaults of the cloisters. The eye 
gazes with wonder at clustered columns of gigantic 
dimensions, with arches springing from them to such 
an amazing height ; and man wandering about their 
bases, shrunk into insignificance in comparison with 
his own handy-work. The spaciousness and gloom 
of this vast edifice produce a profound and mysteri- 
ous awe. We step cautiously and softly about, as if 
fearful of disturbing the hallowed silence of the tomb ; 
while every footfall whispers along the walls, and 
chatters among the sepulchres, making us more sen- 
sible of the quiet we have interrupted. 

It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses 
down upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into 
noiseless reverence. We feel that we arc surrounded 
by the congregated bones of the great men of past 
times, who have filled history with their deeds, and 
the earth with their renown. And yet it almost pro- 
vokes a smile at the vanity of human ambition, to see 
how they are crowded together, and justled in the 
dust ; what parsimony is observed in doling out a 
scanty nook — a gloomy corner — a little portion of 
earth, to those whom, when alive, kingdoms could 
not satisfy : and how many shapes, and forms, and 
artifices, are devised to catch the casual notice of the 
passenger, and save from forgetfulness, for a few 
short years, a name which once aspired to occupy 
ages of the world's thought and admiration. 

I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which oc- 
cupies an end of one of the transepts or cross aisles 
ol the abbey. The monuments are generally simple ; 
for the lives of literary men afford no striking themes 
for the sculptor. Shakspeare and Addison have stat- 
ues erected to their memories; but the greater part 
have busts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscrip- 
tions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these me- 
morials, I have always observed that the visitors to 
the abbey remain longest about them. A kinder and 
fonder feeling takes place of that cold curiosity or 
vague admiration with which they gaze on the splen- 
did monuments of the great and the heroic. They 
linger about these as about the tombs of friends anil 
companions ; for indeed there is something of com- 
panionship between the author and the reader. Other 
men are known to posterity only through the medium 
of histoiy, which is continually growing faint and ob- 
scure ; but the intercourse between the author and 
his fellow-men is ever new, active, and immediate. 
He has lived for them more than for himself; he has 
sacrificed surrounding enjoyments, and shut himself 
up from the delights ot social life, that he might the 
more intimately commune with distant minds and 
distant ages. Well may the world cherish his re- 
nown ; for it has been purchased, not by deeds of 
violence and blood, but by the diligent dispensation 
of pleasure. Well may posterity be grateful to his 
memory ; for he has left it an inheritance, not of empty 
names and sounding actions, but whole treasures of 
wisdom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins of 
language. 

From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll towards 
that part of the abbey which contains the sepulchres 
ot the kings. I wandered among what once were 
chapels, but which are now occupied by the tombs 



and monuments of the great. At every turn, I met 
with some illustrious name, or the cognizance of some 
powerful house renowned in history. As the eye 
darts into these dusky chambers of death, it catches 
glimpses of quaint effigies: some kneeling in niches, 
as if in devotion; others stretched upon the tombs, 
with hands piously pressed together ; warriors in 
armour, as if reposing after battle ; prelates, with 
crosiers and mitres ; and nobles in robes and coronets, 
lying as it were in state. In glancing over this scene, 
so strangely populous, yet where every form is so still 
and silent, it seems almost as if we were treading a 
mansion of that fabled city, where every being had 
been suddenly transmuted into stone. 

1 paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the 
effigy of a knight in complete armour. A large buck- 
ler was on one arm ; the hands were pressed together 
in supplication upon the breast ; the face was almost 
covered by the morion ; the legs were crossed in token 
of the warrior's having been engaged in the holy war. 
It was the tomb of a crusader ; of one of those mili- 
tary enthusiasts, who so strangely mingled religion 
and romance, and whose exploits form the connect- 
ing link between fact and fiction — between the his- 
tory and the fairy tale. There is something extremely 
picturesque in the tombs of these adventurers, deco- 
rated as they are with rude armorial bearings and 
Gothic sculpture. They comport with the antiquated 
chapels in which they are generally found ; and in 
considering them, the imagination is apt to kindle 
with the legendary associations, the romantic fictions, 
the chivalrous pomp and pageantry, which poetry has 
spread over the wars for the Sepulchre of Christ. 
They are the relics of times utterly gone by ; of beings 
passed from recollection ; of customs and manners 
with which ours have no affinity. They are like 
objects from some strange and distant land, of which 
we have no certain knowledge, and about which all 
our conceptions are vague and visionary. There is 
something extremely solemn and awful in those 
effigies on Gothic tombs, extended as if in the sleep 
of death, or in the supplication of the dying hour. 
They have an effect infinitely more impressive on 
my feelings than the fanciful attitudes, the over- 
wrought conceits, and allegorical groups, which 
abound on modern monuments. I have been struck, 
also, with the superiority of many of the old sepulchral 
inscriptions. There was a noble way, in former 
times, of saying things simply, and yet saying them 
proudly : and I do not know an epitaph that breathes 
a loftier consciousness of family worth and honour- 
able lineage, than one which affirms, of a noble 
house, that " all the brothers were brave, and all the 
sisters virtuous." 

In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner, stands 
a monument which is among the most renowned 
achievements of modern art ; but which, to me, ap- 
pears horrible rather than sublime. It is the tomb 
of Mrs. Nightingale, by RoubiUac. The bottom of 
the monument is represented as throwing open its 
marble doors, and a sheeted skeleton is starting 
forth. The shroud is falling from his fleshless frame 
as he lanches his dart at his victim. She is sinking 
into her affrighted husband's arms, who strives, with 
vain and frantic effort, to avert the blow. The whole 
is executed with terrible truth and spirit ; we almost 
fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph, bursting 
from the distended jaws of the spectre. — But why 
should we thus seek to clothe death with unneces- 
sary terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb 
of those we love ? The grave should be surrounded 
by every thing that might inspire tenderness and 
veneration for the dead ; or that might win the living 
to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, 
but of sorrow and meditation. 



46 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



While wandering about these gloomy vaults and 
silent aisles, studying the records of the dead, the 
sound of busy existence from without occasionally 
reaches the ear: — the rumbling of the passing equi- 
page ; the murmur of the multitude ; or perhaps the 
light laugh of pleasure. The contrast is striking 
with the deathlike repose around ; and it has a 
strange effect upon the feelings, thus to hear the 
surges of active life hurrying along and beating 
against the very walls of the sepulchre. 

I continued in this way to move from tomb to 
tomb, and from chapel to chapel. The day was 
gradually wearing away ; the distant tread of loiter- 
ers about the abbey grew less and less frequent ; 
the sweet-tongued bell was summoning to evening 
prayers ; and I saw at a distance the choristers, in 
their white surplices, crossing the aisle and entering 
the choir. I stood before the entrance to Henry the 
Seventh's chapel. A flight of steps leads up to it, 
through a deep and gloomy, but magnificent arch. 
Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought, 
turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluc- 
tant to admit the feet of common mortals into this 
most gorgeous of sepulchres. 

On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of 
architecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured 
detail. The very walls are wrought into universal 
ornament, encrusted with tracery, and scooped into 
niches, crowded with the statues of saints and mar- 
tyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labour of the 
chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and density, 
suspended aloft, as if by magic, and the fretted roof 
achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy 
security of a cobweb. 

Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls 
of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, 
though with the grotesque decorations of Gothic ar- 
chitecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixed 
the helmets and crests of the knights, with their 
scarfs and swords ; and above them are suspended 
their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, 
and contrasting the splendour of gold and purple 
and crimson, with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. 
In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the 
sepulchre of its founder, — his effig)', with that of his 
queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole 
surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen railing. 

There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence ; 
this strange mixture of tombs and trophies ; these 
emblems of living and aspiring ambition, close be- 
side mementos which show the dust and oblivion in 
which all must sooner or later terminate. Nothing 
impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneli- 
ness, than to tread the silent and deserted scene of 
former throng and pageant. On looking round on 
the vacant stalls of the knights and their esquires, 
and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners that 
were once borne before them, my imagination con- 
jured up the scene when this hall was bright with 
the valour and beauty of the land ; glittering with 
the splendour of jewelled rank and military array ; 
alive with the tread of many feet, and the hum of 
an admiring multitude. All had passed away ; the 
silence of death had settled again upon the place ; 
interrupted only by the casual chirping of birds, 
which had found their way into the chapel, and built 
their nests among its friezes and pendants — sure 
signs of solitariness and desertion. When I read the 
names inscribed on the banners, they were those of 
men scattered far and wide about the world ; some 
tossing upon distant seas ; some under arms in dis- 
tant lands ; some mingling in the busy intrigues of 
courts and cabinets : all seeking to deserve one 
more distinction in this mansion of shadowy honours 
—the melancholy reward of a monument. 



Two small aisles on each side of this chapel pre- 
sent a touching instance of the equality of the grave, 
which brings down the oppressor to a level with the 
oppressed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest ene- 
mies together. In one is the sepulchre of the haugh- 
ty Elizabeth; in the other is that of her victim, the 
lovely and unfortunate Mar}'. Not an hour in the 
day, but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the 
fate of the latter, mingled with indignation at her 
oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre con- 
tinually echo with the sighs of sympathy heaved at 
the grave of her rival. 

A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where 
Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through 
windows darkened by dust. The greater part of the 
place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained 
and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure 
of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is 
an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national 
emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wandering, 
and sat down to rest myself by the monument, re- 
volving in my mind the chequered and disastrous 
story of poor .Mary. 

The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the 
abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant 
voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and 
the faint responses of the choir ; these paused for a 
tiine, and all was hushed. The stillness, the deser- 
tion and obscurity that were gradually prevailing 
around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to 
the place : 

For in the silent grave no conversation. 
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lover.", 
No careful father's counsel — nothing's heard, 
For nothing is, but all oblivion, 
Dust, and an endless darkness. 

Suddenly the notes of the deep-labouring organ 
burst npon the ear, falling with doubled and re- 
doubled intensity, and rolling, as it were, huge bil- 
lows of sound. How well do their volume and 
grandeur accord with this mighty building ! With 
what pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and 
breathe their awful harmony through these caves of 
death, and make the silent sepulchre vocal ! — And 
now they rise in triumphant acclamation, heaving 
higher and higher their accordant notes, and piling 
sound on sound. — And now they pause, and the soft 
voices of the choir break out into sweet gushes of 
melody ; they soar aloft, and warble along the roof, 
and seem to play about these lofty vaults like the 
pure airs of heaven. Again the pealing organ 
heaves its thrilling thunders, compressing air into 
music, and rolling it forth upon the soul. What 
long-drawn cadences ! What solemn sweeping con- 
cords ! It grows more and more dense and power- 
ful — it fills the vast pile, and seems to jar the very 
walls^the ear is stunned — the senses are over- 
whelmed. And now it is winding up in full jubilee 
— it is rising from the earth to heaven — the very soul 
seems rapt away, and floated upwards on this swell- 
ing tide of harmony ! 

I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie 
which a strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire : 
the shadows of evening were gradually thickening 
around me ; the monuments began to cast deeper 
and deeper gloom ; and the distant clock again gave 
token of the slowly waning day. 

I arose, and prepared to leave the abbey. As I 
descended the flight of steps which lead into the 
body of the building, my eye was caught by the 
shrine of Edwaid the Confessor, and 1 ascended 
the small staircase that conducts to it, to take from 
thence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs. 
The shrine is elevated upon a kind of platform, and 
close around it are the sepulchres of various kings 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



il 



and queens. From this eminence the eye looks 
down between pillars and funeral trophies to the 
chapels and chambers below, crowded with tombs ; 
where warriors, prelates, courtiers, and statesmen, 
lie mouldering' in " their beds of darkness." Close 
by me stood the great chair of coronation, rudely 
carved of oak, in the barbarous taste of a remote 
and Gothic age. The scene seemed alinost as if 
contrived, with theatrical artifice, to produce an ef- 
fect upon the beholder. Here was a type of the be- 
ginning and the end of human pomp and power ; 
here it was literally but a step from the throne to 
the sepulchre. Would not one think that these in- 
congruous mementos had been gathered together 
as a lesson to living greatness ? — to show it, even in 
the moment of its proudest exaltation, the neglect 
and dishonour to which it must soon arrive.' how 
soon that crown which encircles its brow must pass 
away; and it must lie down in the dust and dis- 
graces of the tomb, and be trampled upon by the 
feet of the meanest of the multitude .' For, strange 
to tell, even the grave is here no longer a sanctuarv. 
There is a shocking levity in some natures, which 
leads them to sport with awful and hallowed things ; 
and there are base minds, which delight to revenge 
on the illustrious dead the abject homage and grovel- 
ling servility which they pay to the living. The cof- 
fin of Edward the Confessor has been broken open, 
and his remains despoiled of their funeral orna- 
ments ; the sceptre has been stolen from the hand 
of the ini])erious Elizabeth, and the effigy of Henry 
the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monument but 
bears some proof how false and fugitive is the hom- 
age of mankind. Some are plundered ; some muti- 
lated ; some covered with ribaldry and insult — all 
more or less outraged and dishonoured ! 

The last beams of day were now faintly streaming 
through the painted windows in the high vaults 
above me : the lower parts of the abbey were al- 
ready wrapped in the obscurity of twilight. The 
chapels and aisles grew darker and darker. The 
effigies of the kings faded into shadows ; the mar- 
ble figures of the monuments assumed strange 
shapes in the uncertain light ; the evening breeze 
crept through the aisles like the cold breath of the 
grave; and even the distant footfall of a verger, 
traversing the Poet's Corner, had something strange 
and dreary in its sound. I slowly retraced mv morn- 
ing's walk, and as I passed out at the portal of the 
cloisters, the door, closing with a jarring noise be- 
hind me, filled the whole building with echoes. 

I endeavoured to form some arrangement in my 
mind of the objects I had been contemplating, but 
found they were already falling into indistinctness 
and confusion. Names, inscriptions, trophies, had 
all become confounded in my recollection, though I 
had scarcely taken my foot from off the threshold. 
What, thought I, is this vast assemblage of sepul- 
chres but a treasury of humiliation ; a huge pile of 
reiterated homilies on the emptiness of renown, and 
the certainty of oblivion.'' It is, indeed, the empire 
of Death ; his great shadowy palace ; where he sits 
in state, mocking at the relics of human glory, and 
spreading dust and forgetfulness on the monuments 
of princes. How idle a boast, after all, is the im- 
mortality of a name ! Time is ever silently turning 
over his pages ; we are too much engrossed by the 
story of tlie present, to think of the characters and 
anecdotes that gave interest to the past ; and each 
age is a volume thrown aside to be speedily forgot- 
ten. The idol of to-day pushes the hero of yester- 
day out of our recollection ; and will, in turn, be 
supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. "Our 
fathers," says Sir Thomas Brown, " find their 
graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how 



we may be buried in our survivors." History fades 
into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and 
controversy ; the inscription moulders from the tab- 
let ; the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, 
arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand 
— and their epitaphs, but characters written in the 
dust ? What is the security of the toinb, or the 
perpetuity of an embalmment .' The remains ol 
Ale.xander the Great have been scattered to the 
wind, and his empty sarcophagus is now the mere 
curiosity of a museum. "The Egyptian mummies, 
which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now 
consumcth ; Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is 
sold for balsams."* 

What then is to insure this pile, which now tow- 
ers above me, from sharing the fate of mightier 
mausoleums ? The time must come when its gilded 
vaults, which now spring so loftily, shall lie in rub- 
bish beneath the feet ; when, instead of the sound 
of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through 
the broken arches, and the owl hoot from the shat- 
tered tower — when the garish sunbeam shall break 
into these gloomy mansions of death ; and the ivy 
twine round the fallen column ; and the fox-glove 
hang its blossoms about the nameless urn, as if in 
mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away; his 
name perishes from record and recollection ; his his- 
tory is as a tale that is told, and his very monument 
becomes a ruin. 



CHRISTMAS. 



But is old, old, good old Christinas gone? Nothing but the 
hair of his good, gray, old head and beard left? Well, I will have 
that, seeing I cannot have more of him. 

Hue and Cry after Christmas. 

A man might then behold 

At Christmas, in each hall, 
Good fires to curb the cold, 

And meat for great and small. 
The neighbours were friendly bidden, 

And all had welcome true. 
The poor from the gates were not chidden, 

When this old cap was new. 

Old Song. 

There is nothing in England that exercises a more 
delightful spell over my imagination than the finger- 
ings of the holyday customs and rural games of former 
times. They recall the pictures my fancy used to 
dra V in the May morning of life, when as yet I only 
knew the world through books, and believed it to be 
all that poets had painted it ; and they bring with 
them the flavour of those honest days of yore, in 
which, perhaps with equal fallacy, I am apt to think 
the world was more homebred, social, and joyous 
than at present. I regret to say that they are daily 
growing more and more faint, being gradually worn 
away by time, but still more obliterated by modern 
fashion. They resemble those picturesque morsels 
of Gothic architecture, which we see crumbling in 
various parts of the country, partly dilapidated by 
the waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions 
and alterations of latter days. Poetry, however, 
clings with cherishing fondness about the rural game 
and holvday revel, from which it has derived so many 
of its themes — as the ivy winds its rich foliage about 
the Gothic arch and mouldering tower, gratefully 
repaying their support, by clasping together their 
tottering remains, and, as it were, embalming them 
in verdure. 

Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas 
awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. 



* Sir Tho 



mas Lirown. 



48 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



There is a tone of solKinn and sacred feeling that 
blends with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a 
state of hallowed and elevated enjoyment. The ser- 
vices of the church about this season are extremely 
tender and inspiring : they dwell on the beautil'ul story 
of the origin of our faith, and the pastoral scenes that 
accompanied its announcement : they gradually in- 
crease in fervour and pathos during the season of 
Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee on the 
morning that brought peace and good-will to men. 
I do not know a grander effect of music on the moral 
feelings than to hear the full choir and the pealing 
organ performing a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, 
and filling every part of the vast pile with triumphant 
harmony. 

It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from 
days of yore, that this festival, which commemorates 
the announcement of the religion of peace and love, 
has been made the season for gathering together ol 
family connexions, and drawing closer again those 
bands of kindred hearts, which the cares and pleas- 
ures and sorrows ol the world are continually operat- 
ing to cast loose ; of calling back the children of a ( 
family, who have launched forth in life, and wandered 
widely asunder, once more to assemble about the 
paternal hearth, that rallying-place of the affections, 
there to grow your^g and loving again among the 
endearing mementos of childhood. 

There is something in the very season of the year, 
that gives a charm to tht festivity of Christmas. At 
other times, we derive a great portion of our pleasures 
from the mere beauties of Nature. Our feelmgs sally 
forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny land- 
scape, and we " live abroad and every where." The 
songofthebird, the murmur of the stream, the breath- 
ing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of 
summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; earth with its 
mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with its deep 
delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, — all fill 
us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel in 
the luxury of mere sensation. But in the depth of 
winter, when Nature lies despoiled of every charm, 
and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn 
for our gratifications to moral sources. The dreari- 
ness and desolation of the landscape, the short 
gloomy days and darksome nights, while they cir- 
cumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings also 
from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly 
disposed for the pleasures of the social circle. Our 
thoughts are more concentrated ; our friendly sympa- 
thies more aroused. We feel more sensibly the charm 
of each other's society, and are brought more closely 
together by dependence on each other for enjoyment. 
Heart calleth unto heart, and we draw our pleasures 
from the deep wells of living kindness which lie in 
the quiet recesses of our bosoms ; and which, when 
resorted to, furnish forth the pure element of do- 
mestic felicity. 

The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate 
on entering the room filled with the glow and warmth 
of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an arti- 
ficial summer and sunshine through the room, and 
lights up each countenance into a kindlier welcome. 
Where does the honest face of hospitality expand into 
a broader and more cordial smile — where is the shy 
glance of love more sweetly eloquent— than by the 
winter fireside .' and as the hollcw blast of wintry- 
wind rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, 
whistles about the casement, and rumbles down the 
chimney, what can be more grateful than that feeling 
of sober and sheltered security, with which we look 
round upon the comfortable chamber, and tlie scene 
of domestic hilarity.' 

The English, Irom the great prevalence of rural 
habits throughout every class of society, have always 



been fond of those festivals and holydays which 
agreeably interrupt the stillness of country life ; and 
they were in former days particularly observant of 
the religious and social rights of Christmas. It is 
inspiring to read even the dry details which some 
antiquaries have given of the quaint humours, the 
burlesque pageants, the complete abandonment to 
mirth and good fellowship, with which this festival 
was celebrated. It seemed to throw open every door, 
and unlock every heart. It brought the peasant and 
the peer together, and blended all ranks in one warm 
generous flow of joy and kindness. The old halls 
of castles and manor-houses resounded with the 
harp and the Christmas carol, and their ample 
boards groaned under the weight of hospitality. 
Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive sea- 
sen with green decorations of bay and holly — the 
cheerful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, in- 
viting the passenger to raise the latch, and join the 
gossip knot huddled round the hearth, beguiling the 
long evening with legendary jokes, and oft-told 
Christmas tales. 

One of the least pleasing eflects of modern refine- 
ment, is the havoc it has made among the hearty old 
holyday customs. It has completely taken ofl" the 
sharp touchipgs and spirited reliefs of these em- 
bellishments of life, and has worn down society into 
a more smooth and polished, but certainly a less 
characteristic surface. Many of the games and cere- 
monials of Christmas have entirely disappeared, and, 
like the sherris sack of old Falstaff, are become 
matters of speculation and dispute among commen- 
tators. They flourished in times full of spirit and 
lustihood, when men enjoyed life roughly, but 
heartily and vigorously: times wild and picturesque, 
which have furnished poetry with its richest mate- 
rials, and the drama with its most attractive variety 
of characters and manners. The world has become 
more worldly. There is more of dissipation and less 
of enjoyment. Pleasure has expanded into a broad- 
er, but a shallower stream, and has forsaken many 
of those deep and quiet channels, where it flowed 
sweetly through the calm bosom of domestic life. 
Society has acquired a more enlightened and elegant 
tone ; but it has lost many of its strong local peculi- 
arities, its homebred feelings, its honest fireside de- 
lights. The traditionary customs of golden-hearted 
antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordly wassail- 
ings, have passed away with the baronial ca=tles and 
stately manor-l-.ouses in which they were celebrated. 
They comported with the shadowy hall, the great 
oaken gallery, and ihe tapestried parlour, but are 
unfitted for the light showy saloons and gay draw- 
ing-rooms of the modern villa. 

Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive 
honours, Christmas is still a period of delightful ex- 
citement in England. It is gratifying to see that 
home feeling completely aroused which holds so 
powerful a place in every English bosom. The 
preparations making on every side for the social 
board that is again to unite friends and kindred — the " 
presents of good cheer passing and repassing, those 
tokens of regard and quickencrs of kind feelings — 
the evergreens distributed about houses and churches, '. 
emblems of peace and gladness — all these have the I 
most pleasing effect in producing fond associations, 
and kindling benevolent sympathies. Even the sound 
of the waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy, breaks 
upon the midwatches of a winter night with the 
effect of perfect harmony. As I have been awaken- 
ed by them in that still and solemn hour " when 
deep'sleep falleth upon man," 1 have listened with a 
hushed delight, and connecting them with the sacred 
and joyous occasion, have almost landed thjm intojl 
another celestial choir, announcing peace an.1 good- 1 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



49 



will to mankind. How delig-htfuliy the imagination, 
when wrought upon by these moral influences, turns 
eveiything to melody and beauty ! The very crow- 
ing of the cock, heard sometimes in the profound 
repose of the country, " telling the nightwatches to 
his feathery dames," was thought by the common 
people to announce the approach of the sacred 
festival : 

'* Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth was celebrated. 
This bird of dawning singeth all night long; 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir a', road ; 
The nights are wholesome— then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 
So hallowed and so gracious is the time." 

Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of 
the spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at 
this period, what bosom can remain insensible .> It 
is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling — the 
season for kindling not merely the fire of hospitality 
in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the 
heart. The scene of early love again rises green to 
memory beyond the steril waste of years, and the 
idea of home, fraught with the fragrance of home- 
dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping spirit — as 
the Arabian breeze will sometimes waft the fresh- 
ness of the distant fields to the weary pilgrim of the 
desert. 

Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land — 
though for me no social hearth may blaze, no hos- 
pitable roof throw open its doors, nor the warm 
grasp of friendship welcome me at the threshold^ 
yet I feel the influence of the season beaming into 
my soul from the happy looks of those around me. 
Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven ; 
and every countenance bright with smiles, and glow- 
ing with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmit- 
ting to others the rays of a supreme and ever-shining 
benevolence. He who can turn churlishly away 
from contemplating the felicity of his fellow beings, 
;ind can sit down darkling and repining in his lone- 
liness when all around is joyful, may have his mo- 
ments of strong excitement and selfish gratification, 
but he wants the genial and social sympathies whicli 
constitute the charm of a merry Christmas. 



THE STAGE-COACH. 



Omne benfe 

Sine poena 
Tenipus est ludendi 

Venit hora 

Absque morft 
Libros deponendi. 

Old Holyday School Song. 

In the preceding paper, I have made some general 
observations on the Christmas festivities of England, 
and am tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes 
of a Christmas passed in the country ; in perusing 
which, I would most courteously invite my reader to 
lay aside the austerity of wisdom, and to put on that 
genuine holyday spirit, which is tolerant of folly and 
anxious only for amusement. 

In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I 
rode for a long distance in one of the public coaches, 
on the day preceding Christmas. The coach was 
crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, 
by their talk, seemed principally bound to the man- 
sions of relations or friends, to eat the Christmas 
dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of game, 
and baskets and boxes of delicacies ; and hares hung 
dangling their long ears about the coachman's box. 



presents from distant friends for the impending feast. 
I had three fine rosy-cheeked school-boys for my 
fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health 
and njanly spirit which I have observed in the chil- 
dren of this country'. They were returning home for 
the holydays, in high glee, and promising themselves 
a world of enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the 
gigantic plans of pleasure of the little rogues, and 
the impracticable feats they were to perform during 
their six weeks' emancipation from the abhorred 
thraldom of book, birch, and pedagogue. They 
were full of the anticipations of the meeting with the 
family and household, down to the very cat and dog ; 
and of the joy they were to give their little sisters, 
by the presents with which their pockets were cram- 
med : but the meeting to which they seemed to look 
forward with the greatest impatience was with Ban- 
tam, which I found to be a pony, and, according to 
their talk, possessed of more virtues than any steed 
since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot ! 
how he could run ! and then such leaps as he would 
take — there was not a hedge in the whole country 
that he could not clear. 

They were under the particular guardianship ot 
the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity 
presented, they addressed a host of questions, and 
pronounced him one of the best fellows in the whole 
world. Indeed, I could not but notice the more than 
ordinary air of bustle and importance of the coach- 
man, who wore his hat a little on one side, and had 
a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the but- 
ton-hole of his coat. He is always a personage full 
of mighty care and business; but he is particularly 
so during this season, having so many commissions 
to execute in consequence of the great interchange 
of presents. And here, perhaps, it may not be un- 
acceptable to my untravelled readers, to have a 
sketch that may serve as a general representation of 
this very numerous and important class of function- 
aries, who have a dress, a manner, a language, an 
air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout 
the fraternity ; so that, wherever an English stage- 
coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for 
one of any other craft or mystery. 

He has commonly a broad full face, curiously mot- 
tled with red, as if the blood had been forced by 
hard feeding into every vessel of the skin ; he is 
swelled into jolly dimensions by frequent potations 
of malt liquors, and his bulk is still farther increased 
by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like 
a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. 
He wears a broad-brimmed low-crowned hat, a 
huge roll of coloured handkerchief about his neck, 
knowingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom ; 
and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers 
in his button-hole, the present, most probably, of 
some enamoured country lass. His waistcoat is 
commonly of some bright colour, striped, and his 
small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a 
pair of jockey boots which reach about half-way up 
his legs. 

All this costume is maintained with much pre- 
cision ; he has a pride in having his clothes of ex- 
cellent materials, and, notwithstanding the seeming 
grossness of his appearance, there is still discernible 
that neatness and propriety of person, which is al- 
most inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys great 
consequence and consideration along the road ; has 
frequent conferences with the village housewives, 
who look upon him as a man of great trust and de- 
pendence ; and he seems to have a good understand- 
ing with every bright-eyed country lass. The mo- 
ment he arrives where the horses are to be changed,, 
he throws down the reins v/ith something of an air,, 
and abandons the cattle to the care of the hostler ;. 



50 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



his duty being- merely to drive them from one stage 
to another. When off the box, his hands are thrust 
in the pocl<ets of his great-coat, and he rolls about 
the inn-yard with an air of the most absolute lordli- 
ness. Here he is generally surrounded by an ad- 
miring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, 
and those nar.-.eless hangers-on. that infest inns and 
taverns, and run errands, and do all kind of odd jobs, 
for the privilege of battening on the drippings of the 
kitchen and the leakage of the tap-room. These all 
look up to him as to an oracle; treasure up his cant 
phrases ; echo his opinions about horses and other 
topics of jockey lore ; and, above all, endeavour to 
imitate his air and carriage. Even,' ragamuffin that 
has a coat to his back, thrusts his hands in the 
pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is an 
embryo Coachey. 

Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity 
that reigned in my own mind, that 1 fancied I saw 
cheerfulness in every countenance throughout the 
journey. A Stage-Coach, however, carries anima- 
tion always with it, and puts the world in motion as 
it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance 
of a village, produces a general bustle. -Some hasten 
forth to meet friends ; some with bundles and band- 
boxes to secure places, and in the hurry of the mo- 
ment can hardly take leave of the group that accom- 
panies them. In the mean time, the coachman has 
a world of small commissions to execute ; sometimes 
he delivers a hare or pheasant ; sometimes jerks a 
small parcel or newspaper to the door of a public 
house ; and sometimes, with knowing leer and 
words of sly import, hands to some half-blushing, 
half-laughing housemaid, an odd-shaped billetdoux 
from some "rustic admirer. As the coach rattles 
through the village, every one runs to the window, 
and you have glances on every side of fresh country 
faces, and blooming giggling girls. At the corners 
are asseinbled juntos of village idlers and wise men, 
who take their stations there for the important pur- 
pose of seeing company pass : but the sagest knot is 
generally at the blacksmith's, to whom the passing 
of the coach is an event fruitful of much speculation. 
The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses 
as the vehicle whirls by ; the cyclops round the 
anvil suspend their ringing hammers, and suffer the 
iron to grow cool ; and the sooty spectre in brown 
paper cap, labouring at the bellows, leans on the 
handle for a moment, and permits the asthmatic 
engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares 
through the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams 
of the smithy. 

Perhaps the impending holyday might have given 
a more th.an usual animation to the country, for it 
seemed to me as if every body was in good looks and 
good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of 
the table, were in brisk circulation in the villages ; 
the grocers, butchers, and fruiterers' shops were 
thronged with customers. The housewives were 
stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in or- 
der ; and the glossy branches of holly, with their 
bright rrtl berries, began to appear at the windows. 
The scene brought to mind an old writer's account 
of Christmas preparations. "Now capons and hens, 
besides turkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and 
mutton — must all die — for in twelve days a multi- 
tude of people will not be fed with a little. Now 
plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among 
pies and broth. Now or never must music be in 
tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them 
a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The country 
maid leaves half her market, and must be sent again, 
if she forgets a pair of cards on Christmas eve. Great 
is the contention of Holly and Ivy, whether master 
or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards bene- 



fit the butler ; and if the cook do not lack wit, he 
will sweetly lick his fingers." 

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation, 
by a shout from my little travelling companions. 
They had been looking out of the coach-windows 
for the last few miles, recognising every tree and 
cottage as they approached home, and now there 
was a general burst of joy—" There's John ! and 
there's old Carlo ! and there's Bantam ! " cried the 
happy little rogues, clapping their hands. 

At'the end of a lane, there was an old sober-look- 
ing servant in livery, waiting for them ; he was ac- 
companied by a superannuated pointer, and by the 
redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, \vith 
a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood dozing 
quietly by the road-side, little dreaming of the bus- 
tling times that awaited him. 

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the 
little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, 
and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole 
body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of 
interest ; all wanted to mount at once, and it was 
with some difficulty that John arranged that they 
should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first. 
Off they set at last ; one on the pony, with the dog 
bounding and barking before him, and the others 
holding John's hands ; both talking at once and 
overpowering him with questions about home, and 
with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a 
feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or 
melancholy predominated; for I was reminded of 
those days when, like them, I had neither known 
care nor sorrow, and a holyday was the summit of 
earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments after- 
wards, to water the horses; and on resuming our route, 
a turn of the road brovight us in sight of a neat coun- 
try-seat. I could just distinguish the forms of a lady 
and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my 
little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, ^ 
trooping along the carnage road. I leaned out ot 
the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing the happy 
meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight. 
In the evening we reached a village where I had 
determined to pass the night. As we drove into the 
great gateway of the inn, I saw, on one side, the 
light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a 
window. I entered, and admired, lor the hundredth 
time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and 
broad- honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English 
inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round 
with copper and tin vessels highly polished, and dec- 
orated here and there with a Christmas green. 
Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspeno- 
ed from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseles- 
clanking beside the fire-place, arfd a clock ticked in 
one corner. A well - scoured deal table e.Ktended 
along one side of the kitchen, with a cold round of 
beef, and other hearty viands, upon it, over which 
two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard ' 
Travellers of inferior order were preparing to attack 
this stout repast, whilst others sat smoking and gos 
siping over their ale on two high-backed oaken set- 
ties beside the fire. Trim housemaids were hurry- 
ing backwards and forwards, under the direction: 
of a fresh bustling landlady ; but still seizing an oc- 
casional moment to exchange a flippant word, ant 
have a rallying laugh, with the group round the firei, 
The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humbk 
idea of the comforts of mid-winter : 

Now trees their leafy hats do bare 
To reverence Winter's silver hair ; 
A handsome hostess, merry host, 
A pot of ale and now a toast, 
Tobacco and a good coal fire. 
Are tilings this season doth require.* 



* Poor Robin's Almanack, 1694. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



51 



1 had not been long at the inn, when a post-chaise 
(hove up to the door. A young gentleman stepped 
oiit, and by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse 
nl .1 countenance which I thought I knew. I moved 
( tward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught 
niine. I was not mistaken; it was Frank Brace- 
I'i iilge, a sprightly good-humoured young fellow, with 
\\ hom I had once travelled on the continent. Our 
meeting was extremely cordial, for the countenance 
of an old fellow-traveller always brings up the rec- 
ollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd advent- 
ures, and excellent jokes. To discuss all these in a 
transient interview at an inn, was impossible ; and 
finding that I was not pressed for time, and was 
merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that 
I should give him a day or two at his father's coun- 
try-seat, to which he was going to pass the holydays, 
and which lay at a few miles' distance. " It is bet- 
ter than eating a solitary Christmas dinner at an 
inn," said he, "and I can assure you of a hearty 
welcome, in something of the old-fashioned style." 
His reasoning was cogent, and 1 must confess the 
preparation I had seen for universal festivity and so- 
cial enjoyment, had made me feel a little impatient 
of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once, with 
his invitation ; the chaise drove up to the door, and 
in a few moments I was on my way to the family 
mansion of the Bracebridges. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 



Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 
Blesse this house from wicked wight ; 
From the night-mare and the goblin, 
That is hight good fellow Robin ; 
Keep it from all evil spirits, 
Fairies, weazles. rats, and ferrets ; 

From curfew-time 

To the next prime. Cartwric.ht. 

It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely 
cold ; our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen 
ground ; the post-boy smacked his whip incessantly, 
and a part of the time his horses were on a gallop. 
'' He knows where he is going," said my companion, 
laughing, " and is eager to arrive in time for some of 
the merriment and good cheer of the servants' hall. 
My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of 
the old school, and prides himself upon keepin"- up 
something of old English hospitality. He is a toler- 
able specimen of what you will rarely meet with now- 
a-days in its purity, — the old English country gentle- 
man ; for our men of fortune spend so much of their 
time in town, and fashion is carried so much into the 
country, that the strong rich peculiarities of ancient 
rural life are almost polished away. My father, how- 
ever, from early years, took honest Peacham * for his 
text-book, instead of Chesterfield ; he determined in 
his own mind, that there was no condition more 
truly honourable and enviable than that of a coun- 
try gentleman on his paternal lands, and, therefore, 
passes the whole of his time on his estate. He is a 
strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural 
games and holyday observances, and is deeply read 
in the writers, ancient and modern, who have treated 
on the subject. Indeed, his favourite range of read- 
ing IS among the authors who fiourished at least two 
centuries since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought 
more like true Englishmen than any of their succes- 
sors. He even regrets sometimes that he had not 
been born a few centuries eariier, when England 
was itself, and had its peculiar manners and customs. 

* Peacham's Comnl-tf Gentleman, 1627, 



As he lives at some distance from the main road, in 
rather a lonely part of the country, without any rival 
gentry near him, he has that niost enviable of all 
blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of in- 
dulging the bent of his own humour without molesta- 
tion. Being representative of the oldest family in the 
neighbourhood, and a great part of the peasantry 
being his tenants, he is much looked up to, and, in 
general, is known simply by the appellation of ' The 
'Squire ; ' a title which has been accorded to the 
head of the family since time immemorial. I think 
it best to give you these hints about my worthy old 
father, to prepare you for any little eccentricities that 
might otherwise appear absurd." 

We had passed for some time along the wall of a 
park, and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. 
It was in a heavy magnificer.t old style, of iron bars, 
fancifully wrought at top into flourishes and flowers. 
The huge square columns that supported the gate 
were surmounted by the family crest. Close adjoin- 
ing was the porter's lodge, sheltered under dark fir 
trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. 

The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which re- 
sounded through the still frosty air, and was an- 
swered by the distant barking of dogs, with which 
the mansion-house seemed garrisoned. An old 
woman immediately appeared at the gate. As the 
moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a 
little primitive dame, dressed very much in antique 
taste, with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her 
silver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy white- 
ness. She came curtseying forth with many expres- 
sions of simple joy at seeing her young master. Her 
husband, it seemed, was up at the house, keeping 
Christmas eve in the servants' hall ; they could not 
do without him, as he was the best hand at a song 
and story in the household. 

My friend proposed that we should alight, and 
walk through the park to the Hall, which was at no 
great distance, while the chaise should follow on. 
Our road wound through a noble avenue of trees, 
among the naked branches of which the moon glit- 
tered as she rolled through the deep vault of a cloud- 
less sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a 
slight covering of snow, which here and there spark- 
led as the moonbeams caught a frosty crystal ; and 
at a distance might be seen a thin transparent va- 
pour, stealing up from the low grounds, and threat- 
ening gradually to shroud the landscape. 

My companion looked round him with transport : 
— " How often," said he, " have I scampered up this 
avenue, on returning home on school vacations ! 
How often have I played under these trees when a 
boy ! I feel a degree of filial reverence for them, as 
we look up to those v/ho have cherished us in child- 
hood. My fiither was always scrupulous in exacting 
our holydaj's, and having us around him on family 
festivals. He used to direct and superintend our 
games with the strictness that some parents do the 
studies of their children. He was very particular that 
we should play the old English games according to 
their original form ; and consulted old books for 
precedent and authority for every ' merrie disport ; ' 
yet, 1 assure you, there never was pedantry so de- 
lightful. It was the policy of the good old gentle- 
man to make his children feel that home was the 
happiest place in the world, and I value this <leli- 
cious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a par- 
ent could bestow." 

We were interrupted by the clamour of a troop of 
dogs of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppv, whelp 
and hound, and curs of low degree," that, disturbed 
by the ringing of the porter's bell and the rattling of 
the chaise, came bounding open-mouthed across the 
lawn. 



52 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



" The little does and all. 

Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me ! " 

cried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his 
voice, the bark was changed into a yelp of delight, 
and in a moment he was surrounded and almost 
overpowered by the caresses of the faithful animals. 

We had now come in full view of the old family 
mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly 
lit up by the cold moonshine. It was an irregular 
building of some magnitude, and seemed to be of 
the architecture of different periods. One wing was 
evidently veiy ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow 
windows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from 
among the foliage of which the small diamond- 
shaped panes of glass glittered with the moon-beams. 
The rest of the house was in the French taste of 
Charles the Second's time, having been repaired and 
altered, as my friend told me, by one of his ancestors, 
who returned with that monarch at the Restoration. 
The grounds about the house were laid out in the 
old formal manner of artificial flower-beds, clipped 
shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy stone ballus- 
trades, ornamented with urns, a leaden statue or 
two, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was 
told, was extremely careful to preserve this obsolete 
liner)' in all its original state. He admired this fash- 
ion in gardening; it had an air of magnificence, was 
courtly and noble, and befitting good old family 
style. The boasted imitation of nature and modern 
gardening had sprung up with modern republican 
notions, but did not suit a monarchial government — 
it smacked of the levelling system. I could not help 
smiling at this introduction of politics into garden- 
ing, though I exi)ressed some apprehension that I 
should find the old gentleman rather intolerant in 
his creed. Frank assured me, however, that it was 
almost the only instance in which he had ever heard 
his father meddle with politics ; and he believed he 
had got this notion from a member of Parliament, 
who once passed a few weeks with him. The 'Squire 
was glad of any argument to detend his clipped yew 
trees and formal terraces, which had been occasion- 
ally attacked by modern landscape gardeners. 

As we approached the house, we heard the sound 
of music, and now and then a burst of laughter, 
from one end of the building. This, Bracebridge 
said, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a 
great deal of revelry was permitted, and even en- 
couraged, by the 'Squire, throughout the twelve days 
of Christmas, provided every thing was done con- 
tormably to ancient usage. Here were kept up the 
old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, 
hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob-apple, and 
snap-dragon ; the Yule clog, and Christmas candle, 
were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe, with its 
white berries, hung up, to the imminent peril of all 
the pretty house-maids.* 

So intent were the servants upon their sports, that 
we had to ring repeatedly before we could make our- 
selves heard. On our arrival being announced, the 
'Squire came out to receive us, accompanied by his 
two other sons ; one a young officer in the army, 
home on leave of absence ; the other an Oxonian, 
just from the university. The 'Squire was a "fine 
healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair curl- 
ing lightly round an open florid countenance ; m 
which a physiognomist, with the advantage, like 
myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover a 
singular mixture of whim and benevolence. 

The family meeting was warm and affectionate ; 
as the evening was far advanced, the 'Squire would 

* The mistletoe is slij hunff up in farm-houses and kitchens, at 
Christmas ; and the young men have the privilege of kissing the 
girls under it. plucking each time a berry from the bush. When 
the berries are all plucked, the privilege ceases. 



not permit us to change our travelling dresses, but 
ushered us at once to the company, which was as- 
sembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was com- 
posed of different branches of a numerous family 
connexion, where there were the usual proportions 
of old uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, 
superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, 
half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding- 
school hoydens. They were variously occupied ; some 
at a round game of cards ; others conversing round 
the fire-place ; at one end of the hall was a group 
of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others 
of a more tender and budding age. fully engrossed 
by a merry game ; and a profusion of wooden horses, 
penny trumpets, and tattered dolls about the floor, 
showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, who, 
having frolicked through a happy day, had been car- 
ried off to slumber through a peaceful night. 

While the mutual greetings were going on be- 
tween young Bracebridge and his relatives, I had 
time to scan the apartment. I have called it a hall, 
for so it had certainly been in old times, and the 
'Squire had evidently endeavoured to restore it to 
something of its primitive state. Over the heavy 
projecting fire-place was suspended a picture of a 
warrior in armour, standing by a white horse, and 
on the opposite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and 
lance. At one end an enormous pair of antlers were 
inserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks 
on which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs ; and in 
the corners of the apartment were fowling-pieces, 
fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. The 
furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of 
former days, though some articles of modern con- 
venience had been added, and the oaken floor had 
been carpeted ; so that the whole presented an odd 
mixture of parlour and hall. 

The grate had been removed from the wide over- 
whelming fire-place, to make way for a fire of wood, 
in the midst of which was an enormous log, glowing 
and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light 
and heat ; this I understood was the yule clog, which 
the 'Squire was particular in having brought in and 
illumined on a Christmas eve, according to ancient 
custom.* 

It was really delightful to see the old 'Squire, seated 
in his hereditary elbow-chair, by the hospitable fire- 
side of his ancestors, and looking around him like 
the sun of a system, beaming warmth and gladness 
to every heart. Even the very dog that lay stretched 
at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and 
yawned, would look fondly up in his master's face, 
wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself 
again to sleep, confident of kindness and protection. 
There is an emanation from the heart in genuine 
hospitality, which cannot be described, but is imme- 
diately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease. 

* The yule clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a 
tree, brought into the house with great ceremony, on Christmas 
eve, laid in the fire-place, and lighted with the brand of last year's 
clog. While it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, and tell 
ing of tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles ; 
but in the cottages, the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the 
great wood fire. The yule clog was to burn all night; if it went 
out, it was considered a sign of ill luck. 

Herrick mentions it in one of his songs : 

Come bring with a noise. 

My merrie, merrie boys. 
The Christmas Log to the firing ; 

While my good dame she 

Bids ye all be free. 
And drink to your hearts desiring. 

The yule clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and kitchens in 
England, particularly in the north ; and there are several super- 
stitions connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting 
person come to the house while it is burning, or a person bare- 
footed, it is considered an ill omen. The brand remaining from 
the yule clog is carefully put away to light the ne.\t year's Christ- 
mas fire. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



63 



I had not been seated many minutes by the com- 
fortable hearth of the worthy old cavalier, before I 
found myself as much at home as if I had been one 
of the family. 

Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. 
It was served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the 
panels of which shone with wax, and around which 
were several family portraits decorated with holly 
and ivy. Beside the accustomed lights, two great 
wax tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with 
greens, were placed on a highly polished beaufet 
among the family plate. The table was abundantly 
spread with substantial fare ; but the 'Squire made 
his supper of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes 
boiled in milk with rich spices, being a standing dish 
in old times for Christmas eve. I was happy to find 
my old friend, minced pie, in the retinue of the feast ; 
and finding him to lie perfectly orthodox, and that I 
need not be ashamed of my predilection, I greeted 
him with all the warmth wherewith we usually greet 
an old and very genteel acquaintance. 

The mirth of the company was greatly promoted 
by the humours of an eccentric personage, whom 
Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with the quaint 
appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk 
little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. 
His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot ; his 
face slightly pitted with the small-pox, with a dry 
perpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in 
autumn. He had an eye of great quickness and 
vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery of ex- 
pression that was irresistible. He was evidently the 
wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and 
innuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite mer- 
riment by harpings upon old themes ; which, unfor- 
tunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did 
not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great 
delight, during supper, to keep a young girl next him 
in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of 
her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who 
sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger 
part of the company, who laughed at every thing he 
said or did, and at every turn of his countenance. 1 
could not wonder at it ; for he must have been a 
miracle of accom.plishments in their eyes. He could 
imitate Punch and Judy ; make an old woman of his 
hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket- 
handkerchief; and cut an orange into such a lu- 
dicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready 
to die with laughing. 

I was let briefly into his history by Frank Brace- 
bridge. He was an old bachelor, of a small inde- 
pendent income, which, by careful management, was 
sufficient for all his wants. He revolved through the 
family system like a vagrant comet in its orbit, some- 
times visiting one branch, and sometimes another 
quite remote, as is often the case with gentlemen of 
extensive connexions and small fortunes in England. 
He had a chirping, buoyant disposition, always en- 
joying the present moment ; and his frequent change 
of scene and company prevented his acquiring those 
rusty, unaccommodating habits, with which old 
bachelors are so uncharitably charged. He was 
a complete family chronicle, being versed in the 
genealogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole 
house of Bracebridge, which made him a great 
favourite with the old folks ; he was a beau of all the 
elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among 
whom he was habitually considered rather a young 
fellow, and he was master of the revels among the 
children ; so that there was not a more popular being 
in the sphere in which he moved, than Mr. Simon 
Bracebridge. Of late years, he had resided almost 
entirely with the 'Squire, to whom he had become a 
factotum, and whom he particularly delighted by 



jumping with his humour in respect to old times, 
and by having a scrap of an old song to suit every 
occasion. We had presently a specimen of his last- 
mentioned talent ; for no sooner was supper removed, 
and spiced wines and other beverages peculiar to 
the season introduced, than Master Simon was called 
on for a good old Christmas song. He bethought 
himself for a moment, and then, with a sparkle of 
the eye, and a voice that was by no means bad, ex- 
cepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto, like 
the notes of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint 
old ditty : 

Now Christmas is come, 

Let us beat up the drum, 
And cUI all our neighbours together; 

And when they appear, 

Let us make such a cheer. 
As will keep out the wind and the weather, &c. 

The supper had disposed every one to gayety, and 
an old harper was summoned from the servants' hall, 
where he had been strumming all the evening, and 
to all appearance comforting himself with some of 
the 'Squire's home-brewed. He was a kind of hang- 
er-on, I was told, of the establishment, and though 
ostensibly a resident of the village, was oltener 
to be found in the 'Squire's kitchen than his own 
home ; the old gentleman being fond of the sound 
of " Harp in hall." 

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a 
merry one : some of the older folks joined in it, and 
the 'Squire himself figured down several couple with 
a partner with whom he affirmed he had danced at 
every Christmas for nearly half a century. Master 
Simon, who seemed to be a kind of connecting link 
between the old times and the new, and to be withal 
a little antiquated in the taste of his accomplish- 
ments, evidently piqued himself on his dancing, and 
was endeavouring to gain credit by the heel and toe, 
rigadoon, and other graces of the ancient school : 
but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little 
romping girl from boarding-school, who, by her wild 
vivacity, kept him continually on the stretch, and de- 
feated all his sober attempts at elegance : — such are 
the ill-sorted matches to which antique gentlemen 
are unfortunately prone ! 

The young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out 
one of ills maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played 
a thousand little knaveries with impunity; he was 
full of practical jokes, and his delight was to tease 
his aunts and cousins ; yet, like all madcap young- 
sters, he was a universal favourite among the women. 
The most interesting couple in the dance was the 
young officer, and a ward of the 'Squire's, a beauti- 
ful blushing girl of se\'enteen. From several shy 
glances which I had noticed in the course of the 
evening, I suspected there was a little kindness grow- 
ing up between them ; and, indeed, the young sol- 
dier was just the hero to captivate a romantic •girl. 
He was tall, slender, and handsome ; and, like most 
young British officers of late years, had picked up 
various small accomplishments on the continent — he 
could talk French and Italian — draw landscapes — • 
sing very tolerably — dance divinely ; but, above all, 
he had been wounded at Waterloo : — what girl of 
seventeen, well read in poetry and romance, could 
resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection .' 

The moment the dance was over, he caught up a 
guitar, and lolling against the old marble fire-place, 
in an attitude which I am half inclined to suspect 
was studied, began the little French air of the Troub- 
adour. The 'Squire, however, exclaimed against 
having any thing on Christmas eve but good old 
English ; upon which the young minstrel, casting up 
his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, 
struck into another strain, and with a charming air 
of gallantry, gave Herrick's "Night-Piece to Julia:" 



54 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The shooting stars attend thee. 

And the elves also. 

Whose little eyes glow _ 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

No \VilI-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee; 
Nor snake or slow-worm bile thee ; 

But on, on thy way. 

Not making a stay, 
Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 

Then let not the dark thee cumber ; 
What though the moon does slumber^ 

The stars of the night 

Will lend thee their light. 
Like tapers clear without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
Thus, thus to come unto me; 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet, 
My soul I'll pour into thee. 

The song mig-ht or might not have been intended 
in compliment to the fair Julia, for so I found his 
partner was called ; she, however, was certainly un- 
conscious of any such application ; for she never 
looked at the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the 
floor ; her face was suffused, it is true, with a beau- 
tiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the 
bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the ex- 
ercise of the dance : indeed, so great was her indif- 
ference, that she was amusing herself with plucking 
to pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house flowers, and 
by the time the song was concluded the nosegay lay 
in ruins on the floor. 

The party now broke up for the night, with the 
kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I 
passed through the hall on my way to my chamber, 
tlie dying embers of the yule clog still sent forth a 
dusky glow ; and had it not been the season when 
"no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been 
half tempted t3 steal from my room at midnight, and 
peep whether the fairies might not be at tlieir revels 
about the hearth. 

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, 
the ponderous furniture of which might have been 
fabricated in the daj's of the giants. The room v/as 
panelled, with cornices of heavy carved work, in 
which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely 
intermingled, and a row of black-looking portraits 
stared mournfully at me from the walls The bed 
was of rich, though faded damask, with a lofty tester, 
and stood in a niche opposite a bow-window. I had 
scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed 
to break forth in the air just below the window : I 
listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which 
1 concluded to be the waits from some neighbouring 
village. They went round the house, playing under 
the windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear 
them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through 
the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up 
the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they 
receded, became more soft and aerial, and seemed 
to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and 
listened — they became more and more tender and 
remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head 
sunk upon the pillow, and I fell asleep. 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 



Dark and dull night flic hence away. 
And give the honour to this day 
That sees December turii'd to May. 
******* 

Why does the chilling winter's morne 
Smile like a field beset with corn ? 
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, 
"Thus on a sudden ?— come and see 
The cause, why things thus fragrant be. 

HerriCK. 

When I woke the next morning, it seemed as if 
all the events of the preceding evening had been a 
dream, and nothing but the identity of the ancient 
chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay 
musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet 
pattering outside of the door, and a whispering con- 
sultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted 
forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which 
was— 

Rejoice, our Saviour he was born 
On Christmas day in the morning. 

I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door 
suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little 
fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It con- 
sisted of a boy and two girls, the eltlest not more 
than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going 
the rounds of the house, singing at every chamber 
door, but my sudden appearance frightened them into 
mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment 
playing on their lips with their fingers, and now and 
then stealing a shy glance from under their eyebrows, 
until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, and 
as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them 
laughing in triumph at their escajie. 

Every thing conspired to produce kind and happy 
feelings, in this strong-hold of old-fashioned hospi- 
tality. The window of my chamber looked out upon 
what in summer would have been a beautiful land- 
scape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine stream 
winding at the foot of it. and a tract of park beyond, 
with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a 
distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the 
cottage chimnevs hanging over it ; and a church, 
with its dark spire in strong relief against the clear 
cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens, 
according to the English custom, which would have 
given almost an appearance of summer ; but the 
morning was extremely frosty ; the li^ht vapour ot 
the preceding evening had been precipitated by the 
cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of 
grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays of a 
bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the 
glittering foliage. A robin perched upon the top of 
a mountain ash, that hung its clusters of red berries 
just before my window, was basking himself in the 
sunshine, and piping a few querulous notes; and a 
peacock was displaying all the glories of his train, 
and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish 
grandee on the terrace-walk below. 

I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant ap- 
peared to invite me to family prayers. He showed 
me the way to a small chapel in the old wing ot the 
house, where I found the principal part of the family 
already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with 
cushions, hassocks, and large prayer-books ; the 
servants were seated on benches below. The old 
gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the 
gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk and made 
the responses ; and I must do him the justice to say, 
that he acquitted himself with great gra^fity and de- 
corum. 

The service was followed by a Christmas carol. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



55 



which Mr. Bracebridg-e himself had constructed from 
a poem of his favorite author, Kernel: ; and it had 
been adapted to a church melody by Master Simon. 
As there were several good voices among the house- 
hold, the effect was extremely pleasing ; but I was 
particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart, and 
sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the 
worthy 'Squire delivered one stanza ; his eye glisten- 
ing, and his voice rambling out of all the bounds of 
time and tune : 

*' Tls thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
With guiltless mirth, 
And giv'sl me Wassaile bowles to drink 
Spic'd to the brink : 

Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soiles my land : 
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne, 

Twice ten for one." 

I afterwards understood that early morning service 
ivas read on every Sunday and saint's day through- 
3ut the year, either by Mr. Bracebridge or some 
nember of the family. It was once almost univer- 
sally the case at the seats of the nobility and gentry 
jf England, and it is much to be regretted that the 
:ustom is falling into neglect ; for the dullest ob- 
server must be sensible of the order and serenity 
:)revalent in those households, where the occasional 
exercise of a beautiful form of worship in the morn- 
ng gives, as it were, the key-note to every temper 
"or the day, and attunes every spirit to harmony. 

Our breakfast consisted of what the 'Squire de- 
lominated true old English fare. He indulged in 
iome bitler lamentations over modern breakfasts of 
.ea and toast, which he censured as among the causes 
if modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the de- 
;line of old English heartiness : and though he ad- 
nitted them to his table to suit the palates of his 
juests, yet there was a brave display of cold meats, 
ivine, and ale, on the sideboard. 

After breakfast, I walked about the grounds with 
Frank Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, 
is he was called by every body but the 'Squire. We 
were escorted by a number of gentlemen-like dogs, 
that seemed loungers about the establishment ; from 
the frisking spaniel to the steady old stag-hound— the 
last of which was of a race that had been in the 
family time out of mind — they were all obedient to a 
dog-whistle which hung to Master Simon's button- 
hole, and in the midst of their gambols would glance 
an eye occasionally upon a small switch he carried 
in his hand. 

The old mansion had a still more venerable look 
in the yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and 
I could not but feel the force of the 'Squire's idea, 
that the formal terraces, heavily moulded ballus- 
trades, and clipped yew trees, carried with them an 
air of proud aristocracy. 

There appeared to be an unusual number of pea- 
cocks about the place, and I was making some re- 
marks upon what I termed a flock of them that were 
basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently cor- 
rected in my phraseology by Master Simon, who 
told me that according to the most ancient and 
approved treatise on hunting, I must say a muster 
of peacocks. "In the same way," added he, with a 
slight air of pedantry, " we say a flight of doves or 
swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, 
or cranes, a skulk of fo.xes, or a building of rooks." 
He went on to inform me that, according to Sir 
Anthony Pitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to this 
bird "both understanding and glory; for, being 
praised, he will presently set up his tail, chiefly 
against the sun, to the intent you may the better 
behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of the 
leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide 



himself in corners, till his tail come again as it 
was. 

I could not help smiling at this display of small 
erudition on so whimsical a subject ; but I found 
that the peacocks were birds of some consequence 
at the Hall ; for Frank Bracebridge informed me 
that they were great favourites with his father, who 
was extremely careful to keep up the Iireed, partly 
because they belonged to chivalry, and were in 
great request at the stately banquets of the olden 
time ; and partly because they had a pomp and 
magnificence about them highly becoming an old 
family mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to 
say, had an air of greater state and dignity, than a 
peacock perched upon an antique stone ballustrade. 

Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an 
appointment at the parish church with the village 
choristers, who were to perform some music of his 
selection. There was something extremely agree- 
able in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of the 
little man ; and I confess I had been somewhat sur- 
prised at his apt quotations from authors who cer- 
tainly were not in the range of every day reading. 
I mentioned this last circumstance to Frank Brace- 
bridge, who told me with a smile that Master Simon's 
whole stock of erudition was confined to some hali- 
a-dozen old authors, which the 'Squire had put into 
his hands, and which he read over and over, when- 
ever he had a studious fit ; as he sometimes had on 
a rainy day, or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony 
Fitzherbert's Book of Husbandry ; Markh.am's 
Country Contentments ; the Tretyse of Hunting, 
by Sir Thomas Cockayne, Knight; Isaac Walton's 
Angler, and two or three more such ancient wor- 
thies of the pen, were his standard authorities ; and, 
like all men who know but a few books, he looked 
up to them with a kind of idolatry, and quoted them 
on all occasions. As to his songs, they were chiefly 
picked out of old books in the 'Squire's library, and 
adapted to tunes that were popular among the 
choice spirits of the last century. His practical ap- 
plication of scraps of literature, however, had caused 
him to be looked upon as a prodigy of book-knowl- 
edge by all the grooms, huntsmen, and small sports- 
men ot the neighbourhood. 

While we were talking, we heard the distant toll 
of the village bell, and I was told that the 'Squire 
was a little particular in having his household at 
church on a Christmas morning ; considering it a 
day of pouring out of thanks and rejoicing; tor, as 
old Tusser observed, — 

" At Christmas be merry, anti thankful withal^ 

And feast thy poor neighbours, the great with the small." 

" If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank 
Bracebridge. " I can promise you a specimen of my 
cousin Simon's musical achievements. As the church 
is destitute of an organ, he has formed a band from 
the village amateurs, and established a musical club 
for their improvement ; he has also sorted a choir, as 
he sorted my father's pack of hounds, according to 
the directions of Jervaise Markham, in his Country 
Contentments ; for the bass he has sought out all the 
' deep, solemn mouths,' and for the tenor the • loud 
ringing mouth,' among the country bumpkins ; and 
for 'sweet mouths,' he has culled with curious taste 
among the prettiest lasses in the neighbourhood ; 
though these last, he affirms, are the most difficult to 
keep in tune ; your pretty female singer being ex- 
ceedingly wayward and capricious, and very liable to 
accident." 

As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably 
fine and clear, the most of the family walked to the 
church, which was a very old building of gray stonii, 
and stood near a village, about half a mile from the 



56 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug parsonage, 
which seemed coeval with the church. The front of 
it was perfectly matted with a yew tree, that had 
been trained against its walls, through the dense 
foliage of which, apertures had been formed to admit 
light into the small antique lattices. As we passed 
this sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and pre- 
ceded us. 

1 had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned 
pastor, such as is often found in a snug living in the 
vicinity of a rich patron's table, but I was disap- 
pointed. The parson was a little, meagre, black- 
looking man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, 
and stood off from each ear ; so that his head seem- 
ed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert 
in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, 
and pockets that would have held the church bible 
and prayer-book : and his small legs seemed still 
smaller, from being planted in large shoes, decorated 
with enormous buckles. 

I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the 
parson had been a chum of his father's at Oxford, 
and had received this living shortly after the latter 
had come to his estate. He was a complete black- 
letter hunter, and would scarcely read a work printed 
in the Roman character. The editions of Caxton 
and Wynkin de Worde were his delight ; and he 
was indefatigable in his researches after such old 
English writers as have fallen into oblivion from 
their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, to the 
notions of Mr. Bracebridge, he had made diligent 
investigations into the festive rites and holyday cus- 
toms of former times ; and had been as zealous in 
the inquiry, as if he had been a boon companion ; 
but it was merely with that plodding spirit with 
which men of adust temperament follow up any 
track of study, merely because it is denominated 
learning; indifferent to its intrmsic nature, whether 
it be the illustration of the wisdom, or of the ribaldry 
and obscenity of antiquity. He had pored over these 
old volumes so intensely, that they seemed to have 
been reflected into his countenance ; which, if the 
face be indeed an index of the mind, might be com- 
pared to a title-page of black-letter. 

On reaching the church-porch, we found the par- 
son rebuking the gray-headed sexton for having used 
mistletoe among the greens with which the church 
was decorated. It was, he observed, an unholy plant, 
profaned by having been used by the Druids in their 
mystic ceremonies ; and though it might be inno- 
cently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls 
and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers 
of the Church as unhallowed, and totally unfit for 
sacred purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, 
that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a 
great part of the humble trophies of his taste, before 
the parson would consent to enter upon the service 
of the day. 

The interior of the church was venerable, but 
simple ; on the walls wei'e several mural monuments 
of the Bracebridges, and just beside the altar, was a 
tomb of ancient workmanship, on which lay the effi- 
gy of a warrior in armour, with his legs crossed, a 
sign of his having been a crusader. I was told it 
was one of the family who had signalized himself in 
the Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung 
over the fire-place in the hall. 

During service, Master Siinon stood up in the pew, 
and repeated the responses very audibly ; evincing 
that kind of ceremonious devotion punctually observ- 
ed by a gentleman of the old school, and a man of 
old family connexions. 1 observed, too, that he 
turned over the leaves of a folio prayer-book with 
something of a flourish, possibly to 'show off an 
enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers. 



and which had the look of a family relic. But he was 
evidently most solicitous about the musical part of 
the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the 
choir, and beating time with much gesticulation and 
emphasis. 

"The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented 
a most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above 
the other, among which 1 particularly noticed that 
of the village tailor, a pale fellow with a retreating 
forehead and chin, who played on the clarionet, and 
seemed to have blown his face to a point ; and there 
was another, a short pursy man, stooping and labour- 
ing at a bass viol, so as to show nothing but the 
top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. 
There were two or three pretty faces among the 
female singers, to which the keen air of a frosty 
morning had given a bright rosy tint : but the gentle- 
men choristers had evidently been chosen, like old 
Cremona fiddles, more for tone than looks ; and as 
several had to sing from the same book, there were 
clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike those 
groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country 
tombstones. 

The usual services of the choir were managed 
tolerably well, the vocal parts generally lagging a 
little behind the instrumental, and some loitermg fid- 
dler now and then making up for lost time by travel- 
ling over a passage with pi'odigious celerity, and clear- 
ing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter, to be in 
at the death. But the great trial was an anthem that 
had been prepared and arranged by Master Simon, 
and on which he had founded great expectation. Un- 
luckily there was a blunder at the very outset — the 
musicians became flurried ; Master Simon was in a 
fever; every thing went on lamely and irregularly, 
until they came to a chorus beginning, "Now let us 
sing with one accord," which seemed to be a signal 
for parting company : all became discord and confu- 
sion ; each shifted for himself, and got to the end as 
well, or, rather, as soon as he could ; excepting one 
old chorister, in a pair of horn spectacles, bestriding 
and pinching a long sonorous nose ; who, happening 
to stand a little apart, and being wrapped up in his 
own melody, kept on a quavering course, wi'iggling 
his head, ogling his book, and winding all up by a 
nasal solo of at least three bails' duration. 

The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the 
rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety 
of observing it, not merely as a day of thanksgiving, 
but of rejoicing; supporting the correctness of his 
opinions by the earliest usages of the church, and en- 
forcing them by the authorities of Theophilus of 
Cesarea, St. Cyprian, .St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, 
and a cloud more of Saints and Fathers, from whom 
he made copious quotations. 1 was a little at a loss to 
perceive the necessity of such a mighty array of forces 
to maintain a point wdiich no one present seemed 
inclined to dispute ; but I soon found that the good 
man had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend 
with ; having, in the course of his researches on the 
subject of Christmas, got completely embroiled in 
the sectarian controversies of the Revolution, when 
the Puritans made such a fierce assault upon the 
ceremonies of the church, and poor old Christmas 
was driven out of the land by proclamation of Parlia- 
ment.* The worthy parson lived but with times 
past, and knew but Httle of the present. 

Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retire- 



* From the*' Flying Eagle," a small Gazette, published Decem- 
ber 24th, 1652 — " The House spent much time this day about the 
business of the Navy, for settling the affairs at sea, and before they 
rose, were presented with a terrible remonstrance against Christ- 
mas day, grounded upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16. I Cor. xv. 
14. 17 ; and in honour of the Lord's Day, grounded upon these 
Scriptures, John xx. i. Rev. i. 10. Psalms, cxviii. 24. Lev. xx. iii. 
7, II. Mark xv. S. Psalms, Ixxxiv. 10 ; in which Christmas is called 



' 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



57 



ment of his antiquated little study, the pages of old 
times were to liim as the gazettes of the day ; while 
the era of the Revolution was mere modern history'. 
He forgot that nearly two centuries had elapsed 
since the fiery persecution of poor mince-pie through- 
out the land ; when plum porridge was denounced as 
"mere popery," and roast beef as anti-christian ; 
and that Christmas had been brought in again tri- 
umphantly with the merry court of King Charles at 
the Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the 
ardour of his contest, and the host of imaginary foes 
with whom he had to combat ; he had a stubborn 
conflict with old Pn-nne and two or three other for- 
gotten champions of the Round Heads, on the subject 
of Christmas festivity ; and concluded by urging his 
hearers, in the most solemn and affecting manner, 
to stand to the traditional customs of their fathers, 
and feast and make merry on this joyful anniversary 
of the church. 

I have seldom known a sermon attended appar- 
ently with more immediate effects ; for on leaving 
the church, the congregation seemed one and all 
possessed with the gayety of spirit so earnestly en- 
joined by their pastor. The elder folks gathered in 
knots in the churchyard, greeting and shaking 
hands : and the children ran about crying, " Ule ! 
Ule ! " and repeating some uncouth rhymes,* which 
the parson, who had joined us, informed me, had 
been handed down from days of yore. The vil- 
lagers doffed their hats to the 'Squire as he 
passed, giving him the good wishes of the season 
with every appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and 
were invited by him to the hall, to take something 
to kee]) out the cold of the weather ; and 1 heard 
blessings uttered by several of the poor, which con- 
vinced me that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the 
worthy old cavalier had not forgotten the true 
Christmas virtue of charity. 

On our way homeward, his heart seemed over- 
flowing with generous and happy feelings. As we 
passed over a rising ground which commanded 
something of a prospect, the sounds of rustic mer- 
riment now and then reached our ears ; the 'Squire 
paused for a few moments, and looked around with 
an air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of 
the day was, of itself, sufficient to inspire philan- 
thropy. Notwithstanding the frostiness of the 
morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had ac- 
quired sufficient power to melt away the thin cover- 
ing of snow from every southern declivity, and to 
bring out the living green which adorns an English 
landscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts of srqil- 
ing verdure, contrasted with the dazzling whiteness 
of the shaded slopes and hollows. Ever)' sheltered 
bank, on which the broad rays rested, yielded its sil- 
ver rill of cold and limpid water, glittering through 
the dripping grass ; and sent up slight exhalations 
to contribute to the thin haze that hung just above 
the surface of the earth. There was something truly 
cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over 
the frosty thraldom of winter ; it was, as the 'Squire 
observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, break- 
ing through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, 
and thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed 
with pleasure to the indications of good cheer reek- 
ing from the chimneys of the comfortable farm- 
houses, and low thatched cottages. " I love," said 
he, " to see this day well kept by rich and poor ; it 

Anti-christ's masse, and those Masse-mongcrs and Papists who ob- 
serve it, &c. tn consequence of which Parliament spent some 
time in consultation about the abolition of Christ.Tias day, passed 
orders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the following day which 
was commonly called Christmas day." 

••'Ule! Ule! 

Three puddings in a pule ; 
Crack nuts and cry ule ! " 



is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, 
when you are sure of being welcome wherever you 
go, and of having, as it were, the world all thrown 
open to you; and I am almost disposed to join with 
poor Robin, in his malediction on every churlish 
enemy to this honest festival : 

*' ' Those who at Christmas do repine. 
And would fain hence despatch him, 
May they with old Duke Humphrj' dine. 
Or else may 'Squire Ketch catch him.' " 

The 'Squire went on to lament the deplorable de- 
cay of the games and amusements which were once 
prevalent at this season among the lower orders, and 
countenanced by the higher ; when the old halls of 
castles and manor-houses were thrown open at day- 
light ; when the tables were covered with brawn, 
and beef, and humming ale ; when the harp and the 
carol resounded all day long, and when rich and 
poor were alike welcome to enter and make merry.* 
" Our old games and local customs," said he, " had 
a great effect in making the peasant fond of his 
home, and the promotion of them by the gentry 
made him fond of his lord. They made the times 
merrier, and kinder, and better, and I can truly say 
with one of our old poets, 

"I like them well — the curious preciseness 
And all-pretended gravity of those 
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports. 
Have thrust away much ancient honesty." 

"The nation," continued he, "is altered; we 
have almost lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. 
They have broken asunder from the higher classes, 
and seem to think their interests are separate. They 
have become too knowing, and begin to read news- 
papers, listen to alehouse politicians, and talk of re- 
form. I think one mode to keep them in good- 
humour in these hard times, would be for the nobil- 
ity and gentry to pass more time on their estates, 
mingle more among the country people, and set the 
merry old English games going again." 

Such was the good 'Squire's project for mitigating 
public discontent : and, indeed, he had once at- 
tempted to put his doctrine in practice, and a few 
years before had kept open house during the holy- 
days in the old style. The country people, however, 
did not understand how to play their parts in the 
scene of hospitality ; many uncouth circumstances 
occurred ; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants 
of the countr)-, and more beggars drawn into the 
neighbourhood in one week than the parish officers 
could get rid of in a year. Since then, he had con- 
tented himself with inviting the decent part of the 
neighbouring peasantry to call at the Hall on Christ- 
mas day, and with distributing beef, and bread, and 
ale, among the poor, that they might make merry in 
their own dwellings. 

We had not been long home, when the sound of 
music was heard from a distance. A band of coun- 
try lads, without coats, their shirt-sleeves fancifully 
tied with ribands, their hats decorated with greens, 
and clubs in their hands, were seen advancing up 
the avenue, followed by a large number of villagers 
and peasantry. They stopped before the hall door, 
where the music struck up a peculiar air, and the 
lads performed a curious and intricate dance, ad- 
vancing, retreating, and striking their clubs together. 



* "An English gentleman at the opening of the great d.iy, /. e. 
on Christmas day m the morning, had all his tenants and neigh- 
bours entered his hall by day-break. The strong beer was 
broached, and the black jacks went plentifully about with toast, 
sugar, and nutmeg, and good Cheshire cheese. The Hackin (the 
great sausage) must be boiled by day-break, or else two young men 
must take the maiden (/. c the cook) by the arms andrun her 
round the market place till she is shamed of her laziness.*' — 
Round about cur Sea-Coal. Fire, 



58 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



keeping exact time to the music ; wliile one, whim- 
sically crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which 
flaunted down his back, kept capering- round the 
skirts of the dance, and rattling a Christmas-box 
with many antic gesticulations. 

The 'Squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with 
great interest and delight, and gave me a full ac- 
count of its origin, which he traced to the times 
when the Romans held possession of the island ; 
plainly proving that this was a lineal descendant of 
the sword-dance of the ancients. " It was now," he 
said, " nearly extinct, but he had accidentally met 
with traces of it in the neighbourhood, and had en- 
couraged its revival ; though, to tell the truth, it was 
too apt to be followed up by rough cudgel-play, and 
broken heads, in the evening." 

Alter the dance was concluded, the whole party 
was entertained with brawn and beef, and stout 
home-brewed. The 'Squire himself mingled among 
the rustics, and was received with awkward demon- 
strations of deference and regard. It is true, I per- 
ceived two or three of the younger peasants, as they 
were raising their tankards to their mouths, when 
the 'Squire's back was turned, making something of 
a grimace, and giving each other the wink ; but the 
moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, 
and were exceedingly demure. With Master Simon, 
however, they all seemed more at their ease. His 
varied occupations and amusements had made him 
well known throughout the neighbourhood. He was 
a visitor at every farm-house and cottage ; gossiped 
with the farmers and their wives ; romped with their 
daughters ; and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor 
the humble-bee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy 
lips of the country round. 

The bashlulness of the guests soon gave way be- 
fore good cheer and affability. There is something 
genuine and affectionate in the gayety of the lower 
orders, when it is excited by the bounty and familiar- 
ity of those above them ; the warm glow of gratitude 
enters into their mirth, and a kind word or a small 
pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron, gladdens the 
heart of the dependant more than oil and wine. 
When the 'Squire had retired, the merriment in- 
creased, and there was much joking and laughter, 
particularly between Master Simon and a hale, 
ruddy-faced, white-headed farmer, who appeared to 
be the wit of the village ; for I observed all his com- 
panions to wait with open mouths for his retorts, 
and burst into a gratuitous laugh before they could 
well understand them. 

The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to 
merriment : as I passed to my room to dress for 
dinner, I heard the sound of music in a small court, 
and looking through a window that commanded it, I 
perceived a band of wandering musicians, with pan- 
dean pipes and tambourine ; a pretty coquettish 
housemaid was dancing a jig with a smart country 
lad, while several of the other servants were looking 
on. In the midst of her sport, the girl caught a 
glimpse of my face at the window, and colouring up, 
ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion. 



THE CHRISTMAS DINNER. 



Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast ! 

Let every man be jolly, 
Each roome with yvie leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly. 
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, 

And Christmas blocks are burning; 
Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, 
And all their spits are turning. 
W^ithout the door let sorrow lie. 
And if, for cold, it hap to die, 
Wee '1 bury 't in a Christmas pye, 
And evermore be merry. 

Withers' Juvenilia, 

I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with 
Frank Bracebridge in the library, when we heard a 
distant thwacking sound, which he informed me was 
a signal for the serving up of the dinner. The 'Squire 
kept up old customs in kitchen as well as hall ; and 
the rolling-pin struck upon the dresser by the cook, 
summoned the servants to carry in the meats. 

Just In this nick the cook knock'd thrice, 
And all the waiters in a trice. 

His sumiiions did obey ; 
Each serving man, with dish in hand. 
Matched bodly up. like our train band. 

Presented, and away.* 

The dinner was served up in the great hall, where 
the 'Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A 
blazing crackling fire of logs had been heaped on to 
warm the spacious apartment, and the flame went 
sparkling and wreathing up the wide-mouthed chim- 
ney. The great picture of the crusader and his white 
horse had been profusely decorated with greens for 
the occasion ; and holly and ivy had likewise been 
wreathed round the helmet and weapons on the op- 
posite wall, which I understood were the arms of the 
same warrior. I must own, by-the-by, I had strong 
doubts about the authenticity of the painting and 
armour as having belonged to the crusader, they cer- 
tainly having the stamp of more recent days ; but I 
was told that the painting had been so considered 
time out of mind ; and that, as to the armour, it had 
been found in a lumber-room, and elevated to its 
present situation by the 'Squire, who at once deter- 
mined it to be the armour of the family hero ; and as 
he was absolute authoiity on all such subjects in his 
own household, the matter had passed into current 
acceptation. A sideboard was set out just under 
this chivalric trophy, on which was a display of plate 
that might have vied (at least in variety) with Bel- 
shazzar's parade of the vessels of the temple ; " fla- 
gons, cans, cups, beakers, goblets, basins, and e\v- 
ers ; " the gorgeous utensils of good companionship 
that had gradually accumulated through many gen- 
erations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stood 
the two yule candles, beaming like two stars of the 
first magnitude; other lights were distributed in 
branches, and the whole array glittered like a firma- 
ment of silver. 

We were ushered into this banqueting scene vvith 
the sound of minstrelsy ; the old harper being seated 
on a stool beside the fire-place, and twanging his in- 
strument with a vast deal more power than melody. 
Never did Christmas board display a more goodly 
and gracious assemblage of countenances ; those 
who were not handsome, were, at least, happy ; and 
happiness is a rare improver of your hard-1'avoured 
visage. I always consider an old English family as 
well worth studying as a collection of f-lolbein's por- 
traits, or Albert Durer's prints. There is much an- 
tiquarian lore to be acquired ; much knowledge of 
the physiognomies of former times. Perhaps it may 



* Sir John Suckling. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



59 



be from having continually before their eyes those 
rows of old family portraits, with which the man- 
sions of this country are stocked ; certain it is, that 
the quaint features of antiquity are often most faith- 
fully perpetuated in these ancient lines ; and I have 
tiaced an old family nose through a whole picture- 
gallery, legitimately handed down from generation 
to generation, almost from the time of the Conquest. 
Something of the kind was to be observed in the 
worthy company around me. Many of their faces 
had evidently originated in a Gothic age, and been 
merely copied by succeeding generations ; and there 
was one little girl, in particular, of staid demeanour, 
with a high Roman nose, and an antique vinegar as- 
pect, who was a great favourite of the 'Squire's, be- 
ing, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very 
counterpart of one of his ancestors who figured in 
the court of Henry VIII. 

The parson said grace, which was not a short fa- 
miliar one, such as is commonly addressed to the 
Deity in these unceremonious days ; but a long, 
courtly, well - worded one of the ancient school. 
There was now a pause, as if something was ex- 
pected ; when suddenly the butler entered the hall 
with some degree of bustle : he was attended by a 
servant on each side with a large wax-light, and bore 
a silver dish, on which was an enormous pig's head, 
decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth, 
which was placed with great formality at the head 
of the table. The moment this pageant made its 
appearance, the harper struck up a flourish ; at the 
conclusion of which the young Oxonian, on receiving 
a hint from the 'Squire, gave, with an air of the most 
comic gravity, an old carol, the first verse of which 
was as follows : 

Caput apri defero 

Reddens landes Domino. 
The boar's head in hand bring I, 
With garlands gay and rosemary. 
I pray you all synge merily 

Qui estis in convivio. 

Though prepared to witness many of these little 
eccentricities, from being apprized of the peculiar 
hobby of mine host ; yet, I confess, the parade with 
which so odd a dish was introduced somewhat per- 
plexed me, until I gathered from the conversation of 
the 'Squire and the parson, that it was meant to rep- 
resent the bringing in of the boar's head — a dish 
formerly served up with much ceremony, and the 
sound of minstrelsy and song, at great tables on 
Christmas day. " I like the old custom," said the 
'Squire, " not merely because it is stately and pleas- 
ing in itself, but because it was observed at the col- 
lege at Oxford, at which I was educated. When I 
hear the old song chanted, it brings to mind the time 
when I was young and gamesome^and the noble 
old college hall — and my fellow-students loitering 
about in their black gowns ; many of whom, poor 
lads, are now in their graves ! " 

The parson, however, whose mind was not haunt- 
ed by such associations, and who was always more 
taken up with the text than the sentiment, objected 
to the Oxonian's version of the carol; which he af- 
firmed was different from that sung at college. He 
went on, with the dry perseverance of a commenta- 
tor, to give the college reading, accompanied by 
sundry annotations ; addressing himself at first to 
the company at large ; but finding their attention 
gradually diverted to other talk, and other objects, 
he lowered his tone as his number of auditors di- 
minished, until he concluded his remarks in an under 
voice, to a fat-headed old gentleman next him, who 
was silently engaged in the discussion of a huge 
plate-full of turkey.* 

* The old ceremony of serving up the boar*s head on Christmas 
day, is still observed in the hall of Queen's College, Oxford. I was 



The table was literally loaded with good cheer, 
and presented an epitome of country abundance, in 
this season of overflowing larders. A distinguished 
post was allotted to " ancient sirloin," as mine host 
termed it ; being, as he added, " the standard of old 
English hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, 
and full of expectation." There were several dishes 
quaintly decorated, and which had evidently some- 
thing traditional in their embellishments ; but about 
which, as I did not like to appear over-curious, 1 
asked no questions. 

I could not, however, but notice a pie, magnificent- 
ly decorated with peacocks' feathers, in imitation of 
the tail of that bird, which overshadowed a con- 
siderable tract of the table. This, the 'Squire con- 
fessed, with some little hesitation, was a pheasant 
pie, though a peacock pie was certainly the most au- 
thentical ; but there had been such a mortality among 
the peacocks this season, that he could not prevail 
upon himself to have one killed.* 

It would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, 
who may not have that foolish fondness for odd and 
obsolete things to which I am a little given, were I 
to mention the other make-shifts of this worthy old 
humorist, by which he was endeavouring to loUow 
up, though at humble distance, the quaint customs 
of antiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the re- 
spect shown to his whims by his children and rela- 
tives ; who, indeed, entered readily into the full spirit 
of them, and seemed all well versed in their parts ; 
having doubtless been present at many a rehearsal. 
I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity 
with which the butler and other servants executed 
the duties assigned them, however eccentiic. They 
had an old-fashioned look ; having, for the most part, 
been brought up in the household, and grown into 
keeping with the antiquated mansion, and the 
humours of its lord ; and most probably looked upon 
all his whimsical regulations as the established laws 
of honourable housekeeping. 

When the cloth was removed, the butler brought 
in a huge silver vessel, of rare and curious workman- 
ship, which he placed before the 'Squire. Its appear- 
ance was hailed with acclamation ; being the Was- 
sail Bowl, so renowned in Christm.as festivity. The 
contents had been prepared by the 'Squire himself; 



favoured by the parson with a copy of the carol as now sung, and 
as it may be acceptable to such of my readers as are curious in these 
grave and learned matters, I give it entire : 

The boar's head in hand bear T, 
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary ; 
And I pray >ou, my masters, be merry, 
Quot estis in convivio. 

Caput apri defero. 

Reddens laudes Domino. 

The boar's head, as I understand. 
Is the rarest dish in all this land. 
Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland 
Let us servire cantico. 
Caput apri defero, &c. 

Our steward hath provided this 
In honour of the King of Bliss, 
Which on this day to be served is 
In Reginensi Atno. 
Caput apri defero, 
&c., &c., etc. 

* The peacock was anciently in great demand for stately enter- 
tainments. Sometimes it was made into a pie, at one end of which 
the head appeared above the crust in all its plumage, with the beak 
richly gilt ; at the other end the tail was displayed. Such pies were 
served up at the solemn banquets of chivalr>', when Knights-errant 
pledged themselves to undertake any perilous enterprise, whence 
came the ancient oath, used by Justice Shallow, " by cock and pie." 

The peacock was also an important dish for I'ne Christmas feast ; 
and Massinger, in his City Madam, gives some idea of the ex:rava- 
gance with which this, as well as other dishes, was prepared for the 
gorgeous revels of the olden times : 

Men may talk of Country Christmasses. 

Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues : 

Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris ; the carcases of three 
J^at ivcthcrs briiUed /or graz'y to 7nake sauce /or a single pea~ 
cock 1 



60 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



for it was a beverage, in the skilful mixture of wtiicli 
he particularly prided himself: alleging that it was 
too abstruse and complex for the comprehension of 
an ordinary servant. It was a potation, indeed, that 
might well make the heart of a toper leap within 
him ; being composed of the richest and raciest 
wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with roasted 
apples bobbing about the surface.* 

The old gentleman's whole countenance beam.ed 
with a serene look of indwelling delight, as he stirred 
this mighty bowl. Having raised it to his lips, with 
a hearty wish of a merry Christmas to all present, he 
sent it brimming round the board, for every one to 
follow his example according to the primitive style ; 
pronouncing it " the ancient fountain of good feeling, 
where all hearts met together."! 

There was much laughing and rallying, as the 
honest emblem of Christmas joviality circulated, and 
was kissed rather coyly by the ladies. But when it 
reached Master Simon, he raised it in both hands, 
and with the air of a boon companion, struck up an 
old Wassail Chanson : 

The brown bowie, 

The merry brown bowle, 

As it goes round about-a, 

Fill 

Still, 
Let the world say what it will, 
And drink your till all out-;u 

The deep canne. 

The merry deep canne, 

As thou dost freely quaff-a. 

Sing 

Fling. 
Be as merry as a icing. 
And sound a lusty laugh-a. J 

Much of the conversation during dinner turned 
upon family topics, to which I was a stranger. There 
was, however, a great deal of rallying of Master Si- 
mon about some gay widow, with whom he was ac- 
cused of having a Hirtation. This attack was com- 
menced by the ladies ; but it was continued through- 
out the dinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next 
the parson, with the persevering assiduity of a slow 
hound ; being one of those long-winded jokers, who, 
though rather dull at starting game, are unrivalled 
for their talents in hunting it down. At every pause 
in the general conversation, he renewed his banter- 
ing in pretty much the same terms ; winking hard at 
me with both eyes, whenever he gave Master Simon 
what he considered a home thrust. The latter, in- 
deed, seemed fond of being teased on the subject, 
as old bachelors are apt to be ; and he took occasion 
to inform me, m an under-tone, that the lady in 
question was a prodigiously fine woman and drove 
her own curricle. 

The dinner-time passed away in this flow of inno- 
cent hilarity, and though the old hall may have re- 
sounded in its time with many a scene of broader 
rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it ever witnessed 
more honest and genuine enjoyment. Hnw easy it 
is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure 



* The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale instead of 
wine ; with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and roasted crabs ; in this 
way the nut-brown beverage is still prepared in some old families, 
and round the hearth of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is 
also called Lamb's Wool, and it is celebrated by Herrick in his 
Twelfth Night : 

Next crowne the bowle full 
With gentle Lamb's Wool, 
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, 
With store of ale too ; 
And thus ye must doe 
To make the Wassaile a swinger. 

+ " The custom of drinking out of the same cup gave place to 
each having his cup. When the steward came to the doore with 
the Wassel, he was to cry three times, li'nsst'/, if-'iisse/, tVasscL and 
then the chappell (chaplain) was to answer with a song." — 
A rckcFologia. 

X From Poor Robin^s Almanack. 



around him ; and how truly is a kind heart a fount- 
ain of gladness, making every thing in its vicinity to 
freshen into smiles ! The joyous disposition of the 
worthy 'Squire was perfectly contagious ; he was 
happy himself, and disposed to make all the world 
happy ; and the little eccentricities of his humour 
did but season, in a manner, the sweetness of his 
philanthropy. 

When the ladies had retired, the conversation, as 
usual, became still more animated : many good things 
were broached which had been thought of during 
dinner, but which would not exactly do for a lady's 
ear ; and though I cannot positively affirm that there 
was much wit uttered, yet I have certainly heard 
many contests of rare wit produce much less laugh- 
ter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent in- 
gredient, and much too acid for soine stomachs ; 
but honest good-humour is the oil and wine of a 
merry meeting, and there is no jovial companionship 
equal to that, where the jokes are rather small, and 
the laughter abundant. 

The 'Squire told several long stories of early col- 
lege pranks and adventures, in some of which the 
parson had been a sharer ; though in looking at the 
latter, it required some effort of imagination to figure 
such a little dark anatomy of a man, into the perpe- 
trator of a madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college 
chums presented pictures of what men may be made 
by their different lots in life : the 'Squire had left the 
university to live lustily on his paternal domains, in 
the vigorous enjoyment of prosperity and sunshine, 
and had flourished on to a hearty and florid old age ; 
whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had dried 
and withered away, among dusty tomes, in the silence 
and shadows of his study. Still there seemed to be 
a spark of almost extinguished fire, feebly glimmer- 
ing in the bottom of his soul ; and, as the 'Squire 
hinted at a sly story of the parson and a pretty milk- 
maid whom they once met on the hanks of the Isis, 
the old gentleman made an " alphabet of faces," 
which, as far as 1 could decipher his physiognomy, 
I very believe was indicative of laughter ; — indeed, I 
have rarely met with an old gentleman that took 
absolute offence at the imputed gallantries of his 
youth. 

I found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining 
on the dry land of sober judgment. The company 
grew merrier and louder, as their jokes grew duller. 
Master Simon was in as chirping a humour as a 
grasshopper filled with dew ; his old songs grew of 
a warmer complexion, and he began to talk maudlin 
about the widow. He even gave a long song about 
the wooing of a widow, which he informed me he 
had gathered from an excellent black-letter work 
entitled " Cupid's Solicitor for Love ; " containing 
store of good advice for bachelors, and which he 
promised to lend me ; the first verse was to this 
effect : 

He that will woo a widow must not dally. 

He must make hay while the sun doth shine ; 

He must not stand with her, shall I, shall I, 
BiU boldly say. Widow, thou must be mine. 

This song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, 
who made several attempts to tell a rather broad 
story of Joe Miller, that was pat to the purpose ; but 
he always stuck in the middle, every body recollect- 
ing the latter part excepting himself. The parson, 
too, began to show the effects of good cheer, having 
gradually settled down into a doze, and his wig sit- 
ting most suspiciously on one side. Just at this 
juncture, we were summoned to the drawing-room, 
and I suspect, at the private instigation of mine host, 
whose joviality seemed always tempered with a 
proper love of decorum. 

After the dinner-table was removed, the hall was 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



61 



given up to the younger members of the family, 
who, prompted to all kind of noisy mirth by the Ox- 
onian and Master Simon, made its old walls ring 
with their merriment, as they played at romping 
games. I delight in witnessing the gambols of chil- 
dren, and particularly at this happy holyday season, 
and could not help stealing out of the drawing-room 
on hearing one of their peals of laughter. 1 found 
them at the game of blind-man's-buff. Master 
Simon, who was the leader of their revels, and 
seemed on all occasions to fulfil the office of that 
ancient potentate, the Lord of Misrule,* was blinded 
in the midst of the hall. The little beings were as 
busy about him as the mock fairies about Falstaff ; 
pinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and 
tickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of 
about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all in beautiful 
confusion, her frolic face in a glow, her frock half 
torn off her shoulders, a complete picture of a romp, 
was the chief tormentor ; and from the slyness with 
which Master Simon avoided the smaller game, and 
hemmed this wild little nymph in corners, and 
obliged her to jump shrieking over chairs, I suspected 
the rogue of being not a whit more blinded than was 
convenient. 

When 1 returned to the drawing-room, I found 
the company seated round the fire, listening to the 
parson, who was deeply ensconced in a high-backed 
oaken chair, the work of some cunning artificer of 
yore, which had been brought from the library for 
his particular accommodation. From this venerable 
piece of furniture, with which his shadowy figure 
and dark weazen face so admirably accorded, he 
was dealing forth strange accounts of the popular 
superstitions and legends of the surrounding country, 
with which he had become acquainted in the course 
of his antiquarian researches. I am half inclined to 
think that the old gentleman was himself somewhat 
tinctured with superstition, as men are very apt to 
be, who live a recluse and studious life in a seques- 
tered part of the country, and pore over black-letter 
tracts, so often filled with the marvellous and super- 
natural. He gave us several anecdotes of the fancies 
of the neighbouring peasantry, concerning the effigy 
of the crusader, which lay on the tomb by the church 
altar. As it was the only monument of the kind in 
that part of the country, it had always been regard- 
ed with feelings of superstition by the good wives of 
the village. It was said to get up from the tomb 
and walk the rounds of the churchyard in stormy 
nights, particularly when it thundered ; and one old 
woman whose cottage bordered on the churchyard, 
had seen it through the windows of the church, 
when the moon shone, slowly pacing up and down 
the aisles. It was the belief that some wrong had 
been left unredressed by the deceased, or some 
treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a state of 
trouble and restlessness. Some talked of gold and 
jewels buried in the tomb, over which the spectre 
kept watch ; and there was a story current of a 
sexton, in old times, who endeavoured to break his 
way to the coffin at night ; but just as he reached 
it, received a violent blow from the marble hand of 
the efifigy, which stretched him senseless on the 
pavement. These tales were often laughed at by 
some of the sturdier among the rustics ; yet, when 
night came on, there were many of the stoutest un- 
believers that were shy of venturing alone in the 
footpath that led across the churchyard. 

From these and other anecdotes that followed, the 
crusader appeared to be the favourite hero of ghost 



* At Christmasse there was in the Kinges hoii5e, wheresoever 
hee was lodged, a lorde of misrule, or mayster of merie dispones, 
and the like had ye in the house of every nohleman of honor ; or 
good worshippe, were he spirituall or temporall.— Sto\t. 



Stories throughout the vicinity. His picture, which 
hung up in the hall, was thought by the sei-vants to 
have something supernatural about it : for they re- 
marked that, in whatever part of the hall you went, 
the eyes of the warrior were still fixed on you. The 
old porter's wife, too, at the lodge, who had been 
born and brought up in the family, and was a great 
gossip among the maid-servants, affirmed, that in 
her young days she had often heard say, that on 
.Midsummer eve, when it was well known all kinds 
of ghosts, goblins, and fairies, become visible and 
walk abroad, the crusader used to mount his horse, 
come down from his picture, ride about the house, 
down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the 
tomb ; on which occasion the church door most 
civilly swung open of itself ; not that he needed it — 
for he rode through closed gates and even stone 
walls, and had been seen by one of the dairy-maids 
to pass between two bars of the great park gate, 
making himself as thin as a sheet of paper. 

All these superstitions I found had been very 
much countenanced by the 'Squire, who, though not 
superstitious himself, was very fond of seeing others 
so. He listened to every goblin tale of the neigh- 
bouring gossips with infinite gravity, and held the 
porter's wife in high favour on account of her talent 
for the marvellous. He was himself a great reader 
of old legends and romances, and often lamented 
that he could not believe fn them ; for a superstitious 
person, he thought, must live in a kind of fairy land. 

Whilst we were all attention to the parson's 
stories, our ears were suddenly assailed by a burst 
of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, in which 
were mingled something like the clang of rude min- 
strelsy, with the uproar of many small voices and 
girlish laughter. The door suddenly flew open, and 
a train came trooping into the room, that might al- 
most have been mistaken for the breaking up of the 
court of Fairy. That indefatigable spirit, Master 
Simon, in the faithful discharge of his duties as lord 
of misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas 
mummery, or masquing; and having called in to his 
assistance the Oxonian and the young ofticer, who 
were equally ripe for any thing that should occasion 
romping and merriment, they had carried it into in- 
stant eftect. The old housekeeper had been con- 
sulted ; the antique clothes-presses and wardrobes 
rummaged, and made to yield up the relics of finery 
that had not seen the light for several generations ; 
the younger part of the company had been privately 
convened from parlour and hall, and the whole had 
been bedizened out, into a burlesque imitation of 
an antique masque.* 

Master Simon led the van as " Ancient Christ- 
mas," quaintly apparelled in a ruff, a short cloak, 
which had very much the aspect of one of the old 
housekeeperls petticoats, and a hat that might have 
served for a village steeple, and must indubitably 
have figured in the days of the Covenanters. From 
under this, his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with 
a frost-bitten bloom that seemed the very trophy of 
a December blast. He was accompanied by the 
blue-eyed romp, dished up as " Dame Mince Pie," 
in the venerable magnificence of faded brocade, long 
stomacher, peaked heart, and high-heeled shoes. 

The young officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a 
sporting dress of Kendal green, and a foraging cap 
with a gold tassel. 

The costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to 
deep research, and there was an evident eye to the 
picturesque, natural to a young gallant in presence of 



* M<asquing5 or mummeries, were favourite sports at Christmas, 
in old times; and the wardrobes at halls and manor-houses were 
often laid under contribution to furnish dresses and f;intastic dis- 
gnisings, I strongly suspect Master Simon to have taken the idea 
of his from Ecu Jonson's Masque of Christmas. 



62 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



his mistress. The fair Julia hung on his arm in a 
pretty rustic dress, as " Maid Marian." The rest 
of tlie train had bten metamorphosed in various 
ways; the girls trussed up in the finery of the an- 
cient iDelles of the Bracebridge line, and the strip- 
lings bewhisliered with burnt corl<, and gravely clad 
in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-bottomed 
wigs, to represent the characters of Roast Beef, 
Plum Pudding, and other worthies celebrated in 
ancient niasquings. The whole was under the con- 
trol of the Oxonian, in the appropriate character of 
Misrule ; and I observed that he exercised rather a 
mischievous sway with his wand over the smaller 
personages of the pageant. 

The irruption of this motley crew, with beat of 
drum, according to ancient custom, was the con- 
summation of uproar and merriment. Master Simon 
covered himself with glory by the stateliness with 
which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a minuet 
with the ])eerless, though giggling. Dame Mince Pie. 
]t was followed by a dance from all the characters, 
which, from its medley of costumes, seemed as 
though the old family portraits had skipped down 
from their frames to join in the sport. Different 
centuries were figuring at cross-hands and right 
and left ; the dark ages were cutting pirouettes and 
rigadoons ; and the days of Queen Bess, jigging 
merrily down the middle, through a line of succeed- 
ing generations. 

The worthy 'Squire contemplated these fantastic 
sports, and this resurrection of his old wardrobe, 
with the simple relish of childish delight. He stood 
chuckling and rubbing his hands, and scarcely hear- 
ing a word the parson said, notwithstanding that 
the latter was discoursing most authentically on the 
ancient and stately dance of the Pavon, or peacock, 
from which he conceived the minuet to be derived.* 
For my part, I was in a continual excitement from 
the varied scenes of whim and innocent gayety pass- 
ing belore me. It was inspiring to see wild-eyed 
frolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out 
from among the chills and glooms of winter, and old 
age throwing off his apathy, and catching once more 
the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I felt also an 
interest in the scene, from the consideration that 
these fleeting customs were posting fast into obliv- 
ion, and that this was, perhaps, the only family in En- 
gland in which the whole of them were still punctili- 
ously ob.served. There was a quaintness, too, 
mingled with all this revelry, that gave it a peculiar 
zest : it was suited to the time and place ; and 
as the old Manor-house almost reeled with mirth 
and wassail, it seemed echoing back the joviality of 
long-departed years. 



sure that my sagest deductions may be safe guides 
for the opinions of others ? But in writing to amuse, 
if I fail, the only evil is my own disappointment. If, 
however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days 
of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, 
or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow 
— if I can now and then penetrate through the 
gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent 
view of human nature, and make my reader more iri 
good humour with his fellow beings and himself, 
surely, surely, I shall not then have written entirely 
in vain. 



But enough of Christmas and its gambols : it is 
time for me to pause in this garrulity. Methinks I 
hear the question asked by my graver readers, " To 
what purpose is all this — how is the world to be 
made wiser by this talk ? " Alas ! is there not wisdom 
enough extant for the instruction of the world ? And 
if not, are there not thousands of abler pens labour- 
ing for its improvement ? — It is so much pleasanter 
to please than to instruct — to play the companion 
rather than the preceptor. 

What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could 
throw into the mass of knowledge ; or how am I 



[The following modicum of local history was lately 
put into my hands by an odd-looking old gentleman 
in a small brown wig and snuff-coloured coat, with 
whom I became acquainted in the course of one of my 
tours of observation through the centre of that great 
wilderness, the City. I confess that I was a little 
dubious at first, whether it was not one of those apoc- 
ryphal tales often passed off upon inquiring travel- 
lers like myself; and which have brought our general 
character for veracity into such unmerited reproach. 
On making proper inquiries, however, I have re- 
ceived the most satisfactory assurances of the author's 
probity ; and, indeed, have been told that he is actu- 
ally eng.aged in a full and particular account of the 
very interesting region in which he resides, of which 
the following may be considered merely us a fore- 
taste.] 

LITTLE BRITAIN, 



* sir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the Pavon. 
from pavo, 3 peacock, says, "It is a gra\e and majestic dance; 
the method of dancing it anciently was by gentlemen dressed 
with caps and swords, by those of the long robe in their gowns, 
by the peers in iheir mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with 
long trains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that of a 
peacock." — History l^/ Mustc^ 



What I write is most true * * * * T have a whole booke of cases 
lying by me, which if I should sette fnnrth, some grave auntients 
(within the hearing of Bo* bell) would be out of charity with me. 

— N-VSHH. 

In the centre of the great City of London lies a 
sinall neighbourhood, consisting of a cluster of nar- 
row streets and courts, of very venerable and debili- 
tated houses, which goes by the name of Little 
Britain. Christ Church school and St. Bartholo- 
mew's hospital bound it on the west ; Smithfield and 
Long lane on the north ; Aldersgate-street, like an 
arm of the sea, divides it from the eastern part of 
the city ; whilst the yawning gulf of Bull-and-Mouth- 
street separates it from Butcher lane, and the regions 
of New-Gate. Over this little territory, thus bounded 
and designated, the great dome of .St. Paul's, swell- 
ing above the intervening houses of Paternoster 
Row, Amen Corner, and Ave-Maria lane, looks 
down with an air of motherly protection. 

This quarter derives its appellation from having 
been, in ancient times, the residence of the Dukes of 
Brittany. As London increased, however, rank and 
fashion rolled off to the west, and trade creeping on 
at their heels, took possession of their deserted 
abodes. For some time. Little Britain became the 
great mart of learning, and was peopled by the busy 
and prolific race of booksellers : these also gradually 
deserted it, and emigrating beyond the great strait 
of New-Gate-Street, settled down in Paternoster 
Row and St. Paul's Church-yard ; where they con- 
tinue to increase and multiply, even at the present 
day. 

But though thus fallen into decline, Little Britain 
still bears traces of its former splendour. There are 
several houses, ready to tumble down, the fronts of 
which are magnificently enriched with old oaken 
carvings of hideous faces, unknown birds, beasts, and 
fishes ; and fruits and flowers, which it would perplex 
a naturalist to classify. There are also, in Alders- 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



63 



gate-street, certain remains of what were once 
spacious and lordly family mansions, but which have 
in latter days been subdivided into several tenements. 
Here may often be found the family of a petty trades- 
man, with its trumpery furniture, burrowing among 
the relics of antiquated finery, in great rambling time- 
stained apartments, with fretted ceilings, gilded cor- 
nices, and enormous marble fire-places. The lanes 
and courts also contain many smaller houses, not on 
so grand a scale ; but, like your small ancient gentry, 
sturdily maintaining their claims to equal antiquity. 
These have their gable-ends to the street ; great 
bow-windows, with diamond panes set in lead ; gro- 
tesque carvings ; and low-arched doorways.* 

In this most venerable and sheltered little nest 
have I passed several quiet years of existence, com- 
fortably lodged in the second floor of one of the 
smallest, but oldest edifices. My sitting-room is an 
old wainscoted chamber, with small panels, and set 
off with a miscellaneous array of furniture. I have 
a particular respect for three or four high-backed, 
claw-footed chairs, covered with tarnished brocade, 
which bear the marks of having seen better days, 
and have doubtless figured in some of the old palaces 
of Little Britain. They seem to me to keep togetlier, 
and to look down with sovereign contempt upon 
their leathern-bottomed neighbours ; as I have seen 
decayed gentry carry a high head among the plebeian 
society with which they were reduced to associate. 
The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up with 
a bow-window ; on the panes of which are recorded 
the names of previous occupants for many genera- 
tions ; mingled with scraps of very indifferent gentle- 
man-like poetry, written in characters which I can 
scarcely decipher ; and which extol the charms of 
many a beauty of Little Britain, who has long, long 
since bloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am 
an idle personage, with no apparent occupation, and 
pay my bill regularly every week, I am looked upon 
as the only independent gentleman of the neigh- 
bourhood ; and being curious to learn the internal 
state of a community so apparently shut up within 
itself, I have managed to work my way into all the 
concerns and secrets of the place. 

Little Britain may truly be called the heart 's-core 
of the city; the strong-hold of true John Bullism. It 
is a fragment of London as it was in its better days, 
with its antiquated folks and fashions. Here flourish 
in great preservation many of the holyday games 
and customs of 5 ore. The inhabitants most re- 
ligiously eat pancakes on Shrove-Tuesday ; hot-cross- 
buns on Good-Friday, and roast gcose at Michael- 
mas ; they send love-letters on Valentine's Day ; 
burn the Pope on the Fifth of November, and kiss 
all the girls under the mistletoe at Christmas. 
Roast beef and plum-pudding are also held in 
superstitious veneration, and port and sherry main- 
tain their grounds as the only true English wines — 
all others being considered vile outlandish beverages. 

Little Britain has its long catalogue of city 
wonders, which its inhabitants consider the wonders 
of the world: such as the great bell of St. Paul's, 
which sours all the beer when it tolls ; the figures 
that strike the hours at St. Dunstan's clock; the 
Monument ; the lions in the Tower; and the wooden 
giants in Guildhall. They still believe in dreams and 
lortune-telling ; and an old woman that lives in 
Bull-and-Mouth-street makes a tolerable subsistence 
by detecting stolen goods, and promising the girls 
good husbands. They are apt to be rendered un- 
comfortable by comets and eclipses ; and if a dog 
howls dolefully at night, it is looked upon as a sure 

* It is evident that the author of this interesting communication 
has included in his general title of Little Britain, many uf those 
little lanes and courts that belong immediately to Cloth Fair. 



sign of a death in the place. There are even many 
ghost stories current, particularly concerning the 
old mansion-houses; in several of which it is said 
strange sights are sometimes seen. Lords and 
ladies, the former in full-bottomed wigs, hanging 
sleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets, stays, 
hoops, and brocade, have been seen walking up and 
down the great waste chambers, on moonlight 
nights ; and are supposed to be the shades of the 
ancient proprietors in their court-dresses. 

Little Britain has likewise its sages and great men. 
One of the most important of the former is a tall dry 
old gentleman, of the name of Skryme, who keeps a 
small apothecary's shop. He has a cadaverous coun- 
tenance, full ot cavities and projections ; with a 
brown circle round each eye, like a pair of horn 
spectacles. He is much thought of by the old wom- 
en, who consider him as a kind of conjuror, because 
he has two or three stuffed alligators hanging up in 
his shop, and several snakes in bottles. He is a 
great reader of almanacs and newspapers, and is 
much given to pore over alarming accounts of plots, 
conspiracies, fires, earthquakes, and volcanic erup- 
tions ; which last phenomena he considers as signs 
of the times. He has always some dismal tale of 
the kmd to deal out to his customers, with their 
doses ; and thus at the same time puts both soul and 
body into an uproar. He is a great believer in 
omens and predictions ; and has the prophecies of 
Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No 
man can make so much out of an eclipse, or even an 
unusually dark day ; and he shook the tail of the last 
comet over the heads of his customers and disciples, 
until they were nearly frightened out of their wits. 
He has lately got hold of a popular legend or proph- 
ecy, on which he has been unusually eloquent. There 
has been a saying current among the ancient Sybils, 
who treasure up these things, that when the grass- 
hopper on the top of the Exchange shook hands with 
the dragon on the top of Bow Church steeple, fearful 
events would take place. This strange conjunction, 
it seems, has as strangely come to pass. The same 
architect has been engaged lately on the repairs of 
the cupola of the Exchange, and the steeple of Bow 
Church ; and, fearful to relate, the dragon and the 
grasshopper actually lie, cheek by jole, in the yard of 
his workshop. 

" Others," as Mr. Skryme is accustomed to say, 
"may go star-gazing, and look for conjunctions in 
the heavens, but here is a conjunction on the earth, 
near at home, and under our own eyes, which sur- 
passes all the signs and calculations of astrologers." 
Since these portentous weathercocks have thus laid 
their heads together, wonderful events had already 
occurred. The good old king, notwithstanding that 
he had lived eighty-two years, had all at once given 
up the ghost ; another king had mounted the throne ; 
a royal duke had died suddenly — another, in France, 
had been murdered ; there had been radical meet- 
ings in all parts of the kingdom ; the bloody scenes 
at Manchester — the great plot in Cato-strect ; — and, 
above all, the Queen had returned to England ! All 
these sinister events are recounted by Mr. Skryme 
with a mysterious look, and a dismal shake of the 
head ; and being taken with his drugs, and associ- 
ated in the minds of his .auditors with stuffed sea- 
monsters, bottled serpents, and his own visage, 
which is a title-page of tribulation, they have spread 
great gloom through the minds of the people in Lit- 
tle Britain. They shake their heads whenever they 
go by Bow Church, and observe, that they never ex- 
pected any good to come of taking down that stee- 
ple, which, in old times, told nothing but glad tid- 
ings, as the history of Whittington and his cat bears 
witness. 



Gi 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The rival oracle of Little Britain is a substantial 
cheesemonger, who lives in a fragment of one of the 
old family mansions, and is as magnificently lodged 
as a round-bellied mite in the midst of one of his 
own Cheshires. Indeed, he is a man of no little 
standing and importance ; and his renown extends 
through Huggin lane, and Lad lane, and even unto 
Aldermanbury. His opinion is very much tal<en in 
the affairs of state, having read the Sunday papers 
for the last half centur)', together with the Gentle- 
man's Magazine, Rapin's History of England, and 
the Naval Chronicle. His head is stored with in- 
valuable maxims, which have borne the test of time 
and use for centuries. It is his firm opinion that 
"it is a moral impossible," so long as England is 
true to herself, that any thing can shake her: and 
he has much to say on the subject of the national 
debt ; which, some how or other, he proves to be a 
great national bulwark and blessing. He passed 
the greater part of his life in the purlieus of Little 
Britain, until of late years, when, having become 
rich, and grown into the dignity of a Sunday cane, 
he begins to take his pleasure and see the world. 
He has thei'efore made several excursions to Hamp- 
stead, Highgate, and other neighbouring towns, 
where he has passed whole afternoons in looking 
back upon the metropolis through a telescope, and 
endeavouring to descry the steeple of St. Bartholo- 
mew's. Not a stage-coachman of Bull-and-Mouth- 
street but touches his hat as he passes ; and he is 
considered quite a patron at the coach-office of the 
Goose and Gridiron, St. Paul's Churchyard. His 
family have been very urgent for him to make an ex- 
pedition to .Margate, but he has great doubts of these 
new gimcracks the steam-boats, and indeed thinks 
himself too advanced in life to undertake sea- 
voyages. 

Little Britain has occasionally its factions and di- 
visions, and party spirit ran very high at one time, 
in consequence of two rival " Burial Societies" being 
set up in the place. One held its meeting at the 
Swan and Horse-Shoe, and was patronized by the 
cheesemonger ; the other at the Cock and Crown, 
under the auspices of the apothecary : it is needless 
to say, that the latter was the most flourishing. I 
have passed an evening or two at each, and have 
acquired much valuable information as to the best 
mode of being buried ; the comparative merits of 
churchyards; together with divers hints on the sub- 
ject of patent iron coffins. I have heard the ques- 
tion discussed in all its bearings, as to the legality 
of prohibiting the latter on account of their dura- 
bility. The feuds occasioned by these societies have 
happily died away of late ; but they were for a long 
time prevailing themes of controversy, the people of 
Little Britain being extremely solicitous of funeral 
honours, and ot lying comfortably in their graves. 

Besides these two funeral societies, there is a third 
of quite a different cast, which tends to throw the 
sunshine of good-humour over the whole neighbour- 
hood. It meets once a week at a little old-fashioned 
house, kept by a jolly publican of the name of Wag- 
staff, and bearing for insignia a resplendent half- 
moon, with a most seductive bunch of grapes. The 
whole edifice is covered with inscriptions to catch 
the eye of the thirsty wayfarer ; such as " Truman 
Hanbury and Co.'s Entire," "Wine, Rum, and 
Brandy Vaults," " Old Tom, Rum, and Compounds, 
&c." This, mdeed, has been a temple of Bacchus 
and Momus, from time immemorial. It has always 
been in the family of the Wagstaffs, so that its his- 
tory IS tolerably preserved by the jjresent landlord. 
It was much frequented by tlie gallants and cava- 
I'.eros of the reign of Elizabeth, and was looked into 
now and then by the wits of Charles the Second's 



day. But what Wagstaff principally prides himself 
upon, is, tliat Henry the Eighth, in one of his noc- 
turnal rambles, broke the head of one of his ances- 
tors with his famous walking-staff. This, however, 
is considered as rather a dubious and vain-glorious 
boast of tlie landlord. 

The club which now holds its weekly sessions 
here, goes by the name of " the Roaring Lads of 
Little Britain." They abound in all catches, glees, 
and choice stories, that are traditional in the place, 
and not to be met with in any other part of the 
metropolis. There is a madcap undertaker, who is 
inimitable at a merry song; but the life of the club, 
and indeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully 
Wagstaff himself. His ancestors were all wags be- 
fore him, and he has inherited with the inn a large 
stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from 
generation to generation as heir-looms. He is a 
dapper little fellow, with bandy legs and pot belly, a 
red face with a moist merry eye, and a little shock 
of gray hair behind. At the opening of every club 
night, he is called in to sing his " Confession of 
Faith," which is the famous old drinking trowl from 
Gammer Gurton's needle. He sings it, to be sure, 
with many variations, as he received it from his 
father's lips ; for it had been a standing favourite at 
the Half-Moon and Bunch of Grapes ever since it 
was written ; nay, he affirms that his predecessors 
have often had the honour of singing it before the 
nobility and gentry at Christmas mummeries, when 
Little Britain was in all its glory.* 

It would do one's heart good to hear on a club- 
night the shouts of merriment, the snatches of song, 
and now and then the tlioral bursts of half-a-dozen 
discordant voices, which issue from this jovial man- 
sion. At such times the street is lined with listen- 
ers, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into 
a confectioner's wmdow, or snuffing up the steams 
of a cook-shop. 



* As mine host of the Half-Moon's Confession of Faith may not 
be familiar to the majority of readers, and as it is a specimen of the 
current songs of Little Britain, I subjoin it in its original orthog- 
raphy. I would observe, that the whole club always join in the 
chorus with a feaful thumping on the table and clattering of pewter 
pots. 

I cannot eate but lytle meate, 

My stomacke is not good, 
But sure I thinke that I can drinke 

With him that weares a hood. 
Though I go bare take ye no cai'e, 

I nothing am a colde, 
I stuff my skyn so full within, 
Of joly good ale and olde. 

Chorus, Back and syJe go bare, go bare, 
Both foot and hand go colde, 
But belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe, 
Whether it be new or olde. 

I have no rost, but a nut brown toste 

And a crab laid in the fyre ; 
A little breade shall do me steadc, 

Much breade I not desyre. 
No frost nor snow, nor winde I trowe, 

Can hurt me if I wolde, 
I am so wrapt and throwly lapt 

Of joly good ale and olde. 
Chorus. Back and syde go bare, go bare. Sic. 

And Tyb my wife, that, as her lyfe, 

Lovcth well good ale to secke. 
Full oft drynkes she, tyll ye may see 

The teares run down her cheeke. 
Then doth shee trowle to me the bowle, 

Even as a maulte-worme sholde, 
And sayth, sweete harte, I tooke my parte 

Of this joly good ale and olde. 
Chorus. Back and syde go bare, go bare, &c. 

Now let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke, 

Even as goode fellowes sholde doe, 
They shall not mysse to have the blisse, 

Good ale doth bring men to. 
And all poor soules that have scowred bowles. 

Or have them lustily trolde, 
God save the lyves of them and their wives, 

Whether they be yonge or olde. 
Chorus, Back and syde go bare, go bare, &.Q, 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



65 



There are two annual events which produce great 
stir and sensation in Little Britain ; these are St. 
Bartholomew's Fair, and the Lord Mayor's day. 
During the time of the Fair, which is held in the 
adjoining regions of Smithfield, there is nothing 
going on but gossiping and gadding about. The 
late quiet streets of Little Britain are overrun with 
an irruption of strange figures and faces ; — every 
tavern is a scene of rout and revel. The fiddle and 
the song are heard from the tap-room, morning, 
noon, and night ; and at each window may be seen 
some group of boon companions, with half-shut eyes, 
hats on one side, pipe in mouth, and tankard in 
hand, fondling and prozing, and singing maudlin 
songs over their liquor. Even the sober decorum of 
private families, which I must say is rigidly kept up 
It other times among my neighbours, is no proof 
igainst this Saturnalia. There is no such thing as 
seeping maid servants within doors. Their brains 
ire absolutely set madding with Punch and the 
Puppet Show ; the Flying Horses ; Signior Polito ; 
he Fire-Eater ; the celebrated Mr. Paap ; and the 
Irish Giant. The children, too, lavish all their holy- 
lay money in toys and gilt gingerbread, and fill the 
louse with the Lilliputian din of drums, trumpets, 
md penny whistles. 

But the Lord Mayor's day is the great anniversary, 
fhe Lord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants 
)f Little Britain, as the greatest potentate upon earth; 
lis gilt coach with si.\ horses, as the summit of hu- 
iian splendour; and his procession, with all the 
iherifis and Aldermen in his train, as the grandest 
>f earthly pageants. How they e.\ult in the idea, 
hat the King himself dare not enter the city without 
irst knocking at the gate of Temple Bar, and ask- 
ng permission of the Lord Mayor; for if he did, 
leaven and earth ! there is no knowing what might 
■e the consequence. The man in armour who rides 
>efore the Lord Mayor, and is the city champion, has 
■rders to cut down every body that ofiends against 
he dignity of the city ; and then there is the little 
aan with a velvet porringer on his head, who sits 
t the window of the state coach and holds the city 
word, as long as a pike-staff— Od's blood ! if he 
nee draws that sword, M/ijesty itself is not safe ! 

Under the protection of this mighty potentate, 
herefore, the good people of Little Britain sleep in 
■eace. Temple Bar is an effectual barrier against all 
iternal foes ; and as to foreign invasion, the Lord 
layor has but to throw himself into the Tower, 
all in the train bands, and put the standing army of 
ieef-eaters under arms, and he may bid defiance to 
he world ! 

Thus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own 
abits, and its own opinions. Little Britain has long 
ourished as a sound heart to this great fungus me- 
ropolis. I have pleased myself with considering it as 
^ chosen spot, where the principles of sturdy John 
■ullism were garnered up, like seed-corn, to renew 
he national character, when it had run to waste and 
egeneracy. I have rejoiced also in the general spirit 
f harmony that prevailed throughout it ; for though 
here might now and then be a few clashes of opinion 
etween the adherents of the cheesemonger and the 
pothecary-, and an occasional feud between the 
urial societies, yet these were but transient clouds, 
nd soon passed away. The neighbours met with 
ood-wiU, parted with a shake of the hand, and 
ever abused each other except behind their backs. 

I could give rare descriptions of snug junketing 
arties at which I have been present ; where we 
layed at All-Fours, Pope-Joan, Tom-come-tickle- 
le, and other choice old games : and where we 
ometimes had a good old English country dance, to 
le tune of Sir Roger de Coverly. Once a year also 
5 



the neighbours would gather together, and go on a 
gypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have done 
any man's heart good to see the merriment that took 
place here, as we banqueted on the grass under the 
trees. How we made the woods ring with bursts of 
laughter at the songs of little Wagstaff and the 
merry undertaker ! After dinner, too, the voung 
folks would play at blmdman's-buff and hide-and- 
seek ; and it was amusing to see them tangLd among 
the briers, and to hear a fine romping girl now and 
then squeak from among the bushes. The elder folks 
would gather round the cheesemonger and the 
apothecary, to hear them talk politics ; for they gen- 
erally brought out a newspaper in their pockets, to 
pass away time in the country. They would now 
and then, to be sure, get a little warm in argument ; 
but their disputes were always adjusted by reference 
to a worthy old umbrella-maker in a double chin, 
who, ne\'er exactly comprehending the subject, man- 
aged, some how or other, to decide in favour of both 
parties. 

All empires, however, says some philosopher or 
historian, are doomed to changes and revolutions. 
Luxury and innovation creep in ; factions arise ; and 
families now and then spring up, whose ambition and 
intrigues throw the whole system into confusion. 
Thus in latter days has the tranquillity of Little 
Britain been grievously disturbed, and its golden 
simplicity of manners threatened with total subver- 
sion, by the aspiring family of a retired butcher. 

The family of the Lambs had long been among 
the most thriving and popular in the neighbourhood : 
the Miss Lambs were the belles of Little Britain, and 
every body was pleased when old Lamb had made 
money enough to shut up shop, and put his name on 
a brass plate on his door. In an evil hour, however, 
one of the Miss Lambs had the honourof being a lady 
in attendance on the Lady Mayoress, at her grand 
annual ball, on which occasion she wore three tower- 
ing ostrich feathers on her head. The family never 
got over it ; they were immediately smitten with a 
passion for high life ; set up a one-horse carriage, put 
a bit of gold lace round the errand-boy's hat, and 
have been the talk and detestation of the whole 
neighbourhood ever since. They could no longer be 
induced to play at Pope-Joan or blindman's-bufl"; 
they could endure no dances but quadrilles, which 
nobody had ever heard of in Little Britain ; and 
they took to reading novels, talking bad French, and 
playing upon the piano. Their brother, too, who 
had been articled to an attorney, set up for a dandy 
and a critic, characters hitherto unknown in these 
parts ; and he confounded the worthy folks exceed- 
ingly by talking about Kean, the Opera, and the 
Edinbro' Review. 

What was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand 
ball, to which they neglected to invite any of their 
old neighbours ; but they had a great deal of genteel 
company from Theobald's Road, Red-lion .Square, 
and other parts toward the west. There were seve- 
ral beaux of their brother's acquaintance from Gray's- 
Inn lane and Hatton Garden ; and not less than three 
Aldermen's ladies with their daughters. This was 
not to be forgotten or forgiven. All Little Britain 
was in an uproar with the smacking of whips, the 
lashing of miserable horses, and the rattling and jing- 
ling of hackney-coaches. The gossips of the neigh- 
bourhood might be seen popping their night-caps out 
at every window, watching the crazy vehicles rumble 
by ; and there was a knot of virulent old cronies, that 
kept a look-out from a house just opposite the retired 
butcher's, and scanned and criticized eveiy one that 
knocked at the door. 

This dance was a cause of almost open war. and 
the whole neighbourhood declared they woukl have 



66 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



nothing more to say to the Lambs. It is true that 
Mrs. Lamb, when she had no engagements with her 
quality acquaintance, would give liltle humdrum tea 
junketings to some of her old cronies. " quite," as she 
would say, " in a friendly way ; " and it is equally true 
that her invitations were always accepted, in spite ol 
all previous vows to the contrary. Nay, the good 
ladies would sit and be delighted with the music of 
the JVIiss Lambs, who would condescend to thrum an 
Irish melody for them on the piano ; and they would 
listen with wonderful interest to Mrs. Lamb's anec- 
dotes of Alderman Plunkefs family of Portsoken- 
ward, and the Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses 
of Crutched-Friars ; but then they relieved their con- 
sciences, and averted the reproaches of their confed- 
erates, by canvassing at the next gossiping convoca- 
tion evei-y thing that had passed, and pulling the 
Lambs and their rout all to pieces. 

The only one of the family that could not be 
made fashionable, was the retired butcher himself. 
Honest Lamb, in spite of the meekness of his name, 
was a rough hearty old fellow, with the voice of a 
lion, a head of black hair like a shoe-brush, and a 
broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain 
that the daughters always spoke of him as the " old 
gentleman, "'addressed him as " papa," in tones of 
infinite softness, and endeavoured lo coax him into a 
dressing-gown and slippers, and other gentlemanly 
habits. Do what they might, there was no keeping 
down the butcher. His sturdy nature would break 
through all their glozings. He had a hearty vulgar 
good-humour, that was irrepressible. His very jokes 
made his sensitive daughters shudder; and he per- 
sisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a morning, 
dining at two o'clock, and having a " bit of sausage 
with his tea." 

He was doomed, however, to share the unpopu- 
larity of his family. He found his old comrades 
gradually growing ccld and civil to him ; no longer 
laughing at his jokes ; and now and then throwing 
out a fling at " some people," and a hint about 
" quality binding." This both nettled and perplexed 
the honest butcher; and his wife and daughters, 
with the consummate policy of the shrewder sex, 
taking advantage of the circumstances, at length 
prevailed upon him to give up his afternoon pipe 
and tankard at Wagstaff 's ; to sit after dinner by him- 
self, and take his pint of port— a liquor he detested — 
and to nod in his chair, in solitary and dismal gen- 
tility. 

The Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunting 
along the streets in French bonnets, with unknown 
beaux ; and talking and laughing so loud, that it 
distressed the nerves of every good lady within hear- 
ing. They even went so far as to attempt patron- 
age, and actually induced a French dancing-master 
to set up in the neighbourhood ; but the worthy folks 
of Little Britain took fire at it, and did so persecute 
the poor Gaul, that he was fain to pack up fiddle and 
dancing-pumps, and decamp WMth such precipitation, 
Ihat he absolutely forgot to pay for his lodgings. 

I had flattered myself, at first, with the idea that 
all this fiery indignation on the part of the commu- 
nity was merely the overflowing of their zeal for good 
old English manners, and their horror of innovation ; 
and I applauded the silent contempt they were so 
vociferous in expressing, for upstart pride, French 
fashions, and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to say, 
that I soon perceived the infection had taken hold ; 
and that my neighbours, after condemning, were be- 
ginning to' follow their example. I overheard my 
landlady importuning her husband to let their daugh- 
ters have one quarter at French and music, and that 
they might take a few lessons in quadrille ; I even 
saw, in the course of a few Sundays, no less than 



five French bonnets, precisely like those of the Miss 
Lambs, parading about Little Britain. 

I still had my hopes that all this folly would grad- 
ually die away ; that the Lambs might move out of 
the neighbourhood ; might die, or might run away 
with attorneys' apprentices ; and that quiet and sim- 
plicity might be again restored to the community. 
But unluckily a rival power arose. An opulent oil- 
man died, and left a widow with a large jointure, anc^ 
a family of buxom daughters. The young ladies had 
long been repining in secret at the parsimony of a 
prudent father, which kept down all their elegant 
aspirings. Their ambition being now no longer re- 
strained broke out into a blaze, and they openly took 
the field against the family of the butcher. It is true 
that the Lambs, having had the first start, had nat- 
urally an advantage of them in the fashionable 
career. They could speak a little bad French 
play the piano, dance quadrilles, and had formed 
high acquaintances, but the Trotters were not to be 
distanced. When the Lambs appeared with two 
feathers in their hats, the Miss Trotters mounted 
four, and of twice as fine colours. It the Lambs 
gave a dance, the Trotters were sure not to be be- 
hindhand ; and though they might not boast ot as 
good company, yet they had double the number, and 
were twice as merry. ,,..,,. ,, 

The whole community has at length divided itself 
into fashionable factions, under the banners of these 
two families. The old games of Pope-Joan and 
Tom-come-tickle-me are entirely discarded ; there is 
no such thing as getting up an honest country-dance ; 
and on my attempting to kiss a young lady under 
the mistletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly re- 
pulsed ; the Miss Lambs having pronounced it 
"shocking vulgar." Bitter rivalry has also broken 
out as to the most fashionable part of Little Britain 
the Lambs standing up for the dignity of Cross- 
Keys Square, and the Trotters for the vicinity of 
St. Bartholomew's. 

Thus is this little territory torn by factions anc 
internal dissensions, like the great empire whos« 
name it bears; and what will be the result wouk 
puzzle the apothecary' himself, with all his talent a 
pro'J-nostics, to determine ; though I apprehend tha 
it will terminate in the total downfall of genuin 
John Bullism. 

The immediate effects are extremely unpleasan 
to me. Being a single man, and, as I observed be 
fore, rather an idle good-for-nothing personage, 
have been considered the only gentleman by profes 
sion in the place. I stand therefore in high favou 
with both parties, and have to hear all their cabint 
councils and mutual backbitings. As I am too civ 
not to agree with the ladies on all occasions, I hav 
committed myself most horribly with both parties, b 
abusino- their opponents. I might manage to recor 
cile this to my conscience, which is a truly accon 
modating one, but I cannot to my apprehensioris- 
if the Lambs and Trotters ever come to a reconcih; 
tion, and compare notes, I am ruined ! 

I have determined, therefore, to beat a retreat ' 
time and am actually looking out for some otht 
nest in this great city, where old English manne 
are still kept up; where French is neither eate 
drank, danced, nor spoken ; and where there are r 
fashionable families of retired tradesmen. Th 
found, I will, like a veteran rat, hasten away befo 
I have an old house about my ears— bid a Ion 
though a sorrowful adieu to my present abode— ar 
leave the rival factions of the Lambs and the Tro 
ters, to divide the distracted empire of LiTTi 
Britain. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



67 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 



Thou soft flowing Avon, bj' thy silver stream 

Of things more than mortal sweet Shal^spc.ire would dream ; 

The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 

For hallowed the turf is which pillowed his head. 

Garrick. 

To a homeless man, who has no spot on this wide 
world whicli he can truly call his own, there is a 
momentary feeling of something like independence 
and territorial consequence, when, after a weary 
day's travel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts his feet 
into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn fire. 
Let the world without go as it may; let kingdoms 
rise or fall, so long as he has the wherewithal to pay 
his bill, he is, for the time being, the very monarch 
of all he surveys. The arm-chair is his throne, the 
puker his sceptre, and the little parlour, of some 
twelve feet square, his undisputed empire. It is a 
morsel of certainty, snatched from the midst of the 
uncertainties of life ; it is a sunny moment gleaming 
out kindly on a cloudy day ; and he who has ad- 
vanced some way on the pilgrimage of existence, 
knows the importance of husbanding even morsels 
and moments of enjoyment. " Shall I not take mine 
ease in mine inn ? " thought [, as I gave the fire a 
stir, lolled back in my elbow-chair, and cast a com- 
pla;ent look about the little parlour of the Red 
Horse, at Stratford-on-Avon. 

The words of sweet Shakspeare were just passing 
through my mind as the clock struck midnight from 
the tower of the church in which he lies buried. 
There was a gentle tap at the door, and a pretty 
:hambermaid, putting in her smiling face, inquired, 
vvith a hesitating air, whether I had rung. I under- 
stood it as a modest hint that it was time to retire. 
My dream of absolute dominion was at an end ; so 
abdicating my throne, like a prudent potentate, to 
ivoid being deposed, and putting the Stratford 
Guide-Book under my ar.m, as a pillow companion, 
1 went to bed, and dreamt all night of Shakspeare, 
the Jubilee, and David Garrick. 

The next morning was one of those quickening 
mornings which we sometimes have in early spring ; 
lor it was about the middle of March. The chills of 
1 long winter had suddenly given way ; the north 
vvind had spent its last gasp ; and a mild air came 
stealing from the west, breathing the breath of life 
nto nature, and wooing every bud and flower to 
Durst forth into fragrance and beauty. 

I had come to Stratford on a poetical pilgrimage. 
My first visit was to the house where Shakspeare 
ivas born, and where, according to tradition, he was 
Drought up to his father's craft of wool-combing. It 
s a small mean-looking edifice of wood and plaster, 
I true nestling-place of genius, which seems to de- 
light in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The 
ivalls of its squalid chambers are covered with names 
md inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of 
ill nations, ranks, and conditio ns,'"from the jirince to 
;he peasant ; and present a simple, but striking in- 
stance of the spontaneous and universal homage of 
nankind to the great poet of nature. 
_ The house is shown by a garrulous old lady, in a 
rosty red face, lighted up by a cold blue anxious eye, 
ind_ garnished with artificial locks of flaxen hair, 
;uriing from under an exceedingly dirty cap. She 
.vas peculiarly assiduous in exhibiting the relics with 
which this, like all other celebrated shrines, abounds. 
There was the shattered stock of the very matchlock 
A/]th which Shakspeare shot the deer, on his poach- 
ng exploits. There, too, was his tobacco-box; 
■vhich proves that he was a rival smoker of Sir 
Salter Raleigh ; the sword also with which he 



played Hamlet ; and the identical lantern with which 
Friar Laurence discovered Romeo and Juliet at the 
tomb ! There was an ample supply also of Shak- 
speare's mulberry-tree, which seems to have as 
extraordinary powers of self-multiplication as the 
wood of the true cross; of which there is enough 
extant to build a ship of the line. 

The most favourite object of curiosity, however, is 
■Shakspeare 's chair. It stands in the chimney-nook 
of a small gloomy chamber, just behind what was 
his father's shop. Here he may many a time have 
sat when a boy, watching the slowly-revolving spit, 
with all the longing of an urchin ; or of an evening, 
listening to the crones and gossips of Stratford, 
dealing forth churchyard tales and legendary anec- 
dotes of the troublesome times of England. In this 
chair it is the custom of every one who visits the 
house to sit : whether this be done with the hope of 
imbibing any of the inspiration of the bard, I am at 
a loss to say ; I merely mention the fact; and mine 
hostess privately assured me, that, though built of 
solid oak, such was the fervent zeal of devotees, that 
the chair had to be new-bottomed at least once in 
three years. It is worthy of notice also, in the his- 
tory of this extraordinary chair, that it partakes 
something of the volatile nature of the Santa Casa 
of Loretto, or the flying chair of the Arabian en- 
chanter ; for though sold some few years since to a 
northern princess, yet, strange to tell, it has found 
its way back again to the old chimney-cornei'. 

I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am 
very willing to be deceived, where the deceit is 
pleasant and costs nothing. I am therefore a ready 
believer in relics, legends, and local anecdotes of 
goblins and great men ; and would advise all travel- 
lers who travel for their gratification to be the same. 
What is it to us whether these stories be true or 
false so long as we can persuade ourselves into the 
belief of them, and enjoy all the charm of the reality ? 
There is nothing like resolute good-humoured credu- 
lity in these matters ; and on this occasion I went 
even so far as willingly to believe the claims of mine 
hostess to a lineal descent from the poet, when, un- 
luckily for my faith, she put into my hands a play of 
her own composition, which set all belief in her con- 
sanguinity at defiance. 

From the birth-place of Shakspeare a few paces 
brought me to his grave. He lies buried in the 
chancel of the parish church, a large and venerable 
pile, mouldering with age, but riclily ornamented. 
It stands on the banks of the Avon, on an embow- 
ered point, and separated by adjoining gardens from 
the suburbs of the town. Its situation is quiet and 
retired : the river runs murmuring at the foot of the 
churchyard, and the elms which grow upon its banks 
droop their branches into its clear bosom. An avenue 
of limes, the boughs of which are curiously inter- 
laced, so as to form in summer an arched way of 
foliage, leads up from the gate of the yard to the 
church porch. The graves are overgrown with 
grass ; the gray tombstones, some of them nearly 
sunk into the earth, are half-covered with moss, 
which has likewise tinted the reverend old building. 
Small birds have built their nests among the cor- 
nices and fissures of the walls, and keep up a con- 
tinual flutter and chirping; and rooks are sailing and 
cawing about its lofty gray spire. 

In the course of my ra.mbles I met with the gray- 
headed sexton, and accompanied him home to get 
the key of the church. He had lived in Stratford, 
man and boy, for eighty years, and seemed still to 
consider himself a vigorous man, with the trivial ex- 
ception that he had nearly lost the use of his legs for 
a few years past. His dwelling was a cottage, look- 
ing out upon the Avon and its bordering meadows ; 



68 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and was a picture of that neatness, order, and com- 
fort, which pervade the humblest dwellings in this 
countr)'. A low white-washed room, with a stone 
floor carefully scrubbed, served for parlour, kitchen, 
and hall. Rows of pewter and earthen dishes glit- 
tered along the dresser. On an old oaken table, 
well rubbed and polished, lay the family bible and 
prayer-book, and the drawer contained the family 
library, composed of about half a score of well- 
thumbed volumes. An ancient clock, that impor- 
tant article of cottage furniture, ticked on the oppo- 
site side of the room ; with a bright warming-pan 
hanging on one side of it, and the old man's horn- 
handled Sunday cane on the other. The fire-place, 
as usual, was wide and deep enough to admit a gos- 
sip knot within its jambs. In one corner sat the old 
man's grand-daughter sewing, a pretty blue-eyed 
girl, — and in the opposite corner was a superannu- 
ated crony, whom he addressed by the name of John 
Ange, and who, I found, had been liis companion 
from childhood. They had played together in in- 
fancy; they had worked together in manhood ; they 
were now tottering about and gossiping away the 
evening of life ; and in a short time they will prob- 
ably be buried together in the neighbouring church- 
yard. It is not often that we see two streams of ex- 
istence running thus evenly and tranquilly side by 
side ; it is only in such quiet " bosom scenes " of 
life that they are to be met with. 

I had hoped to gather some traditionary anecdotes 
of the bard from these ancient chroniclers; but they 
had nothing new to impart. The long interval, dur- 
ing which Shakspeare's writings lay in comparative 
neglect, has spread its shadow over history ; and 
it is his good or evil lot, that scarcely any thing re- 
mains to his biographers but a scanty handfuU of 
conjectures. 

The sexton and his comi)anion had been employed 
as carpenters, on the preparations for the celebrated 
Stratford jubilee, and they remembered Garrick, the 
prime mover of the fete, who superintended the ar- 
rangements, and who, according to the sexton, was 
" a short punch man, very lively and bustling." John 
Ange had assisted also in cutting down Shakspeare's 
mulberry-tree, of which he had a morsel in his pocket 
for sale ; no doubt a sovereign quickener of literary 
conception. 

I was grieved to hear these two worthy wights 
speak very dubiously of the eloquent dame who 
shows the Shakspeare house. John Ange shook his 
head when I mentioned her valuable and inexhaust- 
ible collection of relics, particularly her remains of 
the mulberi7-tree ; and the old sexton even ex- 
pressed a doubt as to Shakspeare having been born 
in her house. I soon discovered that he looked 
upori her mansion with an evil eye, as a rival to the 
poet's tomb ; the latter having comparatively but 
few visitors. Thus it is that historians differ at the 
very outset, and mere pebbles make the stream of 
truth diverge into different channels, even at the 
fountain-head. 

We approached the church through the avenue of 
limes, and entered by a Gothic porch, highly orna- 
mented with carved doors of massive oak. The it^- 
terior is spacious, and the architecture and embel- 
lishments superior to those of most country churches. 
There are several ancient monuments of nobility 
and gentry, over some of which hang funeral es- 
cutcheons, and banners dropping piecemeal from 
the walls. The tomb of Shakspeare is in the chan- 
cel. The place is solemn and sepulchral. Tall 
elms wave before the pointed windows, and the 
Avon, which runs at a short distance from the 
walls, keeps up a low perpetual murmur. A flat 
stone marks the spot where the bard is buried. 



There are four lines inscribed on it, said to have 
been written by himself, and which have in them 
something extremely awful. If they are indeed his 
own, they show that solicitude about the quiet of the 
grave, which seems natural to fine sensibilities and 
thoughtful minds : 

Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbeare 
To dig the dust inclosed here. 
Blessed be he that spares these stones, 
And curst be he that moves my bones. 

Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a 
bust of Shakspeare, put up shortly after his death, 
and considered as a resemblance. The aspect is 
pleasant and serene, with a finely arched forehead ; 
and I thought 1 could read in it clear indications of 
that cheerful, social disposition, by which he was as 
much characterized among his contemporaries as by 
the vastness of his genius. The inscription mentions 
his age at the time of his decease — fifty-three years ; 
an untimely death for the world : for what fruit 
might not have been expected from the golden au- 
tumn of such a mind, sheltered as it was from the 
stormy vicissitudes of life, and flourishing in the 
sunshine of popular and royal favour ! 

The inscription on the tombstone has not been 
without its effect. It has prevented the removal of 
his remains from the bosom of his native place to 
Westminster Abbey, which was at one time contem- 
plated. A few years since also, as some labourers 
were digging to make an adjoining vault, the earth 
caved in, so as to leave a vacant space almost like an 
arch, through which one might have reached into his 
grave. No one, however, presumed to meddle with 
the remains so awfully guarded by a malediction ; 
and lest any of the idle or the curious, or any collect- 
or of relics, should be tempted to commit depreda- 
tions, the old sexton kept watch over the place for 
two days, until the vault was finished, and the aper- 
ture closed again. He told me that he had made 
bold to look in at the hole, but could see neither 
coffin nor bones; nothing but dust. It was some- 
thing, I thought, to have seen the dust of Shak- 
speare. 

Next to this grave are those of his wife, his favour- 
ite daughter Mrs. Hall, and others of his family. On 
a tomb close by, also, is a full-length effigy of his old 
friend John Combe, of usurious memory ; on whom 
he is said to have written a ludicrous epitaph. There 
are other monuments around, but the mind refuses 
to dwell on any thing that is not connected with 
Shakspeare. His idea pervades the place — the whole 
pile seems but as his mausoleum. The feelings, no 
longer checked and thwarted by doubt, here indulge 
in perfect confidence: other traces of him maybe 
false or dubious, but here is palpable evidence and 
absolute certainty. As I trod the sounding pave- 
ment, there was something intense and thrilling in 
the idea, that, in very truth, the remains of Shak- 
speare were mouldering beneath my feet. It was a 
long time before I could prevail upon myself to leave 
the place ; and as I passed through the churchyard, 
I plucked a branch from one of the yew-trees, the 
only relic that I have brought from Stratford. 

I had now visited the usual objects of a pilgrim's 
devotion, but I had a desire to see the old family seat 
of the Lucys at Charlecot, and to ramble through the 
park where Shakspeare, in company with sjme of 
the roysters of Stratford, committed his youthful of- 
fence of deer-stealing. In this hairbrained exploit 
we are told that he was taken prisoner, and carried 
to the keeper's lodge, where he remained all night in 
doleful captivity. When brought into the presence 
of Sir Thomas Lucy, his treatment must have been 
galling and humiUating ; for it so wrought upon his 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



69 



spirit as to produce a rough pasquinade, which was 
affixed to the park gate at Charlecot.* 

This flagitious attack upon the dignity of the 
Knight so incensed him, that he appHed to a lawyer 
at Warwick to put the severity of the laws in force 
against the rhyming deer-stalker. Shakspeare did 
not wait to brave the united puissance of a Knight 
of the Shire and a countr\' attorney. He forthwith 
abandoned the pleasant banks of the Avon, and his 
paternal trade ; wandered away to London ; became 
a hanger-on to the theatres ; then an actor ; and, 
finally, wrote for the stage; and thus, through the 
persecution of Sir Thomas Lucy, Stratford lost an 
indifferent wool-comber, and the world gained an 
immortal poet. He retained, however, for a long 
time, a sense of the harsh treatment of the Lord of 
Charlecot, and revenged himself in his writings ; but 
in the sportive way of a good-natured mind. Sir 
Thomas is said to be the original of Justice Shallow, 
and the satire is slily fixed upon him by the Justice's 
armorial bearings, which, like those of the Knight, 
had white lucesf in the quartermgs. 

Various attempts have been made by his biogra- 
phers to soften and explain away this early trans- 
gression of the poet ; but I look upon it as one of 
those thoughtless exploits natural to his situation and 
turn of mmd. Shakspeare, when young, had doubt- 
less all the wildness and irregularity of an ardent, un- 
disciplined, and undirected genius. The poetic tem- 
perament has naturally something in it of the vaga- 
bond. When left to itself, it runs loosely and wildly, 
and delights in every thing eccentric and licentious. 
It is often a turn-up of a die, in the gambling freaks 
of fate, whether a natural genius shall turn out a 
great rogue or a great poet ; and had not Shakspeare's 
mind fortunately taken a literar)' bias, he might have 
as daringly transcended all civil, as he has all dra- 
matic laws. 

1 have little doubt that, in early life, when running, 
like an unbroken colt, about the neighbourhood of 
Stratford, he was to be found m the company of all 
kinds of odd and anomalous characters ; that he as- 
sociated with all the madcaps of the place, and was 
one of those unlucky urchins, at mention of whom 
old men shake their heads, and predict that they will 
one day come to the gallows. To him the poaching 
in Sir Thomas Lucy's park was doubtless like a foray 
to a Scottish Knight, and struck his eager, and as 
yet untamed, imagination, as something delightfully 
adventurous.J 

The old mansion of Charlecot and its surrounding 
park still remain in the possession of the Lucy family, 
and are peculiarly interesting from being connected 
with this whimsical but eventful circumstance in the 
scanty history of the bard. As the house stood at 

* The following is the only stanza extant of this lampoon : 
A parliament member, a justice of peace. 
At home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse, 
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke mlscatle it, 
Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it. 

He thinks himself great ; 

Yet an asse in his state. 
We allow by his ears with but asses to mate. 
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, 
Then sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it. 

+ The luce is a pike or jack, and abounds in the Avon, about 
Charlecot. 

X A proof of Shakspeare's random habits and associates in his 
youthful days may be found in a traditionary anecdote, picked up 
at Stratford by the elder Ireland, and mentioned in his " Pictur- 
esque Views on the Avon." 

About seven miles from Stratford lies the thirsty little market 
town of Bedford, famous for its ale. Two societies of the village 
yeomanrj' used to meet, under the appellation of the Bedford topers, 
and to challenge the lovers of good ale of the neighbouring villages, 
to a contest of drinking. Among others, the people of Stratford 
were called out to prove the strength of their heads ; and in the 
number of the champioiis was Shakspeare, who. in spite of the 
proverb, that *' they who drink beer will think beer," was as true to 
his nie as Falstaff to his sack. The chivalry of Stratford was stag- 
gered at the tlrst onset, and sounded a retreat while they had yet 



little more than three miles' distance from Stratford, 
I resolved to pay it a pedestrian visit, that I might 
stroll leisurely through some of those scenes from 
which Shakspeare must have derived his earliest 
ideas of rural imagery. 

The country was yet naked and leafless ; but En- 
glish scenery is always verdant, and the sudden 
change in the temperature of the weather was sur- 
prising in its quickening effects upon the landscape. 
It was inspiring and animating to witness this first 
awakening of spring ; to feel its warm breath steal- 
ing over the senses ; to see the moist mellow earth 
beginning to put forth the green sprout and the 
tender blade ; and the trees and shrubs, in their re- 
viving tints and bursting buds, giving the promise of 
returning foliage and flower. The co'ld snow-drop, 
that little borderer on the skirts of winter, was to 
be seen with its chaste white blossoms in the small 
gardens before the cottages. The bleating of the 
new-dropt lambs was faintly heard from the fields. 
The sparrow twittered about the thatched eaves and 
budding hedges ; the robin threw a livelier note 
into his late querulous wintry strain ; and the lark, 
springing up from the reeking bosom of the meadow, 
towered away into the bright fleecy cloud, pouring 
forth torrents of melody. As I watched the little 
songster, mounting up higher and higher, until his 
body was a mere speck on the white bosom of the 
cloud, while the ear was still filled with his music, it 
called to mind Shakspeare's exquisite little song in 
Cymbeline : 

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heav'n's gate sings, 

And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs. 

On chaliced flowers that lies. 

And winking mary-buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With every thing that pretty bin. 

My lady sweet, arise ! 

Indeed, the whole country about here is poetic 
ground : every thing is associated with the idea of 
Shakspeare. Every old cottage that I saw, I fancied 
into some resort of his boyhood, where he had ac- 
quired his intimate knowledge of rustic life and man- 
ners, and heard those legendary tales and wild super- 
stitions which he has woven like witchcraft into his 
dramas. For in his time, we are told, it was a popu- 
lar amusement in winter evenings " to sit round the 
fire, and tell merry tales of errant knights, queens, 
lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfs, thieves, cheaters, 
witches, fairies, goblins, and friars."* 

My route for a part of the way lay in sight of the 
Avon, which made a variety of the most fanciful 
doublings and windings through a wide and fertile 
valley : sometimes glittering from among willows. 



legs to carry them off the field. They had scarcely marched a mile, 
when, their legs failing them, they were forced to lie down under a 
crab-tree, where they passed the night. It is still St .nding, and 
goes by the name of Shakspeare's tree. 

In the morning his companions awaked the bard, and proposed 
returning to Bedford, but he declined, saying he had had enough, 
having drunk with 

Piping Pebworth. Dancing Marston, 
Haunted Hitbro'. Hungry Grafton, 
Drudging Exhall, Papist Wicksford, 
Beggarly Broom, and drunken Bedford. 

"The villages here alluded to," says Ireland, "still bear the 
epithets thus given them ; the people of Pebworth are still famed 
for their skill on the pipe and tabor; Hillborough is now called 
Haunted Hillborough ; and Grafton is famous for the poverty of its 
soil." 

* Scot, in his " Discoverie of Witchcraft," enumerates a host 
of these fire-side fancies. " .\nd they have so fraid us with 
bull- Leggars, spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags, fairies, 
satyrs, pans, faunes, syrens, kit with the can sticke. tritons, 
centaurs, dwarfes, giantes. imps, calcars, conjurors, nymphes, 
changelings, incubus, Robin-good-fellow, the sporne, the mare, 
the man in the oke, the hellwaine. the fier drake, the puckie, 
Tom Thombe, hobgoblins, Tom Tumbler, boneless, and such 
other bugs, that we were afraid of our own shadowes." 



70 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



which fringed its borders ; sometimes disappearing 
among groves, or beneath green banks ; and some- 
times rambling out into full view, and making an 
azure sweep round a slope of meadow land. This 
beautiful bosom of country is called the Vale of the 
Red Horse. A distant line of undulating blue hills 
seems to be its boundary, whilst all the soft interven- 
ing landscape lies in a manner enchained in the 
silver links of the Avon. 

After pursuing the road for about three miles, I 
turned off into a foot-path, which led along the bor- 
ders of fields and under hedge-rows to a private gate 
of the park ; there was a stile, however, for the ben- 
efit of the pedestrian ; there being a public right of 
way through the grounds. I delight in these hospita- 
ble estates, in which every one has a kind of property 
— at least as far as the foot-path is concerned. It in 
some measure reconciles a poor man to his lot, and 
what is more, to the better lot of his neighbour, 
thus to have parks and pleasure-grounds thrown 
open for his recreation. He breathes the pure air 
as freely, and lolls as lu.xuriously under the shade, as 
the lord of the soil ; and if he has not the privilege 
of calling all that he sees his own, he has not, at the 
same time, the trouble of paying for it, and keeping 
it in order. 

I now found myself ainong noble avenues of oaks 
and elms, whose vast size bespoke the growth of 
centuries. The wind sounded solemnly among their 
branches, and the rooks cawed from their hereditary 
nests in the tree tops. The eye ranged through a 
long lessening vista, with nothing to interrupt the 
view but a distant statue ; and a vagrant deer stalk- 
ing like a shadow across the opening. 

There is something about these stately old avenues 
that has the effect of Gothic architecture, not merely 
from the pretended similarity of form, but from their 
bearing the evidence of long duration, and of having 
had their origin in a period of time with which we 
associate ideas of romantic grandeur. They be- 
token also the long-settled dignity, and proudly con- 
centrated independence of an ancient family ; and I 
have heard a worthy but aristocratic old friend ob- 
serve, when speaking of the sumptuous palaces of 
modern gentry, that " money could do much with 
stone and mortar, but, thank Heaven, there was no 
such thing as suddenly building up an avenue of 
oaks." 

It was from wandering in early life among this rich 
scenery, and about the romantic solitudes of the ad- 
joining park of Fullbroke, which then formed a part 
of the Lucy estate, that some of Shakspeare's com- 
mentators have supposed he derived his noble for- 
est meditations of Jacques, and the enchanting wood- 
land pictures in "As you like it." It is in lonely 
wanderings through such scenes, that the mind 
drinks deep but quiet draughts of inspiration, and 
becomes intensely sensible of the beauty and majesty 
of nature. The imagination kindles into reverie and 
rapture ; vague but exquisite images and ideas keep 
breaking upon it ; and we level in a mute and almost 
incommunicable luxury of thought. It was in some 
such mood, and perhaps under one of those very 
trees before me, which threw their broad shades over 
the grassy banks and quivering waters of the Avon, 
that the poet's fancy may have sallied forth into 
that little song which breathes the very soul of a 
rural voluptuary : 

Under the green-wood tree, 

Who loves to lie with me, 

And tune his merry throat 

Unto the s\yeet bird's note, 

Come hither, come hither, come hither, 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 



I had now come in sight of the house. It is a 
large building of brick, with stone quoins, and is in 
the Gothic style of Queen Elizabeth's day, having 
been built in the first year of her reign. The exte- 
rior remains very nearly in its original state, and 
may be considered a fair specimen of the residence 
of a wealthy country gentleman of those days. A 
great gateway opens from the park into a kind of 
court-vard in front of the house, ornamented with a 
grass-plot, shrubs, and flower-beds. The gateway 
is in imitation of the ancient barbican ; being a kind 
of outpost, and flanked by towers; though evidently 
for mere ornament, instead of defence. The front 
of the house is completely in the old style ; with stone 
shafted casements, a great bow-window of heavy 
stonework, and a portal with armorial bearings over 
it, carved in stone. At each corner of the building 
is an octagon tower, surmounted by a gilt ball and 
weathercock. 

The Avon, which winds through the park, makes 
a bend just at the foot of a gently sloping bank, which 
sweeps down from the rear of the house. Large 
herds of deer were feeding or reposing upon its bor- 
ders ; and swans were sailing majestically upon its 
bosom. As I contemplated the venerable old man- 
sion, I called to mind Falstaff's encomium on Justice 
Shallow's abode, and the affected indifference and 
real vanity of the latter : 

''^Falstaff. You have here a goodly dwelling and a rich. 
^^Shaltow. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir 
John: — marry, good air." 

Whatever may have been the joviality of the old 
mansion in the days of Shakspeare, it had now an 
air of stillness and solitude. The great iron gateway 
that opened into the court-yard was locked ; there 
was no show of servants bustling about the place ; 
the deer gazed quietly at me as I passed, being no 
longer harried by the moss-troopers of Stratford. 
The only sign of domestic life that I met with, was a 
white cat, stealing with wary look and stealthy pace 
towards the stables, as if on some nefarious expedi- 
tion. 1 must not omit to mention the carcass of a 
scoundrel crow which I saw suspended against the 
bam wall, as it shows that the Lucys still inherit that 
lordly abhorrence of poachers, and maintain that 
rigorous exercise of territorial power which was so 
strenuously manifested in the case of the bard. 

After prowling about for some time, I at length 
found my way to a lateral portal, which was the 
every-day entrance to the mansion. I was courte- 
ously received by a worthy old housekeeper, who, 
with the civility and communicativeness of her order, 
showed me the interior of the house. The greate 
part has undergone alterations, and been adapted to 
modern tastes and modes of living : there is a fine 
ole oaken staircase ; and the great hall, that noble 
feature in an ancient manor-house, still retains niuc 
of the appearance it must have had in the days of 
Shakspeare. The ceiling is arched and lofty ; anc 
at one end is a gallery, in which stands an organ 
The weapons and trophies of the chase, which for 
merly adorned the hall of a country gentleman, havi 
made way for family portraits. There is a widi 
hospitable fire-place, calculated for an ample old 
fashioned wood fire, formerly the rallying place of 
winter festivity. On the opposite side of the hall i 
the huge Gothic bow-window, with stone shafts 
which looks out upon the court-yard. Here are cm 
blazoned in stained glass the armorial bearings ol 
the Lucy family for many generations, some beinj 
dated in 1558. I was delighted to observe in th 
quarterings the three white luces by which the char 
acter of Sir Thomas was first identified with that o 
Justice Shallow. They are mentioned in the firs 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



71 



scene of the Merry Wives of Windsor, where the Jus- 
tice is in a rage with Falstaff for having " beaten his 
men, killed his deer, and broken into his lodge." 
The poet had no doubt the offences of himself and 
his comrades in mind at the time, and we may sup- 
pose the family pride and vindictive threats of the 
puissant Shallow to be a caricature of the pompous 
indignation of Sir Thomas. 

''^Shallmi'. Sir Hugh, persuade me not: I will make a Star- 
Chamber matter of it ; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he 
shall not abuse Robert Shallow, Esq. 

^^S/cndcr. In the county of tlloster, justice of peace, and coram, 

''^Shal'ow. Ay. cousin Slender, and custalorum. 

^^Slcitder. Ay, and rataiorunt too, and a gentleman born, mas- 
ter parson ; who writes himself Antiigero in any bill, warrant, 
quittance, or obligation, Armigero. 

^'Shnllow. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these three 
hundred years. 

'^Sh-iuL'y. All his successors gone before him have done 't, and 
all his ancestors that come after him may ; they may give the dozen 
white tnccs in their coat. 

^'Sltallozv. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot, 

^^Ez'ans. It is not meet the council hear of a riot ; there is no fear 
of Got in a riot : the council, hear you, shall desire to hear the fear 
of Got. and not to hear a riot ; take j'our vizaments in that, 

^^Sh.il/Liiv. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword should 
end it ! " 

Near the window thus emblazoned hung a portrait 
by Sir Peter Lely of one of the Lucy family, a great 
beauty of the time of Charles the Second : the old 
housekeeper shook her head as she pointed to the 
picture, and informed me that this lady had been 
sadly addicted to cards, and had gambled away, a 
great portion of the family estate, among which was 
that part of the park where Shakspeare and his com- 
rades had killed the deer. The lands thus lost have 
not been entirely regained by the family, even at the 
present day. It is but justice to this recreant dame 
to conless that she had a surpassingly tine hand and 
arm. 

The picture which most attracted my attention was 
a great painting over the fire-place, containing like- 
nesses of Sir Thomas Lucy and his family, who in- 
habited the hall in the latter part of Shakspeare's 
lifetime. I at first thought that it was the vindictive 
knight himself, but the housekeeper assured me that 
it was his son ; the only likeness extant of the former 
being an effigy upon his tomb in the church of the 
neighbouring hamlet of Charlecot. The picture gives 
a lively idea of the costume and manners of the time. 
Sir Thomas is dressed in ruff and doublet ; white 
shoes with roses in them ; and has a peaked yellow, 
or, as Master Slender would say, " a cane-coloured 
beard." His lady is seated on the opposite side of the 
picture in wide ruff and long stomacher, and the 
children have a most venerable stiffness and formality 
of dress. Hounds and spaniels are mingled in the 
iamily group ; a hawk is seated on his perch in the 
foreground, and one of the children holds a bow ; — 
all intimating the knight's skill in hunting, hawking, 
and archery — so indispensable to an accomplished 
gentleman in those days.* 

1 regretted to find that the ancient furniture of the 
hall had disappeared ; for I had hoped to meet with 
the stately elbow-chair of carved oak, in which the 
country 'Squire of former days was wont to sway the 
sceptre of empire over his rural domains ; and in 
which it might be presumed the redoubted Sir Thomas 
sat enthroned in awful state, when the recreant Shak- 

* Bishop Earle. speaking of the country gentleman cf his time, 
observes, ■' his housekeeping is seen much in the ditTerent families 
of dogs, and serving-men attendant on their kennels; and the 
deepness of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A hawk 
he esteems the true burden of nobility, and is exceedingly ambitious 
to seem delighted with the sport, and have his fist gloved with his 
jesses.' And Gilpin, in his description of a Mr. Hastings, remarks, 
"he kept all sons of hounds that run, buck, fox, hare, otter, and 
badger; and had hawks of all kinds both long and short winged. 
His great hall was commonly strewed with marrow-bones, and full 
of hawk perches, hoimds, spaniels, and terriers. On a broad 
hearth, paved with brick, lay some of the choicest terriers, hounds, 
and spaniels." 



speare was brought before him. As I like to deck 
out pictures for my own entertainment, I pleased my- 
self with the idea that this very hall had been the 
scene of the unlucky bard's examination on the 
morning after his captivity in the lodge. I fancied 
to myself the rural potentate, surrounded by his 
body-guard of butler, pages, and blue-coated serving- 
men with their badges ; while the luckless culprit 
was brought in, forlorn and chapfallen, in the custody 
of game-keepers, huntsmen, and whippers-in, and 
followed by a rabble rout of countiy clowns. I 
fancied bright faces of curious house-maids peeping 
from the half-opened doors ; while from the galler)- 
the fair daughters of the Knight leaned gracefully 
forward, eyeing the youthful prisoner with that pity 
" that dwells in womanhood." — Who would have 
thought that this poor varlet, thus trembling before 
the brief authority of a country 'Squire, and the 
sport of rustic boors, was soon to become the de- 
light of princes ; the theme of all tongues and ages ; 
the dictator to the human mind ; and was to confer 
immortality on his oppressor by a caricature and a 
lampoon ! 

I was now invited by the butler to walk into the 
garden, and I felt inclined to visit the orchard and ar- 
bour where the Justice treated Sir John Falstaff and 
Cousin Silence "to a last year's pippen of his own 
gratfing, with a dish of carraways ; " but I had al- 
ready spent so much of the day in my rambling, that 
I was obliged to give up any farther investigations. 
When about to take my leave, I was gratified by the 
civil entreaties of the housekeeper and butler, that I 
would take some refreshment — an instance of good 
old hospitality, which I grieve to say we castle-hunters 
seldom meet with in modern days. I make no doubt 
it is a virtue which the present representative of the 
Lucys inherits from his ancestors ; for Shakspeare, 
even in his caricature, makes Justice Shallow impor- 
tunate in this respect, as witness his pressing instances 
to Falstaff. 

'* By cock and pye. Sir, you shall not away to-night * * * *, I 
will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be 
admitted; there is no excuse shall serve: yon shall not be excused 
* * * *. Some pigeons, Davy ; a couple of short-legged hens; a 
joint of mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell ' William 
Cook.' " 

I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. 
My mind had become so completely possessed by the 
imaginary scenes and characters connected with it, 
that I seemed to be actually living among them. 
Every thing brought them as it were before my eyes ; 
and as the door of the dining-room opened, I almost 
expected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence 
quavering forth his favourite ditty : 

" 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, 
And welcome merry Shrove-tide ! " 

On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect 
on the singular gift of the poet ; to be able thus to 
spread the magic of his mind over the very face of 
nature ; to give to things and places a charm and 
character not their own, and to turn this " working- 
day world " into a perfect fairy land. He is indeed 
the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon 
the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart. 
Under the wizard influence of Shakspeare I had 
been walking all day in a complete delusion. I had 
surveyed the landscape through the prism of poetr)-, 
which tinged every object with the hues of the rain- 
bow. I had been surrounded with fancied beings ; 
with mere airy nothings, conjured up by poetic 
power ; yet which, to me, had all the charm of real- 
ity. I had heard Jacques soliloquize beneath his. 
oak ; had beheld the fair Rosalind and her companion, 
adventuring through the w-oodlands ; and, above all,. 



72 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



had been once more present in spirit witli I'at Jack 
Falstaff, and his contemporaries, from the august 
Justice Shallow, down to the gentle Master Slender, 
and the sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honours 
and blessings on the bard who has thus gilded the 
dull realities of life with innocent illusions ; who has 
spread exquisite and unbought pleasures in my cheq- 
uered path ; and beguiled my spirit in many a lonely 
hour, with all the cordial and cheerful sympathies of 
social life ! 

As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my re- 
turn, I paused to contemplate the distant church in 
which the poet lies buried, and could not but exult 
in the malediction which has kept his ashes undis- 
turbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. What 
honour could his name have derived from being 
mingled in dusty companionship with the epitaphs 
and escutcheons and venal eulogiums of a titled 
multitude ? What would a crowded corner in West- 
minster Abbey have been, compared with this rev- 
erend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful loneli- 
ness as his sole mausoleum ! The solicitude about 
the grave may be but the offspring of an overwrought 
sensibility ; but human nature is made up of foibles 
and prejudices ; and its best and tenderest affections 
are mingled with these factitious feelings. He who 
has sought renown about the world, and has reaped 
a full harvest of worldly favour, will find, after all, 
that there is no love, no admiration, no applause, so 
sweet to the soul as that which springs up in his 
native place. It is there that he seeks to be gathered 
in peace and honour, among his kindred and his 
early friends. And when the weary heart and fail- 
ing head begin to warn him that the evening of lile 
is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the in- 
fant to the mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the 
bosom of the scene of his childhood. 

How would it have cheered the spirit of the youth- 
ful bard, when, wandering forth in disgrace upon a 
doubtful world, he cast back a heavy look upon his 
paternal home, could he have foreseen that, before 
many years, he should return to it covered with re- 
nown ; that his name should become the boast and 
glory of his native place ; that his ashes should be 
religiously guarded as its most precious treasure ; 
and that its lessening spire, on which his eyes were 
fixed in tearful contemplation, should one day be- 
come the beacon, towering amidst the gentle land- 
scape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every nation 
to his tomb ! 



TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 



"I appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan's cabin 
hungty, and he gave him not to eat; if ever he came cold and 
naked, and he clothed him not." — Speech of an Indian Chief. 

There is something in the character and habits 
of the North American savage, taken in connexion 
with the scenery over which he is accustomed to 
range, its vast lakes, boundless forests, majestic 
rivers, and trackless plains, that is, to my mind,' 
wonderfully striking and sublime. He is formed for 
the wilderness, as the Arab is for the desert. His 
nature is stern, simple, and enduring ; fitted to grap- 
'ple with difficulties, and to support privations. 
There seems but little soil in his heart for the growth 
of the kindly virtues ; and yet, if v.'e would but take 
the trouble to penetrate through that proud stoicism 
.and habitual taciturnity, which look up his character 
;from casual observation, we should find him linked 
;to his fellow man of civilized life by more of those 



sympathies and affections than are usually ascribed 
to him. 

It has been the lot of the unfortunate aborigines 
of America, in the early periods of colonization, to be 
doubly wronged by the white men. They have been 
dispossessed of their hereditary possessions, by mer- 
cenary and frequently wanton warfare; and their 
characters have been traduced by bigoted and inter- 
ested writers. The colonist has often treated them 
like beasts of the forest ; and the author has endea- 
voured to justify him in his outrages. The former 
found it easier to exterminate than to civilize — the 
latter to vilify than to discriminate. The appella- 
tions of savage and pagan were deemed sufficient to 
sanction the hostilities of both ; and thus the poor 
wanderers of the forest were persecuted and defamed, 
not because they were guilty, but because they were 
ignorant. 

The rights of the savage have seldom been prop- 
erly appreciated or respected by the white man. In 
peace, he has too often been the dupe of artful traffic ; 
in war, he has been regarded as a terocious animal, 
whose life or death was a question of mere precau- 
tion and convenience. Man is cruelly wasteful of 
life when his own safety is endangered, and he is 
sheltered by impunity ; and little mercy is to be ex- 
pected from him when he feels the sting of the rep- 
tile, and is conscious of the power to destroy. 

The same prejudices which were indulged thus 
early, exist in common circulation at the present day. 
Certain learned societies have, it is true, with lauda- 
ble diligence, endeavoured to investigate and record 
the real characters and manners of the Indian tribes ; 
the American government, too, has wisely and hu- 
manely exerted itself to inculcate a friendly and for- 
bearing spirit towards them, and to protect them 
from traud and injustice.* The current opinion of 
the Indian character, however, is too apt to be 
formed from the miserable hordes which infest the 
frontiers, and hang on the skirts of the settlements. 
These are too commonly composed of degenerate 
beings, corrupted and enfeebled by the vices of 
society, without being benefited by its civilization. 
That proud independence, which formed the main 
pillar of savage virtue, has been shaken down, and 
the whole moral fabric lies in ruins. Their spirits 
are humiliated and debased by a sense of inferiority, 
and their native courage cowed and daunted by the 
superior knowledge and power of their enlightened 
neighbours. Society has advanced upon them like 
one of those withering airs that will sometimes 
breathe desolation over a whole region of fertility. 
It has enervated their strength, multiplied their dis- 
eases, and superinduced upon their original barbarity 
the low vices of artificial life. It has given them a 
thousand superfluous wants, whilst it has diminished 
their means of mere existence. It has driven before 
it the animals of the chase, who fly from the sound 
of the axe and the smoke of the settlement, and seek 
refuge in the depths of remoter forests and yet un- 
trodden wilds Thus do we too often find the Indians 
on our frontiers to be mere wrecks and remnants of 
once powerful tribes, who have lingered in the vi- 
cinity of the settlements, and sunk into precarious and 
vagabond existence. Poverty, repining and hopeless 
poverty, a canker of the mind unknown in savage 
life, corrodes their spirits and blights every free and 
noble quality of their natures. They become drunken, 



♦The American government has been indefatigable in its exer- 
tions to meliorate the situation of the Indians, and to introduce 
among them the arts of civilization, and civil and religious knowl- 
edge. To protect them from the frauds of the white traders, no 
purchase of land from them by individuals is permitted ; norisany 
person allowed to receive lands from them as a present, without 
the express sanction of government. These precautions are 
strictly enforced. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



73 



indolent, feeble, thievish, and pusillanimous. They 
loiter like vagrants about the settlements among 
spacious dwellings, replete with elaborate comforts, 
which only render them sensible of the comparative 
wretchedness of their own condition. Luxury spreads 
its ample board before their eyes ; but they are ex- 
cluded from the banquet. Plenty revels over the 
fields ; but they are starving in the midst of its 
abundance : the whole wilderness has blossomed 
into a garden ; but they feel as reptiles that infest it. 

How different was their state, while yet the un- 
disputed lords of the soil ! Their wants were few, 
and the means of gratification within their reach. 
They saw every one round them sharing the same 
lot, enduring the same hardships, feeding on the 
same aliments, arrayed in the same rude garments. 
No roof then rose, but was open to the homeless 
stranger ; no smoke curled among the trees, but he 
was welcome to sit down by its fire and join the 
hunter in his repast. " For," says an old historian 
of New-England, " their life is so void of care, and 
they are so loving also, that they make use of those 
things they enjoy as common goods, and are therein 
so compassionate, that rather than one should starve 
through want, they would starve all ; thus do they 
pass their time merrily, not regarding our pomp, but 
are better content with their own, which soine men 
esteem so meanly of." Such were the Indians, 
whilst in the pride and energy' of their primitive 
natures ; they resemble those wild plants which 
thrive best in the shades of the forest, but shrink 
from the hand of cultivation, and perish beneath the 
influence of the sun. 

In discussing the savage character, writers have 
been too prone to indulge in vulgar prejudice and 
passionate exaggeration, instead of the candid tem- 
ner of true philosophy. They have not sufficiently 
considered the peculiar circumstances in which the 
Indians have been placed, and the peculiar princi- 
ples under which they have been educated. No 
being acts more rigidly from rule than the Indian. 
His whole conduct is regulated according to some 
general maxims early implanted in his mind. The 
moral laws that govern him are, to be sure, but few ; 
but then he conforms to them all ; — the white man 
abounds in laws of religion, morals, and manners, 
but how many does he violate ! 

A frequent ground of accusation against the In- 
dians is their disregard of treaties, and the treachery 
and wantonness with which, in time of apparent 
peace, they will suddenly fly to hostilities. The in- 
tercourse of the white men with the Indians, how- 
ever, is too apt to be cold, distrustful, oppressive, 
and insulting. They seldom treat them with that 
confidence and frankness which are indispensable to 
real friendship ; nor is sufficient caution observed 
not to offend against those feelings of pride or super- 
stition, which often prompt the Indian to hostility 
quicker than mere considerations of interest. The 
solitary savage feels silently, but acutely. His sen- 
sibilities are not diffused over so wide a surfa.ce as 
those of the white man ; but they run in steadier 
and deeper channels. His pride, his affections, his 
superstitions, are all directed towards fewer objects ; 
but the wounds inflicted on them are proportiona- 
bly severe, and furnish motives of hostility which 
we cannot sufficiently appreciate. Where a com- 
munity is also limited m number, and forms one 
great patriarchal family, as in an Indian tribe, the 
injury of an individual is the injury of the whole ; 
and the sentiment of vengeance is almost instan- 
taneously diffused. One council-fire is sufficient for 
the discussion and arrangement of a plan of hostili- 
ties. Here all the fighting men and sages assemble. 
Eloquence and superstition combine to inflame the 



minds of the warriors. The orator awakens their 
martial ardour, and they are wrought up to a kind 
of religious desperation, by the visions of the prophet 
and the dreamer. 

An instance of one of those sudden exasperations, 
arising from a motive peculiar to the Indian charac- 
ter, is extant in an old record of the early settle- 
ment of Massachusetts. The planters of Plymouth 
had defaced the monuments of the dead at Passon- 
agessit, and had plundered the grave of the Sa- 
chem's mother of some skins with which it had 
been decorated. The Indians are remarkable for 
the reverence which they entertain for the sepulchres 
of their kindred. Tribes that have passed genera- 
tions exiled from the abodes of their ancestors, when 
by chance they have been travelling in the vicinity, 
have been known to turn aside from the highway, 
and, guided by wonderfully accurate tradition, have 
crossed the country for miles to some tumulus, 
buried perhaps in woods, where the bones of their 
tribe were anciently deposited ; and there have 
passed hours in silent meditation. Influenced by 
this sublime and holy feeling, the Sachem, whose 
mother's tomb had been violated, gathered his men 
together, and addressed them in the following beau- 
tifully simple and pathetic harangue ; a curious speci- 
men of Indian eloquence, and an affecting instance 
of filial piety in a savage. 

" When last the glorious light of all thd sky was 
underneath this globe, and birds grew silent, I began 
to settle, as my custom is, to take repose. Before 
mine eyes were fast closed, methought I saw a vis- 
ion, at which my spirit was much troubled ; and 
trembling at that doleful sight, a spirit cried aloud, 
' Behold, my son, whom I have cherished, see the 
breasts that gave thee suck, the hands that lapped 
thee warm, and fed thee oft. Canst thou forget to 
take revenge of those wild people, w^ho have defaced 
my monument in a despiteful manner, disdaining 
our antiquities and honourable customs .'' See, now, 
the Sachem's grave lies like the common people, de- 
faced by an ignoble race. Thy mother doth com- 
plain, and implores thy aid against this thievish peo- 
ple, who have newly intruded on our land. If this 
be suffered, I shall not rest quiet in my everlasting 
habitation.' This said, the spirit vanished, and I, 
all in a sweat, not able scarce to speak, began to 
get some strength, and recollected my spirits that 
were fled, and determined to demand your counsel 
and assistance." 

I have adduced this anecdote at some length, as 
it tends to show how these sudden acts of hostility, 
which have been attributed to caprice and perfidy, 
may often arise from deep and generous motives, 
which our inattention to Indian character and cus- 
toms prevents our properly appreciating. 

Another ground of violent outcry against the In- 
dians, is their barbarity to the vanquished. This 
had its origin partly in policy and partly in supersti- 
tion. The tribes, though sometimes called nations, 
were never so formidable in their numbers, but that 
the loss of several warriors was sensibly felt ; this 
was particularly the case when they had been fre- 
quently engaged in warfare ; and many an instance 
occurs in Indian history, where a tribe, that had 
long been formidable to its neighbours, has been 
broken up and driven away, by the capture and 
massacre of its principal fighting men. There was 
a strong temptation, therefore, to the victor to be 
merciless ; not so much to gratify any cruel revenge, 
as to provide for future security. "The Indians had 
also the superstitious belief, frequent among bar- 
barous nations, and prevalent also among the an- 
cients, that the manes of their friends who had 
fallen in battle, were soothed by the blood of tho 



n 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



captives. The prisoners, however, who are not thus 
sacrificed, are adopted into their families in the place 
of the slain, and are treated with the confidence 
and affection of relatives and Iriends ; nay, so hos- 
pitable and tender is their entertainment, that when 
the alternative is offered them, they will often prefer 
to remain with their adopted brethren, rather than 
return to the home and the friends of their youth. 

The cruelty of the Indians towards their prisoners 
has been heightened since the colonization of the 
whites. What was formerly a compliance with policy 
and superstition, has been exasperated into a gratifi- 
cation of vengeance. They cannot but be sensible 
that the white men are the usurpers of their ancient 
dominion, the cause of their degradation, and the 
gradual destroyers of their race. They go forth to 
battle, smarting with injuries and indignities which 
they have individually suffered, and they are driven 
to madness and despair by the wide-spreading deso- 
lation, and the ovenvhelming ruin of European war- 
fare. The whites have too frequently set them an 
example of violence, by burning their villages and 
laying waste their slender means of subsistence ; and 
yet they wonder that savages do not show modera- 
tion and magnanimity towards those who have left 
them nothing but mere existence and wretchedness. 

We stigmatize the Indians, also, as cowardly and 
treacherous, because they use stratagem in warfare, 
in preference to open force ; but in this they are fully 
justified by their rude code of honour. They are 
early taught that stratagem is praiseworthy : the 
bravest warrior thinks it no disgrace to lurk in 
silence, and take every advantage of his foe : he 
triumphs in the superior craft and sagacity by which 
he has been enabled to surprise and destroy an 
enemy. Indeed, man is naturally more prone to 
subtilty than open valour, owing to his physical 
weakness in comparison with other animals. They 
are endowed with natural weapons of defence : with 
horns, with tusks, with hoofs, and talons ; but man 
has to depend on his superior sagacity. In all his 
encounters with these, his proper enemies, he resorts 
to stratagem ; and when he perversely turns his 
hostility against his fellow man, he at first continues 
the same subtle mode of warfare. 

The natural principle of war is to do the most 
harm to our enemy, with the least harm to ourselves ; 
and this ot course is to be effected by stratagem. 
That chivalrous courage which induces us to despise 
the suggestions of prudence, and to rush in the face 
of certain danger, is the offspring of society, and 
produced by education. It is honourable, because 
it is in fact the triumph of lofty sentiment over an 
instinctive repugnance to pain, and over those yearn- 
ings after personal ease and security, which society 
has condemned as ignoble. It is kept alive by pride 
and the fear of shame; and thus the dread of real 
evil is overcome by the superior dread of an evil 
which exists but in the imagination. It has been 
cherished and stimulated also by various means. It 
has been the theme of spirit-stirring song and 
chivalrous story. The poet and minstrel have de- 
lighted to shed round it the splendours of fiction ;, 
and even the historian has forgotten the sober gravity 
of narration, and broken forth into enthusiasm and 
rhapsody in its praise. Triumphs and gorgeous 
pageants have been its reward : monuments, on 
which art has exhausted its skill, and opulence its 
treasures, have been erected to perpetuate a nation's 
gratitude and admiration. Thus artificially excited, 
courage has risen to an exhaordinary and factitious 
degree of heroism ; and, arrayed in all the glorious 
" pomp and circumstance of war," this turbulent 
quality has even been able to eclipse many of those 
quiet, but invaluable virtues, which silently ennoble 



the human character, and swell the tide of human 
happiness. 

But if courage intrinsically consists in the defiance 
of danger and pain, the life of the Indian is a con- 
tinual exhibition of it. He lives in a state of per- 
petual hostility and risk. Peril and adventure are 
congenial to his nature ; or rather seem necessary to 
arouse his faculties and to give an interest to his 
existence. Surrounded by hostile tribes, whose mode 
of w'arfare is by ambush and surprisal, he is always 
prepared for fight, and lives with his weapons in his 
hands. As the ship careers in fearful singleness 
through the solitudes of ocean, — as the bird mingles 
among clouds and storms, and wings its way, a mere 
speck, across the pathless fields of air ; so the Indian 
holds his course, silent, solitary, but undaunted, 
through the boundless bosom of the wilderness. 
His expeditions may vie in distance and danger with 
the pilgrimage of the devotee, or the crusade of the 
knight-errant. He traverses vast forests, exposed 
to the hazards of lonely sickness, of lurking enemies, 
and pining famine. Stormy lakes, those great in- 
land seas, are no obstacles to his wanderings : in 
his light canoe of bark, he sports like a feather on 
their waves, and darts with the swiftness of an arrow 
down the roaring rapids of the rivers. His very 
subsistence is snatched from the midst of toil and 
peril. He gains his food by the hardships and 
dangers of the chase ; he wraps himself in the spoils 
of the bear, the panther, and the buffaloe ; and sleeps 
among the thunders of the cataract. 

No hero of ancient or modern da3'S can surpass 
the Indian in his lofty contempt of death, and the 
fortitude with which he sustains its cruelest afflic- 
tion. Indeed, we here behold him rising superior 
to the white man, in consequence of his peculiar 
education. The latter rushes to glorious death at 
the cannon's mouth ; the former calmly contemplates 
its approach, and triumphantly endures it, amidst 
the varied torments of surrounding foes, and the 
protracted agonies of fire. He even takes a pride 
in taunting his persecutors, and provoking their 
ingenuity of torture ; and as the devouring flames 
prey on his very vitals, and the flesh shrinks from 
the sinews, he raises his last song of triumph, breath- 
ing the defiance of an unconquered heart, and in- 
voking the spirits of his fathers to witness that he 
dies without a groan. 

Notwithstanding the obloquy with which the early 
historians have overshadowed the characters of the 
unfortunate nauves, some bright gleams occasionally 
break through, which throw a degree of melancholy 
lustre on their memories. Facts are occasionally to 
be met with in the rude annals of the eastern prov- 
inces, which, though recorded with the colouring of 
prejudice and bigotrv, yet speak for themselves ; and 
will be dwelt on with applause and sympathy, when 
prejudice shall have passed away. 

In one of the homely narratives of the Indian wars 
in New-England, there is a touching account of the 
desolsktion carried into the tribe of the Pequod In- 
dians. Humanity shrinks from the cold-blooded de- 
tail of indiscriminate butchery. In one place we 
read of the surprisal of an Indian fort in the night, 
when the wigwams were wrapped in flames, and 
the miserable inhabitants shot down and slain in 
attempting to escape, " all being despatched and 
ended in the course of an hour." After a series of 
similar transactions, " our soldiers," as the histotiaii 
piously observes, " being resolved by God's assist- 
ance to make a final destruction of them," the un- 
happy savages being hunted from their homes and fort- 
resses, and pursued with fire and sword, a scanty but 
gallant band, the sad remnant of the Pequod warriors, 
with their wives and children, took refuge in a swamp. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



75 



Burning with indignation, and rendered sullen lay 
il'spair; with hearts bursting with grief at the de- 
struction of their tribe, and spirits galled and sore at 
the fancied ignominy of their defeat, they refused to 
ask their lives at the hands of an insulting foe, and 
preferred death to submission. 

.\s the night drew on, they were surrounded in 
their dismal retreat, so as to render escape impracti- 
c ible. Thus situated, their enemy " plied them with 
si Hit all the time, by which means many were killed 
and buried in the mire." In the darkness and fog 
tiiat preceded the dawn of day, some few broke 
through the besiegers and escaped into the woods : 
" the rest were left to the conquerors, of which many 
were killed in the swamp, like sullen dogs who 
would rather, in their self-willedness and madness, 
sit still and be shot through, or cut to pieces," than 
implore for mercy. When the day broke upon this 
handfull of forlorn but dauntless spirits, the soldiers, 
we are told, entering the swamp, " saw several heaps 
of them sitting close together, upon whom they dis- 
charged their pieces, laden with ten or twelve pistol- 
bullets at a time ; putting the muzzles of the pieces 
under the boughs, within a few yards of them ; so 
as, besides those that were found dead, many more 
were killed and sunk into the mire, and never were 
minded more by friend or foe." 

Can any one read this plain unvarnished tale, 
without admiring the stern resolution, the unbend- 
ing pride, the loftiness of spirit, that seemed to nerve 
the hearts of these self-taught heroes, and to raise 
them above the instinctive feelings of human nature ? 
When the Gauls laid waste the city of Rome, they 
found the senators clothed in their robes and seated 
with stern tranquillity in their curule chairs ; in this 
manner they suffered death without resistance or 
even supplication. Such conduct was, in them, ap- 
plauded as noble and magnanimous — in the hapless 
Indians, it was reviled as obstinate and sullen. How 
truly are we the dupes of show and circumstance ! 
How different is virtue, clothed in purple and en- 
throned in state, from virtue naked and destitute, and 
perishing obscurely in a wilderness ! 

But I forbec-r to dwell on these gloomy pictures. 
The eastern tribes have long since disappeared ; the 
forests that sheltered them have been laid low, 
and scarce any traces remain of them in the 
thicklj'-settled states of New-England, excepting 
here and there the Indian name of a village or a 
stream. And such must sooner or later be the fate 
of those other tribes which skirt the frontiers, and 
have occasionally been inveigled from their forests to 
iningle in the wars of white men. In a little while, 
and they will go the way that their brethren have 
gone before. The few hordes which still linger 
about the shores of Huron and Superior, and the 
tributary streams of the Mississippi, will share the 
fate of those tribes that once spread over Massachu- 
setts and Connecticut, and lorded it along the proud 
banks of the Hudson ; of that gigantic race said to 
have existed on the borders of the Susquehanna ; 
and of those various nations that flourished about 
the Potowmac and the Rappahanoc, and that peo- 
pled the forests of the vast valley of Shenandoah. 
They will vanish like a vapour from the face of the 
earth ; their very history will be lost in forgetful- 
ness ; and " the places that now know them will 
know them no more for ever." Or if, perchance, 
some dubious memorial of them should survive, it 
may be in the romantic dreams of the poet, to people 
in imagination his glades and groves, like the fauns 
and satyrs and sylvan deities of antiquity. But 
should he venture upon the dark story of their 
wrongs and wretchedness ; should he tell how they 
were invaded, corrupted, despoiled ; driven from 



their native abodes and the sepulchres of their 
fathers ; hunted like wild beasts about the earth ; 
and sent down with violence and butchery to the 
grave — posterity will either turn with horror and 
incredulity from the tale, or blush with indignation 
at the inhumanity of their forefathers. — " We are 
driven back," said an old warrior, " until we can 
retreat no farther — our hatchets are broken, our 
bows are snapped, our fires are nearly extinguished 
— a little longer and the white man will cease to 
persecute us— for we shall cease to exist." 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET. 



AN INDIAN MEMOIR. 



As monumental bronze unchanged his look : 
A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook ; 
Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, 
The fierce extrenles of good and ill to brook 
Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. 

Campbell. 

It is to be regretted that those early writers who 
treated of the discovery and settlement of America, 
have not given us more particular and candid ac- 
counts of the remarkable characters that flourished 
in savage life. The scanty anecdotes which have 
reached us are full of peculiarity and interest ; they 
furnish us with nearer glimpses of human nature, 
and show what man is in a comparatively primitive 
state, and what he owes to civilization. There is 
something of the charm of discoveiy in lighting upon 
these wild and unexplored tracts of human nature ; 
in witnessing, as it were, the native growth of moral 
sentiment ; and perceiving those generous and ro- 
mantic qualities which have been artificially culti- 
vated by society, vegetating in spontaneous hardihood 
and rude magnificence. 

In civilized life, where the happiness, and indeed 
almost the existence, of man depends so much upon 
the opinion of his fellow men, he is constantly acting 
a studied part. The bold and peculiar traits of native 
character are refined away, or softened down by the 
levelling influence of what is termed good breeding ; 
and he practises so many petty deceptions, and af- 
fects so many generous sentiments, for the purposes 
of popularity, that it is difficult to distinguish his 
real, from his artificial character. The Indian, on 
the contrary, free from the restraints and refine- 
ments of polished life, and, in a great degree, a soli- 
tary and independent being, obeys the impulses of 
his. inclination or the dictates of his judgment; and 
thus the attributes of his nature, being freely in- 
dulged, grow singly great and striking. Society is 
like a lawn, where every roughness is smoothed, 
every bramble eradicated, and where the eye is de- 
lighted by the smiling verdure of a velvet surface ; 
he, however, who would study Nature in its wildness 
and variety, must plunge into the forest, must ex- 
plore the glen, must stem the torrent, and dare the 
precipice. 

These reflections arose on casually looking through 
a volume of early colonial history, wherein are re- 
corded, with great bitterness, the oatrages of the In- 
dians, and their wars with the settlers of New-En- 
gland. It is painful to perceive, even from these par- 
tial narratives, how the footsteps of civilization may 
be traced in the blood of the aborigines ; how easily 
the colonists were moved to hostility by the lust of 
conquest ; how merciless and exterminating was 
their warfare. The imagination shrinks at the idea, 



76 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



how many intellectual beings were hunted from the 
earth — how many brave and noble hearts, of Nat- 
ure's sterling coinage, were broken down and tram- 
pled in the dust ! 

Such was the fate of PHILIP OF POKANOKET, 
an Indian warrior, whose name was once a terror 
throughout Massachusetts and Connecticut. He 
was the most distinguished of a number of coteni- 
porary Sachems, who reigned over the Pequods, the 
Narrhagansets, the Wampanoags, and the other 
eastern tribes, at the time of the first settlement of 
New-England : a band of native untaught heroes ; 
who made the most generous struggle of which hu- 
man nature is capable ; fighting to the last gasp in 
the cause of their country, without a hope of victory 
or a thought of renown'. Worthy of an age of po- 
etry, and fit subjects for local story and romantic 
fiction, they have left scarcely any authentic traces 
on the page of history, but stalk, like gigantic shad- 
ows, in the dim twilight of tradition.* 

When the pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers are 
called by their descendants, first took refuge on the 
shores of the New World, from the religious persecu- 
tions of the Old, their situation was to the last de- 
gree gloomy and disheartening. Few in number, 
and that number rapidly perishing away through 
sickness and hardships ; surrounded by a howling 
wilderness and savage tribes ; exposed to the rigours 
of an almost arctic winter, and the vicissitudes of an 
ever-shifting climate ; their minds were filled with 
doleful forebodings, and nothing preserved them 
from sinking into despondency but the strong excite- 
ment of religious enthusiasm. In this forlorn situa- 
tion they were visited by Massasoit, chief .Sagamore 
of the Wampanoags, a powerful chief, who reigned 
over a great extent of country. Instead of taking 
advantage of the scanty number of the strangers, 
and expelling them from his territories into which 
they had intruded, he seemed at once to conceive 
for them a generous friendship, and extended to- 
wards them the rites of primitive hospitality. He 
came early in the spring to their settlement of New- 
Plymouth, attended by a mere handfull of followers ; 
entered into a solemn league of peace and amity ; sold 
them a. portion of the soil, and promised to secure 
for them the good-will of his savage allies. What- 
ever may be said of Indian perfidy, it is certain that 
the integrity and good faith of Massasoit have never 
been impeached. He continued a firm and magnan- 
imous friend of the white men; suffering them to 
extend their possessions, and to strengthen them- 
selves in the land ; and betraying no jealousy of their 
increasing power and prosperity. Shortly before his 
death, he came once more to New-Plymouth, with 
his son Alexander, for the purpose of renewing the 
covenant of peace, and of securing it to his posterity. 

At this conterence, he endeavoured to protect the 
religion of his forefathers from the encroaching zeal 
of the missionaries ; and stipulated that no farther 
attempt should be made to draw off his people from 
their ancient faith ; but, finding the English obsti- 
nately opposed to any such condition, he mildly re- 
linquished the demand. Almost the last act of his 
life was to bring his two sons, Alexander and Philip 
(as they had been named by the English) to the res- 
idence of a principal settler, recommending mutual 
kindness and confidence ; and entreating that the 
same love and amity which had existed between the 
white men and himself, might be continued after- 
wards with his children. The good old Sachem died 
in peace, and was happily gathered to his fathers be- 
fore sorrow came upon his tribe ; his children re- 

* While correcting the proof-sheets of this article, the author is 
inlormed, that a celebratetl English poet has nearly finished a he- 
roic poem on the story of Philip of Pokanoket. 



mained behind to experience the ingratitude of white 
men. 

His eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him. He 
was of a quick and impetuous temper, and proudly 
tenacious of his hereditary rights and dignity. The 
intrusive policy and dictatorial conduct of the 
strangers, excited his indignation ; and he beheld 
with uneasiness their exterminating wars with the 
neighbouring tribes. He was doomed soon to incur 
their hostility, being accused of plotting with the 
Narrhagansets to rise against the English and drive 
them from the land. It is impossible to say whether 
this accusation was warranted by facts, or was 
grounded on mere suspicions. It is evident, how- 
ever, by the violent and overbearing measures of the 
settlers, that they had by this time begun to feel con- 
scious of the rapid increase of their power, and to 
grow harsh and inconsiderate in their treatment of 
the natives. They despatched an armed force to 
seize upon Alexander, and to bring him before their 
court. He was traced to his woodland haunts, and 
surprised at a hunting house, where he was reposing 
with a band of his followers, unarmed, after the toils 
of the chase. The suddenness of his arrest, and the 
outrage offered to his- sovereign dignity, so preyed 
upon the irascible feelings of this proud savage, as 
to throw him into a raging fever ; he was permitted 
to return home on condition of sending his son as a 
pledge for his re-appearance ; but the blow he had 
received was fatal, and before he reached his home 
he fell a victim to the agonies of a wounded spirit. 

The successor of Alexander was Metamocet, or 
King Philip, as he was called by the settlers, on ac- 
count of his lofty spirit and ambitious temper. 
These, together with his well-known energy and 
enterprise, had rendered him an object of great jeal- 
ousy and apprehension, and he was accused of hav- 
ing always cherished a secret and implacable hostil- 
ity towards the whites. Such may very probably, 
and very naturally, have been the case. He consid- 
ered them as originally but mere intruders into the 
country, who had presumed upon indulgence, and 
were extending an influence baneful to savage life. 
He saw the whole race of his countrymen melting 
before them from the face of the earth ; their terri- 
tories slipping from their hands, and their tribes be- 
coming feeble, scattered, and dependent. It may be 
said that the soil was originally purchased by the 
settlers ; but who does not know the nature of In- 
dian purchases, in the early periods of colonization ? 
The Europeans always made thrifty bargains, 
through their superior adroitness in trafilc ; and 
they gained vast accessions of territory, by easily- 
provoked hostilities. An uncultivated savage is 
never a nice inquirer into the refinements of law, 
by which an injury may be gradually and legally in- 
flicted. Leading facts are all by which he judges ; 
and it was enough for Philip to know, that before 
the intrusion of the Europeans his countrymen were 
lords of the soil, and that now they were becoming 
vagabonds in the land of their fathers. 

But whatever may have been his feelings of gen- 
eral hostility, and bis particular indignation at the 
treatment of his brother, he suppressed them for the 
present ; renewed the contract with the settlers; and 
resided peaceably for many years at Pokanoket, or, 
as it was called by the English, Mount Hope,* the 
ancient seat of dominion of his tribe. Suspicions, 
however, which were at first but vague and indefi- 
nite, began to acquire form and substance ; and he 
was at length charged with attempting to instigate 
the various eastern tribes to rise at once, and, by a 
simultaneous effort, to throw off the yoke of their 



* Now Bristol, Rhode Island. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



77 



oppressors. It is difficult at this distant period to 
assign tlie proper credit due to tliese early accusa- 
tions against the Indians. There was a proneness 
to suspicion, and an aptness to acts of violence on 
the part of the whites, that gave weight and impor- 
tance to every idle tale. Informers abounded, where 
tale-bearing met with countenance and reward ; and 
the s'.vord was readily unsheathed, when its success 
was certain, and it carved out empire. 

The only positive evidence on record against 
Philip is the accusation of one Sausaman, a rene- 
gado Indian, whose natural cunning had been quick- 
ened by a partial education which he had received 
among the settlers. He changed his faith and his 
allegiance two or three times, with a facility that 
evinced the looseness of his principles. He had 
acted for some time as Philip's confidential secre- 
tary and counsellor, and had enjoyed his bounty and 
protection. Finding, however, that the clouds ol 
adversity were gathering round his patron, he aban- 
doned his service and went over to the whites ; and, 
in order to gain their favour, charged his former 
benefactor with plotting against their safety. A 
rigorous investigation took place. Philip and sev- 
eral of his subjects submitted to be examined, but 
nothing was proved against them. The settlers, 
however, had now gone too far to retract ; they had 
previously determined that Philip was a dangerous 
neighbour ; they had publicly evinced their distrust ; 
and had done enough to insure his hostility: accord- 
ing, therefore, to the usual mode of reasoning in 
these cases, his destruction had become necessary to 
their security. Sausaman, the treacherous informer, 
was shortly after found dead in a pond, having fallen 
a victim to the vengeance of his tribe. Three In- 
dians, one of whom was a friend and counsellor of 
Philip, were apprehended and tried, and, on the tes- 
timony of one very questionable witness, were con- 
demned and e.\ecuted as murderers. 

This treatment of his subjects and ignominious 
punishment of his friend, outraged the pride and ex- 
asperated the passions of Philip. The bolt which had 
fallen thus at his very feet, awakened him to the 
gathering storm, and he determined to trust himselt 
no longer in the power of the white men. The fate 
of his insulted and broken-hearted brother still 
rankled in his mind ; and he had a farther warning 
in the tragical story of Miantonimo, a great Sachem 
of the Narrhagansets, who, after manfully facing his 
accusers before a tribunal of the colonists, e.'^culpat- 
ing himself from a charge of conspiracy, and receiv- 
ing assurances of amity, had been perfidiously des- 
patched at their instigation. Philip, therefore, gath- 
ered his fighting men about him ; persuaded all 
strangers that he could, to join his cause ; sent the 
women and children to the Narrhagansets for safety ; 
and wherever he appeared, was continually sur- 
rounded by armed warriors. 

When the two parties were thus in a state of dis- 
trust and irritation, the least spark was sufficient to 
set them in a flame. The Indians, having weapons 
in their hands, grew mischievous, and committed 
various petty depredations. In one of their maraud- 
ings, a warrior was fired upon and killed by a set- 
tler. This was the signal for open hostilities ; the 
Indians pressed to revenge the death of their com- 
rade, and the alarm of war resounded through the 
Plymouth colony. 

In the early chronicles of these dark and melan- 
choly times, we meet with many indications of the 
diseased state of the public mind. The gloom of re- 
ligious abstraction, and the wildness of their situa- 
tion, among trackless forests and savage tribes, had 
disposed the colonists to superstitious fancies, and 
had filled their imaginations with the frightful 



chimeras of witchcraft and spectrology. They were 
much given also to a belief in omens. The troubles 
with Philip and his Indians were preceded, we are 
told, by a variety of those awful warnings which 
forerun great and public calamities. The perfect arm 
of an Indian bow appeared in the air at New-Plym- 
outh, which was looked upon by the inhabitants 
as a " prodigious apparition." At Hadley, North- 
ampton, and other towns in their neighbourhood, "was 
heard the report of a great piece of ordnance, with 
the shaking of the earth and a considerable echo."* 
Others were alarmed on a still sunshiny morning, 
by the discharge of guns and muskets ; bullets 
seemed to whistle past them, and the noise of drums 
resounded in the air, seeming to pass away to the 
westward ; others fancied that they heard the gal- 
loping of horses over their heads ; and certain mon- 
strous births which took place about the time, filled 
the superstitious in some towns with doleful forebod- 
ings. Many of these portentous sights and sounds 
may be ascribed to natural phenomena ; to the 
northern lights which occur vividly in those latitudes ; 
the meteors which explode in the air ; the casual 
rushing of a blast through the top branches of the for- 
est ; the crash of falling trees or disrupted rocks ; 
and to those other uncouth sounds and echoes, 
which will sometimes strike the ear so strangely 
amidst the profound stillness of woodland solitudes. 
These may have startled some melancholy imag- 
inations, niay have been exaggerated by the love for 
the marvellous, and listened to with that avidity with 
which we devour whatever is fearful and mysterious. 
The universal currency of these superstitious fancies, 
and the grave record made of them by one of the 
learned men of the day, are strongly characteristic 
of the times. 

The nature of the contest that ensued was such as 
too often distinguishes the warfare between civilized 
men and savages. On the part of the whites, it was 
conducted with superior skill and success ; but with 
a wastefulness of the blood, and a disregard of the 
natural rights of their antagonists : on the part of the 
Indians it was waged with the desperation of men 
fearless of death, and who had nothing to expect from 
peace, but humiliation, dependence, and decay. 

The events of the war are transmitted to us by a 
worthy clergyman of the time ; who dwells with 
horror and indignation on every hostile act of the 
Indians, however justifiable, whilst he mentions with 
applause the most sanguinary atrocities of the whites. 
Philip is reviled as a murderer and a traitor ; without 
considering that he was a trus-born prince, gallantly 
fighting at the head of his subjects to avenge the 
wrongs of his family ; to retrieve the tottering power 
of his line ; and to deliver his native land from the 
oppression of usurping strangers. 

The project of a wide and simultaneous revolt, if 
such had really been formed, was worthy of a capa- 
cious mind, and, had it not been prematurely discov- 
ered, might have been overwhelming in its conse- 
quences. The war that actually broke out was but 
a war of detail ; a mere succession of casual exploits 
and unconnected enterprises. Still it sets forth the 
military genius and daring prowess of Philip ; and 
wherever, in the prejudiced and passionate narrations 
that have been given of it, we can arrive at simple 
facts, we find him displaying a vigorous mind ; a fer- 
tility in expedients ; a contempt of suffering and hard- 
ship ; and an unconquerable resolution, that com- 
mand our sympathy and applause. 

Driven from his paternal domains at Mount Hope, 
he threw himself into the depths of those vast and 
trackless forests that skirted the settlements, and 



♦The Rev. Increase Mather's History. 



78 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



were almost impervious to any tliin^ but a wild beast 
or an Indian. Here he gathered together his forces, 
like the storm accumulating its stores of mischief in 
the bosom of the thunder-cloud, and would suddenly 
emerge at a time and place least expected, carrying 
havoc and dismay into the villages. There were 
now and then indications of these impending ravages, 
that filled the minds of the colonists with awe and 
apprehension. The report of a distant gun would 
perhaps be heard from the solitary woodland, where 
there was known to be no white man ; the cattle 
which had been wandering in the woods, would 
sometimes return home wounded ; or an Indian or 
two would be seen lurking about the skirts of the 
forests, and suddenly disappearing ; as the lightning 
will sometimes be seen playing silently about the 
edge of the cloud that is brewing up the tempest. 

Though sometimes pursued, and even surrounded 
by the settlers, yet Philip as often escaped almost 
miraculously from their toils; and plunging into the 
wilderness, would be lost to all search or inquiry 
untd he again emerged at some far distant quarter, 
laying the country desolate. Among his strong-holds 
were the great swamps or morasses, which extend 
in some parts of New-England ; composed of loose 
bogs of deep black mud ; perplexed with thickets, 
brambles, rank weeds, the shattered and mouldering 
trunks of fallen trees, overshadowed by lugubrious 
hemlocks. The uncertain footing and the tangled 
mazes of these shaggy wilds, rendered them almost 
impracticable to the white man, though the Indian 
could thread their labyrinths with the agility of a 
deer. Into one of these, the great swamp of Pocas- 
set Neck, was Philip once driven with a band of his 
followers. The English did not dare to pursue him, 
fearing to venture into these dark and frightful re- 
cesses, where they might perish in fens and miry pits, 
or be shot down by lurking Ibes. They therefore 
invested the entrance to the neck, and began to build 
a fort, with the thought of starving out the tee ; but 
Philip and his warriors wafted themselves on a raft 
over an arm of the sea, in the dead of night, leaving 
the women and children behind ; and escaped away 
to the westward, kindling the flames of war among 
the tribes of Massachusetts and the Nipmuck country, 
and threatening the colony of Connecticut. 

In this way Philip became a theme of universal 
apprehension. The mystery in which he was envel- 
oped exaggerated his real terrors. He was an evil 
that walked in darkness ; whose coming none could 
foresee, and against which none knew when to be on 
the alert. The whole country abounded with ru- 
mours and alarms. Philip seemed almost possessed 
of ubiquity ; for, in whatever part of the widely ex- 
tended frontier an irruption from the forest took 
place, Philip was said to be its leader. Many super- 
stitious notions also were circulated concerning him. 
He was said to deal in necromancy, and to be attend- 
ed by an old Indian witch or prophetess, whom he 
consulted, and who assisted him by her charms and 
incantations. This indeed was frequently the case 
with Indian chiefs ; either through their own credu- 
lity, or to act upon that of their followers : and the 
influence of the prophet and the dreamer over Indiari 
superstition has been fully evidenced in recent in- 
stances of savage warfare. 

At the time that Philip effected his escape from 
Pocasset, his fortunes were in a desperate condition 
His forces had been thinned by repeated fights, and 
he had lost almost the whole of his resources. In 
this time of adversity he found a faithful friend in 
Canonchet, Chief Sachem of all the Narrhagansets. 
He was the son and heir of Miantonimo, the great 
Sachem, who, as already mentioned, after an honour- 
able acquittal of the charge of conspiracy, had been 



privately put to death at the perfidious instigations 
of the settlers. "He was the heir," says the old 
chronicler, " of all his father's pride and insolence, 
as well as of his malice towards the English ; " he 
certainly was the heir of his insults and injuries, and 
the legitimate avenger of his murder. Though he 
had forborne to take an active part in this hopeless 
war, yet he received Philip and his broken forces with 
open arms ; and gave them the most generous coun- 
tenance and support. This at once drew upon him 
the hostility of the English ; and it was determined 
to strike a signal blow, that should involve both the 
Sachems in one common ruin. A great force was, 
therefore, gathered together from Massachusetts, 
Plymouth, and Connecticut, and was sent into the 
Narrhaganset country in the depth of winter, when 
the swamps, being frozen and leafless, could be trav- 
ersed with comparative facility, and would no longer 
afford dark and impenetrable fastnesses to the 
Indians. 

Apprehensive of attack, Canonchet had conveyed 
the greater part of his stores, together with the old, 
the infirm, the women and children of his tribe, to a 
strong fortress ; where he and Philip had likewise 
drawn up the flower of their forces. This fortress, 
deemed by the Indians impregnable, was situated 
upon a rising mound or kind of island, of five or six 
acres, in the midst of a swamp; it was constructed 
with a degree of judgment and skill vastly superior 
to what is usually displayed in Indian fortification, 
and indicative of the martial genius of these two 
chieftains. 

Guided by a renegado Indian, the English pene- 
trated, through December snows, to this strong-hold, 
and came upon the garrison by surprise. The fight 
was fierce and tumultuous. The assailants were 
repulsed in their first attack, and several of their 
bravest officers were shot down in the act of storm- 
ing the fortress, sword in hand. The assault was 
renewed with greater success. A lodgement was 
effected. The Indians were driven from one post to 
another. They disputed their ground inch by inch, 
fighting with the fury of despair. Most of their vete- 
rans were cut to pieces ; and after a long and bloody 
battle, Philip and Canonchet, with a handful! of sur- 
viving warriors, retreated from the fort, and took 
refuge in the thickets of the surrounding forest. ' 

The victors set fire to the wigwams and the fort ; 
the whole was soon in a blaze ; many of the old men, 
the women and the children, perished in the flames. 
This last outrage overcame even the stoicism of the 
savage. The neighbouring woods resounded with 
the yells of rage and despair, uttered by the fugitive 
warriors as they beheld the destruction of their 
dwellings, and heard the agonizing cries of their 
wives and offspring. "The burning of the wigwams," 
says a cotemporary writer, " the shrieks and cries of 
the women and children, and the yelling of the war- 
riors, exhibited a most horrible and affecting scene, 
so that it greatly moved some of the soldiers." The 
same writer cautiously adds, " they were in much 
doubt then, and afterwards seriously inquired, whether 
burning their enemies alive could be consistent with 
humanity, and the benevolent principles of the gos- 
pel."* 

The fate of the brave and generous Canonchet is 
worthy of particular mention : the last scene of his 
life is one of the noblest instances on record of 
Indian magnanimity. 

Broken down in his power and resources by this 
signal defeat, yet faithful to his ally and to the hap- 
less cause which he had espoused, he rejected all 
overtures of peace, offered on condition of betraying 



*MS. of the Rev. W. Ruggle^. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



Philip and his followers, and declared that " he 
would fight it out to the last man, rather than be- 
come a servant to the English." His home being 
destroyed ; his country harassed and laid waste by 
the incursions of the conquerors ; he was obliged to 
wander away to the banks of the Connecticut ; where 
he formed a rallying point to the whole body of 
western Indians, and laid waste several of the En- 
glish settlements. 

Early in the spring, he departed on a hazardous 
expedition, with only thirty chosen men, to pene- 
trate to Seaconck, in the vicinity of Mount Hope, 
and to procure seed-corn to plant for the sustenance 
of his troops. This little band of adventurers had 
passed safely through the Pequod country, and were 
in the centre of the Narrhaganset, resting at some 
wigwams near Pautucket river, when an alarm was 
given of an approaching enemy. Having but seven 
men by him at the time, Canonchet despatched two 
of them to the top of a neighbouring hill, to bring 
intelligence of the foe. 

Panic-struck by the appearance of a troop of En- 
glish and Indians rapidly advancing, they fled in 
breathless terror past their chieftain, without stop- 
ping to inform him of the danger. Canonchet sent 
another scout, who did the same. He then sent two 
more, one of whom, hurrying back in confusion and 
affright, told him that the whole British army was at 
hand. Canonchet saw there was no choice but im- 
mediate flight. He attempted to escape round the 
hill, but was perceived and hotly pursued by the hos- 
tile Indians, and a few of the fleetest of the English. 
Finding the swiftest pursuer close upon his heels, he 
threw off, first his blanket, then his silver-laced coat 
and belt of peag, by which his enemies knew him to 
be Canonchet, and redoubled the eagerness of 
pursuit. 

At length, in dashing through the river, his foot 
slipped upon a stone, and he fell so deep as to wet 
his gun. This accident so struck him with despair, 
that, as he afterwards confessed, "his heart and his 
bowels turned within him, and he became like a 
rotten stick, void of strength." 

To such a degree was he unnerved, that, being 
seized by a Pequod Indian within a short distance 
of the river, he made no resistance, though a man 
of great vigour of body and boldness of heart. But 
on being made prisoner, the whole pride of his spirit 
arose within him ; and from that moment, we find, 
in the anecdotes given by his enemies, nothing but 
repeated flashes of elevated and prince-like heroism. 
Being questioned by one of the English who first 
came up with him, and who had not attained his 
twenty-second year, the proud-hearted warrior, look- 
ing v/ith lofty contempt upon his youthful counte- 
nance, replied, " You are a child — you cannot under- 
stand matters of war — let your brother or your chief 
come — him will I answer." 

Though repeated offers were made to him of his 
life, on condition of submitting with his nation to the 
English, yet he rejected them with disdain, and re- 
fused to send any proposals of the kind to the great 
body of his subjects ; saying, that he knew none of 
them would comply. Being reproached with his 
breach of faith towards the whites ; his boast that 
he would not deliver up a Wampanoag, nor the par- 
ings of a Wanipanoag's nail ; and his threat that 
he would burn the English alive in their houses ; he 
disdained to justify himself, haughtily answering that 
others were as forward for the war as himself, " and 
he desired to hear no more thereof." 

So noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a fidelity 
to his cause and his friend, might have touched the 
feelings of the generous and the brave; but Canon- 
chet was an Indian ; a being towards whom war had 



no courtesy, humanity no law, religion no compas- 
sion — he was condemned to die. The last words 
of his that are recorded, are worthy the greatness 
of his soul. When sentence of death was passed 
upon him. he observed, " that he liked it well, for he 
should die before his heart was soft, or he had spoken 
any thing unworthy of himself." His enemies gave 
him the death of a soldier, for he was shot at Ston- 
ingham, bv three young Sachems of his own rank. 

The defeat of the Narrhaganset fortress, and the 
death of Canonchet, were fatal blows to the fortunes 
of King Philip. He made an ineffectual attempt to 
raise a head of war, by stirring up the Mohawks to 
take arms ; but though possessed of the native tal- 
ents of a statesman, his arts were counteracted liy 
the superior arts of his enlightened enemies, and the 
terror of their warlike skill began to subdue the res- 
olution of the neighbouring tribes. The unfortu- 
nate chieftain saw himself daily stripped of power, 
and his ranks rapidly thinning around him. Some 
were suborned by the whites ; others fell victims to 
hunger and fatigue, and to the frequent attacks by 
which they were harassed. His stores were all cap- 
tured ; his chosen friends were swept away from be- 
fore his eyes ; his uncle was shot down by his side ; 
his sister was carried into captivity ; and in one of 
his narrow escapes he was compelled to leave his 
beloved wife and only son to the mercy of the enemy. 
"His ruin," says the historian, "being thus gradu- 
ually carried on, his misery was not prevented, but 
augmented thereby ; being himself made acquainted 
with the sense and experimental feeling of the cap- 
tivity of his children, loss of friends, slaughter of his 
subjects, bereavement of all family relations, and 
being stripped of all outward comforts, before his 
own life should be taken away." 

To fill up the measure of his misfbrtunes, his own 
followers began to plot against his life, that by sacri- 
ficing him they might purchase dishonourable safety. 
Through treachery, a number of his faithful adher- 
ents, the subjects of Wetamoe, an Indian princess 
of Pocasset, a near kinswoman and confederate of 
Philip, were betrayed into the hands of the enemy. 
Wetamoe was among them at the time, and attempt- 
ed to make her escape by crossing a neighbouring 
river : either exhausted by swimming, or starved 
with cold and hunger, she was found dead and 
naked near the water side. But persecution ceased 
not at the grave: even death, the refuge of the 
wretched, where the wicked commonly cease from 
troubling, was no protection to this outcast female, 
whose great crime was affectionate fidelity to her 
kinsman and her friend. Her corpse was the object 
of unmanly and dastardly vengeance ; the head was 
severed from the body and set upon a pole, and was 
thus exposed, at Taunton, to the view of her captive 
subjects. They immediately recognised the features 
of their unfortunate queen, and were so affected at 
this barbarous spectacle, that we are told they broke 
forth into the " most horrid and diabolical lamenta- 
tions." 

However Philip had borne up against the compli- 
cated miseries and misfortunes that surrounded him, 
the treachery of his followers seemed to wring his 
heart and reduce him to despondency. It is said that 
" he never rejoiced afterwards, nor had success in 
any of his designs." The spring of hope was broken 
— the ardour of enterprise was extinguished : he 
looked around, and all was danger and darkness ; 
there was no eye to pity, nor any arm that could 
bring deliverance. With a scanty band of followers, 
who still remained true to his desperate fortunes, 
the unhappy Philip wandered back to the vicinity of 
Mount Hope, the ancient dwelling of his fathers. 
Here he lurked about, like a spectre, among the 



80 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



scenes of former power and prosperity, now bereft of 
home, of family, and friend. There needs no better 
picture of his destitute and piteous situation, than 
that furnished by the homely pen of the chronicler, 
who is unwarily enlisting the feelings of the reader 
in favour of the hapless warrior whom he reviles. 
" Philip," he says, "like a savage wild beast, having 
been hunted by the English forces through the woods 
above a hundred miles backward and forward, at 
last was driven to his own den upon Mount Hope, 
where he retired, with a few of his best friends, into 
a swamp, which proved but a prison to keep him fast 
till the messengers of death came by divine permis- 
sion to execute vengeance upon him." 

Even at this last refuge of desperation and despair, 
a sullen grandeur gathers round his memory. We 
picture him to ourselves seated among his care-worn 
followers, brooding in silence over his blasted for- 
tunes, and acquiring a savage sublimity from the 
vvildness and dreariness of his lurking-place. De- 
feated, but not dismayed — crushed to the earth, but 
not humiliated — he seemed to grow more haughty 
beneath disaster, and to experience a fierce satisfac- 
tion in draining the last dregs of bitterness. Little 
minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune ; but 
great minds rise above it. The very idea of sub- 
mission awakened the fury of Philip, and he smote 
to death one of his followers, who proposed an ex- 
pedient of peace. The brother of the victim made 
his escape, and in revenge betrayed the retreat of 
his chieftain. A body of white men and Indians 
were immediately despatched to the swamp where 
Philip lay crouched, glaring with fury and despair. 
Before he was aware of their approach, they had 
begun to surround him. In a little while he saw 
five of his trustiest followers laid dead at his feet; 
all resistance was vain ; he rushed forth from his 
covert, and made a headlong attempt at escape, but 
was shot through the heart by a renegado Indian 
of his own nation. 

Such is the scanty story of the brave, but unfortu- 
nate King Philip ; persecuted while living, slandered 
and dishonoured when dead. If, however, we con- 
sider even the prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by 
his enemies, we may perceive in them traces of 
amiable and lofty character, sufficient to awaken 
sympathy for his fate and respect for his memory. 
We find, that amidst all the harassing cares and 
ferocious passions of constant warfare, he was alive 
to the softer feelings of connubial love and paternal 
tenderness, and to the generous sentiment of friend- 
ship. The captivity of his " beloved wife and only 
son" is mentioned with exultation, as causing him 
poignant misery : the death of any near friend is 
triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his sensi- 
bilities ; but the treachery and desertion of many of 
his followers, in whose affections he had confided, is 
said to have desolated his heart, and to have be- 
reaved him of all farther comfort. He was a patriot, 
attached to his native soil — a prince true to his sub- 
jects, and indignant of their wrongs — a soldier, 
daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, 
of hunger, of every variety of bodily suffering, and 
ready to perish in the cause he had espoused. Proud. 
of heart, and with an untameable love of natural 
liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of 
the forests, or in the dismal and famished recesses 
of swamps and morasses, rather than bow his 
haughty spirit to submission, and live dependent 
and despised in the ease and luxury of the settle- 
ments. With heroic qualities and bold achievements 
that would have graced a civilized warrior, and have 
rendered him the theme of the poet and the histo- 
rian ; he lived a wanderer and a fugitive in his native 
land, and went down, like a lonely bark, foundering 



amid darkness and tempest — without a pitying eye 
to weep his fall, or a friendly hand to I'ecord his 
struggle. 



JOHN BULL 



An old song, made by an aged old pate, 
Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate. 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate. 

with an old study fill'd full of learned old books, 
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks, 
With an old buttery-hatch worn quite off the h(\oks. 
And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks. 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

Old Song. 

There is no species of humour in which the En- 
glish more excel, than that which consists in carica- 
turing and giving ludicrous appellations or nick- 
names. In this way they have whimsically desig- 
nated, not merely individuals, but nations ; and in 
their fondness for pushing a joke, they have not 
spared even themselves. One would think that, in 
personifying itself, a nation would be apt to picture 
something grand, heroic, and imposing; but it is 
characteristic of the peculiar humour of the English, 
and of their love for what is blunt, comic, and famil- 
iar, that they have embodied their national oddities 
in the figure of a sturdy, corpulent old fellow, with a 
three-cornered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, 
and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a 
singular delight in exhibiting their most private foi- 
bles in a laughable point of view ; and have been so 
successful in their delineation, that there is scarcely 
a being in actual existence more absolutely present 
to the public mind, than that eccentric personage, 
John Bull. 

Perhaps the continual contemplation of the char- 
acter thus drawn of them, has contributed to fix it 
upon the nation ; and thus to give reality to what at 
first may have been painted in a great measure from 
the imagination. Men are apt to acquire peculiari- 
ties that are continually ascribed to them. The 
common orders of English seem wonderfully capti- 
vated with the beau ideal which they have formed of 
John Bull, and endeavour to act up to the broad car- 
icature that is perpetually before their eyes. Unluck- 
ily, they sometiines make their boasted Bull-ism an 
apology for their prejudice or grossness ; and this I 
have especially noticed among those truly home- 
bred and genuine sons of the soil who have never 
migrated beyond the sound of Bow-bells. If one of 
these should be a little uncouth in speech, and apt 
to utter impertinent truths, he confesses that he is a 
real John Bull, and always speaks his mind. If he 
now and then flies into an unreasonable burst of pas- 
sion about trifles, he observes that John Bull is a 
choleric old blade, but then his passion is over in a 
moment, and he bears no malice. If he betrays a 
coarseness of taste, and an insensibility to foreign 
refinements, he thanks Heaven for his ignorance — he 
is a plain John Bull, and has no relish for frippery and 
knicknacks. His very proneness to be gulled by 
strangers, and to pay extravagantly for absurdities, 
is excused under the plea of munificence — for John 
is always more generous than wise. 

Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will con- 
trive to argue every fault into a merit, and will frank- 
ly convict himself of being the honestest fellow in 
existence. 

Hov/ever little, therefore, the character may have 
suited in the first instance, it has gradually adapted 
itself to the nation, or rather they have adapted 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



81 



themselves to each other ; and a stranger who wishes 
to study English peculiarities, may gather much val- 
uable information from the innumerable portraits of 
John Bull, as exhibited in the windows of the carica- 
ture-shops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile 
humorists, that are continually throwing out new 
portraits, and presenting different aspects from dif- 
ferent points of view ; and, often as he has been de- 
scribed, I cannot resist the temptation to give a slight 
sketch of him, such as he has met my eye. 

John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain downright 
matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about 
him than rich prose. There is little of romance in 
his nature, but a vast deal of strong natural feeling. 
He excels in humour more than in wit ; is jolly rather 
than gay ; melancholy rather than morose ; can easi- 
ly be moved to a sudden tear, or surprised into a 
broad laugh ; but he loathes sentiment, and has no 
turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, 
if you allow him to have his humour, and to talk 
about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a 
quarrel, with life and purse, however soundly he may 
be cudgelled. 

In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a pro- 
pensitv to be somewhat too ready. He is a busy- 
minded personage, who thinks not merely for him- 
self and family, but for all the country round, and is 
most generally disposed to be every body's cham- 
pion. He is continually volunteering his services to 
settle his neighbours' affairs, and takes it in great 
dudgeon if they engage in any matter of consequence 
without asking his advice; though he seldom en- 
gages in any I'riendly office of the kind without fin- 
ishing by getting into a squabble with all parties, 
and thei; railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He 
unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble sci- 
ence of defence, and having accomplished himself in 
the use of his limbs and his weapons, and become a 
perfect master at boxing and cudgel-play, he has had 
a troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear 
of a quarrel between the most distant of his neigh- 
bours, but he begins incontinently to fumble with the 
head of his cudgel, and consider whether his interest 
or honour does not require that he should meddle in 
the broil. Indeed, he has extended his relations of 
pride and policy so completely over the whole coun- 
try, that no event can take place, without infringing 
some of his finely-spun rights and dignities. Couched 
in his little domain, with these filaments stretching 
forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, 
bottle-bellied old spider, who has woven his web 
over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor 
a breeze blow, without startling his repose, and caus- 
ing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. 

Though really a good-hearted, good-tempered old 
fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being 
in the midst of contention. It is one of his peculiari- 
ties, however, that he only relishes the beginning of 
an affray; he always goes into a fight with alacrity, 
but comes out of it grumbling even when victorious ; 
and though no one fights with more obstinacy to 
carry a contested point, yet, when the battle is over, 
and he comes to the reconciliation, he is so much 
taken up with the mere shaking of hands, that he is 
apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they have 
been quarrelling about. It is not, therelbre, fighting 
that he ought so much to be on his guard against, 
as making Iriends. It is difficult to cudgel him out 
ot a farthing ; but put him in a good humour, and you 
may bargain him out of all the money in his pocket. 
He is like a stout ship, which will weather the rough- 
est storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in 
the succeeding calm. 

He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad ; 
of pulling out a long purse ; flinging his money 
G 



bravely about at boxing-matches, horse-races, cock- 
fights, and carrying a high head among " gentlemen 
of the fancy;" but immediately after one of these 
fits of extravagance, he will be taken with violent 
qualms of economy ; stop short at the most trivial 
expenditure ; talk desperately of being ruined and 
brought upon the parish ; and in such moods will 
not pay the smallest tradesman's bill without violent 
altercation. He is, in fact, the most punctual and 
discontented paymaster in the world ; drawing his 
coin out of his breeches pocket with infinite reluc- 
tance ; paying to the uttermost farthing, but accom- 
panying every guinea with a growl. 

With all his talk of economy, however, he is a 
bountiful provider, and a hospitable house-keeper. 
His economy is of a V;himsical kind, its chief object 
being to devise how he may afford to be extrava- 
gant ; for he will begrudge himself a beef-steak and 
pint of port one day, that he may roast an ox whole, 
broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neigh- 
bours on the next. 

His domestic establishment is enormously expen- 
sive : not so much from any great outward parade, 
as from the great consumption of solid beef and 
pudding ; the vast number of followers he feeds and 
clothes ; and his singular disposition to pay hugely 
for small sen'ices. He is a most kind and indulgent 
master, and, provided his servants humour his pecul- 
iarities, flatter his vanity a little now and then, and 
do not peculate grossly on him before his face, they 
may manage him to perfection. Every thing that 
lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat. His 
house servants are well paid, and pampered, and 
have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, 
and prance slowly before his state carriage ; and his 
house-dogs sleep quietly about the door, and will 
hardly bark at a house-breaker. 

His family mansion is an old castellated manor- 
house, gray with age, and of a most venerable, 
though weather-beaten, appearance. It has been 
built upon no regular plan, but is a vast accumula- 
tion of parts, erected in various tastes and ages. 
The centre bears evident traces of Saxon architect- 
ure, and is as solid as ponderous stone and old En- 
glish oak can make it. Like all the relics of that 
style, it is full of obscure passages, intricate mazes, 
and dusky chambers ; and though these have been 
partially lighted up in modem days, yet there are 
many places where you must still grope in the dark. 
Additions have been made to the original edifice 
from time to time, and great alterations have taken 
place ; towers and battlements have been erected 
during wars and tumults ; wings built in time of 
peace ; and out-houses, lodges, and offices, run up 
according to the whim or convenience of different 
generations, until it has become one of the most 
spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An en- 
tire wing is taken up with the family chapel ; a 
reverend pile, that must once have been exceedingly 
sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of having been al- 
tered and simplified at various periods, has still a 
look of solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are 
storied with the monuments of John's ancestors ; 
and it is snugly fitted up with soft cushions and 
well-lined chairs, where such of his family as are 
inclined to church services, may doze comfortably in 
the discharge of their duties. 

To keep up this chapel, has cost John much 
money ; but he is staunch in his religion, and piqued 
in his zeal, from the circumstance that many dissent- 
ing chapels have been erected in his vicinity, and 
several of his neighbours, with whom he has had 
quarrels, are strong Papists. 

To do the duties of the chapel, he maintains, at a 
large expense, a pious and portly family chaplain. 



82 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



He is a most learned and decorous personage, and a 
truly well-bred Christian, who always backs the old 
gentleman in his opinions, winks discreetly at his 
little peccadilloes, rebukes the children when refrac- 
tory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants to 
read their bibles, say their prayers, and, above all, 
to pay their rents punctually, and without grum- 
bling. 

The family apartments are in a very antiquated 
taste, somewhat heavy, and often inconvenient, but 
full of the solemn magnificence of former times ; 
fitted up with rich, though faded tapestry, unwieldy 
lurniture, and loads of massy, gorgeous old plate. 
The vast fire-places, ample kitchens, extensive cel- 
lars, and sumptuous banqueting halls, — all speak of 
the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which the 
modern festivity at the manor-house is but a shadow. 
There are, however, complete suites of rooms ap- 
parently deserted and time-worn ; and towers and 
turrets that are tottering to decay ; so that in high 
winds there is danger of their tumbling about the 
ears of the household. 

John has frequently been advised to have the old 
edifice thoroughly overhauled, and to have some of 
the useless parts pulled down, and the others strength- 
ened wirh their materials ; but the old gentleman 
always grows testy on this subject. He swears the 
house is an excellent house — that it is tight and 
weather-proof, and not to be shaken by tempests — 
that it has stood for several hundred years, and 
therefore, is not likely to tumble down now — that as 
to its being inconvenient, his family is accustomed to 
the inconveniences, and would not be comfortable 
without them — that as to its unwieldy size and ir- 
regular construction, these result from its being the 
growth of centuries, and being improved by the 
wisdom of every generation — that an old family, like 
his, requires a large house to dwell in ; new, upstart 
families may live in modern cottages and snug 
boxes, but an old English family should inhabit an 
old English manor-house. If you point out any part 
of the building as superfluous, he insists that it is 
material to the strength or decoration of the rest, 
and the harmony of the whole ; and swears that the 
parts are so built into each other, that, if you pull 
down one you run the risk of having the whole about 
your ears. 

The secret of the matter is, that John has a great 
disposition to protect and patronize. He thinks it 
indispensable to the dignity of an ancient and hon- 
ourable family, to be bounteous in its appointments, 
and to be eaten up by dependants ; and so, partly 
from pride, and partly from kind-heartedness, he 
makes it a rule aUvays to give shelter and mainte- 
nance to his superannuated servant^. 

The consequence is. that, like many other venera- 
ble family establishments, his manor' is encumbered 
by old retainers whom he cannot turn off, and an old 
style which he cannot lay down. His mansion is 
like a great hospital of invalids, and, with .all its 
magnitude, is not a whit too large for its inhabitants. 
Not a nook or corner but is of use in housing some 
useless personage. Groups of veteran beef-eaters, 
gouty pensioners, and retired heroes of the butter)' 
and the larder, are seen lolling about its walls, 
crawling over its Lawns, dozing under its trees, or 
sunning themselves upon the benches at its doors. 
Every office and out-house is garrisoned by these 
supernumeraries and their families; for they are 
amazingly prolific, and when they die off, are sure 
to leave John a legacy of hungry mouths to be pro- 
vided for. A mattock cannot be struck against the 
most mouldering tumble-down tower, but out pops, 
from some cranny or loophole, the gray pate of some 
superannuated banger-on, who has lived at John's 



expense all his life, and makes the most grievous 
outcry, at their pulling down the roof from over the 
head of a worn-out servant of the family. This is 
an appeal that John's honest heart never can with- 
stand ; so that a man, who has faithfully eaten his 
beef and pudding all his life, is sure to be rewarded 
with a pipe and tankard in his old days. 

A great part of his park, also, is turned into pad- 
docks, where his broken-down chargers are turned 
loose to graze undisturbed for the remainder of their 
existence — a worthy example of grateful recollec- 
tion, which if some of his neighbours were to imi- 
tate, would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it is 
one of his great pleasures to point out these old 
steeds to his visitors, to dwell on their good quali- 
ties, extol their past services, and boast, with some 
little vain-glory, of the perilous adventures and 
hardy exploits through which they have carried him. 

He is given, however, to indulge his veneration 
for family usages, and family encumbrances, to a 
whimsical extent. His manor is infested by gangs 
of gipsies; yet he will not suffer them to be driven 
off, because they have infested the place time out of 
mind, and been regular poachers upon every gener- 
ation of the family. He will scarcely permit a dry 
branch to be lopped from the great trees that sur- 
round the house, lest it should molest the rooks, 
that have bred there for centuries. Owls have taken 
possession of the dovecote ; but they are hereditary 
owls, and must not be disturbed. Swallows have 
nearly choked up every chimney with their nests ; 
martins build in every frieze and cornice ; crows 
flutter about the towers, and perch on every weather- 
cock ; and old gray-headed rats may be seen in 
every quarter of the house, running in and out of 
their holes undau .tedly in broad daylight. In short, 
John has such a reverence for every thing that has 
been long in the family, that he will not hear even 
of abuses being reformed, because they are good old 
family abuses. 

All these whims and habits have concurred wo- 
fully to drain the old gentleman's purse ; and as he 
prides himself on punctuality in money matters, and 
wishes to maintain his credit in the neighbourhood, 
they have caused him great perplexity in meeting 
his engagements. This, too, has been increased by 
the altercations and heartburnings which are con- 
tinually taking place in his family. His children 
have been brought up to different callings, and 
are of different ways of thinking; and as they have 
always been allowed to speak their minds freely, 
they do not fail tc exercise the privilege most clam- 
orously in the present posture of his affairs. Some 
stand up for the honour of the race, and are clear 
that the old establishment should be kept up in all 
its state, whatever may be the cost ; others, who 
are more prudent and considerate, entreat the old 
gentleman to retrench his expenses, and to put his 
whole system of housekeeping on a more moderate 
footing. He has, indeed, at times, seemed inclined 
to listen to their opinions, but their wholesome ad- 
vice has been completely defeated by the obstreper- 
ous conduct of one of his sons. This is a noisy rattle- 
pated fellow, of rather low habits, who neglects his 
business to frequent ale-houses — is the orator of vil- 
lage clubs, and a complete oracle among the poorest 
of his father's tenants. No sooner does he hear any 
of his brothers mention reform or retrenchment, 
than up he jumps, takes the words out of their 
mouths, and roars out for an overturn. When his 
tongue is once going, nothing can stop it. He rants 
about the room ; hectors the old man about his spend- 
thrift practices; ridicules his tastes and pursuits; 
insists that he shall turn the old servants out of 
doors; give the broken-down horses to the hounds; 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



83 



send the fat chaplain packing and tal<c a fielfl- 
preacher in his place — nay, that the whole family 
mansion shall be levelled with the ground, and a 
plain one of brick and mortar built in its place. He 
rails at every social entertainment and family festiv- 
ity, and skulks away growling to the ale-house 
whenever an equipage drives up to the door. Though 
constantly complaining of the emptiness of his 
purse, yet he scruples not to spend all his pocket- 
money in these tavern convocations, and even runs 
up scores for the liquor over which he preaches 
about his lather's extravagance. 

It may readily be imagined how little such thwart- 
ing agrees with the old cavalier's fiei-y temperament. 
He has become so irritable, from repeated crossings, 
that the mere mention of retrenchment or reform is 
a signal for a brawl between him and the tavern 
oracle. As the latter is too sturdy and refractory 
for paternal discipline, having grown out of all fear 
of the cudgel, they have frequent scenes of wordy 
warfare, which at times run so high, that John is 
fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an officer who 
has served abroad, but is at present living at home, 
on half-pay. This last is sure to stand by the old 
gentleman, right or wrong ; likes nothing so much 
as a racketing roistering life ; and is ready, at a wink 
or nod, to out sabre, and flourish it over the orator's 
head, if he dares to array himself against paternal 
authority. 

These family dissensions, as usual, have got 
abroad, and are rare food for scandal in John's 
neighbourhood. People begin to look wise, and 
shake their heads, whenever his affairs are men- 
tioned. They all "hope that matters are not so bad 
with him as represented; but when a man's own 
children begin to rail at his e.xtravagance, things 
must be badly managed. They understand he is 
mortgaged over head and ears, and is continually 
dabbling with money-lenders. He is certainly an 
open-handed old gentleman, but they fear he has 
lived too fast ; indeed, they never knew any good 
come of this fondness for hunting, racing, revelling, 
and prize-tighting. In short, Mr. Bull's estate is a 
very fine one, and has been in the family a long 
while ; but for all that, they have known many finer 
estates come to the hammer." 

What is worst of all, is the effect which these 
pecuniary embarrassments and domestic feuds have 
had on the poor man himself. Instead of that jolly 
round corporation, and smug rosy face, which he 
used to present, he has of late become as shrivelled 
and shrunk as a frostbitten apple. His scarlet gold- 
laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in 
those prosperous days when he sailed before the 
wind, now hangs loosely about him like a mainsail 
in a calm. His leather breeches are all in folds and 
wrinkles ; and apparently have much ado to hold up 
the boots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy 
legs. 

Instead of strutting about, as formerly, with his 
three-cornered hat on one side ; flourishing his cud- 
gel, and bringing it down every moment with a 
hearty thump upon the ground ; looking every one 
sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave of a 
catch or a drinking song; he now goes about whis- 
tling thoughtfully to himself, with his head drooping 
down, his cudgel tucked under his arm, and his 
hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches pockets, 
which are evidently empty. 

Such is the plight of honest John Bull at present ; 
yet for all this, the old fellow's spirit is as tall and as 
gallant as ever. If you drop the least expression of 
sympathy or concern, he takes fire in an instant ; 
s.vears that he is the richest and stoutest fellow in 
the country ; talks of laying out large sums to adorn 



j his house or to buy another estate ; and, with a vali- 
ant swagger and grasping of his cudgel, longs ex- 
ceedingly to have another bout at quarterstaff. 

Though there may be something rather whimsical 
in all this, yet I confess 1 cannot look upon John's 
situation, w'ithout strong feelings of interest. With 
all his odd humours and obstinate prejudices, he is a 
sterling-hearted old blade. He may not be so won- 
• derfully fine a fellow as he thinks himself, but he is 
at least twice as good as his neighbours represent 
him. His virtues are all his own ; all plain, home- 
bred, and unaffected. His very faults smack of the 
raciness of his good qualities. His extravagance 
savours of his generosity ; his quarrelsomeness, of 
his courage; his credulit)', of his open faith; his 
vanity, of his pride; and his bluntness, of his sin- 
cerity. They are all the redundancies of a rich and 
liberal character. He is like his own oak ; rough 
without, but sound and solid within ; whose bark 
abounds with excrescences in proportion to the 
growth and grandeur of the timber; and whose 
branches make a fearful groaning and murmuring 
in the least storm, from their very magnitude and 
luxuriance. There is something, too, in the appear- 
ance of his old family mansion, that is extremely 
poetical and picturesque; and, as long as it can be 
rendered comfortably habitable, I should almost 
tremble to see it meddled with during the present 
conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his advisers 
are no doubt good architects, that might be of serv- 
ice ; but many, I fear, are mere levellers, who, when 
they had once got to work with their mattocks on 
the venerable edifice, would never stop until they 
had brought it to the ground, and perhaps buried 
I themselves among the ruins. All that I wish, is, 
' that John's present troubles may teach him more 
'prudence in future; that he may cease to distress 
' his mind about other people's affairs; that he may 
give up the fruitless attempt to promote the good of 
his neighbours, and the peace and happiness of the 
world, by dint of the cudgel ; that he may remain 
{ quietly at home ; gradually get his house into repair ; 
cultivate his rich estate according to his fancy ; hus- 
band his income — if he thinks proper; bring his un- 
ruly children into order — if he can ; renew the jovial 
scenes of ancient prosperity ; and long enjoy, on his 
paternal lands, a green, an honourable, and a merry 
old age. 



THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE. 



May no wolf howle: no screech-owie stir 

A wing about thy sepulchre ! 

No boysterous winds or stormes come hither, 

To starve or wither 
Thy soft sweet earth ! but, like a spring, 
Love keep it ever flourishing. 

Herrick. 

In the course of an excursion through one of the 
remote counties of England, I had struck into one 
of those cross-roads that lead through the more se- 
cluded parts of the country, and stopped one after- 
noon at a village, the situation of which was beauti- 
fully rural and retired. There was an air of primitive 
simplicity about its inhabitants, not to be found in 
the villages which he on the great coach-roads I 
determined to pass the night there, and having taken 
an early dinner, strolled out to enjoy the neighbour- 
ing scenery. 

My ramble, as is usually the case with travellers, 
soon led me to the church, which stood at a little 
distance from the village. Indeed, it was an object 



84 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of some curiosity, its old tower being completely 
overrun with iv^, so that only here and there a jut- 
ting buttress, an angle of gray wall, or a fantastically 
carved ornament, peered through the verdant cover- 
ing. It was a lovely evening. The early part of 
the day had been dark and showery, but in the after- 
noon it had cleared up ; and though sullen clouds 
still hung over head, yet there was a broad tract of 
golden sky in the west, from which the setting sun 
gleamed through the dripping leaves, and lit up all 
nature into a melancholy smile. It seemed like the 
parting hour of a good Christian, smiling on the 
sins and sorrows of the world, and giving, in the 
serenity of his decline, an assurance that he will rise 
again in glory. 

1 had seated myself on a half-sunken tombstone, 
and was musing, as one is apt to do at this sober- 
thoughted hour, on past scenes, and early friends — 
on those who were distant, and those w^ho were dead 
^and indulging in that kind of melancholy fancying, 
which has in it something sweeter even than pleasure. 
Every now and then, the stroke of a bell from the 
neighbouring tower fell on my ear ; its tones were in 
unison with the scene, and instead of jarring, chimed 
in with my feelings ; and it was some time before I 
recollected, that it must be tolling the knell of some 
new tenant of the tomb. 

Presently I saw a funeral train moving across tlie 
village green ; it wound slowly along a lane ; was 
lost, and re-appeared through the breaks of the 
hedges, until it passed the place where I was sitting. 
The pall was supported by young girls, dressed in 
white ; and another, about the age of seventeen, 
walked before, bearing a chaplet of white flowers ; 
a token that the deceased was a young and unmar- 
ried female. The corpse was followed by the parents. 
They were a venerable couple, of the better order 
of peasantry. The father seemed to repress his 
feelings ; but his fixed eye, contracted brow, and 
deeply-furrowed face, showed the struggle that was 
passing within. His wife hung on his arm, and 
wept aloud with the convulsive bursts of a mother's 
sorrow. 

I followed the funeral into the church. The bier 
was placed in the centre aisle, and the chaplet of 
white flowers, with a pair of white gloves, were 
hung over the seat which the deceased had occupied. 

Every one knows the soul-subdu-ng pathos of the 
funeral service : for who is so fortunate as never to 
have followed some one he has loved to the tomb .' 
but when performed over the remains of innocence 
and beauty, thus laid low in the bloom of existence 
— what can be more affecting? At that simple, but 
most solemn consignment of the body to the grave — 
" Earth to earth — ashes to ashes — dust to dust ! " the 
tears of the youthful companions of the deceased 
flowed unrestrained. The father still seemed to 
struggle with his feelings, and to comfort himself 
with the assurance, that the dead are blessed which 
die in the Lord ; but the mother only thought of her 
child as a flower of the field, cut down and withered 
in the midst of its sweetness : she was like Rachel, 
'■ mourning over her children, and would not be 
comforted." 

On returning to the inn, I learnt the whole story 
of the deceased. It was a simple one, and such as 
has often been told. She had been the beauty and 
pride of the village. Her father had once been an 
opulent farmer, but was reduced in circumstances. 
This v.'as an only child, and brought up entirely at 
home, in the simplicity of rural lite. She had been 
the pupil of the village pastor, the favourite lamb of 
his little flock. The good man watched over her edu- 
cation with paternal care ; it was limited, and suita- 
ble to the sphere in which she was to move ; for he 



only sought to make her an ornament to her station 
in lite, not to raise her above it. The tenderness 
and indulgence of her parents, and the exemption 
from all ordinary occupations, had fostered a natural 
grace and delicacy of character that accorded 
with the fragile loveliness of her form. She ap- 
peared like some tender plant of the garden, bloom- 
ing accidentally amid the hardier natives of the 
fields. 

The superiority of her charms was felt and ac- 
knowledged by her companions, but without envy ; 
for it was surpassed by the unassuming gentleness 
and winning kindness of her manners. It might be 
truly said of her, — 

" This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever 
Ran on the greensw.Trd : nothing she does or seems, 
But smacks of something greater than herself; 
Too noble for this place." 

The village was one of those sequestered spots, 
which still retains some vestiges of old English cus- 
toms. It had its rural festivals and holyday pastimes, 
and still kept up some faint observance of the once 
popular rites of May. These, indeed, had been pro- 
moted by its present pastor; who was a lover of old 
customs, and one of those simple Christians that 
think their mission fulfilled by promoting joy on 
earth and good will among mankind. Under his 
auspices the May-pole stood from year to year in the 
centre of the village green ; on May-day it was dec- 
orated with garlands and streamers ; and a queen 
or lady of the May was appointed, as in former 
times, to preside at the sports, and distribute the 
prizes and rewards. The picturesque situation of 
the village, and the fancifulness of its rustic fetes, 
would often attract the notice of casual visitors. 
Among these, on one Ma)'-day, w'as a young officer, 
whose regiment had been recently quartered in the 
neighbourhood. He was charmed with the native 
taste that per\'aded this village pageant ; but, above 
all, with the dawning loveliness of the queen of May. 
It was the village favourite, who was crowned with 
flowers, and blushing and smiling in all the beauti- 
ful confusion of girlish diffidence and delight. The 
artlessness of rural habits enabled him readily to 
make her acquaintance; he gradually won his way 
into her intimacy ; and paid his court to her in that 
unthinking way in which young officers are too apt 
to trifle with rustic simplicity. 

There was nothing in his advances to startle or 
alarm. He never even talked of love; but there are 
modes of making it, more eloquent than language, 
and which convey it subtilely and irresistibly to the 
heart. The beam of the eye, the tone of the voice, 
the thousand tendernesses which emanate from 
every word, and look, and action — these form the 
true eloquence of love, and can always be felt and 
understood, but never described. Can we wonder 
that they should readily win a heart, young, guile- 
less, and susceptible ? As to her, she loved almost 
unconsciously ; she scarcely inquired what was the (> 
growing passion that was absorbing every thought 
and feeling, or what were to be its consequences. 
She, indeed, looked not to the future. When pres- 
ent, his looks and words occupied her whole atten- 
tion ; when absent, she thought but of what had 
passed at their recent inten'iew. She would wan- 
der with him through the green lanes and rural 
scenes of the vicinity. He taught her to see new 
beauties in nature ; he talked in the language of po- 
lite and cultivated life, and breathed into her ear the 
witcheries of romance and poetry. , 

Perhaps there could not have been a passion, be- j 
tween the sexes, more pure than this innocent girl's. 1 
The gallant figure of her youthful admirer, and the 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



85 



splendour of his military attire, might at first have 
charmed her eye ; but it was not these that had cap- 
tivated her heart. Her attachment had something 
ill it of idolatry ; she looked up to him as to a being 
of a superior order. She felt in his society the en- 
thusiasm of a mind naturally delicate and poetical, 
and now first awakened to a keen perception of the 
beautiful and grand. Of the sordid distinctions of 
rank and fortune, she thouglit nothing ; it was the 
difference of intellect, of demeanour, of manners, 
from those of the rustic society to which she had 
been accustomed, that elevated him in her opinion. 
She would listen to him with charmed ear and down- 
cast look of mute delight, and her cheek would man- 
tle with enthusiasm ; or if ever she ventured a shy 
glance of timid admiration, it was as quickly with- 
drawn, and she would sigh and blush at the idea of 
her comparative unworthiness. 

Her lover was equally impassioned ; but his pas- 
sion was mingled with feelings of a coarser nat- 
ure. He had begun the connexion in levity ; for he 
had often heard his brother officers boast of their 
village conquests, and thought some triumph of the 
kind necessary to his reputation as a man of spirit. 
But he was too full of youthful fervour. His heart 
had not yet been rendered sufficiently cold and self- 
ish by a wandering and a dissipated life: it caught 
fire from the very Hame it sought to kindle ; and be- 
fore he was aware of the nature of his situation, he 
became really in love. 

What was he to do.? There were the old obsta- 
cles which so incessantly occur in these heedless at- 
tachments. His rank in life — the prejudices of titled 
connexions — his dependence upon a proud and un- 
yielding father— all forbad him to think of matri- 
mony : — but when he looked down upon this inno- 
cent being, so tender and confiding, there was a 
purity in her manners, a blamelessness in her life, 
and a bewitching modesty in her looks, that awed 
down every licentious feeling. In vain did he try to 
fortify himself, by a thousand heartless examples of 
men of fashion, and to chill the glow of generous 
sentiment, with that cold derisive levity with which 
he had heard them talk of female virtue ; whenever 
he came into her presence, she was still surrounded 
by that mysterious, but impassive charm of virgin 
purity, in whose hallowed sphere no guilty thouglit 
can live. 

The sudden arrival of orders for the regiment to 
repair to the continent, completed the confusion of 
his mind. He remained for a short time in a state 
of the most painful irresolution ; he hesitated to 
communicate the tidings, until the day for marching 
was at hand ; when he gave her the intelligence in 
the course of an evening ramble. 

The idea of parting had never before occurred to 
her. It broke in at once upon her dream of felicity ; 
she looked upon it as a sudden and insurmountable 
evil, and wept with the guileless simplicity of a 
child. He drew her to his bosom and kissed the 
tears from her soft cheek, nor did he meet with a 
repulse, for there are moments of mingled sorrow 
and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affec- 
tion. He was naturally impetuous, and the sight of 
beauty apparently yielding in his arms, the confidence 
of his power over her, and the dread of losing her 
for ever, all conspired to overwhelm his better 
feelings — he ventured to propose that she should 
leave her home, and be the companion of his for- 
tunes. 

He was quite a novice in seduction, and blushed 
and faltered at his own baseness ; but, so innocent 
of mind was his intended victim, that she was at 
first at a loss to comprehend his meaning ; — and why 
she should leave her native village, and the humble 



roof of her parents. When at last the nature of his 
proposals flashed upon her pure mind, the effect was 
withering. She did not weep — she did not break 
forth into reproaches — she said not a word — but she 
shrunk back aghast as from a viper, gave him a look 
of anguish that pierced to his verj' soul, and clasp- 
ing her hands in agony, fled, as if for refuge, to her 
father's cottage. 

The officer retired, confounded, humiliated, and 
repentant. It is uncertain what might have been 
the result of the conflict of his feelings, had not his 
thoughts been diverted by the bustle of departure. 
New scenes, new pleasures, and new companions, 
soon dissipated his self-reproach, and stifled his ten- 
derness. Yet, amidst the stir of camps, the revelries 
of garrisons, the array of armies, and even the din of 
battles, his thoughts would sometimes steal back to 
the scenes of rural quiet and village simplicity — the 
white cottage — the footpath along the silver brook 
and up the hawthorn hedge, and the little village 
maid loitering along it, leaning on his arm and lis- 
tening to him with eyes beaming with unconscious 
affection. 

The shock which the poor girl had received, in 
the destruction of all her ideal world, had indeed 
been cruel. Paintings and hysterics had at first 
shaken her tender frame, and were succeeded by a 
settled and pining melancholy. She had beheld from 
her window the march of the departing troops. She 
had seen her faithless lover borne off, as if in tri- 
umph, amidst the sound of drum and trumpet, and 
the pomp of arms. She strained a last aching gaze 
alter him, as the morning sun glittered about his 
figure, and his plume waved in the breeze ; he passed 
away like a bright vision from her sight, and left her 
all in darkness. 

It would be trite to dwell on the particulars of her 
after-story. It was, like other tales of love, melan- 
choly. She avoided society, and wandered out alone 
in the walks she had most frequented with her lover. 
.She sought, like the stricken deer, to weep in silence 
and loneliness, and brood over the barbed sorrow 
that rankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be 
seen late of an evening sitting in the porch of the 
village church ; and the milk-maids, returning from 
the fields, would now and then overhear her, singing 
some plaintive ditty in the hawthorn walk. She 
became fervent in her devotions at church ; and as 
the old people saw her approach, so wasted away, 
yet with a hectic bloom, and that hallowed air 
which melancholy diffuses round the form, they 
would make way for her, as for something spiritual, 
and, looking after her, would shake their heads 
in gloomy foreboding. 

She felt a conviction that she was hastening to 
the tomb, but looked forward to it as a place of rest. 
The silver cord that had bound her to existence was 
loosed, and there seemed to be no more pleasure 
under the sun. If ever her gentle bosom had enter- 
tained resentment against her lover, it was extin- 
guished. She was incapable of angry passions, and 
in a moment of saddened tenderness she penned 
him a farewell letter. It was couched in the simplest 
language, but touching from its very simplicity. 
She told him that she was dying, and did not con- 
ceal from him that his conduct was the cause. 
She even depicted the sufferings which she had ex- 
perienced ; but concluded with saying, that she 
could not die in peace, until she had sent him her 
forgiveness and her blessing. 

By degrees her strength declined, and she could 
no longer leave the cottage. She could only totter 
to the window, where, propped up in her chair, it 
was her enjoyment to sit all day and look out upon 
the landscape. Still she uttered no complaint, nor 



86 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



imparted to any one the malady that was preying on 
her heart. She never even mentioned tier lover's 
name ; but would lay her head on her mother's 
bosom and weep in silence. Her poor parents hung, 
in mute anxiety, over this fading blossom of their 
hopes, still flattering themselves that it might again 
revive to freshness, and that the bright unearthly 
bloom which sometimes flushed her cheek, might be 
the promise of returning health. 

In this way she was seated between them one 
Sunday afternoon ; her hands were clasped in theirs, 
the lattice was thrown open, and the soft air that 
stole in, brought with it the fragrance of the cluster- 
ing honeysuckle, which her own hands had trained 
round the window. 

Her father had just been reading a chapter in the 
Bible ; it spoke of the vanity of worldly things, and 
the joys of heaven ; it seemed to have diffused com- 
fort and serenity through her bosom. Her eye was 
fixed on the distant village church — the bell had 
tolled for the evening service — the last villager was 
lagging into the porch — and every thing had sunk 
into that hallowed stillness peculiar to the day of 
rest. Her parents were gazing on her with yearning 
hearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so roughly 
over some faces, had given to hers the expression of 
a seraph's. A tear trembled in her soft blue eye. — 
Was she thinking of her faithless lover? — or were 
her thoughts wandering to that distant churchyard, 
into whose bosom she might soon be gathered .' 

Suddenly the clang of hoofs was heard — a horse- 
man galloped to the cottage — he dismounted before 
the window— the poor girl gave a faint exclamation, 
and sunk back in her chair : — it was her repentant 
lover ! He rushed into the house, and flew to clasp 
her to his bosom ; but her wasted form — her death- 
like countenance — so wan, yet so lovely in its deso- 
lation — smote him to the soul, and he threw himself 
in an agony at her feet. She was too faint to rise — 
she attempted to extend her trembling hand — her 
lips moved as if she spoke, but no word was articu- 
lated — she looked down upon him with a smile of 
unutterable tenderness, and closed her eyes for 
ever! 

Such are the particulars which I gathered of this 
village story. They are but scanty, and I am con- 
scious have but little novelty to recommend them. 
In the present rage also for strange incident and 
high-seasoned narrative, they may appear trite and 
insignificant, but they interested me strongly at the 
time ; and, taken in connection with the affecting 
ceremony which 1 had just witnessed, left a deeper 
impression on my mind than many circumstances of 
a more striking nature. I have passed through the 
place since, and visited the church again from a bet- 
ter motive than mere curiosity. It was a wintry 
evening ; the trees were stripped of their foliage ; the 
churchyard looked naked and mournful, and the 
wind rustled coldly through the dr)' grass. Ever- 
greens, however, had been planted about the grave 
of the village favourite, and osiers were bent over it 
to keep the turf uninjured. The church door was 
open, and I stepped in. — There hung the chaplet of 
flowers and the gloves, as on the day of the funeral: 
the flowers were withered, it is true, but care seemed 
to have been taken that no dust should soil their 
whiteness. I have seen many monuments, where 
art has exhausted its powers to awaken the sym- 
pathy of the spectator ; but I have met with none 
that spoke more touchingly to my heart, than this 
simple, but delicate memento of departed innocence. 



THE ANGLER. 



This day dame Nature seem'd in love, 

The lusty sap began to move. 

Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, 

And birds had drawn their valentines. 

The jealous trout that low did lie, 

Rose at a well dissembled fly. 

There stood my friend, with patient skill. 

Attending of his trembling quill. 

Sir H. Wotton. 

It is said that many an unlucky urchin is induced 
to run away from his family, and betake himself to a 
seafaring life, from reading the history of Robinson 
Crusoe ; and I suspect that, in like manner, many of 
those worthy gentlemen, who are given to haunt the 
sides of pastoral streams with angle-rods in hand, 
may trace the origin of their passion to the seductive 
pages of honest Izaak Walton. I recollect studying 
liis " Complete Angler " several years since, in com- 
pany with a knot of friends in America, and, more- 
over, that we were all completely bitten with the 
angling mania. It was early in the year ; but as 
soon as the weather was auspicious, and that the 
spring began to melt into the verge of summer, we 
took rod in hand, and sallied into the country, as 
stark mad as was ever Don Quixote from reading 
books of chivalry. 

One of our party had equalled the Don in the ful- 
ness of his equipments ; being attired cap-a-pie for 
the enterprise. He wore a broad -skirted fustian 
coat, perplexed with half a hundred pockets ; a pair 
of stout shoes, and leathern gaiters ; a basket slung 
on one side for fish ; a patent rod ; a landing net, 
and a score of other inconveniences only to be found 
in the true angler's armory. Thus harnessed for the 
field, he was as great a matter of stare and wonder- 
ment among the country folk, who had never seen a 
regular angler, as was the steel-clad hero of La 
Mancha among the goatherds of the Sierra Morena. 

Our first essay was along a mountain brook, among 
the highlands of the Hudson — a most unfortunate 
place for the execution of those piscatory tactics 
which had been invented along the velvet margins 
of quiet English rivulets. It was one of those wild 
streams that lavish, among our. romantic solitudes, 
unheeded beauties, enough to fill the sketch-book of 
a hunter of the picturesque. Sometimes it would 
leap down rocky shelves, making small cascades, 
over which the trees threw their broad balancing 
sprays ; and long nameless weeds hung in fringes 
from the impending banks, dripping wiih diamond 
drops. Sometimes it would brawl and tVet along a 
ravine in the matted shade of a forest, filling it with 
murmurs ; and after this termagant career, would 
steal forth into open day with the most placid de- 
mure face imaginable ; as I have seen some pestilent 
shrew of a housewife, after filling her liome with 
uproar and ill-humour, come dimpling out of doors, 
swimming, and curtsying, and smiling upon all the 
world. 

How smoothly would this vagrant brook glide, at 
such times, through some bosom of green meadow 
land, among the mountains ; where the quiet was 
only interrupted by the occasional tinkling of a bell 
from the lazy cattle among the clover, or the sound 
of a wood-cutter's axe from the neighbouring forest ! 

For my part, I was always a bungler at all kinds 
of sport that required either patience or adroitness, 
and had not angled above half an hour, before I had 
completely "satisfied the sentiment," and convinced 
myself of the truth of Izaak Walton's opinion, that 
angling is something like poetry — a man must be 
bom to it. I hooked myself instead of the fish ; 
tangled my line in every tree ; lost my bait ; broke 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



87 



my rod ; until I gave up the attempt in despair, and 
passed the day under the trees, reading' old Izaak ; 
satisfied that it was his fascinating vein of honest 
simplicity and rural feeling that had bewitched me, 
and not the passion for angling. My companions, 
however, were more persevering in their delusion. 
I have them at this moment before my eyes, stealing 
along the border of the brook, where it lay open to 
the day, or was merely fringed by shrubs and bushes. 
I see the bittern rising with hollow scream, as they 
break in upon his rarely-invaded haunt ; the king- 
fisher watching them suspiciously from his dry tree 
that overhangs the deep black mill-pond, in the gorge 
of the hills ; the tortoise lettmg himself slip sideways 
from off the stone or log on which he is sunning 
himself; and the panic-stmck frog plumping in 
headlong as they approach, and spreading an alarm 
throughout the watery world around. 

I recollect, also, that, after toiling and watching 
and creeping about for the greater part of a day, 
with scarcely any success, in spite of all our admira- 
ble apparatus, a lubberly country urchin came down 
from the hills, with a rod made from a branch of a 
tree ; a few yards of twine ; and, as heaven shall 
help me ! I believe a crooked pin tor a hook, baited 
with a vile earth-worm — and in half an hour caught 
more fish than we had nibbles throughout the da);. 

But above all, I recollect the " good, honest, 
wholesome, hungry " repast, which we made under 
a beach-tree just by a spring of pure sweet water, 
that stole out of the side of a hill ; and how, when it 
was over, one of the party read old Izaak Walton's 
scene with the milk-maid, while I lay on the grass 
and built castles in a bright pile of clouds, until 1 fell 
asleep. All this may appear like mere egotism ; yet 
I cannot refrain from uttering these recollections 
which are passing like a strain of music over my 
mind, and have been called up by an agreeable scene 
which I witnessed not long since. 

In a morning's stroll along the banks of the Alun, 
a beautiful little stream which flows down from the 
Welsh hills and throws itself into the Dee, my atten- 
tion was attracted to a group seated on the margin. 
On approaching, I found it to consist of a veteran 
angler and two rustic disciples. The former was 
an old fellow with a wooden leg, with clothes very 
much, but very carefully patched, betokening pover- 
ty, honestly come by, and decently maintained. His 
face bore the marks of former storms, but present 
fair weather ; its furrows had been worn into a 
habitual smile ; his iron-gray locks hung about his 
ears, and he had altogether the good-humoured air 
of a constitutional philosopher, who was disposed to 
take the world as it went. One of his companions 
was a ragged wight, with the skulking look of an 
arrant poacher, and I'll warrant could fmd his way 
to any gentleman's tish-pond in the neighbourhood 
in the darkest mght. The other was a tall, awk- 
ward, country lad, with a lounging gait, and appar- 
ently somewhat of a rustic beau. The old man was 
busied e.xamining the maw of a trout which he had 
just killed, to discover by its contents what insects 
were seasonable for bait ; and was lecturing on the 
subject to his companions, who appeared to listen 
with infinite deference. 1 have a kind feeling to- 
ward all "brothers of the angle," ever since I read 
Izaak Walton. They are men, he affirms, of a 
" mild, sweet, and peaceable spirit ; " and my esteem 
for ihem has been increased since I met with an old 
" Tretyse of fishing with the Angle," in which are 
set forth many of the maxims of their inoffensive 
fraternity. "Take goode hede," sayth this honest 
little tretyse, " that m going about your disportes ye 
open no man's gates but that ye shet them again. 
Also ye shall not use this foresaid crafti disport for 



no covetousness to the increasing and sparing of 
your money only, but principally for your solace and 
to cause the helth of your body and specyally of your 
soule."* 

I thought that I could perceive in the veteran an- 
gler before me an exemplitication of what I had read ; 
and there was a cheerful contentedness in his looks, 
that quite drew me towards him. 1 could not but 
remark the gallant manner in which he stumped 
from one part of the brook to another ; waving his 
rod in the air, to keep the line from dragging on the 
ground, or catching among the bushes; and the 
adroitness with which he would throw his fly to any 
particular place ; sometimes skimming it lightly along 
a little rapid ; sometimes casting it into one of those 
dark holes made by a twisted root or overhanging 
bank, in which the large trout are apt to lurk. In 
the meanwhile, he was giving instructions to his two 
disciples ; showing them the manner in which they 
should handle their rods, fix their flies, and play them 
along the surface of the stream. The scene brought 
to my mind the instructions of the sage Piscator to 
his scholar. The country around was of that pas- 
toral kind which Walton is fond of describing. It 
was a part of the great plain of Cheshire, close by 
the beautiful vale of tiessford, and just where the in- 
ferior Welsh hills begin to swell up from among 
fresh-smellmg meadows. The day, too, like that 
recorded in his work, was mild and sunshiny ; with 
now and then a soft dropping shower, that sowed 
the whole earth with diamonds. 

I soon fell into conversation with the old angler, 
and was so much entertained, that, under pretext of 
receiving instructions in his art, I kept company with 
him almost the whole day; wandering along the 
banks of the stream, and listening to his talk. He 
was very communicative, having all the easy gar- 
rulity of' cheerful old age; and I fancy was a little 
flattered by having an opportunity of displaying his 
piscatory lore ; for who does not like now and then 
to play the sage .' 

He had been inuch of a rambler in his day; and 
had passed some years of his youth in America, par- 
ticularly in Savannah, where he had entered into 
trade, and had been ruined by the indiscretion of a 
partner. He had afterwards experienced many ups 
and downs in life, until he got into the navy, where 
his leg was carried away by a cannon-ball, at the 
battle of Camperdown. This was the only stroke 
of real good fortune he had ever experienced, for it 
got him a pension, which, together with some small 
paternal property, brought him in a revenue of nearly 
forty pounds. On this he retired to his native village, 
where he lived quietly and independently, and de- 
voted the remainder of his life to the " noble art of 
angling." 

I found that he had read Izaak Walton attentively, 
and he seemed to have imbibed all his simple frank- 
ness and prevalent good-humour. Though he had 
been sorely buffeted about the world, he was satisfied 
that the world, in itself, was good and beautiful. 
Though he had been as roughly used in different 
countries as a poor sheep that is fleeced by every 
hedge and thicket, yet he spoke of es'cry nation with 
candour and kindness, appearing to look only on the 
good side of things : and above all, he was almost the 
only man I had ever met with, who had been an 
unfortunate adventurer in America, and had honesty 

* From thi^ same treatise, it would appear that angfing is a more 
industiious and devout employment than it is generally considered. 
" For when ye purpose to go on your disportes in fishynge. ye will 
not desyre grcatlye many persons with you, which might let you 
of your game. And that ye may serve God devoutly m sayinpe 
effectually your customable prayers. And thus doying, ye shall 
eschew and also avoyde many vices, as ydleness, which is a princi- 
pall cause to induce man to many other vices, as it is nght well 
known." 



88 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and magnanimity enough, to take the fault to his own 
door, and not to curse the country. 

The lad that was receiving his instructions I learnt 
was the son and heir apparent of a fat old widow, 
who kept the village inn, and of course a youth of 
some expectation, and much courted by the idle, 
gentleman-like personages of the place. In taking 
him under his care, therefore, the old man had prob- 
ably an eye to a privileged corner in the tap-room, 
and an occasional cup of cheerful ale free of ex- 
pense. 

There is certainly something in angling, if we could 
forget, which anglers are apt to do, the cruelties and 
tortures inflicted on worms and insects, that tends to 
produce a gentleness of spirit, and a pure serenity of 
mind. As the English are methodical even in their 
recreations, and are the most scientific of sportsmen, 
it has been reduced among them to perfect rule and 
system. Indeed, it is an amusement peculiarly adapt- 
ed to the mild and cultivated scenery of England, 
where every roughness has been softened away from 
the landscape. It is delightful to saunter along those 
limpid streams which wander, like veins of silver, 
through the bosom of this beautiful country ; leading 
one through a diversity of small home scenery; some- 
times winding through ornamented grounds ; some- 
times brimming along through rich pasturage, where 
the fresh green is mingled with sweet-smelling flow- 
ers ; sometimes venturing in sight of villages and ham- 
lets ; and then running capriciously away into shady 
retirements. The sweetness and serenity of nature, 
and the quiet watchfulness of the sport, gradually 
bring on pleasant fits of musing; which are now and 
then agreeably interrupted by the song of a bird ; the 
distant whistle of the peasant ; or perhaps the vagary 
of some fish, leaping out of the still water, and skim- 
ming transiently about its glassy surface. " When I 
would beget content," says Izaak Walton, "and in- 
crease confidence in the power and wisdom and 
providence of Almighty God, I will walk the mead- 
ows by some gliding stream, and there contemplate 
the lilies that take no care, and those very many 
other little living creatures that are not only created, 
but fed, (man knows not how) by the goodness of 
the God of nature, and therefore trust in him." 

I cannot forbear to give another quotation from 
one of those ancient champions of angling, which 
^breathes the same innocent and happy spirit : 

Let me live harmlessly, and ne.ir the brink 

Of Trent or Avon have a dwelling-pl.-ice : 
Where I may see my quill, or cork down sink, 

With eager bite of Pike, or Bleak, or Dace. 
And on the world and my creator think : 

While some men strive ill-gotten goods t' embrace ; 
And others spend their time in base excess 

Of wine, or worse, in war or wantonness. 

Let them that will, these pastimes still pursue. 
And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill. 

So I the fields and meadows green may view, 
And daily by fresh rivers walk at will 

Among the daisies and the violets blue, 
Red hyacinth and yellow daffodil.* 

On parting with the old angler, I inquired after his 
place of abode, and happening to be in the neighbour- 
hood of the village a few evenings aftenvards, I had 
the curiosity to seek him out. 1 found him living in 
a small cottage, containing only one room, but a per- 
fect curiosity in its method and arrangement. It was 
on the skirts of the village, on a green bank, a little 
iback from the road, w'ith a small garden in front, 
;Stocked with kitchen-herbs, and adorned with a few 
iflowers. The whole front of the cottage was over- 
irun with a honeysuckle. On the top was a ship for 
.a weathercock. The interior was fitted up in a truly 
mautical style, his ideas of camfort and convenience 



* J. Davors. 



having been acquired on the berth-deck of a man-of- 
war. A hammock was slung from the ceiling, which 
in the day-time was lashed up so as to take but little 
room. From the centre of the chamber hung a model 
of a ship, of his own workmanship. Two or three 
chairs, a table, and a large sea-chest, formed the prin- 
cipal moveables. About the wall were stuck up 
naval ballads, such as Admiral Hosier's Ghost, All in 
the Downs, and Tom Bowling, intermingled with 
pictures of sea-fights, among which the battle of 
Camperdown held a distinguished place. The man- 
telpiece was decorated with seashells ; over which 
hung a quadrant, flanked by two wood-cuts of most 
bitter-looking naval commanders. His implements for 
angling were carefully disposed on nails and hooks 
about the room. On a shelf was arranged his librarj', 
containing a work on angling, much worn ; a bible 
covered with canvas ; an odd volume or two of voy- 
ages ; a nautical almanac ; and a book of songs. 

His family consisted of a large black cat with one 
eye, and a parrot which he had caught and tamed, 
and educated himself, in the course of one of his 
voyages ; and which uttered a variety of sea phrases, 
with the hoarse rattling tone of a veteran boatsw'ain. 
The establishment reminded me of that of the re- 
nowned Robinson Crusoe ; it was kept in neat order, 
evpry thing being " stowed away " with the regu- 
larity of a ship of war ; and he informed me that he 
" scoured the deck every morning, and swept it be- 
tween meals." 

I found him seated on a bench before the door, 
smoking his pipe in the soft evening sunshine. His 
cat w.as purring soberly on the threshold, and his 
parrot describing some strange evolutions in an iron 
ring, that swung in the centre of his cage. He had 
been angling all day, and gave me a history of his 
sport with as much minuteness as a general would 
talk over a campaign ; being particularly animated 
in relating the manner in which he had taken a large 
trout, which had completely tasked all his skill and 
wariness, and which he had sent as a trophy to mine 
hostess of the inn. 

How comforting it is to see a cheerful and content- 
ed old age ; and to behold a poor fellow, like this, 
after being tempest-tost through life, safely moored 
in a snug and quiet harbour in the evening of his 
days ! His happiness, however, sprung from within 
himself, and was independent of external circum- 
stances ; for he had that inexhaustible good-nature, 
which is the most precious gilt of Heaven ; spreading 
itself like oil over the troubled sea of thought, and 
keeping the mind smooth and equable in the roughest 
weather. 

On inquiring farther about him, I learnt that he 
was a universal favourite in the village, and the 
oracle of the tap-room ; where he delighted the rus- 
tics with his songs, and, like Sinbad, astonished them 
with his stories of strange lands, and shipwrecks, and 
sea-fights. He was much noticed too by gentlemen 
sportsmen of the neighbourhood ; had taught several 
of them the art of angling; and was a privileged 
visitor to their kitchens. The whole tenor of his 
life was quiet and inoffensive, being principally pass- 
ed about the neighbouring streams, when the weather 
and season were favourable ; and at other times he 
employed himself at home, preparing his fishing 
tackle for the next campaign, or manufacturing rods, 
nets, and flies, tor his patrons and pupils among the 
gentry. 

He was a regular attendant at church on Sundays, 
though he generally tell asleep during the sermon. 
He had made it his particular request that when he 
died he should be buried in a green spot, which he 
could see from his seat in church, and which he had 
marked out ever since he was a boy, and had thought 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



89 



of when far from home on the raging sea, in danger 
of being food for the fishes— it was the spot where 
his father and mother had been buried. 

1 have done, for I fear that my reader is growing 
weary ; but I could not refrain from drawing the pict- 
ure of this worthy " brother of the angle ;" who has 
made me more than ever in love with the theory, 
though I fear 1 shall never be adroit in the practice 
of his art ; and I will conclude this rambling sketch 
in the words of honest Izaak Walton, by craving 
the blessing of St. Peter's master upon my reader, 
•' and upon all that are true lovers of virtue ; and 
dare trust in his providence ; and be quiet ; and go 
a anglnig." 



THE LEGEND CF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

(FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE 
DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER). 



A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; 
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
For ever flushing round a summer sky. 

Castle of Indolence. 

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which 
indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad 
e.xpansion of the river denominated by the ancient 
Dutch navigators the Tappaan Zee, and where they 
always prudently shortened sail, and implored the 
protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there 
lies a small market town or rural port, which by 
some is called Greensburgh, but which is more gen- 
erally and properly known by the name of Tarry 
Town. This name was given it, we are told, in 
former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent 
country, from the inveterate propensity of their hus- 
bands to linger about the village tavern on market 
days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, 
but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise 
and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps 
about three miles, there is a little valley or rather lap 
of land among high hills, which is one of the quiet- 
est places in the whole world. A small brook 
glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull 
one to repose ; and the occasional whistle of a quail, 
or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only 
sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tran- 
quillity. 

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit 
in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut- 
trees that shades one side of the valley. I had 
wandered into it at noon-time, when all nature is 
peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my 
own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around, 
and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry 
echoes. If ever 1 should wish for a retreat whither 
I might steal from the world and its distractions, 
and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled 
life, I know of none more promising than this little 
valley. 

From the listless repose of the place, and the pe- 
culiar character of its inhabitants, who are descend- 
ants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered 
glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy 
Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy 
Hollow Boj-s throughout all the neighbouring coun- 
try. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang 
over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. 
Some say that the place was bewitched by a high 
German doctor, during the early days of the settle- 



ment ; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet 
or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before 
the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hud- 
son. Certain it is, the place still continues under 
the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell 
over the minds of the good people, causing them to 
walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all 
kinds of marvellous beliefs ; are subject to trances 
and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and 
hear music and voices in the air. The whole neigh- 
bourhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, 
and twilight superstitions ; stars shoot and meteors 
glare oftener across the valley than in any other part 
of the country, and the night-mare, with her whole 
nine fold, seems to make it the favourite scene of her 
gambols. 

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this 
enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in- 
chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition 
of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said 
by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose 
head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in 
some nameless battle during the revolutionary war, 
and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk, 
hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the 
wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to 
the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, 
and especially to the vicinity of a church that is at 
no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most au- 
thentic historians of those parts, who have been 
careful in collecting and collating the floating facts 
concerning this spectre, allege, that the body of the 
trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the 
ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly 
quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with 
which he sometimes passes along the hollow, like a 
midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in 
a hurry to get back to the churchyard before day- 
break. 

Such is the general purport of this legendary su- 
perstition, which has furnished materials for many 
a wild story in that region of shadows ; and the 
spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the 
name of The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. 

It is remarkable, that the visionary propensity I 
have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabit- 
ants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by 
every one who resides there for a time. However 
wide awake they may have been before they entered 
that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to 
inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin 
to grow imaginative— to dream dreams, and see ap- 
paritions. 

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud ; 
for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found 
here and there embosomed in the great State of 
New-York, that population, manners, and customs 
remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration 
and improvement, which is making such incessant 
changes in other parts of this restless country, 
sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those 
little nooks of still water, which border a rapid 
stream, where we may see the straw and bubble rid- 
ing quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their 
mimic harbour, undisturbed by the rush of the pass- 
ing current. Though many years have elapsed since 
I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I 
question whether I should not still find the same 
trees and the same families vegetating in its shel- 
tered bosom. 

In this by-place of nature there abode, in a re- 
mote period of American history, that is to say, 
some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name 
of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he ex- 
pressed it, " tarried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the pur- 



90 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



pose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He 
was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies 
the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for 
the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of fron- 
tier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The cog- 
nomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. 
He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow 
shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a 
mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served 
for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung 
together. His head was small, and fiat at top, with 
huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe 
nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched 
upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind 
blew. To see him striding along the profile of a 
hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and 
fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him 
for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, 
or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. 

His school-house was a low building of one Large 
room, rudely constructed of logs ; the windows partly 
glazed, and partly patched with leaves of copy- 
books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant 
hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, 
and stakes set against the window-shutters; so that 
though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he 
would find some embarrassment in getting out ; — 
an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, 
Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. 
The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleas- 
ant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a 
brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree 
growing at one end of it. From hence the low 
murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their les- 
sons, might be heard of a drowsy summer's day, 
like the hum of a beehive ; interrupted now and 
then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the 
tone of menace or command ; or, peradventure, by 
the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some 
tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. 
Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, that ever 
bore in mind the golden maxim, " spare the rod and 
spoil the child." — Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly 
were not spoiled. 

I would not have it imagined, however, that he 
was one of those cruel potentates of the school, who 
joy in the smart of their subjects ; on the contrary, 
he administered justice with discrimination rather 
than severity ; taking the burthen oft" the backs of 
the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your 
mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish 
of the rod, was passed by with indulgence ; but the 
claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double 
portion on some little, tough, wrong-headed, broad- 
skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and 
grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this 
he called " doing his duty by their parents ; " and he 
never inflicted a chastisement without following it by 
the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, 
that " he would remember it and thank him for it 
the longest day he had to live." 

When school hours were over, he was even the 
companion and playmate of the larger boys ; and on 
holyday afternoons would convoy some of the smallet" 
ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or 
good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts 
of the cupboard. Indeed, it behoved him to keep 
on good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising 
from his school was small, and would have been 
scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, 
for he was a huge feeder, and though lank, had the 
dilating powers of an anaconda ; but to help out his 
rnaintenance, he was, according to country custom 
in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of 
the farmers, whose children he instructed. With 



these he lived successively a week at a time, thus 
going the rounds of the neighbourhood, with all his 
worldly effects tied up m a cotton handkerchief. 

That all this might not be loo onerous on the 
purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to con- 
sider the costs of schooling a grievous burthen, and 
schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways 
of rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He 
assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter la- 
bours of their farms ; helped to make hay ; mended 
the fences ; took the horses to water ; drove the 
cows from pasture ; and cut wood for the winter 
fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity 
and absolute sway, with which he lorded it in his 
little empire, the school, and became wonderfully 
gentle and ingratiating. He found favour in the 
eyes of the mothers, by petting the children, particu- 
larly the youngest ; and like the lion bold, which 
whilome so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he 
would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle 
with his foot for whole hours together. 

In addition to his other vocations, he was the 
singing-master of the neighbourhood, and picked up 
many bright shillings by instructing the young folks 
in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to 
him on Sundays, to take his station in front of the 
church gallery, with a band of chosen singers ; 
where, in his own mind, he completely carried away 
the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice 
resounded far above all the rest of the congregation, 
and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in 
that church, and which may even be heard half a 
mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, 
on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be 
legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod 
Crane. Thus, by divers little make-shifts, in that 
ingenious way which is commonly denominated " by 
hook and by crook," the worthy pedagogue got on 
tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who un- 
derstood nothing of the labour of head-work, to have 
a wonderful easy life of it. 

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some im- 
portance in the female circle of a rural neighbour- 
hood ; being considered a kind of idle gentleman- 
like personage, of vastly superior taste and accom- 
plishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, 
inferior in learning only to the parson. His appear- 
ance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at 
the tea-table of a farm-house, and the addition of a 
supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, per- 
adventure, the parade of a silver tea-pot. Our man 
of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the 
smiles of all the country damsels. How he would 
figure among them in the churchyard, between 
services on Sundays ! gathering grapes for them 
from the wild vines that overrun the surrounding 
trees ; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs 
on the tombstones ; or sauntering, with a whole 
bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill- 
pond ; while the more bashful country bumpkins 
hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance 
and address. 

From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of 
travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local 
gossip from house to house : so that his appearance 
was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, more- 
over, esteemed by the women as a man of great 
erudition, for he had read several books quite 
through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Math- 
er's History of New-England Witchcraft, in which, 
.by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. 

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewd- 
ness and simple credulity. His appetite for the mar- 
vellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally 
extraordinary ; and both had been increased by his 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



91 



residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was 
too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. 
It was often his delight, after his school was dismiss- 
ed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich 
bed of clover, bordering the little brook that whim- 
jiered by his school-house, and there con over old 
Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of 
evening made the printed page a mere mist before 
his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp 
and stream and awful woodland, to the farm-house 
where he happened to be quartered, eveiy sound of 
nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited 
imagination : the moan of the whip-poor-will* from 
the hill side ; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that 
harbinger of storm ; the dreary hooting of the 
screech-owl ; or the sudden rustling in the thicket, 
of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, 
too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest 
places, now and then startled him, as one of uncom- 
mon brightness would stream across his path ; and 
if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came 
winging his blundering flight against him, the poor 
varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with tiie idea 
that he was struck with a witch's token. His only 
resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, 
or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes ; — 
and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat 
by their doors of an evening, were often filled with 
awe, at hearing his nasal melody, " in linked sweet- 
ness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, 
or along the dusky road. 

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to 
pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, 
as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples 
roasting and sputtering along the hearth, and listen 
to their marvellous tales of ghosts, and goblins, and 
haunted fields and haunted brooks, and haunted 
bridges and haunted houses, and particularly of the 
headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hol- 
low, as they sometimes called him. He would de- 
light them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, 
and of the direful omens and portentous sights and 
sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times 
of Connecticut ; and would frighten them wofully 
with speculations upon comets and shooting stars, 
and with the alarming fact that the world did abso- 
lutely turn round, and that they were half the time 
topsy-turvy ! 

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly 
cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that 
was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood 
fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show 
its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his 
subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes 
and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and 
ghastly glare of a snowy night ! — With what wistful 
look did he eye every trembling ray of light stream- 
ing across the waste fields from some distant win- 
dow ! — How often was he appalled by some shrub cov- 
ered with snow, which like a sheeted spectre beset his 
very path ! — How often did he shrink with curdling 
awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust 
beneath his feet ; and dread to look over his shoulder, 
lest he should behold some uncouth bemg tramping 
close behind him ! — and how often was he thrown 
into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howl- 
ing among the trees, in the idea that it was the gal- 
loping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings ! 

All these, however, were mere terrors of the 
night, phantoms of the mind, that walk in darkness : 
and though he had seen many spectres in his time, 
and been more than once beset by Satan in divers 

*The whip-poor-will is a bird which is only heard at night. It 
receives its name from its note, which is thought to resemble those 
words. 



shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight 
put an end to all these evils ; and he would have 
passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil 
and all his works, if his path had not been crossed 
by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal 
man, than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of 
witches put together; and that was — a woman. 

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one 
evening in each week, to receive his instructions in 
psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter 
and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She 
was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen ; plump as a 
partridge ; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one 
of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not 
merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. 
She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be 
perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture ot 
ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set 
off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure 
yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had 
brought over from Saardam ; the tempting stomacher 
of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short 
petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in 
the country round. 

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward 
the sex ; and it is not to be wondered at, that so 
tempting a niDrsel soon found favour in his eyes, 
more especially after he had visited her in her pa- 
ternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a per- 
fect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted 
farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes 
or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own 
farm ; but within these, every thing was snug, happy, 
and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his 
wealth, but not proud of it ; and piqued himself 
upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in 
which he lived. His strong-hold was situated on the 
banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, shel- 
tered, fertile nooks, in which the Dutch farmers are 
so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree spread its 
broad branches over it ; at the foot of which bubbled 
up a spring of the softest and sv\eetest water, in a 
little well, formed of a barrel ; and then stole spark- 
ling away through the grass, to a neighbouring 
brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf 
willows. Hard by the farm-house was a vast barn, 
that might have served for a church ; every window 
and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the 
treasures of the farm ; the flail was busily resound- 
ing within it from morning to night ; swallows and 
martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and 
rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if 
watching the weather, some with their heads under 
their wings, or buried in their bosoms, and others, 
swelling, and cooing, and bowing about the'ir dames, 
were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek, un- 
wieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and 
abundance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, 
now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff 
the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were 
riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets 
of ducks ; regiments of turkeys were gobbling 
through the farm-yard, and guinea-fowls fretting 
about it like ill-tempered housewives, with their 
peevish, discontented cry. Before the barn door 
strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, 
a warrior, and a fine gentleman ; clapping his bur- 
nished wings and crowing in the pride and gladness 
of his heart — sometimes tearing up the earth with 
his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry 
family of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel 
which he had discovered. 

The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked 
upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter 
fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to 



92 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



himself every roasting pig running about, \\ith a 
pudding in its belly, and an apple in its mouth ; the 
pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, 
and tucked in with a coverlet of crust ; the geese 
were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks 
pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, 
with a decent competency of onion sauce. In the 
porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of 
bacon, and juicy relishing ham ; not a turkey, but 
he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under 
its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of sa\'oury 
sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay 
sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted 
claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous 
spirit disdained to ask while living. 

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as 
he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow 
lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, 
and Indian corn, and the orchards burthened with 
ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement 
of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel 
who was to inherit these domains, and his imagina- 
tion expanded with the idea, how they might be 
readily turned into cash, and the money invested in 
immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in 
the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized 
his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, 
with a whole family of children, mounted on the top 
of a v.'agon lorided with household trumpery, with 
pots and kettles dangling beneath ; and he beheld 
himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her 
heels, setting out for Kentuck)', Tennessee — or the 
Lord knows where ! 

When he entered the house, the conquest of his 
heart was complete. It was one of those spacious 
farm-houses, with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping 
roofs, built in the style handed down from the first 
Dutch settlers. The low projecting eaves forming a 
piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in 
bad weather. Under this were hung tlails, harness, 
various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in 
the neighbouring river. Benches were built along 
the sides for summer use ; and a great spinning- 
wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed 
the various uses to which this important porch 
might be devoted. From this piazza the wonderful 
Ichabod entered the hall, v;hich formed the centre 
of the mansion, and the place of usual residence. 
Here, rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long 
dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood c 
huge bag of wool, ready to be spun ; in another, a 
quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom ; ears 
of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and 
peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, 
mingled with the gaud of red peppers ; and a door 
left ajar, gave him a peep into the best parlour, 
where the claw-footed chairs, and dark mahogany 
tables, shone like mirrors ; andirons, with their ac- 
companying shovel and tongs, glistened from their 
covert of asparagus tops ; mock-oranges and conch 
shells decorated the mantelpiece ; strings of various 
coloured birds' eggs were suspended above it ; a 
great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the 
room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open,' 
displayed immense treasures of old silver and well- 
mended china. 

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these 
regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an 
end, and his only study was how to gain the affec- 
tions of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In 
this enterprise, however, he had more real difficulties 
than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of 
yore, who seldom had any thing but giants, en- 
chanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily con- 
quered adversaries, to contend with ; and Inad to 



make his way merely through gates of iron and 
brass, and walls of adamant to the castle-keep, 
where the lady of his heart was confined ; all which 
he achieved as easily as a man would car\'e his way 
to the centre of a Christmas pie, and then the lady 
gave him her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, 
on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of 
a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims 
and caprices, which were for ever presenting new 
difficulties and impediments, and he had to encoun- 
ter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and 
blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every 
portal to her heart ; keeping a watchful and angry 
eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in the com- 
mon cause against any new competitor. 

Among these, the most formidable was a burly, 
roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, 
or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van 
Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rung 
with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was 
broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short 
curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant 
countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arro- 
gance. From his Herculean frame and great powers 
of limb, he had received the nickname of Brom 
Bones, by which he was universally known. He 
was famed for great knowledge and skill in horse- 
manship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tar- 
tar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights, 
and with the ascendancy which bodily strength al- 
ways acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all 
disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his 
decisions with an air and tone that admitted ol no 
gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either 
a fight or a frolic ; had more mischief than ill-will in 
his composition ; and with all his overbearing rough- 
ness, there was a strong dash of waggish good- 
humour at bottom. He had three or four boon com- 
panions of his own stamp, who regarded him as 
their model, and at the head of whom he scoured 
the country, attending eveiy scene of feud or merri- 
ment for miles round. In cold weather, he was dis- 
tinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting 
fox's tail ; and when the folks at a country gathering 
descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisk- 
ing about among a squad of hard riders, they always 
stood by for a squall. Sometiuies his crew would 
be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at mid- 
night, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don 
Cossncks, and the old dames, startled out of their 
sleen, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry 
had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes 
Brom Bones and his gang ! " The neighbours 
looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, 
and good-will ; and when any madcap prank, or 
rustic br.awl occurred in the vicinity, always shook 
their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the 
bottom of it. 

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out 
the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth 
gallantries, and though his amorous toyings were 
something like the gentle caresses and endearments 
of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not alto- 
gether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his ad- 
vances were signals for rival candidates to retire, 
who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours ; 
insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van 
Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that 
hin master was courting, or, as it is termed, '• spark- 
ing," within, all other suitors passed by in despair, 
and carried the war into other quarters. 

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod 
Crane had to contend, and considering all things, a 
stouter man than he would have shrunk from the 
competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



93 



He had, however, a happy mixture of pliabihty and i 
perseverance in his nature ; he was in form and ] 
spirit lil;e a supple-jack — yielding, but tough ; though 
he bent, he never broke ; and though he bowed be- 
neath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was 
away — jerk ! — he was as erect, and carried his head 
as high as ever. 

To have taken the field openly against his rival, 
would have been madness ; for he was not a man to 
be thwarted in his amours, any more than that 
stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made 
his advances in a quiet and gently-insinuating man- 
ner. Under cover of his character of singing-master, 
he made frequent visits at the farm-house ; not that 
he had any thing to apprehend from the meddlesome 
interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling- 
block in the path of lovers. Bait Van Tassel was 
an easy indulgent soul ; he loved his daughter better 
even than his pipe, and like a reasonable man, and 
an excellent father, let her have her way in every 
thing. His notable little wife, too, had enough to do 
to attend to her housekeeping and manage the poul- 
try ; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese 
are foolish things, and must be looked after, but girls 
can take care of themselves. Thus, while the busy 
dame bustled about the house, or plied her spinning- 
wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Bait would 
sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching 
the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, 
armed with a sword in each hand, was most valiantly 
fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In 
the mean time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with 
the daughter by the side of the spring under the 
great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that 
hour so favourable to the lover's eloquence. 

1 profess not to know how women's hearts are 
wooed and won. To me they have always been mat- 
ters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have 
but one vulnerable point, or door of access ; while 
others have a thousand avenues, and may be cap- 
tured in a thousand different ways. It is a great tri- 
umph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater 
proof of generalship to maintain possession of the 
latter, for a man must battle for his fortress at every 
door and window. He that wins a thousand com- 
mon hearts, is therefore entitled to some renown ; 
but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart 
of a coquette, is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this 
was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones ; 
and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his ad- 
vances, the interests of the former evidently de- 
clined : his horse was no longer seen tied at the pal- 
ings on .Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually 
arose between him and the perceptor of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his 
nature, would fain have carried matters to open 
warfare, and settled their pretensions to the lady, ac- 
cording to the mode of those most concise and sim- 
ple reasoners, the knights errant of yore — by single 
combat ; but Ichabod was too conscious of the supe- 
rior might of his adversary to enter the lists against 
him ; he had overheard the boast of Bones, that he 
would "double the schoolmaster up, and put him on 
a shelf; " and he was too wary to give him an op- 
portunity. There was something extremely provok- 
ing in this obstinately pacific system ; it left Brom 
no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic 
waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish 
practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the 
object of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his 
gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto 
peaceful domains ; smoked out his singing-school, by 
stopping up the chimney ; broke into the school- 
house at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings 



of withe and window stakes, and turned every thing 
topsy-turvy ; so that the poor schoolmaster began to 
think all the witches in the country held their meet- 
ings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom 
took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in 
presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog 
whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous 
manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's, to 
instruct her in psalmody. 

In this way, matters went on for some time, with- 
out producing any material effect on the relative 
situations of the contending powers. On a fine au- 
tumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat en- 
throned on the lofty stool from whence he usually 
watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. 
In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of des- 
potic power ; the birch of justice reposed on three 
nails, behind the throne, a constant terror to evil 
doers ; while on the desk before him might be seen 
sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, 
detected upon the persons of idle urchins ; such as 
half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, 
and whole legions of rampant little paper game-cocks. 
Apparently there had been some appalling act of 
justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all 
busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering 
behind them with one eye kept upon the master ; 
and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout 
the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by 
the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and 
trowscrs, a round crowned fragment of a hat, like 
the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a 
ragged, wild, halt-broken colt, which he managed 
with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering 
up to the school-door with an invitation to Ichabod 
to attend a merry-making, or " quilting frolic," to be 
held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's ; and 
having delivered his message with that air of im- 
portance, and effort at fine language, which a negro 
is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he 
dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering 
away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry 
of his mission. 

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet 
school-room. The scholars were hurried through 
their lessons, without stopping at trifles ; those who 
were nimble, skipped over half with impunity, and 
those who were tardy, had a smart application now 
and then in the rear, to quicken their speed, or help 
them over a tall word. Books were flung aside, with- 
out being put away on the shelves ; inkstands were 
overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole 
school was turned loose an hour before the usual 
time ; bursting forth like a legion of young imps, 
yelping and racketing about the green, in joy at 
their early emancipation. 

The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra 
half-hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up 
his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and ar- 
ranging his looks by a bit of broken looking-glass, 
that hung up in the school-house. That he might 
make his appearance before his mistress in the true 
style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the 
farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric 
old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, 
and thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a 
knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet 
I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give 
some account of the looks and equipments of my 
hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a 
broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost 
every thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and 
shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer ; 
his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted 
with burrs ; one eye had lost its pupil, and was 



u 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of 
a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire 
and mettle in his day, if we may judge from his 
name, which was Gunpowder. He had, in fact, 
been a favourite steed of his master's, the choleric 
Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had 
infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into 
the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, 
there was more of the lurking devil in him than in 
any young filly in the country. 

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. 
He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees 
nearly up to the pommel of the saddle ; his sharp 
elbows stuck out like grasshoppers' ; he carried his 
whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, 
and as the horse jogged on, the motion of his arms 
was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A 
small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so 
his scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the 
skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the 
horse's tail. Such Was the appearance of Ichabod 
and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of 
Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an 
apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad day- 
light. 

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day ; the 
sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich 
and golden livery which we always associate with 
the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their 
sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the ten- 
derer kind had been nipped by the frosts into bril- 
liant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming 
files of wild ducks began to make their appearance 
high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might 
be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, 
and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals 
from the neighbouring stubble field. 

The small birds were taking their farewell ban- 
quets. In the fulness of their revelry, they fluttered, 
chirping and frolicking, from bush to bush, and tree 
to tree, capricious from the very profusion and 
variety around them. There was the honest cock- 
robin, the favourite game of stripling sportsmen, 
with its loud querulous note, and the twittering 
blackbirds flving in sable clouds ; and the golden- 
winged woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his 
broad black gorget, and splendid plumage ; and the 
cedar-bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt 
tail, and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the 
blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light blue 
coat and white underclothes, screaming and chat- 
tering, nodding, and bobbing, and bowing, and pre- 
tending to be on good terms with every songster of 
the grove. 

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, 
ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, 
ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. 
On all sides he beheld vast store of apples, some 
hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees ; some 
gathered into baskets and barrels for the market ; 
others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. 
Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, 
with its golden ears peeping from their leafy co- 
verts, and holding out the promise of cakes and 
hasty-pudding ; and the yellow pumpkins lying be- 
neath them, turning up their fair round bellies 
to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most 
luxurious of pies ; and anon he passed the fragrant 
buckwheat fields, breathing the odour of the bee- 
hive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole 
over his mind of dainty slap-jacks, well buttered, 
and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate 
little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel. 

Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts 
and "sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the 



sides of a range of hills which look out upon .some of 
the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun 
gradually wheeled his broad disk down into the west. 
The wide bosom of the Tappaan Zee lay motionless 
and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle 
undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of 
the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated 
in the sky, without a breath of air to move them. 
The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing 
gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into 
the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray 
lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that 
overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth 
to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides. A 
sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly 
down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against 
the mast ; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed 
along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was 
suspended in the air. 

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the 
castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found throng- 
ed with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. 
Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in home- 
spun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, 
and magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, with- 
ered little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted 
gowns, hoinespun petticoats, with scissors and pin- 
cushions, and gay calic« pockets hanging on the out- 
side. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their 
mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine riband, 
or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city in- 
novations. The sons, in short square-skirted coats, 
with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their 
hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, 
especially if they could procure an eelskin for the 
purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country, 
as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair. 

Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, 
having come to the gathering on his favourite steed 
Daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle 
and mischief, and which no one but himself could 
manage. He was, in fact, noted for preferring 
vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which 
kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held 
a tractable well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad 
of spirit. 

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of 
charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my 
hero, as he entered the state parlour of Van Tassel's 
mansion. Not those of the bevy of bu.xom lasses, 
with their luxurious display of red and white ; but 
the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea- 
table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heap- 
ed-up platters of cakes of various and almost inde- 
scribable kinds, known onlv to experienced Dutch 
housewives ! There was the doughty dough-nut, the 
tender oly-koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; 
sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey 
cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then 
there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin 
pies ; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and 
moreover delectable Qishes of preserved plums, and 
peaches, and pears, and quinces ; not to mention 
broiled shad and roasted chickens ; together with 
bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy- 
piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, 
with the motherly tea-pot sending up its clouds 
of vapour from the midst — Heaven bless the mark ! 
I want breath and time to discuss this banquet 
as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my 
story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great 
a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to 
every tiainty. 

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart 
dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



95 



cheer, and whose spirits rose with eating, as some 
men's do with drink. He could not help, too, 
rolling' his large eyes round him as he ate, and 
chuckling with the possibility that he might one day 
be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable 
luxury and splendour. Then, he thought, how soon 
he'd turn his back upon the old school-house ; snap 
his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and 
every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant 
pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him 
comrade ! 

Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his 
guests with a face dilated with content and good- 
humour, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His 
hospitable attentions were brief, but expressiv?, 
being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the 
shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to 
" fall to, and help themselves." 

And now the sound of the music from the com- 
mon room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The 
musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had 
been the itnerant orchestra of the neighbourhood 
for more than half a century. His instrument was 
as old and battered as himself. The greater part of 
the time he scraped away on two or three strings, 
accompanying every movement of the bow with a 
motion of the head ; bowing almost to the ground, 
and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple 
were to start. 

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much 
as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre 
about him was idle ; and to have seen his loosely 
hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the 
room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that 
blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you 
in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes ; 
who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the 
farm and the neighbourhood, stood forming a pyramid 
of shining black faces at every door and window ; 
gazing with delight at the scene ; rolling their white 
eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from 
ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be 
otherwise than animated and joyous .' the lady of 
his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling 
graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings ; while 
Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, 
sat brooding by himself in one corner. 

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was at- 
tracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old 
Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, 
gossiping over former times, and drawling out long 
stories about the war. 

This neighbourhood, at the time of which I am 
speaking, was one of those highly favoured places 
which abound with chronicle and great men. The 
British and American line had run near it during the 
war; it had, therefore, been the scene of marauding, 
and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all kind 
of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed 
to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with a 
little becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of 
his recollection, to make himself the hero of every 
exploit. 

There was the story of Doflfue Martling, a large 
blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a 
British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a 
mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth 
discharge. And there was an old gentleman who 
shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be 
lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of Whiteplains, 
being an excellent master of defence, parried a 
musket-ball with a small-sword, insomuch that he 
absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance 
off at the hilt ; in proof of which he was readv at 
any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little 



bent. There were several more that had been 
equally great in the field, not one of whom but was 
persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bring- 
ing the w-ar to a happy termination. 

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts 
and apparitions that succeeded. The neighbourhood 
is rich in legendary treasures of the kind. Local 
tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered, 
long-settled retreats ; but are trampled under foot, 
by the shifting throng that forms the population of 
most of our country places. Besides, there is no 
encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, 
for they have scarcely had time to finish their first 
nap, and turn themselves in their graves, before 
their surviving friends have travelled away from the 
neighbourhood : so that when they turn out at night 
to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left 
to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so 
seldom hear of ghosts e.xcept in our long-established 
Dutch communities. 

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence 
of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless 
owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was 
a contagion in the very air that blew from that 
haunted region ; it breathed forth an atmosphere of 
dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several 
of the Sleepv Hollow people were present at Van 
Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild 
and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were 
told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and 
wailings heard and seen about the great tree where 
the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which 
stood in the neighbourhood. Some mention was 
made also of the woman in white, that haunted the 
dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to 
shriek on winter nights before a storm, having per- 
ished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories, 
however, turned upon the favourite spectre of Sleepy 
Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard 
several times of late, patroling the country; and it 
is said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves 
in the churchyard. 

The sequestered situation of this church seems 
always to have made it a favourite haunt of troubled 
spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust- 
trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, 
whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Chris- 
tian purity, beaming through the shades of retire- 
ment. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver 
sheet of water, bordered by high trees, betw-een 
which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the 
Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where 
the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would 
think that there at least the dead might rest in 
peace. On one side of the church extends a wide 
woody dell, along which raves a large brook among 
broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep 
black part of the stream, not far from the church, 
was formerly thrown a wooden bridge ; the road 
that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly 
shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom 
about it, even in the day-time ; but occasioned a 
fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the 
favourite haunts of the headless horseman, and the 
place where he was most frequently encountered. 
The tale was told of old Brouvver, a most heretical 
disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman re- 
turning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was 
obliged to get up behind him ; how they galloped 
over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they 
reached the bridge ; when the horseman suddenly 
turned into a skeleton, threw- old Brouwer into the 
brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a 
clap of thunder. 

This story was immediately matched by a thrice 



9G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made 
light of the galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. 
He affirmed, that on returning one night from the 
neighbouring village of Sing-Sing, he had been over- 
taken by this midnight trooper ; that he had offered 
to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should 
have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse 
all hollow, but just as they came to the church 
bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash 
of fire. 

All these tales, told in that drowsy under tone 
with which men talk in the dark, the countenances 
of the listeners only now and then receiving a casual 
gleam from the glare of a pipe, sunk deep in the 
mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with 
large extracts from his invaluable author. Cotton 
Mather, and added many marvellous events that had 
taken place in his native State of Connecticut, and 
fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks 
about Sleepy Hollow. 

The revel now gradually broke up. The old far- 
mers gathered together their families in their wagons, 
and were heard for some time rattling along the hol- 
low roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the 
damsels mounted on pillions behind their favourite 
swains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling 
with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent 
woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they 
gradually died away— and the late scene of noise 
and frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod only 
lingered behind, according to the custom of country 
lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress; fully 
convinced that he was now on the high road to suc- 
cess. What passed at this interview I will not pre- 
tend to say, for in fact I do not know. Something, 
however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he 
certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, 
with an air quite desolate and chapfallen — Oh, these 
women ! these women ! Could that girl have been 
playing off any of her coquettish tricks ? — Was her 
encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere 
sham to secure her conquest of his rival ? — Heaven 
only knows, not I ! — Let it suffice to say, Ichabod 
stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking 
a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. Without 
looking to the right or left to notice the scene of 
rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he 
went straight to the stable, and with several hearty 
cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most uncourteously 
from the comfortable quarters in which he was 
soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn 
and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. 

It was the very witching time of night that Icha- 
bod, heavy- hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel 
homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which 
rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed 
so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dis- 
mal as himself. Far below him the Tappaan Zee 
spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with 
here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly 
at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of mid- 
night, he could even hear the barking of the watch- 
dog from the opposite shore of the- Hudson ; but it 
was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his 
distance from this faithful companion of man. Now 
and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, ac- 
cidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from 
some farm-house away among the hills — but it was 
like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life 
occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy 
chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of 
a bull-frog from a neighbouring marsh, as if sleeping 
uncomfortably, and turning suddenlv in his bed. 

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had 
heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon 



his recollection. The night grew darker and darker ; 
the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and 
driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. 
He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, 
moreover, approaching the very place where many 
of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In 
the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, 
which towered like a giant above all the other trees 
of the neighbourhood, and formed a kind of land- 
mark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large 
enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting 
down almost to the earth, and rising again into the 
air. It was connected with the tragical story of the 
unfortunate Andre, who had been taken prisoner 
hard by; and was universally known by the name of 
Major Andre's tree. The common people regarded 
it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly 
out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred name- 
sake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and 
doleful lamentations, told concerning it. 

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began 
to whistle ; he thought his whistle was answered : it 
was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry 
branches. As he approached a little nearer, he 
thought he saw something white, hanging in the 
midst of the tree : he paused, and ceased whistling ; 
but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was 
a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, 
and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a 
groan — his teeth chattered, and his knees smote 
against the saddle : it was but the rubbing of one 
huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about 
by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new 
perils lay before him. 

About two hundred yards from the tree, a small 
brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and 
thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's 
Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, sei-ved 
for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road 
where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks 
and chestnuts, m.atted thick with wild grape-vines, 
threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge, 
was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot 
that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under 
the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy 
yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has 
ever since been considered a haunted stream, and 
fearful are the feelings of a school-boy who has to 
pass it alone after dark. 

As he approached the stream, his heart began to 
thump ; he summoned up, however, all his resolu- 
tion, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, 
and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge ; but 
instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal 
made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against 
the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the 
delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked 
lustily with the contrary foot : it was all in vain ; his 
steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to 
the opposite side of the road into a thicket of bram- 
bles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now be- 
stowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs 
of old Gunpowder, who dashed forwards, snuffling 
and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, 
with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider 
sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a 
plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the 
sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the 
grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld some- 
thing huge, misshapen, black and towering. It 
stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, 
like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the 
traveller. 

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon 
his head with terror. What was to be done ? To 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



97 



turn and fly was now too late ; and besides, what 
chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such 
it was, which .could ride upon the wings of the 
wind .' Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, 
he demanded in stammering accents — " Who are 
you ? " He received no reply. He repeated his de- 
mand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was 
no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of 
the inflexible Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, 
broke forth with involuntary fervour into a psalm 
tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put it- 
self in motion, and with a scramble and a bound, 
stood at once in the middle of the road. Though 
the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the 
unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. 
He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, 
and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He 
made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept 
aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the 
blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over 
his fright and waywardness. 

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange mid- 
night companion, and bethought himself of the ad- 
venture of Brom Bones with the galbping Hessian, 
now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him 
behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse 
to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a 
walk, thinking to lag behind — the other did the same. 
His heart began to sink within him ; he endeavoured 
to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue 
clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not 
utter a stave. There was something in the moody 
and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, 
that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fear- 
fully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, 
which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in 
relief .against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled 
in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving 
that he was headless ! but his horror was still more 
increased, on observing that the head, which should 
have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him 
on the pommel of his saddle ! His terror rose to 
desperation ; he rained a shower of kicks and blows 
upon Gunpowder, hoping, by a sudden movement, 
to give his companion the slip — but the spectre start- 
ed full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed 
through thick and thin ; stones flying and sparks 
flashing at ever)' bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments 
fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank 
body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of 
his (light. 

They had now reached the road which turns off 
to Sleepy Hollow ; but Gunpowder, who seemed 
possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, 
made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down 
hill to the left. This road leads thro'jgh a sandy 
hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, 
where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story ; 
and just beyond swells the green knoll on which 
stands the whitewashed church. 

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskil- 
ful rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but 
lUSt as he had got half-way through the hollow, the 
jirths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping 
from under hiin. He seized it by the pommel, and 
indeavoured to hold it firm, but in vain ; and had 
just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder 
round the neck, when the saddle tell to the earth, 
md he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. 
For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath 
massed across his mind — for it was his Sunday saddle ; 
3ut this was no time for petty fears : the goblin was 
"lard on his haunches ; and, (unskilful rider that he 
■vas !j he had much ado to maintain his seat ; some- 
imes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and 



sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's back- 
bone, with a violence that he verily feared would 
cleave him asunder. 

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the 
hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The 
wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of 
the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He 
saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the 
trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom 
Bones' ghostly competitor had disappeared. " If I 
can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, " I am 
safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting 
and blowing close behind him ; he even fancied that 
he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in 
the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprung upon the bridge ; 
he thundered over the resounding planks ; he gained 
the opposite side, and now Ichabod cast a look be- 
hind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to 
rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he 
saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very 
act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeav- 
oured to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It 
encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash — 
he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gun- 
powder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed 
by like a whirlwind. 

The next morning the old horse was found without 
his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly 
cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did 
not make his appearance at breakfast — dinner-hour 
came, but no Ichabod. The boys a:;sembled at the 
school-house, and strolled idly about the banks of the 
brook ; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now 
began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor 
Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, 
and alter diligent investigation they came upon his 
traces. In one part of the road leading to the church, 
was found the saddle trampled in the dirt ; the tracks 
of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evi- 
dently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, 
l.ieyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the 
brook, where the water ran deep and black, was 
found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close 
beside it a shattered pumpkin. 

The brook was searched, but the body of the 
schoolmaster was not to be discovered. Hans Van 
Ripper, as executor of his estate, examined the bun- 
dle which contained all his worldly effects. They 
consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the 
neck ; a pair or two of worsted stockings ; an old pair 
of corduroy small-clothes ; a rusty razor ; a book of 
psalm tunes full of dog's ears ; and a broken pitch- 
pipe. As to the books and furniture of the school- 
house, they belonged to the community, excepting 
Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New-En- 
gland Almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune- 
telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much 
scribbled and blotted, by several fruitless attempts to 
make a copy of verses in honour of the heiress of 
Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic 
scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by 
Hans Van Ripper; who, from that time forward, 
determined to send his children no more to school ; 
observing that he never knew any good come of this 
same reading and writing. Whatever money the 
schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his 
c|uarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have 
had about his person at the time of his disappear- 
ance. 

The mysterious event caused much speculation at 
the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers 
and gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the 
bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin 
had been found. The stories of Brouwcr, of Bones, 
and a whole budget of others, were called to mind ; 



98 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and when they had diligently considered them all, 
and compared them with the symptoms of the pres- 
ent case, they shook their heads, and came to the 
conclusion, that Ichabod had b^en carried off by the 
galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in 
nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more 
about him ; the school was removed to a different 
quarter of the Hollow, and another pedagogue reign- 
ed in his stead. 

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to 
New-York on a visit several years after, and from 
whom this account of the ghostly adventure was re- 
ceived, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod 
Crane was still alive ; that he had left the neighbour- 
hood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van 
Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been 
suddenly dismissed by the heiress ; that he had 
changed his quarters to a distant part of the country ; 
had kept school and studied law at the same time ; had 
been admitted to the bar; turned politician; elec- 
tioneered; written for the newspapers; and finally, 
had been made a Justice of the Ten Pound Court. 
Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after his rival's disap- 
pearance, conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph 
to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly know- 
ing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and 
always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of 
the pumpkin ; which led some to suspect that he knew 
more about the matter than he chose to tell. 

The old country wives, however, who are the best 
judges of these matters, maintain to this day, that 
Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means ; 
and it is a favourite story often told about the neigh- 
bourhood round the w'inter evening fire. The bridge 
became more than ever an object of superstitious 
awe ; and that may be the reason why the road has 
been altered of late years, so as to approach the 
church by the border of the mill-pond. The school- 
house being deserted, soon fell to decay, and was re- 
ported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate 
pedagogue ; and the plough-boy, loitering homeward 
of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice 
at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune 
among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow. 



POSTSCRIPT, 

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER. 



The preceding Tale is given, almost in the precise 
words in which I heard it related at a Corporation 
meeting of the ancient city of the Manhaitoes,* at 
which were present many of its sagest and most illus- 
trious burjihcrs The narrator was a pleasant, shabby, 
gentlemanly old fellow in pepper-and-salt cloihcs, with 
a sadly humorous face ; and one whom I strongly 
suspected of being poor — he made such elToris to be 
entertaining. When his story was concluded there 
was much laughter and approbation, particularly from 
two or three deputy aldermen, who had been asleep 
the greater part of the time. There was, however, one 
tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eye- 
brows, who maintained a grave and rather severe face 
throughout ; now and then folding liis arms, inclining 
his head, and looking down upon the lloor, as if turn- 
ing a doubt over in his mind. He was one of your 
wary men. who never laugh but upon good grounds — 
when they have reason and the law on their side. 
When the mirth of the rest of ihe company had sub- 
sided, and silence was restored, he leaned one arm 
on the elbow of his chair, and sticking the other 



* New- York. 



akimbo, demanded, with a slight but exceedingly 
sage motion of the head, and contraction of the brow, 
what was the moral of the storj', and what it went to 
prove. 

The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of 
wine to his lips, as a refreshment after his toils, paused 
for a moment, looked at his inquirer with an aircf in- 
finite deference, and lowering the glass slowly to the 
table, observed that the story was intended most log- 
ically to prove : — 

" That there is no situation in life but has its advan- 
tages and pleasures — provided we will but take a joke 
as we find it : 

"That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin 
troopers, is likely to have rough riding of it : 

" Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the 
hand of a Dutch hciiess, is a certain step to high pre- 
ferment in the state." 

The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold 
closer after this exphination, being sorely puzzled by 
the ratiocination of the syllogism ; while, methought, 
the one in pepper and-salt eyed him with something 
of a triumphant leer. At length he observed, that all 
this was very well, but still he thought the story a little 
on the extravagant — there were one or two points 
on which he had his doubts : 

" Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, " as to that mat- 
ter, I don't believe one-half of it myself" 

D. K. 



L'ENVOY. 



Go, little booke, God send thee good passage, 
And specially let this be thy praycre, 
Unto them all that thee will read or iiear, 
Where thou art wrong, after their help to call, 
Thee to correct, in any part or all. 

Ch.\ucer's Bell Dame satis Mercie. 

In concluding a second volume of the Sketch- 
Book, the Author cannot but express his deep sense 
of the indulgence with which his first has been re- 
ceived, and of the liberal disposition that has been 
evinced to treat him with kindness as a stranger. 
Even the critics, whatever may be said of them by 
others, he has found to be a singularly gentle and 
good-natured race ; it is true that each has in turn 
objected to some one or two articles, and that these 
individual exceptions, taken in the aggreg'ate, would 
amount almost to a total condemnation of his work ; 
but then he has been consoled by observing, that 
what one has particularly censured, another has as 
particularly praised : and thus, the encomiums being 
set off against the objections, he finds his work, upon 
the whole, commended far beyond its deserts. 

He is aware that he runs a risk of forfeiting much 
of this kind favour by not following the counsel that 
has been liberally bestowed upon him ; for where 
abundance of valuable advice is given gratis, it may 
seem a man's own fault if he should go astray. He 
only can say, in his vindication, that be faithfully 
determined, for a time, to govern himself in his 
second volume by the opinions passed upon his first ; 
but he was soon brought to a stand by the con- 
trariety of excellent counsel. One kindly advised 
hitn to avoid the ludicrous ; another, to shun the 
pathetic ; a third assured him that he was tolerable 
at description, but cautioned him to leave narrative 
alone ; while a fourth declared that he had a very 
pretty knack at turning a story, and was really enter- 
taining when in a pensive mood, but was grievously 
mistaken if he imagined himself to possess a spark 
of humour. 

Thus perplexed by the advice of his friends, who 
each in turn closed some particular path, but lelt 



t 



THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



9^ 



him all the world beside to range in, he found that 
to follow all their counsels would, in fact, be to 
stand still. He remained for a time sadly embarass- 
ed ; when, all at once, the thought struck him to 
ramble on as he had begun ; that his worl< being 
miscellaneous, and written for different humours, it 
could not be expected that any one would be pleased 
with the whole ; but that if it should contain some- 
thing to suit each reader, his end would be com- 
pletely answered. Vew guests sit down to a varied 
table with an equal appetite for every dish. One has 
an elegant horror of a roasted pig ; another holds a 
curry or a devil in utter abomination ; a third cannot 
tolerate the ancient flavour of venison and wild fowl ; 
and a fourth, of truly masculine stomach, looks with 
sovereign contempt on those knicknacks, here and 
there dished up for the ladies. Thus each article is 
condemned in its turn ; and yet, amidst this variety 
ol appetites, seldom does a dish go away froin the 
table without being tasted and relished by some one 
or other of the guests. 

With these considerations he ventures to serve up 
this second volume in the same heterogeneous way 
with his first ; simply requesting the reader, if he 



should find here and there something to please him, 
to rest assured that it was written expressly for in- 
telligent readers like himself; but entreating him, 
should he find any thing to dislike, to tolerate it, as 
one of those articles which the Author has been 
obliged to write for readers of a less refined taste. 

To be serious. — The Author is conscious of the 
numerous faults and imperfections of his work ; and 
well aware how little he is disciplined and accom- 
plished in the arts of authorship. His deficiencies 
are also increased by a diffidence arising from his 
peculiar situation. He finds himself writing in a 
strange land, and appearing before a public which 
he has been accustomed, from childhood, to regard 
with the highest feelings of awe and reverence. He 
is full of solicitude to deserve their approbation, yet 
finds that very solicitude continually embarrassing 
his powers, and depriving him of that ease and con- 
fidence which are necessary to successful exertion. 
Still the kindness with which he is treated en- 
courages him to go on, hoping that in time he may 
acquire a steadier footing ; and thus he proceeds, 
half-venturing, half-shrinking, surprised at his own 
good fortune, and wondering at his own temerity. 



I 



The Alhambra: 



A SERIES OF TALES AND SKETCHES OF THE MOORS AND SPANIARDS. 



DEDICATION. 
TO DAVID WILKIE, ESQ., R.A. 



Mv DEAR Sir; — You may remember that, in the 
course of the rambles we once took together about 
some of the old cities of Spain, particularly Toledo 
and Seville, we frequently remarked the mi.xture of 
the Saracenic with the Gothic, remaining from the 
time of the Moors, and were more than once struck 
with incidents and scenes in the streets, that brought 
to mind passages in the "Arabian Nights." You 
then urged me to write something illustrative of these 
peculiarities; "something in the Haroun Alraschid 
style," that should have a dash of that Arabian spice 
which pervades every thing in Spain. I call this to 
luind to show you that you are, in some degree, re- 
sponsible for the present work; in which I have given 
a few " Arabesque " sketches and tales, taken from the 
life, or founded on local traditions, and mostly struck 
off during a residence in one of the luost legendary 
and Morisco-Spanish places of the Peninsula. 

I inscribe this work to you, as a memorial of the 
pleasant scenes we have witnessed together, in that 
land of adventure, and as a testimony of an esteem 
fur your worth, which can only be exceeded by ad- 
miration of your talents. 

Your friend and fellow traveller. 
The Author. 



THE JOURNEY. 



In the spring of 1829, the author of this work, 
whom curiosity had brought into Spain, made a 
rambling expedition from Seville to Granada, in 
company with a friend, a member ot" the Russian 
embassy at Madrid. Accident had thrown us to- 
gether from distant regions of the globe, and a simi- 
larity of taste led us to wander together among the 
romantic mountains of .A.ndalusia. Should these 
pages meet his eye, wherever thrown by the duties 
of his station, whether mingling in the pageantry of 
courts or meditating on the truer glories of nature, 
may they recall the scenes of our adventurous com- 
panionship, and with them the remembrance of one, 
in whom neither time nor distance will obliterate 
the recollection of his gentleness and worth. 

And here, before setting forth, let me indulge in a 
few previous remarks on Spanish scenery and 
Spanish travelling. Many are apt to picture Spain 
in their imaginations as a soft southern region decked 
outwith'-ill the luxuriant charms of voluptuous Italy. 
On the contrary, though there are exceptions in some 
of the maritime provinces, yet, for the greater part, 
it is a stern, melancholy country, with rugged moun- 
tains and long, naked, sweeping plains, destitute of 



trees, and invariably silent and lonesome, partaking 
of the savage and solitar)- character of Africa. What 
adds to this silence and loneliness, is tlie absence of 
singing birds, a natural consequence of the want of 
groves and hedges. The vulture and the eagle are 
seen wheeling about the mountain cliffs and soaring 
over the plains, and groups of shy bustards stalk 
about the heaths, but the myriads of smaller birds, 
which animate the whole face of other countries, are 
met with in but few provinces of Spain, and in them 
chiefly among the orchards and gardens which sur- 
round the habitations of man. 

In the exterior provinces, the traveller occasionally 
traverses great tracts cultivated with grain as far as 
the eye can reach, waving at times with verdure, at 
other times naked and sun-burnt ; but he looks 
round in vain for the hand that has tilled the soil ; 
at length he perceives some village perched on a 
steep hill, or rugged crag, with mouldering battle- 
ments and ruined watch-tower ; a strong-hold, in 
old times, against civil war or Moorish inroad ; for 
the custom among the peasantry of congregating 
together for mutual protection, is still kept up in 
most parts of Spain, in consequence of the marau- 
ding of roving freebooters. 

LBut though a great part of Spain is deficient in 
the garniture of groves and forests, and the softer 
charms of ornamental cultivation, yet its scenery has 
something of a high and lotty character to compen- 
sate the want. It partakes something of the attri- 
butes of its people, and I think that I better under- 
stand the proud, hardy, frugal and abstemious Span- 
iard, his manly defiance of hardships, and contempt 
of effeminate indulgences, since I have seen the coun- 
try he inhabits.^ 

(There is something, too, in the sternly simple 
features of the Spanish landscape, that impresses on 
the soul a feeling of sublimity.^ The immense plains 
of the Castiles and La Mancha, extending as far as 
tlie eye can reach, derive an interest from their very 
nakedness and immensity, and have something of the 
solemn grandeur of the ocean. In ranging over 
these boundless wastes, the eye catches sight, here 
and there, of a s'raggling herd of cattle attended by 
a lonely herdsman, motionless as a statue, with his 
long slender pike tapering up like a lance into the 
air ; or beholds a long train of mules slowly moving 
along the waste like a train of camels in the desert, 
or a single herdsmen, armed with blunderbuss and 
stiletto, and prowling over the plain. Thus, the 
country, the habits, the ver)' looks of the people, 
have something of the Arabian character. The 
general insecurity of the country is evinced in the 
universal use of weapons. The herdsman in the 
field, the shepherd in the plain has his musket and 
his knife. The wealthy villager rarely ventures to 
the market-town without his trabucho ; and, per- 
haps, a servant on foot with a blunderbuss on his 
shoulder ; and the most petty journey is undertaken 
with the preparations of a warlike enteiprise. 

(10 U 



102 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The clangers of the road produce, also, a mode of 
travellintf, resembling, on a diminutive scale, the 
caravans of the East. The arrieros or carriers, con- 
gregate in troops, and set off in large and well- 
armed trains on appointed days, while individual 
travellers swell their number and contribute to their 
strength. In this primitive way is the commerce of 
the country carried on. The muleteer is the general 
medium of traffic, and the legitimate wanderer of 
the land, traversing the Peninsula from the Pyrenees 
and the Asturias, to the Alpuxarras, the Serrania de 
Konda, and even to the gates of Gibraltar. He lives ] 
frugally and hardily ; his alforjas (or saddle-bags,) of 
coarse cloth, hold his scanty stock of provisions ; a 
leathern bottle hanging at his saddle-bow, contains 
wme or water for a supply across barren mountains 
and thirsty plains ; a mule cloth spread upon the 
ground is his bed at night, and his pack-saddle is his 
pillow. His low but clear-limbed and sinewy form 
betokens strength ; his complexion is dark and sun- 
burnt ; his eye resolute, but quiet in its expression, 
except when kindled by sudden emotion ; his de- 
meanour is frank, manly, and courteous, and he 
never passes you without a grave salutation — " Dios 
guarda X usted ! " — " Vay usted con Dios cabal- 
icro ! " — " God guard you 1 " — " God be with you ! 
cavalier ! " 

As these men have often their whole fortune at 
stake upon the burden of their mules, they have their 
weapons at hand, slung to their saddles, and ready 
to be snatched down for desperate defence. But 
their united numbers render them secure against 
petty bands of marauders, and the solitary banda- 
lero, armed to the teeth, and mounted on his An- 
dalusian steed, hovers about them, like a pirate 
about a merchant convoy, without daring to make 
an assault. 

The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock 
of songs and ballads, with which to beguile his in- 
cessant way-faring. The airs are rude and simple, 
consisting of but few inflexions. These he chants forth 
with a loud voice, and long drawling cadence, seated 
sideways on his mule, who seems to listen with in- 
finite gravity, and to keep time with his paces, to 
the tune. The couplets thus chanted are often old 
traditional romances about the Moors ; or some 
legend of a saint ; or some love ditty ; or, what is 
still more frequent, some ballad about a bold contra- 
bandista, or hardy bandalero ; for the smuggler and 
the robber are poetical heroes among the common 
people of Spain. Often the song of the muleteer is 
composed at the instant, and relates to some local 
scene, or some incident of the journey. This talent 
ol singing and improvising is frequent in Spain, and 
is said to have been inherited from the Moors. There 
is something wildly pleasing in listening to these 
ditties among the rude and lonely sceni^s they illus- 
trate, accompanied as they are, by the occasional 
jingle of the mule-bell. 

It has a most picturesque effect, also, to meet a 
train of muleteers in some mountain pass. First 
you hear the bells of the leading mules, breaking 
with their simple melody the stillness of the airy 
height ; or, perhaps, the voice of the muleteer adr 
monishing some tardy or wandering animal, or 
chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some tra- 
ditionary ballad. At length you see the mules slowly 
winding along the cragged defile, sometimes de- 
scending precipitous cliffs, so as to present them- 
selves in full relief against the sky, sometimes toiling 
up the deep arid chasms below, you. As they ap- 
proach, you descry their gay decorations of worsted 
tufts, tassels, and saddle-cloths ; while, as they pass 
by, the ever ready trabucho, slung behind their packs 
and saddles, gives a hint of the insecurity of the road. 



The ancient kingdom of Granada, into which we 
are about to penetrate, is one of the most moun- 
tainous regions of Spain. Vast sierras or chains 
of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree, and mottled 
with variegated marbles and granites, elevate their 
sun-burnt summits against a deep blue sky, yet in 
their rugged bosoms lie engulfed the incist verdant 
and fertile valley, where the desert and the garden 
strive tor mastery, and the very rock, as it were, com- 
pelled to yield the fig, the orange, and the citron, 
and to blossom with the myrtle and the rose. 

In the wild passes of these mountains, the sight of 
walled towns and villages built like eagles' nests 
among the cliffs, and surrounded by Moorish battle- 
ments, or of ruined watch-towers perched on lofty 
peaks, carry the mind back to the chivalrous days of 
Christian and Moslem warfare, and to the romantic 
struggle for the conquest of Granada. In traversing 
their lofty Sierras, the traveller is often obliged to 
alight and lead his horse up and down the steep and 
jagged ascents and descents, resembling the broken 
steps of a staircase. Sometimes the road winds along 
dizzy precipices, without parapet to guard him from 
the gulfs below, and then will plunge down steep 
and dark and dangerous declivities. Sometimes it 
struggles through rugged barrancos. or ravines, worn 
by water torrents ; the obscure paths of the Contra- 
bandista, while ever and anon, the ominous cross, 
the memento of robbery and murder, erected on a 
mound of stones at some lonely part of the road, 
admonishes the traveller that he is among the haunts 
of banditti ; perhaps, at that very moment, under the 
eye of some lurking bandalero. Sometimes, in wind- 
ing through the narrow valleys, he is startled by a 
hoarse bellowing, and beholds above him, on some 
green fold of the mountain side, a herd of fierce An- 
dalusian bulls, destined for the combat of the arena. 
There is something awful in the contemplation of 
these terrific animals, clothed with tremendous 
strength, and ranging their native pastures, in un- 
tamed wildness : strangers almost to the face of man. 
They know no one but the solitary herdsman who 
attends upon them, and even he at times dares not 
venture to approach them. The low bellovvings of 
these bulls, and their menacing aspect as they look 
down from their rocky height, give additional wild- 
ness to the savage scenery around. 

I have been betrayed unconsciously into a longer 
disquisition than 1 had intended on the several fea- 
tures of Spanish travelling ; but there is a romance 
about all the recollections of the Peninsula that is 
dear to the imagination. 

It was on the first of May that my comjjanion 
and myself set forth from Seville, on our route to 
Granada. We had made all due preparations for 
the nature of our journey, which lay through moun- 
tainous regions where the roads are little better than 
mere mule paths, and too frequently beset by robbers. 
The most valuable part of our luggage had been tor- 
warded by the arrieros ; we retained merely clothing 
and necessaries for the journey, and money for the 
expenses of the road, with a sufticient surplus of the 
latter to satisfy the expectations of robbers, should 
we be assailed, and to save ourselves from the rough 
treatment that awaits the too wary and emptyhanded 
traveller. A couple of stout hired steeds were pro- 
vided lor ourselves, and a third for our scanty luggage, 
and for the conveyance of a sturdy Biscayan lad of 
about twenty years of age, who was to guide us 
through the perplexed mazes of the mountain roads, 
to take care of our horses, to act occasionally as our 
valet, and at all times as our guard ; for he had a 
formidable trabucho, or carbine, to defend us from 
rateros, or solitary footpads, about which weapon he 
made much vain-glorious boast, though, to the dis- 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



103 



credit of his c^eneralship, I must say, that it generally 
hung unloaded behind his saddle. He was, however, 
a faithful, cheery, kind-hearted creature, lull of saws 
and proverbs as that miracle of squires, the renowned 
Sancho himself, whose name we bestowed upon him ; 
and, like a true Spaniard, though treated by us with 
companionable familiarity, he never for a moment in 
his utmost hilarity, outstripped the bounds of respect- 
ful decorum. 

Thus equipped and attended, we set out on our 
journey with a genuine disposition to be pleased : 
with such a disposition, what a country is Spain for 
a traveller, where the most miserable inn is as full 
of adventure as an enchanted castle, and every meal 
is in itself an achievement ! Let others repine at the 
lack of turnpike roads and sumptuous hotels, and all 
the elaborate comforts of a country cultivated into 
tameness and common-place, but give me the rude 
mountain scramble, the roving haphazard way-faring, 
the frank, hospitable, though half wild manners, that 
give such a true game flavour to romantic Spain ! 

Our first evening's entertainment had a relish of 
the kind. We arrived after sunset at a little town 
among the hills, after a fatiguing journey over a 
wide houseless plain, where we had been repeatedly 
drenched with showers. In the inn were quartered 
a party of Miguelistas, who were patrolling the coun- 
try in pursuit of robbers. The appearance of for- 
eigners like ourselves was unusual in this remote 
town. Mine host with two or three old gossipping 
comrades in brown cloaks studied our passports in 
a corner of the posada, while an Alguazil took notes 
by the dim light of a lamp. The passports were in 
foreign languages, and perplexed them, but our 
Squire Sancho assisted them in their studies, and 
magnified our importance with the grandiloquence 
of a Spaniard. In the mean time the magnificent 
distribution of a few cigars had won the hearts of 
all around us. In a little while the whole commu- 
nity seemed put in agitation to make us welcome. 
The Corregidor himself waited upon us, and a great 
rush-bottomed armed chair was ostentatiously bol- 
stered into our room by our landlady, for the accom- 
modation of that important personage. The com- 
mander of the patrol took supper with us : a surly, 
talking, laughing, swaggering Andaluz, who had 
made a campaign in South America, and recounted 
his exploits in love and war with much pomp of 
praise and vehemence of gesticulation, and myste- 
rious rolling of the eye. He told us he had a list of 
all the robbers in the country, and meant to ferret 
out every mother's son of them ; he offered us at 
the same time some of his soldiers as an escort. 
" One is enough to protect you. Signers ; the robbers 
know me, and know my men ; the sight of one is 
enough to spread terror through a whole sierra." 
We thanked him for his offer, but assured him, in 
his own strain, that with the protection of our re- 
doubtable Squire Sancho, we were not afraid of all 
the ladrones of Andalusia. 

While we were supping with our Andalusian 
friend, we heard the notes of a guitar and the click 
of castanets, and presently, a chorus of voices, sing- 
ing a popular air. In fact, mine host had gathered 
together the amateur singers and musicians and the 
rustic belles of the neighbourhood, and on going 
forth, the court-yard of the inn presented a scene 
of true Spanish festivity. We took our seats with 
mine host and hostess and the commander of the 
patrol, under the archway of the court. The guitar 
passed from hand to hand, but a jovial shoemaker 
was the Orpheus of the place. He was a pleasant 
looking fellow with huge black whiskers and a rogu- 
ish eye. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows ; 
he touched the guitar with masterly skill, and sang 



little amorous ditties with an expressive leer at the 
women, with whom he was evidently a favourite. 
He afterwards danced a fandango with a buxom 
Andalusian damsel, to the great delight of the spec- 
tators. But none of the females present could com- 
pare with mine host's pretty daughter Josefa, who 
had slip|ied away and made her toilette for the occa- 
sion, and had adorned her head with roses ; and also 
distinguished herself in a bolero with a handsome 
young dragoon. We had ordered our host to let 
wine and refreshments circulate treely among the 
company, yet, though there was a motley assem- 
blage of soldiers, muleteers and villagers, no one 
exceeded the bounds of sober enjoyment. The 
scene was a study for a painter ; the picturesque 
group of dancers; the troopers in their half military 
dresses, the peasantry wrapped in their brown 
cloaks, nor must I omit to mention the old meagre 
Alguazil in a short black cloak, who took no notice 
of any thing going on, but sat in a corner diligently 
writing by the dim light of a huge copper lamp that 
might have figured in the days of Don Quixote. 

1 am not writing a regular narrative, and do not 
pretend to give the varied events of several days' 
rambling over hill and dale, and moor and moun- 
tain. We travelled in true contrabandista style, tak- 
ing every thing, rough and smooth, as we found it, 
and mingling with all classes and conditions in a 
kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true 
way to travel in Spain. Knowing the scanty larders 
of the inns, and the naked tracts of country the trav- 
eller has often to traverse, we had taken care, on 
starting, to" have the alforjas, or saddle-bags, of our 
Squire well stocked with cold provisions, and his 
beta, or leathern bottle, which was of portly dimen- 
sions, filled to the neck with choice Valdepenas wine. 
As this was a munition for our campaign more im- 
portant than even his trabucho, we exhorted him to 
have an eye to it, and I will do him the justice to say 
that his namesake, the trencher-loving Sancho him- 
self, could not excel him as a provident purveyor. 
Thoug'h the alforjas and beta were repeatedly and 
vigorously assailed throughout the journey, they ap- 
peared to have a miraculous property of being never 
empty ; for our vigilant Squire took care to sack 
ever)' thing that remained from our evening repasts 
at the inns, to supply our next day's luncheon. 

What luxurious noontide repasts have we made on 
the green sward by the side of a brook or fountain 
under a shady tree, and then what delicious siestas 
on our cloaks spread out on the herbage ! 

We paused one day at noon, for a repast of the 
kind. It was in a pleasant little green meadow, sur- 
rounded by hills covered with olive trees. Our 
cloaks were spread on the grass under an elm tree, 
by the side of a babbhng rivulet : our horses were 
tethered where they might crop the herbage, and 
Sancho produced his alforjas with an air of triumph. 
They contained the contributions of four days' jour- 
neying, but had been signally enriched by the for- 
aging of the previous evening, in a plenteous inn at 
Antequera. Our Squire drew forth the heterogene- 
ous contents one by one, and they seemed to have 
no end. First came forth a shoulder of roasted kid, 
very little the worse for wear, then an entire par- 
tridge, then a great morsel of salted codfish wrapped 
in paper, then the residue of a ham, then the half ol 
a pullet, together with several rolls of bread and a 
rabble route of oranges, figs, raisins, and walnuts. 
His beta also had been recruited with some excel- 
lent wine of Malaga. At every fresh apparition from 
his larder, he could enjoy our ludicrous suri)rise, 
throwing himself back on the grass and shouting 
with laughter. 

Nothing pleased this simple-hearted varlet more 



104 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



than to be compared, for his dev-otion to the trencher, 
to the renowned squire of Don Quixote. He was 
well versed in the history of the Don, and, like most 
of the common people of Spain, he firmly believed it 
to be a true history. 

" All that, however, happened a long- time a2:o. 
Signor," said he to me, one day, with an inquiring 
look. 

" A very long time," was the reply. 

" 1 dare say, more than a thousand years?" — still 
looking dubiously. 

" 1 dare say.' not less." 

The squire was satisfied. 

As we were making our repast above described, 
and diverting ourselves with the simple drollery ot 
our squire, a solitary beggar approached us. who 
had almost the look of a pilgrim. He was evidently 
very old, with a gray beard, and supported himsell 
on a staff, yet age had not borne him down ; he was 
tall and erect, and had the wreck of a fine form. 
He wore a round Andalusian hat, a sheepskin jacket, 
and leathern breeches, gaiters, and sandals. His 
dress, though old and patched, was decent, his de- 
meanour manly, and he addressed us with that grave 
courtesy that is to be remarked in the lowest Span- 
iard. We were in a favourable mood for such a vis- 
itor, and in a freak of capricious charity gave him 
some silver, a loaf of fine wheaten bread, and a gob- 
let of our choice wine of Malaga. He received them 
thankfully, but without any grovelling tribute of grat- 
itude. Tasting the wine, he held it up to the light, 
with a slight beam of surprise in his e>e ; then quaff- 
ing it off at a draught : " It is many yeafs," said he, 
"since I have tasted such wine. It is a cordial to 
an old man's heart." Then looking at the beautiful 
wheaten loaf; " Bendita sea tal pan!" (blessed be 
such bread !) So saying, he put it in his wallet. We 
urged him to eat it on the spot. " No, Signers," re- 
plied he, " the wine 1 had to drink, or leave.; but the 
bread I must take home to share with my family." 

Our man Sancho sought our eye, and reading per- 
mission there, gave the old man some of the ample 
fragments of our repast ; on condition, however, that 
he should sit down and make a meal. He accord- 
ingly took his seat at some little distance from us, 
and began to eat, slowly, and with a sobriety and 
decorum that would have become a hidalgo. There 
was altogether a measured manner and a quiet sell- 
possession about the old man that made me think 
he had seen better days ; his language, too, though 
simple, had occasionally something picturesque and 
almost poetical in the phraseology. I set him down 
for some broken-down cavalier. I was mistaken, it 
was nothing but the innate courtesy of a Spaniard, 
and the poetical turn of thought and language often 
to be found in the lowest classes of this clear-witted 
])eople. For fifty years, he told us, he had been a 
shepherd, but now he was out of employ, and desti- 
tute. " When I was a young man," said he, " noth- 
ing could harm or trouble me. I was always well, 
always gay ; but now I am seventy-nine years of age, 
and a beggar, and my heart begins to fail me." 

Still he was not a regular mendicant, it was not 
until recently that want had driven him to this de- 
gradation, and he gave a touching picture of the 
struggle between hunger and pride, when abject des- 
titution first came upon him. He was returning 
from Malaga, without money ; he had not tasted 
food for some time, and was crossing one of the 
great plains of Spain, where there were but few hab- 
itations. When almost dead with hunger, he ap- 
plied at the door of a venta, or country inn. " Per- 
dona usted per Dios hermano ! " (excuse us, brother, 
for God's sake !) was the reply ; — the usual mode in 
Spain of refusing a beggar. " I turned away," said 



he, " with shame greater than my hunger, for my 
heart was yet too proud. 1 came to a river with 
high banks and deep rapid current, and felt tempted 
to throw myself in ; what should such an old worth- 
less wretched man as I live for ! But, when I was 
on the brink of the current, I thought on the blessed 
Virgin, and turned away. I travelled on until I saw 
a country-seat, at a little distance from the road, and 
entered the outer gate of the court-yard. The door 
was shut, but there were two young signoras at a 
window. I approached, and begged : ' Perdona 
usted per Dios hermano I ' (excuse us, brother, for 
God's sake !) and the window closed. I crept out of 
the court-yard ; but hunger overcame me, and my 
heart gave way. I thought my hour was at hand. 
So I laid myself down at the gate, commended my- 
self to the holv Virgin, and covered my head to die. 
In a little while afterwards, the master of the house 
came home. Seeing me lying at his gate, he un- 
covered my head, had pity on my gray hairs, took 
me into his house and gave me food. So, Signors, 
you see that we should always put confidence in the 
protection of the Virgin." 

The old man was on his way to his native place 
Archidona, which was close by the summit of a 
steep and rugged mountain. He pointed to the ru- 
ins of its old Moorish castle. That castle, he said, 
was inhabited by a Moorish king at the time of the 
wars of Granada. Queen Isabella invaded it with a 
great army, hut the king looked down from his cas- 
tle among the clouds, and laughed her to scorn. 
Upon this, the Virgin appeared to the queen, and 
guided her and her army up a mysterious path of the 
mountain, which had never before been known. 
When the Moor saw her coming, he was astonished, 
and springing with his horse from a precipice, was 
dashed to pieces. The marks of his horse's hoofs, 
said the old man, are to be seen on the margin of the 
rock to this day. And see, Signors, yonder is the 
road by which the queen and her army mounted ; 
you see it like a riband up the mountain side ; but 
the miracle is, that, though it can be seen at a dis- 
tance, when you come near, it disappears. The ideal 
road to which he pointed, was evidently a sandy ra- 
vine of the mountain, which looked narrow and de- 
fined at a distance, but became broad and indistinct 
on an approach. As the old man's heart warmed 
with wine and wassail, he went on to tell us a story of 
the buried treasure left under the earth by the Moor- 
ish king. His own house was next to the founda- 
tions of the castle. The curate and notary dreamt 
three times of the treasure, and went to work at the 
place pointed out in their dreams. His own son-in- 
law heard the sound of their pick-axes and spades at 
night. What they found nobody knows ; they be- 
came suddenly rich, but kept their own secret. Thus 
the old man had once been next door to fortune, but 
was doomed never to get under the same roof. 

I have remarked that the stories of treasure buried 
by the Moors, which prevail throughout Spain, are 
most current among the poorest people. It is thus 
kind nature consoles with shadows for the lack of 
substantials. The thirsty man dreams of fountains 
and roaring streams, the hungry man of ideal 
banquets, and the poor man of heaps of hidden 
gold ; nothing certainly is more magnificent than 
the imagination of a beggar. 

The last travelling sketch w^hich I shall give is a 
curious scene at the little city of Loxa. This was a 
famous belligerent frontier post, in the time of the 
Moors, and repulsed Ferdinand from its walls. It 
was the strong-hold of old Ali Atar, the father-in-law 
of Boabdil, when that fiery veteran sallied forth with 
hi,-, son-in-law, on that disastrous inroad, that ended 
in the death of the chieftain, and the capture of the 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



105 



monarch. Loxa is wildly situated in a brol<en 
mountain pass, on tlie banl<s of the Xenil, among 
rocks and groves, and meadows and gardens. 
The people seem still to retain the bold fiery spirit 
of the olden time. Our inn was suited to the place. 
It was kept by a young, handsome, Andalusian 
widow, whose trim busquina of black silk fringed 
with bugles, set off the play of a graceful form, 
and round pliant limbs. Her step was firm and 
elastic, her dark eye was full of fire, and the 
coquetry of her air, and varied ornaments of her 
person showed that she was accustomed to be 
admired. 

She was well matched by a brother, nearly about 
her own age ; they were perfect models of the An- 
dalusian majo and maja. He was tall, vigorous, and 
well formed, with a clear, olive complexion, a dark 
beaming eye, and curling, chestnut whiskers, that 
met under his chin. He was gallantly dressed in a 
short green velvet jacket, fitted to his shape, pro- 
fusely decorated with silver buttons, with a white 
handkerchief in each pocket. He had breeches of 
the same, with rows of buttons from the hips to 
the knees ; a pink silk handkerchief round his neck, 
gathered through a ring, on the bosom of a neatly 
plaited shirt ; a sash round the waist to match ; bot- 
tinas or spatterdashes of the finest russet leather, 
elegantly worked and open at the calves to show 
his stockings, and russet shoes setting off a well- 
shaped foot. 

As he was standing at the door, a horseman rode 
up and entered into low and earnest conversation 
with him. H* was dressed in similar style, and 
almost with equal finery. A man about thirty, 
square built, with strong Roman features, hand- 
some, though slightly pitted with the small-pox, 
with a free, bold ancl somewhat daring air. His 
powerful black horse was decorated with tassels 
and fanciful trappings, and a couple of broad-mouth- 
ed blunderbusses hung behind tne saddle. He had 
the air of those contrabandistas tliat I have seen in 
the mountains of Ronda, and, evidently, had a good 
understanding with the brother of mine hostess ; 
nay, if I mist. ike not, he was a favourite admirer of 
the widow. In fact, the whole inn and its inmates 
had something of a contrabandista aspect, and the 
blunderbuss stood in a corner beside the guitar. 
The horseman I have mentioned, passed his evening 
in the posada, and sang several bold mountain ro- 
mances with great spirit. 

As we were at supper, two poor Asturians put in 
in distress, begging food and a night's lodging. 
They had been wavlaid by robbers as they came 
from a fair among the mountains, robbed of a horse, 
which carried all their stock in trade, stripped of 
their money and most of their apparel, beaten for 
having offered resistance, and lelt almost naked in 
the road. My companion, with a prompt generosity, 
natural to him, ordered them a supper and a bed, 
and gave the.ii a supply of money to help them for- 
ward towards their home. 

As the evening advanced, the dramatis persons 
thickened. A large man, about sixty years of age, 
of powerful frame, came strolling in, to gossip with 
mine hostess. He was dressed in the ordinary An- 
dalusian costume, but had a huge sabre tucked 
under his arm, wore large moustaches and had 
something of a lofty swaggering air. Every one 
seemed to regard him with great deference. 

Our man, Sancho, whispered to us that he was 
Don Ventura Rodriguez, the hero and champion of 
Loxa, famous for his prowess and the strength of his 
arm. In the time of the French invasion, he sur- 
prised six troopers who were asleep. He first 
secured their horses, then attacked them with his 



sabre ; killed some, and took the rest prisoners. 
For this exploit, the king allows him a peceta, (the 
fifth of a duro, or dollar,) per day, and has dignified 
him with the title of Don. 

I was amused to notice his swelling language 
and demeanour. He w,as evidently a thorough 
Andalusian, boastful as he was brave. His sabre 
was always in his hand, or under his arm. He car- 
ries it always about with him as a child does a 
doll, calls it his Santa Teresa, and says, that 
when he draws it, " tembla la tierra ! " (the earth 
trembles!) 

I sat until a late hour listening to the varied 
themes of this motley groupe, who mingled toge- 
ther with the unreserve of a Spanish posada. We 
had contrabandista songs, stories of robbers, gue- 
rilla exploits, and Moorish legends. The last one 
from our handsome landlady, who gave a poeti- 
cal account of the infiernos, or infernal regions 
of Loxa — dark caverns, in which subterraneous 
streams and waterfalls make a mysterious sound. 
The common people say they are money coiners, 
shut up there from the time of the Moors, and that 
the Moorish kings kept their treasures in these 
caverns. 

Were it the purport of this work, I could fill its 
pages with the incidents and scenes of our ram- 
bling expedition, but other themes invite me. Jour- 
neying in this manner, we at length emerged from 
the mountains, and entered upon the beautiful 
Vega of Granada. Here we took our last mid- 
day's repast under a grove of olive trees, on the 
borders of a rivulet, with the old Moorish capital 
in the distance, dominated by the ruddy towers of 
the Alhambra, while far above it the snowy sum- 
mits of the Sierra Nevada shone like silver. The 
day was without a cloud, and the heat of the sun 
tempered by cool breezes from the mountains ; af- 
ter our repast, we spread our cloaks and took our 
last siesta, lulled by the humming of bees among 
the flowers, and the notes of the ring doves from 
the neighbouring olive trees. When the sultry hours 
were past, we resumed our journey, and after pass- 
ing between hedges of aloes and Indian figs, and 
through a wilderness of gardens, arrived about sun- 
set at the gates of Granada. 



GOVERNMENT OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



To the traveller imbued with a feermg for the his- 
torical and poetical, the Alhambra of Granada is as 
miicli an otjjert of veneration as is the Caaba, or 
sacied house of Mecca, to all true Moslem piljrrims. 
How many legends and traditions, true and fabulous, 
how many songs and romances, Spanish and Ara- 
bian, of love and war and chivalry, are associated 
with this romantic pile ! The reader may judge, 
tlicrefore, of our delight, when, shortly after our ar- 
rival in Granada, the governor of Alliambra gave us 
permission to occupy his vacant apartments in the 
Moorish palace. My companion was soon sum 
moned away by the duties of his station, but I re- 
mained for several months spell-bound in the old 
enchanted pile. The following papers are the re- 
sult of my reveries and researches, during that de- 
licious thraldom. If they have the power of im- 
parting any of the witching charms of the place to 
the imagination of the reader, he will not repine 
at lingering with me for a season in the legendary 
halls of the Alhambra. 

The AlhaiTibra is an ancient fortress or castel- 
lated palace of the Moorish kings of Granada, 



106 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



where they held dominion over this their boasted 
terrestrial paradise, and made their last stand for 
empire in Spain. The palace occupies but a por- 
tion of the fortress, the walls of which, studded 
with towers, stretch irregularly round the whole 
crest of a lofty hill that overlooks the city, and 
forms a spire of the Sierra Nevada, or Snowy 
Mountain. 

In the time of the Moors, the fortress was capa- 
ble of containing an army of forty thousand men 
within its precincts, and served occasionally as a 
strong-hold of the sovereigns against their rebel- 
lious subjects. After the kingdom had passed into 
the hands of the Christians, the Alhambra con- 
tinued a royal demesne, and was occasionally in- 
habited by the Castilian monarchs. The Emperor 
Charles V. began a sumptuous palace within its 
walls, but was deterred from completing it by 
repeated shocks of earthquakes. The last ro>al 
residents were Philip V. and his beautiful Queen 
Elizabetta, of Parma, early in the eighteenth cen- 
tury. 

Great preparations were made for their recep- 
tion. The palace and gardens were placed in a 
state of repair ; and a new suite of apartments 
erected, and decorated by artists brought from 
Italy. The sojourn of the sovereigns was transient ; 
and, after their departure, the palace once more 
became desolate. Still the place was maintained 
with some military state. The governor held it 
immediately from the crown : its jurisdiction ex- 
tended down into the suburbs of the city, and was 
independent of the captain general of Granada. A 
considerable garrison was kept up ; the governor 
had his apartments in the old Moorish palace, and 
never descended into Granada without some mili- 
tary parade. The fortress, in fact, was a little town 
of itself, having several streets of houses within its 
w-alls, together with a Franciscan convent and a 
parochial church. 

The desertion of the court, however, was a fatal 
blow to the Alhambra. Its beautiful walls became 
desolate, and some of them fell to ruin ; the gar- 
dens were destroyed, and the fountains ceased to 
play. By degrees the dwellings became filled up 
with a loose and lawless population ; contrabandis- 
tas, who availed themselves of its independent ju- 
risdiction, to carry on a wide and daring course of 
smuggling, and thieves and rogues of all sorts, who 
made this their place of refuge, from whence they 
might depredate upon Granada and its vicinity. 
The strong arm of government at length interposed. 
The whole community was thoroughly sifted ; none 
were suffered to remain but such as were of honest 
character and had legitimate right to a residence ; 
the greater part of the houses were demolished, 
and a mere hamlet left, with the parochial church 
and the Franciscan convent. 

During the recent troubles in Spain, when Gra- 
nada was in the hands of the French, the Alham- 
bra was garrisoned by their troops, and the palace 
was occasionally inhabited by the French comman- 
der. With that enlightened taste which has ever 
distinguished the French nation in their conquests,, 
this monument of Moorish elegance and grandeur 
was rescued from the absolute ruin and desolation 
that were overwhelming it. The roofs were re- 
paired, the saloons and galleries protected from 
the weather, the gardens cultivated, the water- 
courses restored, the fountains once more made to 
throw up their sparKling showers : and Spain may 
thank her invaders for having preserved to her the 
most beautiful and interesting of her historical mon- 
uments. 

On the departure of the French, they blew up 



several towers of the outer wall, and left the fortifi- 
cations scarcely tenable. Since that tiine, the mili- 
tary importance of the post is at an end. The g.ir- 
rison is a handful of invalid soldiers, whose princi- 
pal duty is to guard some of the outer towers, 
which serve, occasionally, as a prison of state ; and 
the governor, abandoning the lofty hill of the Alham- 
lira, resides in the centre of Granada, for the more 
convenient despatch of his official duties. I can- 
not conclude this brief notice of the state of the 
fortress, without bearing testimony to the honour- 
able exertions of its present commander, Don Fran- 
cisco de Salis Serna, who is tasking all the limited 
resources at his command, to put the palace in a 
state of repair ; and by his judicious precautions 
has for some time arrested its too certain decay. 
Had his predecessors discharged the duties of their 
station with equal fidelity, the Alhambra might yet 
have remained in almost its pristine beauty ; were 
government to second him with means equal to his 
zeal, this edifice might still be preserved to adorn the 
land, and to attract the curious and enlightened ot 
every clime, for many generations. 



INTERIOR OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



The Alhambra has been so often and so minutely 
described by travellers, that a mere sketch will 
probably be sufficient for the reader to refresh his 
recollection ; 1 will give, therefore, a brief account 
of our visit to it the morning after our arrival in 
Granada. 

Leaving our posada of La Espada, we traversed 
the renowned square of the Vivarrambia, once the 
scene of Moorish jousts and tournaments, now a 
crowded market place. From thence we proceeded 
along the Zacatin, the main street of what was the 
great Bazaar, in the time of the Moors, where the 
small shops and narrow alleys stiil retain their Ori- 
ental character. Crossing an open place in front 
of the palace of the captain-general, we ascended a 
confined and winding street, the name of which 
reminded us of the chivalric days of Granada. It 
is called the Calle, or street of the Gomeres : from a 
Moorish family, famous in chronicle and song. This 
street led up to a mansion gateway of Grecian archi- 
tecture, built by Charles V., forming the entrance to 
the domains of the Alhambra. 

At the gate were two or three ragged and super- 
annuated soldjers dozing on a stone bench, the suc- 
cessors of the Zegris and the Abencerrages ; while 
a tall, meagre varlet, whose rusty brown cloak was, 
evidently, intended to conceal the ragged state of 
his nether garments, was lounging in the sunshine, 
and gossipping with an ancient sentinel, on duty. He 
joined us as we entered the gate, and offered his 
services to show us the fortress. 

I have a traveller's dislike to officious ciceroni, and 
did not altogether like the garb of the applicant : 

" You are well acquainted with the place, I pre- 
sume ? " 

" NingTtno mas — pues, senor, soy hijo de la Al- 
hambra." 

(Nobody better — in fact, sir, I am a son of the 
Alhambra.) 

The common Spaniards have certainly a most 
poetical way of expressing themselves — " A son of 
the Alhambra : " the appellation caught me at once ; 
the very tattered garb of my new accjuaintance as- 
sumed a dignity in my eyes. It was emblematic of 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



107 



the features of the place, and became the progeny 
of a ruin. 

I put some farther questions to him, and found his 
title was legitimate. His family had lived in the 
fortress from generation to generation ever since the 
time of the conquest. His name was Mateo Xim- 
enes. "Then, perhaps," said I, "you may be a 
descendant from the great Cardinal Ximenes." 

" Dios sabe ! God knows, seiior. It may be so. 
We are the oldest family in the Alhambra. Vicjos 
Crisiianos, old Christians, without any taint of Moor 
or- Jew. I know we belong to some great family or 
other, but I forget who. My father knows all about 
it. He has the coat of arms hanging up in his cot- 
tage, up in the fortress." — There is never a Spaniard, 
however poor, but has some claim to high pedigree. 
The first title of this ragged worthy, however, had 
completely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the 
services of the " son of the Alhambra." 

We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine, 
filled with beautiful groves, with a steep avenue and 
various foot-paths winding through it, bordered with 
stone seats and ornamented with fountains. To 
our left, we beheld the towers of the Alhambra 
beetling above us ; to our right, on the opposite 
side of the ravine, we were equally dominated by 
rival towers on a rocky eminence. These, we were 
told, were the Torres Vermejos, or Vermilion 
towers, so called from their ruddy hue. No one 
knows their origin. They are of a date much an- 
terior to the Alhambra. Some suppose them to have 
been liuilt by the Romans ; others, by some wander- 
ing colony of Phcenicians. Ascending the steep and 
shady avenue, we arrived at the foot ot a huge square 
Moorish tower, forming a kind of barbican, through 
which passed the main entrance to the fortress. 
Within the barbican was another groupe of veteran 
invalids, one mounting guard at the portal, while 
the rest, wrapped in their tattered cloaks, slept on 
the stone benches. This portal is called the Gate 
of Justice, from the tribunal held within its porch 
during the Moslem domination, for the immediate 
trial of petty causes ; a custom common to the Ori- 
ental nations, and occasionally alluded to in the 
sacred Scriptures. 

The great vestibule, or porch of the gate, is formed 
by an immense Arabian arch of the horseshoe form, 
which springs to half the height of the tower. On 
the key-stone of this arch is engraven a gigantic 
hand. Within the vestibule, on the key-stone of the 
portal, is engraven, in like manner, a gigantic key. 
Those who pretend to some knowledge of Mahometan 
symbols, affirm, that the hand is the emblem of doc- 
trine, and the ke)-, of faith ; the latter, they add, was 
emblazoned on the standard of the Moslems when 
they subdued Andalusia, in opposition to the Chris- 
tian emblem of the cross. A different explanation, 
however, was given by the legitimate " son of the 
Alhambra," and one more in unison with the notions 
of the common people, who attach something of 
mystery and magic to every thing Moorish, and 
have all kinds of superstitions connected with this 
old Moslem fortress. 

According to Mateo, it was a tradition handed 
down from the oldest inhabitants, and which he had 
from his father and grandfather, that the hand and 
key were magical devices on which the fate of the 
Alhambra depended. The Moorish king who built 
it was a great magician, and, as some believed, had 
sold himself to the devil, and had laid the whole 
fortress linder a magic spell. By this means it had 
remained standing for several hundred years, in de- 
■ fiance of storms and earthquakes, while almost all 
the other buildings of the Moors had fallen to ruin 
and disappeared. The spell, the tradition went on 



to say, would last until the hand on the outer arch 
should reach down and grasp the key, when the 
whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the 
treasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be 
revealed. 

Notwithstanding this ominous prediction, we ven- 
tured to pass through the spell-bound gateway, feel- 
ing some little assurance against magic art in the 
protection of the Virgin, a statue of whom we ob- 
served above the portal. 

After passing through the B.arbican, we ascended 
a narrow lane, winding between walls, and came on 
an open esplanade within the fortress, called the 
Plaza de los Algibes, or Place of the Cisterns, from 
great reservoirs which undermine it, cut in the living 
rock by the Moors, for the supply of the fortress. 
Here, also, is a well of immense depth, furnishing 
the purest and coldest of water, — another monument 
of the delicate taste of the Moors, w'ho were inde- 
i fatigable in their exertions to obtain that element in 
its crystal purity. 

In front of this esplanade is the splendid pile, 
commenced by Charles V., intended, it is said, to 
eclipse the residence of the Moslem kings. With 
all its grandeur and architectural merit, it appeared 
to us like an arrogant intrusion, and passing by it 
we entered a simple unostentatious portal, opening 
into the interior of the Moorish palace. 

The transition was almost magical ; it seemed as 
if we were at once transported into other times and 
another realm, and were treading the scenes of 
Arabian story. We found ourselves in a great court 
paved with white marble and decorated at each end 
with light Moorish peristyles. It is called the court 
of the Alberca. In the centre was an immense 
basin, or fish-pool, a hundred and thirty feet in 
length, by thirty in breadth, stocked with gold-fish, 
and bordered by hedges of roses. At the upper end 
of this court, rose the great tower of Comares. 

From the lower end, we passed through a Moor- 
ish arch-way into the renowned Court of Lions. 
There is no part of the edifice that gives us a more 
complete idea of its original beauty and magnifi- 
cence than this ; for none has suffered so little from 
the ravages of time. In the centre stands the foun- 
tain famous in song and story. The alabaster ba- 
sins still shed their diamond drops, and the twelve 
lions which support them, cast forth their crystal 
streams as in the days of Boabdil. The court is 
laid out in flower beds, and surrounded by light 
Arabian arcades of open filigree work, supported by 
slender pillars of white marble. The architecture, 
like that of all the other parts of the palace, is char- 
acterized by elegance, rather than grandeur, be- 
speaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a dispo- 
sition to indolent enjoyment. When we look upon 
the fairy tracery of the peristyles, and the appar- 
ently fragile fret-work of the walls, it is difficult to 
believe that so much has survived the wear and tear 
of centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence 
of war, and the quiet, though no less baneful, pilfer- 
mgs of the tasteful traveller. It is almost sufficient 
to excuse the popular tradition, that the whole is 
protected by a magic charm. 

On one side of the court, a portal richlv adorned 
opens into a lofty hall paved with white marble, and 
called the Hall of the two Sisters. A cupola or 
lantern admits a tempered light from above, and a 
free circulation of air. The lower part of the walls, 
is incrusted with beautiful Moorish tiles, on some of 
which are emblazoned the escutcheons of the Moor- 
ish monarchs : the upper part is faced with the fine 
stucco work invented at Damascus, consisting of 
large plates cast in moulds and artfully joined, so as 
to have the appearance of having been laboriously 



108 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sculptured by the hand into light relievos and fanci- 
ful arabesques, intermingled with texts of the Koran, 
and poetical inscriptions in Arabian and Celtic char- 
acters. These decorations of the walls and cupolas 
are richly gilded, and the interstices panelled with 
lapis lazuli and other brilliant and enduring colours. 
On each side of the wall are recesses for ottomans 
and arches. Above an inner porch, is a balcony 
which communicated with the women's apartment. 
The latticed balconies still remain, from whence the 
dark-eyed beauties of the harem might gaze unseen 
upon the entertainments of the hall below. 

It is impossible to contemplate this once favourite 
abode of Oriental manners, without feeling the early 
associations of Arabian romance, and almost ex- 
pecting to see the white arm of some mysterious 
princess beckoning from the balcony, or some dark 
eye sparkling through the lattice. The abode of 
beauty is here, as if it had been inhabited but yes- 
terday — but where are the Zoraydas and Linde- 
raxas ! 

On the opposite side of the court of Lions, is the 
hall of the Abencerrages, so called from the gallant 
cavaliers of that illustrious line, who were here per- 
fidiously massacred. There are some who doubt 
the whole truth of this story, but our humble at- 
tendant, Mateo, pointed out the very wicket of the 
portal through which they are said to have been in- 
troduced, one by one, and the white marble fountain 
in the centre of the hall, where they were beheaded. 
He showed us also certain broad ruddy stains in the 
pavement, traces of their blood, which, according 
to popular belief, can never be effaced. Finding we 
listened to him with easy faith, he added, that there 
was often heard at night, in the Court of the Lions, 
a low confused sound, resembling the murmurings 
of a multitude ; with now and then a faint tinkling, 
like the distant clank of chains. These noises are 
|)robably produced by the bubbling currents and 
tinkling falls of water, conducted under the pave- 
ment through pipes and channels to supply the foun- 
tains ; but according to the legend of the son of the 
Alhambra, they are made by the spirits of the mur- 
dered Abencerrages, who nightly haunt the scene of 
their suffering, and invoke the vengeance of Heaven 
on their destroyer. 

From the Court of Lions, we retraced our steps 
through the court of the Alberca, or great fish-pool, 
crossing which, we proceeded to the tower of Co- 
mares, so called from the name of the Arabian 
architect. It is of massive strength, and lofty 
height, domineering over the rest of the edifice, and 
overhanging the steep hill-side, which descends ab- 
ruptly to the banks of the Darro. A Moorish arch- 
way admitted us into a vast and lofty hall, which 
occupies the interior of the tower, and was the 
grand audience chamber of the Moslem monarchs, 
thence called the hall of Ambassadors. It still bears 
the traces of past magnificence. The walls are 
richly stuccoed and decorated with arabesques, the 
vaulted ceilings of cedar wood, almost lost in ob- 
scurity from its height, still gleam with rich gilding 
and the brilliant tints of the Arabian pencil. On 
three sides of the saloon, are deep windows, cut 
through the immense thickness of the walls, the 
balconies of which, looking down upon the verdant 
valley of the Darro, the streets and convents of the 
Albaycin, and command a prospect of the distant 
Vega. I might go on to describe the other delight- 
ful apartments of this side of the palace ; the To- 
cador or toilet of the Queen, an open belvedere on 
the summit of the tower, where the Moorish sultanas 
enjoyed the pure breezes from the mountain and the 
prospect of the surrounding paradise. The secluded 
little patio or garden of Lindara,\a, with its alabaster 



fountain, its thickets of roses and myrtles, of citrons 
and oranges. The cool halls and grottoes of the 
baths, where the glare and heat of day are tempered 
into a self-mysterious light and a pervading fresh- 
ness. But I appear to dwell minutely on these 
scenes. My object is merely to give the reader a 
general introduction into an abode, where, if dis- 
posed, he may linger and loiter with me through 
the remainder of this work, gradually becoming 
familiar with all its beauties. 

An abundant supply of water, brought from the 
mountains by old Moorish aqueducts, circulates 
throughout the palace, supplying its baths and fish- 
pools, sparkling in jets within its halls, or murmur- 
ing in channels along the marble pavements. When 
it has paid its tribute to the royal pile, and visited its 
gardens and pastures, it flows down the long avenue 
leading to the city, tinkling in rills, gushing in foun- 
tains, and maintaining a perpetual verdure in those 
groves that embower and beautify the whole hill of 
the Alhambra. 

Those, only, W'ho have sojourned in the ardent 
climates of the South, can appreciate the delights 
of an abode combining the breezy coolness of the 
mountain with the freshness and verdure of the 
valley. 

While the city below pants with the noon-tide 
heat, and the parched Vega trembles to the eye, the 
delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada play through 
the lofty halls, bringing with them the sweetness of 
the surrounding gardens. Every thing invites to 
that indolent repose, the bliss of Southern climes ; 
and while the half-shut eye looks out from shaded 
balconies upon the glittering landscape, the ear is 
lulled by the rustling of groves, and the murmur of 
running streams. 



THE TOWER OF COMARES. 



The reader has had a sketch of the interior ol the 
Alhambra, and may be desirous of a general idea 
of its vicinity. The morning is serene and lovely; 
the sun has not gained sufficient power to destroy 
the freshness of the night ; we will mount to the 
summit of the tower of Comares, and take a bird's- 
eye view of Granada and its environs. 

Come, then, worthy reader and comrade, follow 
my steps into this -vestibule ornamented with rich 
tracery, which opens to the hall of Ambassadors. 
We will not enter the hall, however, but turn to the 
left, to this small door, opening in the wall. Have a 
care ! here are steep winding steps and but scanty 
light. Yet, up this narrow, obscure and winding 
staircase, the proud monarchs of Granada and their 
queens have often ascended to the battlements of the 
tower to watch the approach of Christian armies; 
or to gaze on the battles in the Vega. At length we 
are upon the terraced roof, and may take breath for 
a moment, while we cast a general eye over the 
splendid panorama of city and country, of rocky 
mountain, verdant valley and fertile plain ; of castle, 
cathedral, Moorish towers and Gothic domes, crum- 
bling ruins and blooming groves. 

Let us approach the battlements and cast our eyes 
immediately below. See, — on this side we have the 
whole plan of the Alhambra laid open to us, and 
can look down into its courts and gardens. At the 
foot of the tower is the Court of the Alberca with its 
great tank or fish-pool bordered with flowers ; and 
yonder is the Court of Lions, with its famous foun- 
tain, and its light Moorish arcades ; and in the cen- 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



109 



tre of the pile is the little garden of Lindaraxa, 
buried in the lieart of the building, with its roses 
and citrons and shrubbery of emerald green. 

That belt of battlements studded wilh square 
towers, straggling round the whole brow of the hill, 
is the outer boundary of the fortress. Some of the 
towers, you may perceive, are in ruins, and their 
massive fragments are buried among vines, tig-trees 
and aloes. 

Let us look on this northern side of the tower. It 
is a giddy height ; the very foundations of the tower 
rise above the groves of the steep hill-side. And see, 
a long fissure in the massive walls shows that the 
tower has been rent by some of the earthquakes, 
which from time to time have thrown Granada into 
consternation ; and which, sooner or later, must re- 
duce this crumbling pile to a mere mass of ruin. 
The deep narrow glen below us, which gradually 
widens as it opens from the mountains, is the valley 
of the Darro ; you see the little river winding its way 
under embowered terraces, and among orchards and 
flower gardens. It is a stream famous in old times 
for yielding gold, and its sands are still sifted, occa- 
sionally, in search of the precious ore. 

Some of those white pavilions which here and 
there gleam from among groves and vineyards, were 
rustic retreats of the Moors, to enjoy the refreshment 
of their gardens. 

The airy palace with its tall white towers and long 
arcades, which breast yon mountain, among pomp- 
ous groves and hanging gardens, is the Generaliffe, a 
summer palace of the Moorish kings, to which they 
resorted during the sultry months, to enjoy a still 
more breezy region than that of the Alhambra. The 
naked summit of the height above it, where you be- 
hold some shapeless ruins, is the .Silla del Moro, or 
seat of the Moor ; so called from having been a re- 
treat of the unfortunate Boabdil, during the time of 
an insurrection, where he seated himself and looked 
down mournfully upon his rebellious city. 

A murmuring sound of water now and then rises 
from the \alley. It is from the aqueduct of yon 
Moorish mill nearly at the foot of the hill. The ave- 
nue of trees beyond, is the Alameda along the bank 
of the Darro, a favourite resort in evenings, and a 
rendezvous of lovers in the summer nights, when the 
guitar may be heard at a late hour from the benches 
along its walks. At present there are but a few 
loitering monks to be seen there, and a group of 
water carriers from the fountain of Avellanos. 

You start ! 'Tis nothing but a hawk we have 
frightened from his nest. This old tower is a com- 
plete brooding-place for vagrant birds. The swal- 
low and martlet abound in every chink and cranny, 
and circle about it the whole day long ; while at 
night, when all other birds have gone to rest, the 
moping owl comes out of its lurking place, and ut- 
ters its boding cry from the battlements. See how 
the hawk we have dislodged sweeps away below us, 
skimming over the tops of the trees, and sailing up 
to ruins above the Generaliffe. 

Let us leave this side of the tower and turn our 
eyes to the west. Here you behold in the distance 
a range of mountains bounding the Vega, the ancient 
barrier between Moslem Granada and the land of 
the Christians. Among the heights you may still 
discern warrior towns, whose gray walls and battle- 
ments seem of a piece with the rocks on which they 
are built ; while here and there is a solitary atalaya 
or watch-tower, mounted on some lofty point, and 
looking down as if it were from the skv, into the val- 
leys on either side. It was down the defiles of these 
mountains, by the pass of Lope, that the Christian 
armies descended into the Vega. It was round the 
base of yon gray and naked mountain, almost insu- 



lated from the rest, and stretching its bald rocky pro- 
montory into the bosom of the plain, that the invad- 
ing squadrons would coine bursting into view, with 
flaunting banners and the clangour of drums and 
trumpets. How changed is the scene ! Instead of 
the glittering line of mailed warriors, we behold the 
patient train of the toilful muleteer, slowdy moving 
along the skirts of the mountain. 

Behind that promontory, is the eventful bridge of 
Pinos, renowned for many a bloody strife between 
Moors and Christians ; but still more renowned as 
being the pinc-" where Columbus was overtaken and 
called back by the messenger of Queen Isabella, just 
as he was departing in despair to carry his project 
of discovery to the court of France. 

Behold another place famous in the history of the 
discoverer : yon line of walls and towers, gleaming 
in the morning sun in the very centre of the Vega ; 
the city of Santa Fe, built by the Catholic sovereigns 
during the siege of Granada, after a conflagration had 
destroyed their camp. It was to these walls that 
Columbus was called back by the heroic queen, and 
within them the treaty was concluded that led to the 
discovery of the Western World. 

Here, towards the south, the eye revels on the 
luxuriant beauties of the Vega ; a blooming wilder- 
ness of grove and garden, and teeming orchard ; 
with the Xenil winding through it in silver links, 
and feeding innumerable rills, conducted through 
ancient Moorish channels, which maintain the land- 
scape in perpetual verdure. Here are the beloved 
bowers and gardens, and rural retreats for which the 
Moors fought with such desperate valour. The very 
farm-houses and hovels which are now inhabited by 
the boors, retain traces of arabesques and other 
tasteful decorations, which show them to have been 
elegant residences in the days of the Moslems. 

Beyond the embowered region of the Vega you 
behold, to the south, a line of arid hills down which 
a long train of mules is slowly moving. It was Irom 
the summit of one of those hills that the unfortunate 
Boabdil cast back his last look upon Granada and 
gave vent to the agony of his soul. It is the spot 
famous in song and story, " The last sigh of the 
Moor." 

Now raise your eyes to the snowy summit of yon 
pile of mountains, shining like a white summer cloud 
on the blue sky. It is the Sierra Nevada, the pride 
and delight of Granada ; the source of her cooling 
breezes and perpetual verdure, of her gushing foun- 
tains and perennial streams. It is this glorious pile 
of mountains that gives to Granada that combina- 
tion of delights so rare in a southern city. The 
fresh vegetation, and the temperate airs of a 
northern climate, with the vivifying ardour of a 
tropical sun, and the cloudless azure of a southern 
sky. It is this aerial treasury of snow, which, melt- 
ing in proportion to the increase of the summer heat, 
sends down rivulets and streams through every glen 
and gorge of the Alpuxarras, diffusing emerald ver- 
dure and fertility throughout a chain of happy and 
sequestered valleys. 

These mountains may well be called the glory of 
Granada. They dominate the whole extent of An- 
dalusia, and may be seen from its most distant parts. 
The muleteer hails them as he views their frosty 
peaks from the sultry level of the plain ; and the 
Spanish mariner on the deck of his bark, far, far off, 
on the bosom of the blue Mediterranean, watches 
them with a pensive eye, thinks of delightful Grana- 
da, and chants in low voice some old romance about 
the Moors. 

But enough, the sun is high above the mountains, 
and is pouring his full fervour upon our heads. Al- 
ready the terraced roof of the town is hot beneath 



no 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



our t'eet ; let us abandon it, and descend and refresh 
ourselves under the arcades by the fountain of the 
Lions. 



REFLECTIONS 

ON THE MOSLEM DOMINATION IN SPAIN. 



One of my favourite resorts is the balcony of the 
central window of the Hall of Ambassadors, in the 
lofty tower of Comares. I have just been seated 
there, enjoying the close of a long brilliant day. 
The sun, as he sank behind the purple mountains 
of Alhaina, sent a stream of effulgence up the valley 
of the Darro, that spread a melancholy pomp over 
the ruddy towers of the Alhambra, while the Vega, 
covered with a slight sultry vapour that caught the 
setting ray, seemed spread out in the distance like a 
golden sea. Not a breath of air disturbed the still- 
ness of the hour, and though the faint sound of music 
and merriment now and then arose from the gardens 
of the Darro, it but rendered more impressive the 
monumental silence of the pile which overshadowed 
me. It was one of those hours and scenes in which 
memory asserts an almost magical power, and, like 
the evening sun beaming on these mouldering towers, 
sends back her retrospective rays to light up the 
glories of the past. 

As I sat watching the effect of the declining day- 
light upon this Moorish pile, I was led into a con- 
sideration of the light, elegant and voluptuous char- 
acter prevalent throughout its internal architecture, 
and to contrast it with the grand but gloomy solem- 
nity of the Gothic edifices, reared by the Spanish 
conquerors. The very architecture thus bespeaks 
the opposite and irreconcilable natures of the two 
warlike people, who so long battled here for the 
mastery of the Peninsula. By degrees I fell into a 
course of musing upon the singular features of the 
Arabian or Morisco Spaniards, whose whole exist- 
ence is as a tale that is told, and certainly forms one 
of the most anomalous yet splendid episodes in his- 
tory. Potent and durable as was their dominion, we 
have no one distinct title by which to designate them. 
They were a nation, as it were, without a legitimate 
country or a name. A remote wave of the great 
Arabian inundation, cast upon the shores of Europe, 
they seemed to have all the impetus of the first rush 
of the torrent. Their course of conquest from the 
rock of Gibraltar to the cliffs of the Pyrenees, was as 
rapid and brilliant as the Moslem victories of Syria 
an,d Egypt. Nay, had they not been checked on the 
plains of Tours, all France, all Europe, might have 
been overrun with the same facility as the empires 
of the east, and the crescent might at this day have 
glittered on the fanes of Paris and of London. 

Repelled within the limits of the Pyrenees, the 
mixed hordes of Asia and Africa that formed this 
great irruption, gave up the Moslem principles of 
conquest, and sought to establish in Spain a peace- 
ful and permanent dominion. As conquerors their 
heroism was only equalled by their moderation ; and 
in both, for a time, they excelled the nations with 
whom they contended. Severed from their native 
homes, they loved the land given them, as they sup- 
posed, by Allah, and strove to embellish it with 
every thing that could administer to the happiness of 
man. Laying the foundations of their power in 
a system of wise and equitable laws, diligently cul- 
tivating the arts and sciences, and promoting agri- 
culture, manufactures, and commerce, they gradually 



formed an empire unrivalled for its prosperity, by 
any of the empires of Christendom ; and diligently 
drawing round them the graces and refinements that 
marked the Arabian empire in the east at the time 
of its greatest civilization, they diffused the light of 
oriental knowledge through the western regions of 
benighted Europe. 

The cities of Arabian Spain became the resort of 
Christian artisans, to instruct themselves in the use- 
ful arts. The universities of Toledo, Cordova, Se- 
ville, and Granada were sought by the pale student 
from other lands, to acquaint himself with the sci- 
ences of the Arabs, and the treasured lore of an- 
tiquity ; the lovers of the gay sciences resorted to 
Cordova and Granada, to imbibe the poetry and 
music of the east ; and the steel-clad warriors of the 
north hastened thither, to accomplish themselves in 
the graceful exercises and courteous usages of chiv- 
alry. 

If the Moslem monuments in Spain ; if the Mosque 
of Cordova, the Alcazar of Seville and the Alhambra 
of Granada, still bear inscriptions fondly boasting of 
the power and permanency of their dominion, can 
the boast be derided as arrogant and vain .' Gener- 
ation after generation, century after century had 
passed away, and still they maintained possession of 
the land. A period had elapsed longer than that 
which has passed since England was subjugated by 
the Norman conqueror; and the descendants of 
iMusa and Tarik might as little anticipate being 
driven into exile, across the same straits traversed 
by their triumphant ancestors, as the descendants of 
Rollo and William and their victorious peers may 
dream of being driven back to the shores of Nor- 
mandy. 

With all this, however, the Moslem empire in 
Spain was but a brilliant exotic that took no perma- 
nent root in the soil it embellished. Secured from 
all their neighbours of the west by impassable bar- 
riers of faith and manners, and separated by seas 
and deserts from their kindred of the east, they were 
an isolated people. Their whole existence was a 
prolonged though gallant and chivalric struggle for 
a foot-hold in a usurped land. They were the out- 
posts and frontiers of Islamism. The peninsula was 
the great battle ground where the Gothic conquerors 
of the north and the Moslem conquerors of the east, 
met and strove for mastery ; and the fiery courage 
of the Arab was at length subdued by the obstinate 
and persevering valour of the Goth. 

Never was the annihilation of a people more com- 
plete than that of the Morisco Spaniards. Where 
are they .'' Ask the shores of Barbary and its desert 
places. The exiled remnant of their once powerful 
empire disappeared among the barbarians of Al'rica, 
and ceased to be a nation. They have not even left 
a distinct name behind them, though for nearly eight 
centuries they were a distinct people. The home of 
their adoption and of their occupation for ages re- 
fuses to acknowledge them but as invaders and 
usurpers. A few broken monuments are all that 
remain to bear witness to their power and dominion, 
as solitary rocks left far in the interior bear testi- 
mony to the extent of some vast inundation. Such 
is the Alhambra. A Moslem pile in the midst of a 
Christian land ; an oriental palace amidst the Gothic 
edifices of the west ; an elegant memento of a brave, 
intelligent and graceful people, who conquered, ruled, 
and passed away. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



Ill 



THE H OUSEHOLD. 



It is time that I give some idea of my domestic 
arrangements in this singular residence. The royal 
palace of the Alhambra is intrusted to the care of a 
good old maiden dame called Dona Antonia Molina, 
but who, according to Spanish custom, goes by the 
more neighbourly appellation of Tia Antonia (Aunt 
Antonia). She maintains the Moorish halls and gar- 
dens in order, and shows them to strangers ; in con- 
sideration of which, she is allowed all the perqui- 
sites received from visitors and all the produce of the 
gardens, excepting that she is expected to pay an 
occasional tribute of fruits and flowers to the gov- 
ernor. Her residence is in a corner of the palace, 
and her family consists of a nephew and niece, the 
children of two different brothers. The nephew, 
Manuel Molina, is a young man of sterling worth 
and Spanish gravity. He has served in the armies 
both in Spain and the West Indies, but is now study- 
ing medicine in hopes of one day or other becoming 
physician to the fortress, a post worth at least a hun- 
dred and forty dollars a year. As to the niece, she 
is a plump little black-eyed Andalusian damsel 
named Dolores, but who from her bright looks and 
cheerful disposition merits a merrier name. She is 
the declared heiress of all her aunt's possessions, 
consisting of certain ruinous tenements in the for- 
tress, yielding a revenue of about one hundred and 
fifty dollars. I had not been long in the Alhambra 
before I discovered that a quiet courtship was going 
on between the discreet Manuel and his bright-eyed 
cousin, and that nothing was wanting to enable them 
to join their hands and expectations, but that he 
should receive his doctor's diploma, and purchase 
a dispensation from the pope, on account of their 
consanguinity. 

With the good dame Antonia I have made a 
treaty, according to which, she furnishes me with 
board and lodging, while the merry-hearted little 
Dolores keeps my apartment in order and officiates 
as handmaid at meal times. I have also at my com- 
mand a tall, stuttering, yellow-haired lad named Pepe, 
who works in the garden, and would fain have acted 
as valet, but in this he was forestalled by Mateo 
Ximenes, "The son of the Alhambra." This alert 
and officious wight has managed, somehow or other, 
to stick by me, ever since I first encountered him at 
the outer gate of the fortress, and to weave himself 
into all my plans, until he has fairly appointed and 
installed himself my valet, cicerone, guide, guard, and 
historio-graphic squire ; and I have been obliged to 
improve the state of his wardrobe, that he may not 
disgrace his various functions, so that he has cast 
off his old brown mantle, as a snake does his skin, 
and now figures about the fortress with a smart An- 
dalusian hat and jacket, to his infinite satisfaction 
and the great astonishment of his comrades. The 
chief fault of honest Mateo is an over-anxiety to be 
useful. Conscious of having foisted himself into my 
employ, and that my sim.ple and quiet habits render 
his situation a sinecure, he is at his wit's end to de- 
vise modes of making himself important to my wel- 
fare. I am in a manner the victim of his officious- 
ness ; I cannot put my foot over the threshold of the 
palace to stroll about the fortress, but he is at my 
elbow to explain every thing I see, and if I venture 
to ramble among the surrounding hills, he insists 
upon attending me as a guard, though I vehemently 
suspect he would be more apt to trust to the length 
of his legs than the strength of his arms in case of 
attack. After all, however, the poor fellow is at 
times an amusing companion ; he is simple-minded 



and of infinite good humour, with the loquacity and 
gossip of a village barber, and knows all the small 
talk of the place and its environs ; but what he 
chiefly values himself on is his stock of local in- 
formation, having the most marvellous stories to re- 
late of every tower, and vault and gateway of the 
fortress, in all of which he places the most implicit 
faith. 

Most of these he has derived, according to his 
own account, from his grandfather, a little legend- 
ary tailor, who lived to the age of nearly a hundred 
years, during which he made but two migrations be- 
yond the precincts of the fortress. His shop, for the 
greater part of a century, was the resort of_a knot 
of venerable gossips, where they would pass hall the 
night talking about old times and the wonderful 
events and hidden secrets of the place. The whole 
living, moving, thinking and acting of this little his- 
torical tailor, had thus been bounded by the walls of 
the Alhambra ; within them he had been born, within 
them he lived, breathed and had his being, within 
them he died and was buried. Fortunately for pos- 
terity his traditionary lore died not with him. The 
authentic Mateo, when an urchin, used to be an at- 
tentive listener to the narratives of his grandfather 
and of the gossip group assembled round the shop 
board, and is thus possessed of a stock of valuable 
knowledge concerning the Alhambra, not to be 
found in the books, and well worthy the attention of 
every curious traveller. 

Such are the personages that contribute to my 
domestic comforts in the Alhambra, and I question 
whether any of the potentates, Moslem or Christian, 
who have preceded me in the palace, have been 
waited upon with greater fidelity or enjoyed a se- 
rener sway. 

When I rise in the morning, Pepe, the stuttering 
lad, from the gardens, brings me a tribute of fresh 
culled flowers, which are afterwards arranged in 
vases by the skilful hand of Dolores, who takes no 
small pride in the decorations of my chamber. My 
meals are made wherever caprice dictates, some- 
times in one of the Moorish halls, sometimes under 
the arcades of the Court of Lions, surrounded by 
flowers and fountains ; and when I walk out I am 
conducted by the assiduous Mateo to the most ro- 
mantic retreats of the mountains and delicious 
haunts of the adjacent valleys, not one of which 
but is the scene of some wonderful tale. 

Though fond of passing the greater part of my 
day alone, yet I occasionally repair in the evenings 
to the little domestic circle of Dona Antonia. This 
is generally held in an old Moorish chamber, that 
serves for kitchen as well as hall, a rude fire-place 
having been made in one corner, the smoke from 
which has discoloured the walls and almost oblite- 
rated the ancient arabesques. A window with a 
balcony overhanging the balcony of the Darro, lets 
in the cool evening breeze, and here I take my 
frugal supper of fruit and milk, and mingle with 
the conversation of the family. There is a natural 
talent, or mother wit, as it is called, about the 
Spaniards, which renders them intellectual and 
agreeable companions, whatever may be their con- 
dition in life, or however imperfect may have been 
their education; add to this, they are never vulgar; 
nature has endowed them with an inherent dignity 
of spirit. The good Tia Antonia is a woman of 
strong and intelligent, though uncultivated mind, 
and the bright-eyed Dolores, though she has read 
but three or four books in the whole course of her 
life, has an engaging mixture of naivete and good 
sense, and often surprises me by the pungency of 
her artless sallies. Sometimes the nephew enter- 
tains us by reading some old comedy of Calderon or 



112 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Lope de Vega, to which lie is evidently prompted by 
a desire to improve, as well as amuse his cousin 
Dolores, though to his great mortification the little 
damsel generally falls asleep before the first act is 
completed. Sometimes Tia Antonia has a little 
bevy of humble friends and dependants, the inhabit- 
ants of the adjacent hamlet, or the wives of the invalid 
soldiers. These look up to her with great deference 
as the custodian of the palace, and pay their court 
to her by bringing the news of the place, or the 
rumours that may have straggled up from Granada. 
In listening to the evening gossipings, I have 
picked up many curious facts, illustrative of the 
manners of the people and the peculiarities of the 
neighbourhood. 

These are simple details of simple pleasures ; it is 
the nature of the place alone that gives them interest 
and importance. I tread haunted ground and am 
surrounded by romantic associations. From earliest 
boyhood, when, on the banks of the Hudson, I first 
pored over the pages of an old Spanish story about 
the wars of Granada, that city has ever been a sub- 
ject of my waking dreams, and olten have 1 trod in 
fancy the romantic halls of the Alhambra. Behold 
for once a day dream realized ; yet I can scarcely 
credit my senses or believe that 1 do indeed inhabit 
the palace of Boabdil, and look down from its bal- 
conies upon chivalric Granada. As I loiter through 
the oriental chambers, and hear the murmuring of 
fountains and the song of the nightingale : as I m- 
hale the odour of the rose and feel the influence of 
the balmy climate, I am almost tempted to fancy 
myself in the Paradise of Mahomet, and that the 
plump little Dolores is one of the bright-eyed Houris, 
destined to administer to the happiness of true be- 
lievers. 



THE TRUANT. 



Since writing the foregoing pages, we have had 
a scene of petty tribulation in the Alhambra which 
has thrown a cloud over the sunny countenance of 
Dolores. This little damsel has a female passion for 
pets of all kinds, from the superabundant kindness 
of her disposition. One of the ruined courts of the 
Alhambra is thronged with her favourites. A stately 
peacock and his hen seem to hold regal sway here, 
over pompous turkeys, querulous gumea fowls, and 
a rabble rout of common cocks and hens. The great 
delight of Dolores, however, has for some time past 
been centred in a youthful pair of pigeons, who 
have lately entered into the holy state of wedlock, 
and who have even supplanted a tortoise shell cat 
and kitten in her affections. 

As a tenement for them to commence housekeep- 
ing she had fitted up a small chamber adjacent to 
the kitchen, the window of which looked into one of 
the quiet iNIoorish courts. Here they lived in happy 
ignorance of any world beyond the court and its 
sunny roofs. In vain they aspired to soar above the 
battlements, or to mount to the summit of the towers'. 
Their virtuous union was at length crowned by two 
spotless and milk white eggs, to the great joy of their 
cherishing little mistress. Nothing could be more 
praiseworthy than the conduct of the young married 
tblks on this interesting occasion. They took turns 
to sit upon the nest until the eggs were hatched, 
and while their callow progeny required warmth and 
shelter. While one thus stayed at home, the other 
foraged abroad for food, and brought home abun- 
dant supplies. 

This scene of conjugal felicity has suddenly met 



with a reverse. Early this morning, as Dolores was 
feeding the male pigeon, she took a fancy to give 
him a peep at the great world. Opening a window, 
therefore, which looks down upon the valley of the 
Darro, she launched him at once beyond the walls 
of the Alhambra. For the first time in his life the 
astonished bird had to try the full vigour of his 
wings. He swept down into the valley, and then 
rising upwards with a surge, soared almost to the 
clouds. Never before had he risen to such a height 
or experienced such delight in flying, and like a 
young spendthrii't, just come to his estate, he seemed 
giddy with excess of liberty, and with the boundless 
field of action suddenly opened to him. For the 
whole day he has been circling about in capricious 
flights, from tower to tower and from tree to tree. 
Every attempt has been made in vain to lure him 
back, by scattering grain upon the roofs ; he seems 
to have lost all thought of home, of his tender help- 
mate and his callow young. To add to the anxiety 
of Dolores, he has been joined by two palomas la- 
drones, or robber pigeons, whose instinct it is to 
entice wandering pigeons to their own dove-cotes. 
The fugitive, like many other thoughtless youths on 
their first launching upon the world, seems quite 
fascinated with these knowing, but graceless, com- 
panions, who have undertaken to show him life and 
introduce him to society. He has been soaring with 
them over all the roofs and steeples of Granada. A 
thunder shower has passed over the city, but he has 
not sought his home; night has closed in, and still 
he comes not. To deepen the pathos of the affair, 
the female pigeon, after remaining several hours on 
the nest without being relieved, at length went forth 
to seek her recreant mate ; but stayed away so long 
that the young ones perished for want of the warmth 
and shelter of the parent bosom. 

At a late hour in the evening, word was brought 
to Dolores that the truant bird had been seen upon 
the towers of the Generaliffe. Now, it so happens 
that the Administrador of that ancient palace has 
likewise a dove-cote, among the inmates of which 
are said to be two or three of these inveigling birds, 
the terror of all neighbouring pigeon fanciers. Do- 
lores immediately concluded that the two feathered 
sharpers who had been seen with her fugitive, were 
these bloods of the Generaliffe. A council of war 
was forthwith held in the chamber of Tia Antonia. 
The Generaliffe is a distinct jurisdiction from the 
Alhambra, and of course some punctilio, if not jeal- 
ousy, exists between their custodians. It was deter- 
mined, therefore, to send Pepe, the stuttering lad of 
the gardens, as ambassador to the Administrador, 
requesting that if such fugitive should be found in 
his dominions, he might be given up as a subject of 
the Alhambra. Pepe departed, accordingly, on his 
diplomatic expedition, through the moonlight groves 
and avenues, but returned in an hour with the af- 
flicting intelligence that no such bird was to be 
found in the dove-cote of the Generaliffe. The ad- 
ministrador, however, pledged his sovereign bird, 
that if such vagrant should appear there, even at 
midnight, he should instantly be arrested and sent 
back prisoner to his little black-eyed mistress. 

Thus stands this melancholy affair, which has oc- 
casioned much distress throughout the palace, and 
has sent the inconsolable Dolores to a sleepless pil- 
low. 

— " Sorrow endureth for a night," says the proverb, 
"but joy ariseth in the morning." The first object 
that met my eyes on leaving my room this morning 
was Dolores wi<h the truant pigeon in her hand, and 
her eyes sparkling with joy. He had appeared at an 
early hour on the battlements, hovering shyly about 
from roof to roof, but at length entered the window 



1i 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



113 



and surrendered himself prisoner. He gained little 
credit, however, by his return, for the ravenous man- 
ner in which he devoured the food set before him, 
showed that, HIce the prodigal son. he had been 
driven home by sheer famine. Dolores upbraided 
him for his faithless conduct, calling him all manner 
of vagrant names, though woman-like, she fondled 
him at the same time to her bosom and covered him 
with kisses. I observed, however, that she had 
taken care to clip his wings to prevent all future 
soarings ; a precaution which I mention for the 
benefit of all those who have truant wives or wan- 
dering husbands. More than one valuable moral 
might be drawn from the story of Dolores and her 
pigeon. 



THE AUTHOR'S CHAMBER. 



On taking up my abode in the Alhambra, one end 
of a suite of empty chambers of modern architect- 
ure, intended for the residence of the governor, 
was fitted up for my reception. It was in front 
of the palace, looking forth upon the esplanade. 
The farther end communicated with a cluster of lit- 
tle chambers, partly Moorish, partly modern, in- 
habited by Tia Antonia and her family. These 
terminated in a large room which serves the good 
old dame for parlour, kitchen, and hall of audience. 
It had boasted of some splendour in time of the 
Moors, but a fire-place had been built in one corner, 
the smoke from which had discoloured the walls ; 
nearly obliterated the ornaments, and spread a som- 
bre tint over the whole. From these gloomy apart- 
ments, a narrow blind corridor and a dark winding 
staircase led down an angle of the tower of Co- 
mares ; groping down which, and opening a small 
door at the bottom, you are suddenly dazzled by 
emerging into the brilliant antechamber of the hall 
of ambassadors, with the fountain of the court of the 
Alberca sparkling before you. 

I was dissatisfied with being lodged in a modern 
and frontier apartment of the palace, and longed to 
ensconce myself in the very heart of the building. 

As I was rambling one day about the Moorish 
halls, I found, in a remote gallery, a door which 1 had 
not before noticed, communicating apparently with 
an extensive apartment, locked up from the public. 
Here then was a mystery. Here was the haunted 
wing of the castle. I procured the key, however, 
without difficulty. The door opened to a range of 
vacant chambers of European architecture ; though 
built over a Moorish arcade, along the little garden 
of Lindaraxa. There were two lofty rooms, the 
ceilings of which were of deep panel-work of cedar, 
richly and skilfully carved with fruits and flowers, 
intermingled with grotesque masks or faces ; but 
broken in many places. The walls had evidently, 
in ancient times, been hung with damask, but were 
now naked, and scrawled over with the insignificant 
names of aspiring travellers ; the windows, which 
were dismantled and open to wind and weather, 
looked into the garden of Lindaraxa, and the orange 
and citron trees flung their branches into the cham- 
bers. Beyond these rooms were two saloons, less 
lofty, looking also into the garden. In the com- 
partments of the panelled ceiling were baskets of 
fruit and garlands of flowers, painted by no mean 
h.ind, and in tolerable preservation. The walls had 
also been painted in fresco in the Italian style, but 
the paintings were nearly obliterated. The win- 
8 



dows were in the same shattered state as in the other 
chambers. 

This fanciful suite of rooms terminated in an open 
gallery with balustrades, which ran at right angles 
along another side of the garden. The whole apart- 
ment had a delicacy and elegance in its decorations, 
and there was something so choice and sequestered 
in its situation, along this retired little garden, that 
awakened an interest in its history. I found, on in- 
quiry, that it was an apartment fitted up by Italian 
artists, in the early part of the last century, at the 
time when Philip V. and the beautiful Elizabetta of 
Parma were expected at the Alhambra ; and was 
destined for the queen and the ladies of her train. 
One of the loftiest chambers had been her sleeping 
room, and a narrow staircase leading from it, though 
now walled up, opened to the delightful belvedere, 
originally a mirador of the Moorish sultanas, but fit- 
ted up as a boudoir for the fair Elizabetta, and which 
still retains the name of the Tocador, or toilette of 
the queen. The sleeping room I have mentioned, 
commanded from one window a prospect of the 
Generaliffe, and its imbowered terraces ; under an- 
other window played the alabaster fountain of the 
garden of Lindaraxa. That garden carried my 
thoughts still farther back, to the period of another 
reign of beauty ; to the days of the Moorish sultanas. 
" How beauteous is this garden ! " says an Arabic 
inscription, " where the flowers of the earth vie with 
the stars of heaven ! what can compare with the vase 
of yon alabaster fountain filled with crystal water ? 
Nothing but the moon in her fulness, shining in the 
midst of an unclouded sky ! " 

Centuries had elapsed, yet how much of this scene 
of apparently fragile beauty remained ! The garden 
of Lindaraxa was still adorned with flowers ; the 
fountain still presented its crystal mirror : it is true, 
the alabaster had lost its whiteness, and the basin 
beneath, overrun with weeds, had become the nes- 
tling place of the lizard ; but there was something in 
the very decay that enhanced the interest of the 
scene, speaking, as it did, of that mutability which is 
the irrevocable lot of man and all his works. The 
desolation, too, of these chambers, once the abode 
of the proud and elegant Elizabetta, had a more 
touching charm for me than if I had beheld them in 
their pristine splendour, glittering with the pageant- 
ry of a court. — I detemiined at once to take up my 
quarters in this apartment. 

My determination excited great surprise in the 
family ; who could not imagine any rational induce- 
ment for the choice of so solitar)', remote and for- 
lorn an apartment. The good Tia Antonia consid~ 
ered it highly dangerous. The neighbourhood, she 
said, was infested by vagrants; the caverns of the 
adjacent hills swarmed with gipsies ; the palace was 
ruinous and easy to be entered in many parts ; and 
the rumour of a stranger quartered alone in one of 
the ruined apartments, out of the hearing of the rest 
of the inhabitants, might tempt unwelcome visitors 
in the night, especially as foreigners are always sup- 
posed to be well stocked with money. Dolores rep- 
resented the frightful loneliness of the place ; nothing 
l>ut bats and owls flitting about; then, there were a 
fox and a wild cat that kept about the vaults and 
roamed about at night. 

I was not to be diverted from my humour, so call- 
ing in the assistance of a carpenter, and the ever 
officious Mateo Ximenes, the doors and windows 
were soon placed in a state of tolerable security. 

With all these precautions, I must confess the first 
night I passed in these quarters was inexpressibly 
dreary. I was escorted by the whole family to my 
chamber, and there taking leave of me, and retiring 



114 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



reminded me of those hobgoblin stories, where the 
hero is left to accomplish the adventure of a haunted 
house. 

Soon the thoughts of the fair Eiizabetta and the 
beauties of her court, who had once graced these 
chambers, now by a perversion of fancy added to the 
gloom. Here was the scene of their transient gaiety 
and loveliness; here were the very traces of their 
elegance and enjoyment ; but what and where were 
they ? — Dust and ashes ! tenants of the tomb ! phan- 
toms of the memory ! 

A vague and indescribable awe was creeping over 
me. I would fain have ascribed it to the thoughts 
of robbers, awakened by the evening's conversation, 
out I felt that it was something more unusual and 
absurd. In a word, the long buried impressions of 
the nursery were reviving and asserting their power 
over my imagination. Every thing began to be af- 
fected by the workings of my mind. The whisper- 
ing ot the wind among the citron trees beneath my 
window had something sinister. I cast my eyes into 
the garden of Lindara.xa ; the groves presented a 
gulf of shadows ; the thickets had indistinct and 
ghastly shapes. I was glad to close the window ; 
but my chamber itself became infected. A bat had 
found its way in, and flitted about my head and 
athwart ray solitary lamp ; the grotesque faces carved 
in the cedar ceiling seemed to mope and mow at me. 

Rousing myself, and half smiling at this tempora- 
ry weakness, I resolved to brave it, and, taking lamp 
in hand, sallied forth to make a tour of the ancient 
palace. Notwithstanding every mental exertion, the 
task was a severe one. The rays of my lamp ex- 
tended to but a limited distance around me ; I walked 
as it were in a mere halo of light, and all beyond was 
thick darkness. The vaulted corridors were as caverns; 
the vaults of the halls were lost in gloom ; what un- 
seen foe might not be lurking before or behind me ; 
my own shadow playing about the walls, and the 
echoes of my own footsteps disturbed me. 

In this excited st.ate, as I was traversing the great 
Hall of Ambassadors, there were added real sounds to 
these conjectural fancies. Low moans and indistinct 
ejaculations seemed to rise as it were from beneath 
my feet ; I paused and listened. They then appear- 
ed to resound from without the tower. Sometimes 
they resembled the bowlings of an animal, at others 
they were stifled shrieks, mingled with articulate 
ravings. The thrilling effect of these sounds in that 
still hour and singular place, destroyed all inclination 
to continue my lonely perambulation. I returned to 
my chamber with more alacrity than I had sallied 
forth, and drew my breath more freely when once 
more within its walls, and the door bolted behind 
me. 

When I awoke in the morning, with the sun shin- 
ing in at my window, and lighting up ever)' part of 
the building with its cheerful and truth-telling beams, 
I could scarcely recall the shadows and fancies con- 
jured up by the gloom of the preceding night ; or 
believe that the scenes around me, so naked and ap- 
parent, could have been clothed with such imaginary 
horrors. 

Still the dismal bowlings and ejaculations I had 
heard, were not ideal ; but they were soon accounted 
for, by my handmaid Dolores ; being the ravings of 
a poor maniac, a brother of her aunt, who was sub- 
ject to violent paroxysms, during which he was con- 
fined in a vaulted room beneath the Hall of Ainbas- 
sadors. 



THE ALHAMBRA BY MOONLIGHT, 



I HAVE given a picture of my apartment on my 
first taking possession of it ; a few evenings have 
produced a thorough change in the scene and in my 
feelings. The moon, which then was invisible, has 
gradually gained upon the nights, and now rolls in 
full splendour above the towers, pouring a flood of 
tempered light into every court and hall. The gar- 
den beneath my window is gently lighted up ; the 
orange and citron trees are tipped with silver; the 
fountain sparkles in the moon beams, and even the 
blush of the rose is faintly visible. 

I have sat for hours at my window inhaling the 
sweetness of the garden, and musing on the che- 
quered features of those whose history is dimly 
shadowed out in the elegant memorials around. 
Sometimes I have issued forth at midnight when 
every thing was quiet, and have wandered over the 
whole building. Who can do justice to a moonlight 
night in such a climate, and in such a place ! The 
temperature of an Andalusian midnight, in summer, 
is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted up into a purer 
atmosphere ; there is a serenity of soul, a buoyancy 
of spirits, an elasticity of frame that render mere ex- 
istence enjoyment. The effect of moonlight, too, on 
the Alhambra has something like enchantment. 
Every rent and chasm of time, every mouldering 
tint and weather stain disappears ; the marble re- 
sumes its original whiteness ; the long colonnades 
brighten in the moon beams ; the halls are illumi- 
nated with a softened radiance, until the whole edi- 
fice reminds one of the enchanted palace of an 
Arabian tale. 

At such time I have ascended to the little pavilion, 
called the Queen's Toilette, to enjoy its varied and 
extensive prospect. To the right, the snowy sum- 
mits of the Sierra Nevada would gleam like silver 
clouds against the darker firmament, and all the 
outlines of the mountain would be softened, yet deli- 
cately defined. My delight, however, would be to 
lean over the parapet of the tocador, and gaze down 
upon Granada, spread out like a map below me : all 
buried in deep repose, and its white palaces and 
convents sleeping as it were in the moonshme. 

Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of cas- 
tanets from some party of dancers lingering in the 
Alameda ; at other times I have heard the dubious 
tones of a guitar, and the notes of a single voice 
rising from some solitary street, and have pictured 
to myself some youthful cavalier serenading his lady's 
window ; a gallant custom of former days, but now 
sadly on the decline e.xcept in the remote towns and 
villages of Spain. 

.Such are the scenes that have detained me for 
many an hour loitering about the courts and bal- 
conies of the castle, enjoying that mixture of reverie 
and sensation which steal away existence in a south- 
ern climate — and it has been almost morning before 
I have retired to my bed, and been lulled to sleep by 
the falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa. 



INHABITANTS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



I HAVE often observed that the more proudly a 
mansion has been tenanted in the day of its pros- 
perity, the humbler are its inhabitants in the day of 
its decline, and that the palace of the king common- 
ly ends in being the nestling place of the beggar. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



115 



The Alhambra is in a rapid state of similar 
transition : wlienever a tower falls to decay, it is 
seized upon by some tatterdemalion family, who 
become joint tenants with the bats and owls of its 
gilded halls, and hang their rags, those standards of 
poverty, out of its windows and loop-holes. 

I have amused myself with remarking some of 
the motley characters that have thus usurped the 
ancient abode of royalty, and who seem as if placed 
here to give a farcical termination to the drama 
of human pride. One of these even bears the 
mockery of a royal title. It is a little old woman 
named Maria Antonia Sabonea, but who goes by 
the appellation of la Reyna Cuquina, or the cockle 
queen. She is small enough to be a fairy, and a 
fairy she may be for aught I can find out, for no one 
seems to know her origin. Her habitation is a kind 
of closet under the outer staircase of the palace, and 
she sits in the cool stone corridor plying her needle 
and singing from morning till night, with a ready 
joke for every one that passes, for though one of 
the poorest, she is one of the merriest little women 
breathing. Her great merit is a gift for story-tell- 
ing ; having, I verily believe, as many stories at her 
command as the inexhaustible Scheherezade of the 
thousand and one nights. Some of these I have 
heard her relate in the evening tertulias of Dona 
Antonia, at which she is occasionally an humble at- 
tendant. 

That there must l)e some fairy gift about this 
mysterious little old woman, would appear from her 
extraordinary luck, since, notwithstanding her being 
very little, very ugly, and very poor, she has had, 
according to her own account, five husbands and a 
half; reckoning as a half, one, a young dragoon who 
died during courtship. 

A rival personage to this little fairy queen is a 
portly old fellow with a bottle nose, who goes about 
in a rusty garb, with a cocked hat of oil skin and a 
red cockade. He is one of the legitimate sons of 
the Alhambra, and has lived here all his life, filling 
various offices ; such as deputy Alguazil, sexton of 
the parochial church, and marker of a five's court 
established at the foot of one of the towers. He is 
as poor as a rat, but as proud as he is ragged, 
boasting of his descent from the illustrious house of 
Aguilar, from which sprang Gonsalvo of Cordova, 
the Grand captain. Nay, he actually bears the 
name of Alonzo de Aguilar, so renowned in the his- 
tor)' of the conquest, though the graceless wags of 
the fortress have given him the title of el Fadre 
Santo, or the Holy Father, the usual appellation of 
the pope, which I had thought too sacred in the eyes 
of true catholics to be thus ludicrously applied. It 
is a whimsical caprice of fortune, to present in the 
grotesque person of this tatterdemalion a namesake 
and descendant of the proud Alonzo de Aguilar, the 
mirror of Andalusian chivalry, leading an almost 
mendicant existence about this once haughty for- 
tress, which his ancestor aided to reduce ; yet such 
might have been the lot of the descendants of Aga- 
memnon and Achilles, had they lingered about the 
ruins of Troy. 

Of this motley community I find the family of my 
gossiping squire Mateo Ximenes to form, from their 
numbers at least, a very important part. His boast 
of being a son of the Alhambra is not unfounded. 
This family has inhabited the fortress ever since the 
time of the conquest, handing down a hereditary 
poverty from father to son, not one of them having 
ever been known to be worth a marevedi. His 
father, by trade a riband weaver, and who succeeded 
the historical tailor as the head of the family, is now 
near seventy years of age, and lives in a hovel of 
reeds and plaster, built by his own hands, just above 



the iron gate. The furniture consists of a crazy 
bed, a table, and two or three chairs ; a wooden 
chest, containing his clothes, and the archives of his 
family; that is to say, a few papers concerning old 
law-suits which he cannot read ; but the pride of liis 
heart is a blazon of the arms of the family, brilliantly 
coloured and suspended in a frame against the wall, 
clearly demonstrating by its quarterings the various 
noble houses with which this poverty-stricken brood 
claim affinity. 

As to Mateo himself, he has done his utmost to 
perpetuate his line ; having a wife, and a numerous 
progeny who inhabit an ahiiost dismantled hovel in 
the hamlet. How they manage to subsist. He only 
who sees into all mysteries can tell — the subsistence 
of a Spanish family of the kind is always a riddle to 
me ; yet they do subsist, and, what is more, appear 
to enjoy their existence. The wife takes her holyday 
stroll in the Paseo of Granada, with a child in her 
arms, and half a dozen at her heels, and the eldest 
daughter, now verging into womanhood, dresses 
her hair with flowers, and dances gaily to the cas- 
tanets. 

There are two classes of people to whom life 
seems one long holyday, the very rich and the very 
poor ; one because they need do nothing, the other 
because they have nothing to do ; but there are none 
who understand the art of doing nothing and living 
upon nothing better than the poor classes of .Spain. 
Climate does one half and tennperament the rest. 
Give a Spaniard the shade in summer, and the sun 
in winter, a little bread, garlic, oil and garbanzos, an 
old brown cloak and a guitar, and let the world roll 
on as it pleases. Talk of poverty, with him it has 
no disgrace. It sits upon him with a grandioso 
style, like his ragged cloak. He is a hidalgo even 
when in rags. 

The " Sons of the Alhambra " are an eminent 
illustration of this practical philosophy. As the 
Moors imagined that the celestial paradise hung 
over this favoured spot, so I am inclined, at times, to 
fancy that a gleam of the golden age still lingers 
about this ragged community. They |)ossess noth- 
ing, they do nothing, they care for nothing. Yet, 
though apparently idle all the week, they are as 
observant of all holydays and saints' days as the 
most laborious artisan. They attend all fetes and 
dancings in Granada and its vicinity, light bon-fires 
on the hills of St. John's eve, and have lately danced 
away the moonlight nights, on the harvest home of a 
small field of wheat within the precincts of the for- 
tress. 

Before concluding these remarks I must mention 
one of the anmsements of the place which has par- 
ticularly struck me. I had repeatedly observed a long, 
lean fellow perched on the top of one of the towers 
manoeuvring two or three fishing rods, as though he 
was angling for the stars. I was for some time per- 
plexed by the evolutions of this aerial fisherman, and 
my perplexity increased on observing others em- 
ployed in like manner, on different parts of the bat- 
tlements and bastions ; it was not until I consulted 
Mateo Ximenes that I solved the mystery. 

It seems that the pure and airy situation of this 
fortress has rendered it, like the castle of Macbeth, 
a pro'rific breeding-place for swallows and martlets, 
who sport about its towers in myriads, with the 
holyday glee of urchins just let loose from school. 
To entrap these birds in their giddy circlings, with 
hooks baited with flies, is one of the favourite amuse- 
ments of the ragged " Sons of the Alhambra," who, 
with the good-for-nothing ingenuity of arrant idlers, 
have thus invented the art of angling in the sky. 



116 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



THE BALCONY. 



In the Hall of Ambassadors, at the central win- 
dow, there is a balcony of which I have already made 
mention. It projects like a cage from tlie face of 
the tower, high in mid-air, above the tops of the 
trees that grow on the steep hill-side. It answers 
me as a kind of observatory, where I often take my 
seat to consider, not merely the heavens above, but 
the "earth beneath." Beside the magnificent pros- 
pect which it commands, of mountain, valley, and 
Vega, there is a busy little scene of human life laid 
open to inspection immediately below. At the foot 
of the hill is an alameda or public walk, which, 
though not so fashionable as the more modern and 
splendid paseo of the Xenil, still boasts a varied and 
picturesque concourse, especially on holydays and 
Sundays. Hither resort the small gentry of the 
suburbs, together with priests and friars who walk 
for appetite and digestion ; niajos and majas, the 
beaux and belles of the lower classes in their Anda- 
lusian dresses ; swaggering contrabandistas, and 
sometimes half-muffled and mysterious loungers of 
the higher ranks, on some silent assignation. 

It is a moving picture of Spanish life which I de- 
light to study ; and as the naturalist has his micro- 
scope to assist him in his curious investigations, so I 
have a small pocket telescope which brings the 
countenances of the motley groupes so close as al- 
most at times to make me think I can divine their 
conversation by the play and expression of their 
features. I am thus, in a manner, an invisible ob- 
server, and without quitting my soKtude, can throw 
myself in an instant into the midst of society — a rare 
advantage to one of somewhat shy and quiet habits. 

Then there is a considerable suburb lying below 
the Alhambra, filling the narrow gorge of the valley, 
and extending up the opposite hill of the Albaycin. 
Many of the houses are built in the Moorish style, 
round patios or courts cooled by fountains and open 
to the sky ; and as the inhabitants pass much of 
their time in these courts and on the terraced roofs 
during the summer season, it follows that many a 
glance at their domestic life may be obtained by an 
aerial spectator like myself, who can look down on 
them from the clouds. 

I enjoy, in some degree, the advantages of the 
student in the famous old Spanish story, who beheld 
all Madrid unroofed for his inspection ; and my gos- 
sipping squire Mateo Ximenes, officiates occasionally 
as my Asmodeus, to give me anecdotes of the differ- 
ent mansions and their inhabitants. 

I prefer, however, to form conjectural histories for 
myself; and thus can sit up aloft for hours, weaving 
from casual incidents and indications that pass under 
my eye, the whole tissue of schemes, intrigues and 
occupations, carrying on by certain of the busy 
mortals below us. There is scarce a pretty face or 
striking figure that I daily see, about which I have 
not thus gradually framed a dramatic story ; though 
some of my characters will occasionally act in direct 
opposition to the part assigned them, and disconcert- 
my whole drama. 

A few days since as I was reconnoitring with my 
glass the streets of the Albaycin, I beheld the pro- 
cession of a novice about to take the veil ; and re- 
marked various circumstances that excited the 
strongest sympathy in the fate of the youthful being 
thus about to be consigned to a living tomb. I as- 
certained, to my satisfaction, that she was beautiful ; 
and, by the paleness of her cheek, that she was a 
victim, rather than a votary. She was arrayed in 
bridal garments, and decked with a chaplet of white 



flowers ; but her heart evidently revolted at this 
mockery of a spiritual union, and yearned after its 
earthly loves. A tall stern-looking man walked near 
her in the procession ; it was evidently the tyrannical 
father, who, from some bigoted or sordid motive, 
had compelled this sacrifice. Amidst the crowd was 
a dark, handsome youth, in Andalusian garb, who 
seemed to fix on her an eye of agony. It was doubt- 
less the secret lover from whom she was for ever to 
be separated. My indignation rose as I noted the 
malignant exultation painted in the countenances of 
the attendant monks and friars. The procession 
arrived at the chapel of the convent ; the sun 
gleamed for the last time upon the chaplet of the 
poor novice as she crossed the fatal threshold and 
disappeared from sight. The throng poured in with 
cowl and cross and minstrelsy. The lover paused 
for a moment at the door; I could understand the 
tumult of his feelings, but he mastered them and 
entered. There was a long interval — I pictured to 
myself the scene passing within. — The poor novice 
despoiled of her transient finery — clothed in the con- 
ventual garb ; the bridal chaplet taken from her 
brow ; her beautiful head shorn of its long silken 
tresses — 1 heard her murmur the irrevocable vow — I 
saw her extended on her bier ; the death pall spread 
over ; the funeral service performed that proclaimed 
her dead to the world ; her sighs were drowned in 
the waihng anthem of the nuns and the sepulchral 
tones of the organ — the father looked, unmoved, 
without a tear — the lover — no — my fancy refused to 
portray the anguish of the lover — there the picture 
remained a blank. — The ceremony was over : the 
crowd again issued forth to behold the day and 
mingle in the joyous stir of life — but the victim with 
her bridal chaplet was no longer there — the door of 
the convent closed that secured her from the world 
for ever. I saw the father and the lover issue forth 
— they were in earnest conversation — the young man 
was violent in his gestures, when the wall of a house 
intervened and shut them from my sight. 

That evening 1 noticed a solitary light twinkling 
from a remote lattice of the convent. There, said I, 
the unhappy novice sits weeping in her cell, while her 
lover paces the street below in unavailing anguish. 

— The officious Mateo interrupted my meditations 
and destroyed, in an instant, the cobweb tissue of my 
fancy. With his usual zeal he had gathered facts 
concerning the scene that had interested me. The 
heroine of my romance was neither young nor hand- 
some — she had no love — she had entered the con- 
vent of her own free will, as a respectable asylum, 
and was one of the cheerfulest residents within its 
walls ! 

I felt at first half vexed with the nun for being 
thus happy in her cell, in contradiction to all the rules 
of romance; but diverted my spleen by watching, for 
a day or two, the pretty coquetries of a dark-eyed 
brunette, who, from the covert of a balcony shrouded 
with flowering shrubs and a silken awning, was 
carrying on a mysterious correspondence with a 
handsome, dark, well-whiskered cavalier, in the 
street beneath her window. Sometimes I saw him, 
at an early hour, stealing forth, wrapped to the eyes 
in a mantle. Sometimes he loitered at the corner, 
in various disguises, apparently waiting for a private 
signal to slip into the bower. Then there was a 
tinkling of a guitar at night, and a lantern shifted 
from place to place in the balcony. I imagined 
another romantic intrigue like that of Almaviva, but 
was again disconcerted in all my suppositions by 
being "informed that the supposed lover was the 
husband of the lady, and a noted contrabandista : 
and that all his mysterious signs and movements had 
doubtless some smuggling scheme in view. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



117 



Scarce had the gray dawn streaked the sky and 
the earliest cock crowed from the cottages of the 
hill-side, when the suburbs gave sign of reviving ani- 
mation ; for the fresh hours of dawning are precious 
in the summer season in a sultry climate. All are 
anxious to get the start of the sun in the business of 
the day. The muleteer drives forth his loaded train 
for the journey ; the traveller slings his carbine be- 
hind his saddle and mounts his steed at the gate of 
the hostel. The brown peasant urges his loitering 
donkeys, laden with panniers of sunny fruit and fresh 
dewy vegetables ; for already the thrifty housewives 
are hastening to the market. 

The sun is up and sparkles along the valley, 
topping the transparent foliage of the groves. The 
matin bells resound melodiously through the pure 
bright air, announcing the hour of devotion. The 
muleteer halts his burdened animals before the 
chapel, thrusts his staff through his belt behind, and 
enters with hat in hand, smoothing his coal black 
hair, to hear a mass and put up a prayer for a pros- 
perous wayfaring across the Sierra. 

And now steals forth with fairy foot the gentle 
Senora, in trim busquina ; with restless fan in hand 
and dark eye flashing from beneath her gracefully 
folded mantilla. She seeks some well frequented 
church to offer up her orisons ; but the nicely ad- 
justed dress ; the dainty shoe and cobweb stock- 
ing ; the raven tresses scrupulously braided, the 
fresh plucked rose that gleams among them like a 
gem, show that earth divides with heaven the em- 
pire of her thoughts. 

As the morning advances, the din of labour aug- 
ments on every side ; the streets are thronged with 
man and steed, and beast of burden ; the universal 
movement ])roduces a hum and murmur like the 
surges of the ocean. As the sun ascends to his 
meridian the hum and bustle gradually decline ; 
at the height of noon there is a pause ; the panting 
city sinks into lassitude, and for several hours there 
is a general repose. The windows are closed ; 
the curtains drawn; the inhabitants retired into 
the coolest recesses of their mansions. The full- 
fed monk snores in his dormitory. The brawny por- 
ter lies stretched on the pavement beside his tsur- 
den. The peasant and the labourer sleep beneath 
the trees of the Alameda, lulled by the sultry chirp- 
ing of the locust. The streets are deserted except by 
the water carrier, who refreshes the ear by pro- 
claiming the merits of his sparkling beverage, — 
" Colder than mountain snow." 

As the sun declines there is again a gradual re- 
viving, and when the vesper bell rings out his sink- 
ing knell, all nature seems to rejoice that the tyrant 
of the day has fallen. 

Now begins the bustle of enjoyment. The citi- 
zens pour forth to breathe the evening air, and 
revel away the brief twilight in the walks and gar- 
dens of the Darro and the Xenil. 

As the night closes, the motley scene assumes 
new features. Light after light gradually twinkles 
forth ; here a taper from a balconied window ; 
there a votive lamp before the image of a saint. 
Thus by degrees the city emerges from the per- 
vading gloom, and sparkles with scattered lights 
like the starry firmament. Now break forth from 
court, and garden, and street, and lane, the tink- 
ling of innumerable guitars and the clicking of cas- 
tanets, blending at this lofty height, in a faint and 
general concert. " Enjoy the moment," is the 
creed of the gay and amorous Andalusian, and at 
no time does he practise it more zealously than in 
the balmy nights of summer, wooing his mistress 
with the dance, the love ditty and the passionate 
serenade. 



I was seated one evening in the balcony enjoy- 
ing the light breeze that came rustling along the 
side of the hill among the tree-tops, when my hum- 
ble historiographer, Mateo, who was at iny elbow, 
pointed out a spacious house in an obscure street of 
the Albaycin, about which he related, as nearly as I 
can recollect, the following anecdote : 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE MASON. 

There was once upon a time a poor mason, or 
bricklayer in Granada, who kept all the saints' days 
and holydays, and saint Monday into the bargain, 
and yet, with all his devotion, he grew poorer and 
poorer, and could scarcely earn bread for his numer- 
ous family. One night he was roused from his first 
sleep by a knocking at his door. He opened it 
and beheld before him a tall, meagre, cadaverous- 
looking priest. " Hark ye, honest friend," said the 
stranger, " I have observed that you are a good 
Christian, and one to be trusted; will you undertake 
a job this very night ? " 

" With all my heart, Sefior Padre, on condition 
that I am paid accordingly." 

" That you shall be, but you must suffer yourself 
to be blindfolded." 

To this the mason made no objection ; so being 
hoodwinked, he was led bv the priest through vari- 
ous rough lanes and winding passages until they 
stopped before the portal of a house. The priest 
then applied a key, turned a creaking lock and 
opened what sounded like a ponderous door. They 
entered, the door was closed and bolted, and the 
mason was conducted through an echoing corridor 
and spacious hall, to an interior part of the building. 
Here the bandage was removed from his eyes, and 
he found himself in a patio, or court, dimly lighted 
by a single lamp. 

In the centre was a dry basin of an old Moorish 
fountain, under which the priest requested him to 
form a small vault, bricks and mortar being at hand for 
the purpose. He accordingly worked all night, but 
without finishing the job. Just before day-break 
the priest put a piece of gold into his hand, and hav- 
ing again blindfolded him, conducted him back to 
his dwelling. 

" Are you willing," said he, " to return and com- 
plete your work .' " 

" Gladly, Senor Padre, provided I am as well 
paid." 

" Well, then, to-morrow at midnight I will call 
again." 

He did so, and the vault was completed. " Now," 
said the priest, " you must help me to bring forth 
the bodies that are to be buried in this vault." 

The poor mason's hair rose on his head at these 
words ; he followed the priest with trembling steps, 
into a retired chamber of the mansion, expecting 
to behold some ghastly spectacle of death, but was 
relieved, on perceiving three or four portly jars 
standing in one corner. They were evidently full of 
money, and it was with great labour that he and the 
l)riest carried them forth and consigned them to 
their tomb. The vault was then closed, the pave- 
ment replaced and all traces of the work obliterated. 

The mason was again hoodwinked and led forth 
by a route different from that by which he had come. 
After they had wandered for a long time through a 
perplexed maze of lanes and alleys, they halted. The 
priest then put two pieces of gold into his hand. 
" Wait here," said he, " until you hear the cathedral 
bell toll for matins. If you presume to uncover your 
eyes before that time, evil will befall you." So say- 
ing he departed. 



118 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The mason waited faithfiillj', amusing himself by 
weighing the gold pieces in his hand and clinking 
them against each other. The moment the cathe- 
dral bell rung its matin peal, he uncovered his eyes 
and Ibund himself on the banks of the Xenil ; from 
whence he made the best of his way home, and rev- 
elled with his family for a whole fortnight on the 
profits of his two nights' work, after which he was 
as poor as ever. 

He continued to work a little and pray a good deal, 
and keep holydays and saints' days from year to year, 
while his family grew up as gaunt and ragged as a 
crew of gipsies. 

As he was seated one morning at the door of his 
hovel, he was accosted by a rich old curmudgeon 
who was noted for owning many houses and being a 
griping landlord. 

The man of money eyed him for a moment, from 
beneath a pair of shagged eyebrows. 

" I am told, friend, that you are very poor." 

" There is no denying the fact, Senor ; it speaks 
for itself." 

" I presume, then, you will be glad of a job. and 
will work cheap." 

" As cheap, my master, as any mason in Granada." 

" That's what I want. I have an old house fallen 
to decay, that costs me more money than it is worth 
to keep it in repair, for nobody will live in it ; so I 
must contrive to patch it up and keep it together at 
as small expense as possible." 

The mason was accordingly conducted to a huge 
deserted house that seemed going to ruin. Passing 
through several empty halls and chambers, he en- 
tered an inner court, where his eye was caught by 
an old Moorish fountain. 

He paused for a moment. " It seems," said he, 
" as if I had been in this place before ; but it is like 
a dream. — Pray who occupied this house formerly ? " 

" A pest upon him ! " cried the landlord. " It was 
an old miserly priest, who cared for nobody but him- 
self. He was said to be immensely rich, and, hav- 
ing no relations, it was thought he would leave all 
his treasure to the church. He died suddenlv, and 
the priests and friars thronged to take possession of 
his wealth, but nothing could they find but a few 
ducats in a leathern purse. The worst luck has 
fallen on me ; for since his death, the old fellow con- 
tinues to occupy my house without paying rent, and 
there's no taking the law of a dead man. The 
people pretend to hear at night the clinking of gold 
all night long in the chamber where the old priest 
slept, as if he were counting over his money, and 
sometimes a groaning and moaning about the court. 
Whether true or false these stories have brought a bad 
name on my house, and not a tenant will remain in it." 

" Enough," said the mason sturdily — " Let me 
live in your house rent free until some better tenant 
presents, and I will engage to put it in repair and 
quiet the troubled spirits that disturb it. I am a 
good Christian and a poor man, and am not to be 
daunted by the devil himself, even though he come 
in the shape of a big bag of money." 

The ofter of the honest mason was gladly ac- 
cepted ; he moved with his family into the house-, 
and fulfilled all his engagements. By little and little 
he restored it to its former state. The clinking of 
gold was no longer heard at night in the chamber 
of the defunct priest, but began to be heard by day 
in the pocket of the living mason. In a word, he 
increased rapidly in wealth, to the adniiration of all 
his neighbours, and became one of the richest men 
in Granada. He gave large sums to the church, by 
way, no doubt, of satisfying his conscience, and never 
revealed the secret of the wealth until on his death- 
bed, to his son and heir. 



A RAMBLE AMONG THE HILLS. 



I FREQUENTLY amuse myself towards the close 
of the day, when the heat has subsided, with taking 
long rambles about the neighbouring hills and the 
deep umbrageous valleys, accompanied by my his- 
toriographer Squire Mateo, to whose passion for 
gossiping, I, on such occasions, give the most un- 
bounded license ; and there is scarce a rock or ruin, 
or broken fountain, or lonely glen, about which he 
has not some marvellous story ; or, above all, some 
golden legend ; for never was poor devil so munifi- 
cent in dispensing hidden treasures. 

A few evenings since we took a long stroll of the 
kind, in which Mateo was more than usually com- 
municative. It was towards sunset that we sallied 
forth from the great Gate of Justice, and ascending 
an alley of trees, Mateo paused under a clump of fig 
and pomegranate trees at the foot of a huge ruined 
tower, called the Tower of the Seven Vaults, (de loa 
siete suelos.) Here, pointing to a low archway at 
the foundation of the tower, he informed me, in an 
under tone, was the lurking-place of a monstrous 
sprite or hobgoblin called the Belludo, which had 
infested the tower ever since the time of the Moors ; 
guarding, it is supposed, the treasures of a Moorish 
king. Sometimes it issues forth in the dead of the 
night, and scours the avenues of the Alhambra and 
the streets of Granada in the shape of a headless 
horse, pursued by si.K dogs, with terrific yells and 
bowlings. 

" But have you ever met with it yourself, Mateo, 
in any of your rambles ? " 

" No, senor; but my grandfather, the tailor, knew 
several persons who had seen it ; for it went about 
much more in his time than at present : sometimes 
in one shape, sometimes in another. Every body in 
Granada has heard of the Belludo, for the old women 
and nurses frighten the children with it when they 
cry. Some say it is the spirit of a cruel Moorish 
king, who killed his six sons, and buried them in 
these vaults, and that they hunt him at nights in 
revenge." 

Mateo went on to tell many particulars about this 
redoutable hobgoblin, vAich has, in fact, been time 
out of mind a favourite theme of nursery tale and 
popular tradition in Granada, and is mentioned in 
some of the antiquated guide-books. When he had 
finished, we passed on, skirting the fruitful orchards 
of the Generaliffe ; among the trees of which two 
or three nightingales were pouring forth a rich strain 
of melody. Behind these orchards we passed a 
number of Moorish tanks, with a door cut into the 
rocky bosom of the hill, but closed up. These tanks 
Mateo informed me were favourite bathing-places 
of himself and his comrades in boyhood, until fright- 
ened away by a story of a hideous Moor, who used 
to issue forth from the door in the rock to entrap 
unwary bathers. 

Leaving these haunted tanks behind us, we pur- 
sued our ramble up a solitary mule-path that wound 
among the hills, and soon found ourselves amidst 
wild and melancholy mountains, destitute of trees, 
and here and there tinted with scanty verdure. 
Every thing within sight was severe and sterile, and 
it was scarcely possible to realize the idea that but 
a short distance behind us was the Generaliffe, with 
its blooming orchards and terraced gardens, and 
that we were in the vicinity of delicious Granada, 
that city of groves and fountains. But such is the 
nature of Spain — wild and stern the moment it es- 
capes from cultivation, the desert and the garden 
are ever side by side. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



119 



The narrow defile up which we were passing is 
called, according to Mateo, el Barranco de la Ti- 
naja, or the ravine of the jar. 

" And wliy so, Mateo ? " inquired I. 
■ " Because, senor, a jar full of Moorish gold was 
found here in old times." The brain of poor Mateo 
is continually running upon these golden legends. 

" But what is the meaning of the cross I see yon- 
der upon a heap of stones in that narrow part of the 
ravine .' " 

" Oh ! that's nothing — a muleteer was murdered 
there some years since." 

" So then, Mateo, you have robbers and murder- 
ers even at the gates of the Alhambra." 

" Not at present, seiior — that was formerly, when 
there used to be many loose fellows about the for- 
tress ; but they've all been weeded out. Not but 
that the gipsies, who live in caves in the hill-sides 
just out of the fortress, are, many of them, fit for 
any thing; but we have had no murder about here 
for a long time past. The man who murdered the 
muleteer was hanged in the fortress." 

Our path continued up the barranco, with a bold, 
rugged height to our left, called the SiUa del Moro, 
or chair of the Moor ; from a tradition that the un- 
fortunate Boabdil fled thither during a popular in- 
surrection, and remained all day seated on the 
rocky summit, looking mournfull)' down upon his 
factious city. 

We at length arrived on the highest part of the 
promontory above Granada, called the Mountain of 
the Sun. The evening was approaching; the set- 
ting sun just gilded the loftiest heights. Here and 
there a solitary shepherd might be descried driving 
his flock down the declivities to be folded for the 
night, or a muleteer and his lagging animals thread- 
ing some mountain path, to arrive at the city gates 
before nightfall. 

Presently the deep tones of the cathedral bell 
came swelling up the defiles, proclaiming the hour 
of Oracion, or prayer. The note was responded to 
from the belfry of every church, and from the sweet 
bells of the convents among the mountains. The 
shepherd paused on the fold of the hill, the muleteer 
in the midst of the road ; each took off his hat, and 
remained motionless for a time, murmuring his even- 
ing prayer. There is always something solemn and 
pleasing in this custom ; by which, at a melodious 
signal, every human being throughout the land, re- 
cites, at the same moment, a tribute of thanks to 
God for the mercies of the day. It diffuses a tran- 
sient sanctity over the land, and the sight of the sun 
sinking in all his glory, adds not a little to the so- 
lemnity of the scene. In the present instance, the 
effect was heightened by the wild and lonely nature 
of the place. We were on the naked and broken 
summit of the haunted Mountain of the Sun, where 
ruined tanks and cisterns, and the mouldering foun- 
dations of extensive buildings, spoke of former popu- 
lousness, but where all was now silent and desolate. 

As we were wandering among these traces of old 
times, Mateo pointed out to me a circular pit, that 
seemed to penetrate deep into the bosom of the 
mountain. It was evidently a deep well, dug by the 
indefatigable Moors, to obtain their favourite ele- 
ment in its greatest purity. Mateo, however, had a 
different story, and much more to his humour. This 
was, according to tradition, an entrance to the sub- 
terranean caverns of the mountain, in which Boab- 
dil and his court lay bound in magic spell ; and from 
whence they sallied forth at night, at allotted times, 
to revisit their ancient abodes. 

The deepening twilight, which in this climate is 
of such short duration, admonished us to leave this 
haunted ground. As we descended the mountain 



defiles, there was no longer herdsman or muleteer to 
be seen, nor any thing to be heard but our own foot- 
steps and the lonely chirpmg of the cricket. The 
shadows of the valleys grew deeper and deeper, until 
all was dark around us. The lofty summit of the 
Sierra Nevada alone retained a lingering gleam of 
day-light, its snovvy peaks glaring against the dark 
blue firmament ; and seeming close to us, from the 
extreme purity of the atmosphere. 

"How near the Sierra looks this evening!" said 
Mateo, " it seems as if you could touch it with your 
hand, and yet it is many long leagues off." VVhile 
he was speaking a star appeared over the snowy 
summit of the mountain, the only one yet visible in 
the heavens, and so pure, so large, so bright and 
beautiful as to call forth ejaculations of delight from 
honest Mateo. 

"Que lucero hermoso ! — que claro y limpio es ! — 
no pueda ser lucero mas brillante ! " — 

(What a beautiful star ! how clear and lucid ! — no 
star could be more brilliant !) 

I have often remarked this sensibility of the com- 
mon people of Spain to the charms of natural objects 
— The lustre of a star — the beauty or fragrance of a 
flower — the crystal purity of a fountain, will inspire 
them with a kind of poetical delight — and then what 
euphonous words their magnificent language affords, 
with which to give utterance to their transports ! 

" But what lights are those, Mateo, which I see 
twinkling along the Sierra Nevada, just below the 
snowy region, and which might be taken for stars, 
only that they are ruddy and against the dark side 
of the mountain ? " 

" Those, Senor, are fires made by the men who 
gather snow and ice for the supply of Granada. 
They go up evei-y afternoon with mules and asses, 
and take turns, some to rest and warm themselves 
by the fires, while others fill their panniers with ice. 
They then set off down the mountain, so as to reach 
the gates of Granada before sunrise. That Sierra 
Nevada, Senor, is a lump of ice in the middle of An- 
dalusia, to keep it all cool in summer." 

It was now completely dark; we were passing 
through the barranco where stood the cross of the 
murdered muleteer, when I beheld a number of 
lights moving at a distance and apparently advanc- 
ing up the ravine. On nearer approach they proved 
to be torches borne by a train of uncouth figures 
arrayed in black ; it would have been a procession 
dreary enough at any time, but was peculiarly so in 
this wild and solitary place. 

Mateo drew near and told me in a low voice, that 
it was a funeral train bearing a corpse to the burying 
ground among the hills. 

As the procession passed by, the lugubrious light 
of the torches, falling on the rugged features and 
funereal weeds of the attendants, had the most fan- 
tastic effect, but was perfectly ghastly as it revealed 
the countenance of the corpse, which, according to 
Spanish custom, was borne unco\'ered on an open 
bier. I remained for some time gazmg after the 
dreary train as it wound up the dark defile of the 
mountain. It put me in mind of the old story of a 
procession of demons, bearing the body of a sinner 
up the crater of Stromboli. 

" Ah, Senor," cried Mateo, " I could tell you a stoiy 
of a procession once seen among these mountains — 
but then you would laugh at me, and say it was one 
of the legacies of my grandfather the tailor." 

" By no means, Mateo. There is nothing I relish 
more than a marvellous tale." 

" Well, Seiior, it is about one of those veiy men 
we have been talking of, who gather snow on the 
Sierra Nevada. You must know that a great many 
years since, in my grandfather's time, there was an 



120 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ok! fellow, Tio Nicolo by name, who had filled the 
panniers of his mules with snow and ice, and was 
returning' down the mountain. Being very drowsy, 
he mounted upon the mule, and soon falling asleep, 
went with his head nodding and bobbing about from 
side to side, while his sure-footed old mule stepped 
along the edge of precipices, and down steep and 
brol<en barrancos just as safe and steady as if it had 
been on plain ground. At length Tio Nicolo awoke, 
and gazed about him, and rubbed his eyes — and in 
good truth he had reason — the moon shone almost 
as bright as day, and he saw the city below him, as 
plain as your hand, and shining with its white 
buildings like a silver platter in the moonshine ; but 
lord ! Seuor ! — it was nothing like the city he left a 
few hours before. Instead of the cathedral with its 
great dome and turrets, and the churches with their 
spires, and the convents with their pinnacles all sur- 
mounted with the blessed cross, he saw nothing but 
Moorish mosques, and minarets, and cupolas, all 
topped off with glittering crescents, such as you see 
on the Barbary flags. Well, Seuor, as 3'ou may sup- 
pose, Tio Nicolo was mightily puzzled at all this, 
but while he was gazing down upon the city, a great 
army came marching up the mountain ; winding 
along the ravines, sometimes in the moonshine, 
sometimes in the shade. As it drew nigh, he s.aw 
that there were horse and foot, all in Moorish armour. 
Tio Nicolo tried to scramble out of their way, but 
his old mule stood stock still and refused to budge, 
trembling at the same time like a leaf — for dumb 
beasts, Senor, are just as much frightened at such 
things as human beings. Well, Seuor, the hobgoblin 
army came marching by ; there were men that 
seemed to blow trumpets, nnd others to beat drums 
and strike cymbals, yet never a sound did they make ; 
they all moved on without the least noise, just as I 
have seen painted armies move across the stage in 
the theatre of Granada, and all looked as pale as 
death. At last in the rear of the army, between two 
black Moorish horsemen, rode the grand inquisitor 
of Granada, on a mule as white as snow. Tio Nicolo 
wondered to see him in such company ; for the in- 
quisitor was famous for his hatred of Moors, and in- 
deed of all kinds of infidels, Jews and heretics, and 
used to hunt them out with fire and scourge — how- 
ever, Tio Nicolo felt himself safe, now that there was 
a priest of such sanctity at hand. So, making the sign 
of the cross, he called out for his benediction, when 
— hombre ! he received a blow that sent him and his 
old mule over the edge of a steep bank, down which 
they rolled, head over heels, to the bottom. Tio 
Nicolo did not come to his senses until long after 
sunrise, when he found himself at the bottom of a 
deep ravine, his mule grazing beside him, and his 
panniers of snow completely melted. He crawled 
back to Granada sorely bruised and battered, and 
was glad to find the city looking as usual, with 
Christian churches and crosses. When he told the 
story of his night's adventure every one laughed at 
him : some said he had dreamt it all, as he dozed on 
his mule, others thought it all a fabrication of his own. 
But what was strange, Sefior, and made people 
afterwards think more seriously of the matter, was; 
that the grand inquisitor died within the year. I 
have often heard my grandfather, the tailor, say that 
there was more meant by that hobgoblin army bear- 
ing off the resemblance of the priest, than folks 
dared to surmise." 

"Then you would insinuate, friend Mateo, that 
there is a kind of Moorish limbo, or purgatory, in 
the bowels of these mountains ; to which the padre 
inquisitor was borne off" 

■' God forbid — Senor ! — I know nothing of the mat- 
ter—I only relate what I heard from my grandfather." 



By the time Mateo had finished the tale which I 
have more succinctly related, and which was inter- 
larded with many comments, and spun out with 
minute details, we reached the gate of the Al- 
hambra. 



THE COURT OF LIONS. 



The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace, is 
its power of calling up vague reveries and picturings 
of the past, and thus clothing naked realities with 
the illusions of the memory and the imagination. 
As I delight to walk in these "vain shadows," I am 
prone to seek those parts of the Alhambra which 
are most favourable to this phantasmagoria of the 
mind ; and none are more so than the Court of Li- 
ons and its surrounding halls. Here the hand of time 
has fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish 
elegance and splendour exist in almost their orig- 
inal brilliancy. Earthquakes have shaken the 
foundations of this pile, and rent its rudest towers, 
yet see — not one of those slender columns has been 
displaced, not an arch of that light and fragile col- 
onnade has given way, and all the fairy fretwork of 
these domes, apparently as unsubstantial as the crys- 
tal fabrics of a morning's frost, yet e.xist after the 
lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as if from the 
hand of the Moslem artist. 

I write in the midst of these mementos of the 
past, in the fresh hour of early morning, in the fated 
hall of the Abencerrages. The blood-stained foun- 
tain, the legendary monument of their massacre, is 
before me ; the lofty jet almost casts its dew upon 
my paper. How difficult to reconcile the ancient 
tale of violence and blood, with the gentle and 
peaceful scene around. Every thing here appears 
calculated to inspire kind and happy feelings, for 
every thing is delicate and beautiful. The very 
light falls tenderly from above, through the lantern 
of a dome tinted and wrought as if by fairy hands. 
Through the ample and fretted arch of the portal, I 
behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sunshine 
gleaming along its colonnades and sparkling in its 
fountains. The lively swallow dives into the court, 
and then surging upwards, darts away twittering 
over the roof ; the busy bee toils humming among 
the flower beds, and painted butterflies hover from 
plant to plant, and flutter up, and sport with each 
other in the sunny air. — It needs but a slight exer- 
tion of the fancy to picture some pensive beauty of 
the harem, loitering in these secluded haunts of ori- 
ental luxury. 

He, however, who would behold this scene under 
an aspect more in unison with its fortunes, let him 
come when the shadows of evening temper the 
brightness of the court and throw a gloom into the 
surrounding halls, — then nothing can be more se- 
renely melancholy, or more in harmony with the tale 
of departed grandeur. 

At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Jus- 
tice, whose deep shadowy arcades extend across the 
upper end of the court. Here were performed, in 
presence of Ferdinand and Isabella, and their tri- 
umphant court, the pompous ceremonies of high 
mass, on taking possession of the Alhambra. The 
very cross is still to be seen upon the wall, where the 
altar was erected, and where officiated the grand 
cardinal of Spain, and others of the highest religious 
dignitaries of the land. 

I picture to myself the scene when this place was 
filled with the conquering host, that mixture of mi- 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



121 



tred prelcite, and shorn monk, and steel-clad knight, 
and silken courtier ; when crosses and croziers and 
religious standards were mingled with proud armo- 
rial ensigns and the banners of the haughty chiefs of 
Spain, and flaunted in triumph through these Mos- 
lem halls. I picture to myself Columbus, the future 
discoverer of a world, taking his modest stand in a 
remote corner, the humble and neglected spectator 
of the pageant. I see in imagination the Catholic 
sovereigns prostrating themselves before the altar 
and pouring forth thanks for their victor,', while the 
vaults resound with sacred minstrelsy and the deep- 
toned Te Deum. 

The transient illusion is over — the pageant melts 
from the fancy — monarch, priest, and warrior return 
into oblivion, with the poor Moslems over whom 
they exulted. The hall of their triumph is waste 
and' desolate. The bat flits about its twilight vaults, 
and the owl hoots from the neighbouring tower of 
Comares. The Court of the Lions has also its share 
of supernatural legends. I have already mentioned 
the belief in the murmuring of voices and clanking 
of chains, made at night by the spirits of the mur- 
dered Abencerrages. Mateo Ximenes, a few even- 
ings since, at one of the gatherings in Dame An- 
tonia's apartment, related a fact which happened 
within the knowledge of his grandfather, the legend- 
ary tailor. There was an invalid soldier, who had 
charge of the Alhambra, to show it to strangers. 
As he was one evening about twilight passing 
through the Court of Lions, he heard footsteps in 
the Hall of the Abencerrages. Supposing some 
loungers to be lingering there, he advanced to at- 
tend upon them, when, to his astonishment, he be- 
held four Moors richly dressed, with gilded cuirasses 
and scimitars, and poniards glittering with precious 
stones. They were walking to and fro with solemn 
pace, but paused and beckoned to him. The old 
soldier, however, took to flight ; and could never aft- 
erwards be prevailed upon to enter the Alhambra. 
Thus it is that men sometimes turn their hacks upon 
fortune ; for it is the firm opinion of Mateo that the 
Moors intended to reveal the place where their treas- 
ures lay buried. A successor to the invalid soldier 
was more knowing ; he came to the Alhambra poor, 
but at the end of a year went off to Malaga, bought 
horses, set up a carriage, and still lives there, one of 
the righest as well as oldest men of the place : all 
which, Mateo sagely surmises, was in consequence 
of his finding out the golden secret of these phantom 
Moors. 

On entering the Court of the Lions, a few even- 
ings since, I was startled at beholding a turbaned 
Moor quietly seated near the fountain. It seemed, 
for a moment, as if one of the stories of Mateo Xi- 
menes were realized, and some ancient inhabitant 
of the Alhambra had broken the spell of centuries, 
and become visible. It proved, however, to be a 
mere ordmary mortal ; a native of Tetuan in Barbary, 
who had a shop in the Zacatin of Granada, where 
he sold rhubarb, trinkets, and perfumes. As he 
spoke Spanish fluently, I was enabled to hold con- 
versation with him, and found him shrewd and in- 
telligent. He told me that he came up the hill 
occasionally in the summer, to pass a part of the day 
in the Alhambra, which reminded him of the old 
palaces in Barbary, which were built and adorned 
in similar style, though with less magnificence. 

As we walked about the palace he pointed out 
several of the Arabic inscriptions, as possessing 
much poetic beauty. 

"Ah! Senor," said he, "when the Moors held 
Granada, they were a gayer people than they are 
novv-a-days. They thought only of love, of music, 
and of poetry. They made stanzas upon every oc- 



casion, and set them all to music. He who could 
make the best verses, and she who had the most 
tuneful voice, might be sure of favour and prefer- 
inent. In those days, if any one asked for bread, 
the reply was, ' Make me a couplet ; ' and the poor- 
est beggar, if he begged in rhyme, would often be 
rewarded with a piece of gold." 

"And is the popular feeling for poetry," said I, 
" entirely lost among you ? " 

"By no means, Seiior; the people of Barbary, 
even those of the lower classes, still make couplets, 
and good ones too, as in the old time, but talent is 
not rewarded as it was then : the rich prefer the 
jingle of their gold to the sound of poetry or music." 

As he was talking, his eye caught one of the 
inscriptions that foretold perpetuity to the power 
and glory of the Moslem monarchs, the masters of 
the pile. He shook his head and shrugged his 
shoulders as he interpreted it. " Such might have 
been the case," said he; "the Moslems might still 
have been reigning in the Alhambra, had not 
Boabdil been a traitor, and gi\en up his capitol to 
the Christians. The Spanish monarchs would 
never have been able to conquer it by open force." 

I endeavoured to vindicate the memory of the 
unlucky Boabdil from this aspersion, and to show 
that the dissensions which led to the downfall of the 
Moorish throne, originated in the cruelty of his 
tiger-hearted father ; but the Moor would admit of 
no palliation. 

" Abul Hassan," said he, " might have been cruel, 
but he was brave, vigilant, and patriotic. Had he 
been properly seconded, Granada would still have 
been ours ; but his son Boabdil thwarted his plans, 
crippled his power, sowed treason in his palace, and 
dissension in his camp. May the curse of God light 
upon him for his treachery." With these words the 
Moor left the Alhambra. 

The indignation of my turbaned companion agrees 
with an anecdote related by a friend, who, in the 
course of a tour in Barbary, had an interview with 
the pasha of Tetuan. The Moorish governor was 
particular in his inquiries about the soil, the climate 
and resources of Spain, and especially concerning 
the favoured regions of Andalusia, the delights of 
Granada and the remains of its royal palace. The 
replies awakened all those fond recollections, so 
deeply cherished by the Moors, of the power and 
splendour of their ancient empire in Spain. Turning 
to his Moslem attendants, the pasha stroked his 
beard, and broke forth in passionate lamentations 
that such a sceptre should have fallen from the sway 
of true believers. He consoled himself, however, 
with the persuasion, that the power and prosperity 
of the Spanish nation were on the decline ; that a 
time would come when the Moors would reconquer 
their rightful domains ; and that the day was, 
perhaps, not far distant, when Mohammedan wor- 
ship would again be offered up in the mosque of 
Cordova, and a Mohammedan prince sit on his 
throne in the Alhambra. 

Such is the general aspiration and belief among 
the Moors of Barbary; who consider Spain, and 
especially Andalusia, their rightful heritage, of which 
they have been despoiled by treachery and violence. 
These ideas are fostered and perpetuated by the 
descendants of the exiled Moors of Granada, scatter- 
ed among the cities of Barbary. Several of these 
reside in Tetuan, preserving their ancient names, 
such as Paez, and Medina, and refraining from inter- 
marriage with any families who cannot claim the 
same high origin. Their vaunted lineage is regarded 
with a degree of popular deference rarely shown in 
Mohammedan communities to any hereditary dis- 
tinction except in the royal line. 



122 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



These families, it is said, continue to sigh after 
the terrestrial paradise of their ancestors, and to put 
up prayers in their mosques on Fridays, imploring 
Allah to hasten the time when Granada shall be 
restored to the faithful ; an event to which they look 
forward as fondly and confidently as did the Chris- 
tian crusaders to the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. 
Nay, it is added, that some of them retain the an- 
cient maps and deeds of the estates and gardens of 
their ancestors at Granada, and even the keys of the 
houses ; holding them as evidences of their hered- 
itary claims, to be produced at the anticipated day 
of restoration. 



BOABDIL EL CHICO. 



My conversation with the Moor in the Court of 
Lions set me to musing on the singular fate of Bo- 
abdil. Never was surname more applicable than 
that bestow'ed upon him by his subjects, of " El 
Zogoybi," or, " the unlucky." His misfortunes began 
almost in his cradle. In his tender youth he was 
imprisoned and menaced with death by an inhuman 
father, and only escaped through a mother's strata- 
gem ; in after years his life was imbittered and re- 
peatedly endangered by the hostilities of a usurping 
uncle; his reign was distracted by external invasions 
and internal feuds ; he was alternately the foe, the 
prisoner, the friend, and always the dupe of Ferdi- 
nand, until conquered and dethroned by the min- 
gled craft and force of that perfidious monarch. An 
exile from his native land, he took refuge with one 
of the princes of Africa, and fell obscurely in battle 
fighting in the cause of a stranger. His misfortunes 
ceased not with his death. If Boabdil cherished a 
desire to leave an honourable name on the historic 
page, how cruelly has he been defrauded of his 
hopes ! Who is there that has turned the least at- 
tention to the romantic histoiy of the Moorish dom- 
ination in Spain, without kindling with indignation 
at the alleged atrocities of Boabdil ? Who has not 
been touched v;ith the woes of his lovely and gentle 
queen, subjected by him to a trial of life and death, 
on a false charge of infidelity ? Who has not been 
shocked by the alleged murder of his sister and her 
two children, in a transport of passion? Who has 
not felt his blood boil at the inhuman massacre of 
the gallant Abencerrages, thirtv-six of whom, it is af- 
firmed, he caused to be beheaded in the Court of the 
Lions ? All these charges have been reiterated in 
various forms ; they have passed into ballads, dramas, 
and romances, until they have taken too thorough 
possession of the public mind to be eradicated. 

There is not a foreigner of education that visits 
the Alhambra, but asks for the fountain where the 
Abencerrages were beheaded ; and gazes with hor- 
ror at the grated gallery where the queen is said to 
have been confined ; not a peasant of the Vega or 
the Sierra, but sings the story in rude couplets to the 
accompaniment of his guitar, while his hearers learn 
to execrate the very name of Boabdil. 

Never, however, was name more foully and un- 
justly slandered. I have examined all the authentic 
chronicles and letters written by Spanish authors 
contemporary with Boabdil ; some of whom were in 
the confidence of the Catholic sovereigns, and act- 
ually present in the camp throughout the war ; I 
have examined all the Arabian authorities I could 
get access to through the medium of translation, 
and can find nothing to justify these dark and hate- 
ful accusations. 

The whole of these tales may be traced to a work 



commonly called " The Civil Wars of Granada," 
containing a pretended history of the feuds of the 
Zegries and Abencerrages during the last struggle 
of the Moorish empire. This work appeared origi- 
nally in Spanish, and professed to be translated from 
the Arabic by one Gines Perez de Hita, an inhabit- 
ant of Murcia. It has since passed into various 
languages, and Florian has taken from it much of 
the fable of his Gonsalvo of Cordova. It has, in a 
great measure, usurped the authority of real history, 
and is currently believed by the people, and especi- 
ally the peasantr)' of Granada. The whole of it, 
however, is a mass of fiction, mingled with a few 
disfigured truths, which give it an air of veracity. It 
bears internal evidence of its falsity, the manners 
and customs of the Moors being extravagantly mis- 
represented in it, and scenes depicted totally in- 
compatible with their habits and their faith, and 
which never could have been recorded by a Ma- 
hometan writer. 

I confess there seems to me something almost 
criminal in the wilful perversions of this work. 
Great latitude is undoubtedly to be allowed to ro- 
mantic fiction, but there are limits which it must not 
pass, and the names of the distinguished dead, 
which belong to history, are no more to be calum- 
niated than those of the illustrious living. One 
would have thought, too, that the unfortunate Boab- 
dil had suffered enough for his justifiable hostility 
to Spaniards, by being stripped of his kingdom, 
without having his name thus wantonly traduced 
and rendered a bye-word and a theme of infamy in 
his native land, and in the very mansion of his 
fathers ! 

It is not intended hereby to affirm that the trans- 
actions imputed to Boabdil are totally without 
historic foundation, but as far as they can be traced, 
they appear to have been the arts of his father, Abul 
Hassan, who is represented, by both Christian and 
Arabian chroniclers, as being of a cruel and fero- 
cious nature. It was he who put to death the 
cavaliers of the illustrious line of the Abencerrages, 
upon suspicion of their being engaged in a conspir- 
acy to dispossess him of his throne. 

The story of the accusation of the queen of Bo- 
abdil, and of her confinement in one of the towers, 
may also be traced to an incident in the life of his 
tiger-hearted father. Abul Hassan, in his advanced 
age, married a beautiful Christian captive of no- 
ble descent, who took the Moorish appellation of 
Zorayda, by whom he had two sons. She was of 
an ambitious spirit, and anxious that her children 
should succeed to the crown. For this purpose 
she worked upon the suspicious temper of the king; 
inflaming him with jealousies of his children by his 
other wives and concubines, whom she accused of 
plotting against his throne and life. Some of them 
were slain by the ferocious father. Ayxa la Horra, 
the virtuous mother of Boabdil, who had once been 
his cherished lavourite, became likewise the object 
of his suspicion. He confined her and her son in the 
tower of Comares, and would have sacrificed Boab- 
dil to his fury, but that his tender mother lowered 
him from the tower, in the night, by means of the 
scarfs of herself and her attendants, and thus enabled 
him to escape to Guadix. 

Such is the only shadow of a foundation that I can 
find for the story of the accused and captive queen ; 
and in this it appears that Boabdil was the per- 
secuted inste.ad of the persecutor. 

Throughout the whole of his brief, turbulent, 
and disastrous reign, Boabdil gives evidences of a 
mild and amiable character. He in the first in- 
stance won the hearts of the people by his affa- 
ble and gracious manners ; he was always peacea- 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



123 



ble, and never inflicted any severity of punisliment 
upon tliose wlio occasionally rebelled against him. 
He was personally brave, but he wanted moral 
courage, and in times of difficulty and perplexity, 
was wavering and irresolute. This feebleness of 
spirit hastened his downfall, while it deprived him 
of that heroic grace which would have given a 
grandeur and dignity to his fate, and rendered him 
worthy of closing the splendid drama of the Moslem 
domination in Spain. 



MEMENTOS OF BOABDIL. 



While my mind was still warm with the subject 
of the unfortunate Boabdil, I set forth to trace 
the mementos connected with his story, which yet 
exist in this scene of his sovereignty and his misfor- 
tunes. In the picture gallery' of the Palace of the 
Generaliffe, hangs his portrait. The face is mild, 
handsome and somewhat melancholy, with a fair 
complexion and yellow hair ; if it be a true repre- 
sentation of the man, he may have been wavering 
and uncertain, but there is nothing of cruelty or un- 
kindness in his aspect. 

I next visited the dungeon wherein he was con- 
fined in his youthful days, when his cruel father 
meditated his destruction. It is a vaulted room 
in the tower of Comares, under the Hall of Am- 
bassadors. A similar room, separated by a narrow 
passage, was the prison of his mother, the virtuous 
Ayxa la Horra. The walls are of prodigious thick- 
ness, and the small windosvs secured by iron bars. 
A narrow stone gallery, with a low parapet, extends 
round three sides of the tower just below the 
windows, but at a considerable height from the 
ground. From this gallery, it is presumed, the 
queen lowered her son with the scarfs of herself 
and her female attendants, during the darkness of 
night, to the hill-side, at the foot of which waited a 
domestic with a fleet steed to bear the prince to the 
mountains. 

As I paced this gallery, my imagination pictured 
the anxious queen leaning over the parapet, and 
listening, with the throbbings of a mother's heart, to 
the last echo of the horses' hoofs, as her son scoured 
along the narrow valley of the Darro. 

My next search was for the gate by which Bo- 
abdil departed from the Alhambra, when about to 
surrender his capital. With the melancholy ca- 
price of a broken spirit, he requested of the Catho- 
lic monarchs that no one afterwards might be per- 
mitted to pass through this gate. His prayer, 
according to ancient chronicles, was complied with, 
through the sympathy of Isabella, and the gate 
walled up. For some time I inquired in vain for 
such a portal ; at length my humble attendant, 
Mateo, learned among the old residents of the 
fortress, that a ruinous gateway still existed, by 
which, according to tradition, the Moorish king had 
left the fortress, but which had never been open 
within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. 

He conducted me to the spot. The gateway is in 
the centre of what was once an immense tower, 
called la Torre de los Sieie Suelos, or, the Tower of 
the Seven Moors. It is a place famous in the super- 
stitious stories of the neighbourhood, for being the 
scene of strange apparitions and Moorish enchant- 
ments. 

This once redoubtable tower is now a mere 
wreck, having been blown up with gunpowder, by 



the French, when they abandoned the fortress. 
Great masses of the wall lie scattered about, buried 
in the luxuriant herbage, or overshadowed by vines 
and fig-trees. The arch of the gateway, though rent 
by the shock, still remains ; but the last wish of poor 
Boabdil has been again, though unintentionally, ful- 
filled, for the portal has been closed up by loose 
stones gathered from the ruins, and remains im- 
passable. 

Following up the route of the Moslem monarch as 
it remains on record, I crossed on horseback the hill 
of Les Martyrs, keeping along the garden of the 
convent of the same name, and thence down a rug- 
ged ravine, beset by thickets of aloes and Indian figs, 
and lined by caves and hovels swarming with gip- 
sies. It was the road taken by Boabdil to avoid 
passing through the city. The descent was so steep 
and broken that I was obliged to dismount and lead 
my horse. 

Emerging from the ravine, and passing by the 
Puerta de los Molinos, (the Gate of the Mills,) I is- 
sued forth upon the public promenade, called the 
Prado, and pursuing the course of the Xenil, arrived 
at a small Moorish mosque, now converted into the 
chapel, or hermitage of San Sebastian. A tablet on 
the wall relates that on this spot Boabdil surrendered 
the keys of Granada to the*Castilian sovereigns. 

From thence I rode slowly across the Vega to a 
village where the family and household of the un- 
happy king had awaited him : for he had sent them 
forward on the preceding night from the Alhambra, 
that his mother and wife might not participate in his 
personal humiliation, or be exposed to the gaze of 
the conquerors. 

Following on in the route of the melancholy ban d 
of ro)al exiles, I arrived at the foot of a chain of bar- 
ren and dreary heights, forming the skirt of the Al- 
puxarra mountains. From the summit of one of 
these, the unfortunate Boabdil took his last look at 
Granada. It bears a name expressive of his sorrows 
— La Cuesta de las Lagrimas, (the Hill of Tears.) 
Beyond it a sandy road wmds across a rugged cheer- 
less waste, doubly dismal to the unhappy monarch, 
as it led to exile ; behind, in the distance, lies the 
"enamelled Vega," with the Xenil shining among 
its bowers, and Granada beyond. 

I spurred my horse to the summit of a rock, where 
Boalxhl uttered his last sorrowful exclamation, as he 
turned his eyes from taking their farewell gaze. It 
is still denominated el ultimo suspiro del Mora, (the 
last sigh of the Moor.) Who can wonder at his an- 
guish at being expelled from such a kingdom and 
such an abode ? With the Alhambra he seemed to 
be yielding up all the honours of his line, and all the 
glories and delights of life. 

It was here, too, that his affliction was imbittered 
by the reproach of his mother Ayxa, who had so 
often assisted him in times of peril, and had vainly 
sought to instil into him her own resolute spirit. 
"You do well," said she, "to weep as a woman 
over what you could not defend as a man ! " — A 
speech that savours more of the pride of the princess, 
than the tenderness of the mother. 

When this anecdote was related to Charles V. , by 
Bishop Guevara, the emperor joined in the expres- 
sion of scorn at the weakness of the wavering Boab- 
dil. "Had I been he, or he been I," said the 
haughty potentate, " I would rather have made this 
Alhambra my sepulchre, than have lived without a 
kingdom in the Alpuxarras." 

How easy it is for them in power and prosperity 
to preach heroism to the vanquished ! How little 
can they understand that life itself may rise. in value 
with the unfortunate, when naught but life remains. 



124 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



THE TOWER OF LAS INFANTAS. 



In an evening's stroll up a narrow glen, over- 
shadowed by tig-trees, pomegranates and myrtles, 
that divides the land of the fortress from those of 
the Generaliffe, I was struck with the romantic ap- 
pearance of a Moorish tower in the outer wall of the 
Alhambra, that rose high above the tree-tops, and 
caught the ruddy rays of the setting sun. A solitary 
window, at a great height, commanded a view of the 
glen, and as I was regarding it a young female 
looked out, with her head adorned with flowers. She 
was evidently superior to the usual class of people 
that inhabit the old towers of the fortress ; and this 
sudden and picturesque glimpse of her, reminded me 
of the descriptions of captive beauties in fairy tales. 
The fanciful associations of my mind were increased 
on being informed by my attendant, Mateo, that this 
was the tower of the Princesses, (la Torre de las In- 
fantas) so called from having been, according to tradi- 
tion, the residence of the daughters of the Moorish 
kings. I have since visited the tower. It is not 
generally shown to strangers, though well worthy 
attention, for the interior is equal for beauty of archi- 
tecture and delicacy of ornament, to any part of the 
palace. The elegance of its central hall with its 
marble fountain, its lofty arches and richly fretted 
dome ; the arabesques and stucco work of the small, 
but well proportioned chambers, though injured by 
time and neglect, all accord with the story of its 
being anciently the abode of royal beauty. 

The little old fairy queen who lives under the 
staircase of the Alhambra, and frequents the even- 
ing tertulias of Dame Antop ia, tells some fanciful 
traditions about three Moorish princesses who were 
once shut up in this tower by their father, a tyrant 
king of Granada, and were only permitted to ride 
out at night about the hills, when no one was per- 
mitted to come in their way, under pain of death. 
They still, according to her account, may be seen 
occasionally when the moon is in the full, riding 
in lonely places along the mountain side, on palfreys 
richly caparisoned, and sparkling with jewels, but 
they vanish on being spoken to. 

— But before I relate any thing farther respecting 
these princesses, the reader may be anxious to know 
something about the fair inhabitant of the tower with 
her head drest with flowers, who looked out from 
the lofty window. She proved to be the newly 
married spouse of the worthy adjutant of invalids ; 
who, though well stricken in years, had had the 
courage to take to his bosom a young and buxom 
Andalusian damsel. May tlie good old cavalier be 
happy in his choice, and tind the tower of the Prin- 
cesses a more secure residence for female beauty 
than it seems to have proved in the time of the 
Moslems, if we may believe the following legend. 



THE HOUSE OF THE WEATHERCOCK. 



On the brow of the lofty hill of the Albaycin, the 
highest part of the city of Granada, stand the remains 
of what was once a royal palace, founded shortly 
after the conquest of Spain by the Arabs. It is now 
converted into a manufactory, and has fallen into 
such obscurity that it cost me much trouble to find 
it, notwithstanding that I had the assistance of the 
sagacious and all knowing Mateo Ximenes. This 



edifice still bears the name by which it has been 
known for centuries, namely, la Casa del Gallo de 
Viento; that is, the House of the Weathercock. 

It was so called from a bronze figure of a warrior 
on horseback, armed with shield and spear, erected 
on one of its turrets, and turning with every wind ; 
bearing an Arabic motto, which, translated into 
Spanish, was as follows : 

Dici el Sabio Aben Habuz 
Que asi se defiende el Anduluz, 

In tills way, says Aben Habuz the wise, 
The Andalusian his foe defies. 

This Aben Habuz was a captain who served in 
the invadmg army of Taric, and was left as alcayde 
of Granada. He is supposed to have intended this 
warlike effigy as a perpetual memorial to the Moorish 
inhabitants, that surrounded as they were by foes, 
and subject to sudden invasion, their safety depended 
upon being always ready for the field. 

Other traditions, however, give a different account 
of this Aben Habuz and his palace, and affirm that 
his bronze horseman was originally a talisman of 
great virtue, though in after ages it lost its magic 
properties and degenerated into a weathercock. 
The following are the traditions alluded to. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ARABIAN ASTROLOGER. 



In old times, many hundred years ago, there was 
a Moorish king named Aben Habuz, who reigned 
over the kingdom of Granada. He was a retired 
conqueror, that is to say, one who, having in his 
more youthful days led a life of constant foray and 
depredation, now that he was grown old and super- 
annuated, "languished for repose," and desired 
nothing more than to live at peace with all the 
world, to husband his laurels, and to enjoy in quiet 
the possessions he had wrested from his neighbours. 

It so happened, however, that this most reason- 
able and pacific old monarch had young rivals to deal 
with — princes full of his early passion for tame and 
fighting, and who had some scores to settle which 
he had run up with their fathers ; he had also some 
turbulent and discontented districts of his own terri- 
tories among the Alpuxarra mountains, which, dur- 
ing the days of his vigour, he had treated with a 
high hand ; and which, now that he languished for 
repose, were prone to rise in rebellion and to threaten 
to march to Granada and drive him from his throne. 
To make the matter worse, as Granada is surrounded 
by wild and craggy mountains which hide the ap- 
proach of an enemy, the unfortunate Aben Habuz 
was kept in a constant state of vigilance and alarm, 
not knowing in what quarter hostilities might break 
out. 

It was in vain that he built watch-towers on the 
mountains and stationed guards at every pass, with 
orders to make fires by night, and smoke by day, on 
the approach of an enemy. His alert foes would baffle 
every precaution, and come breaking out of some 
unthought-of defile, — ravage his lands beneath his 
very nose, and then make off with prisoners and 
booty to the mountains. Was ever peaceable and 
retired conqueror in a more uncomfortable predica- ' 
ment ! u, 

While the pacific Aben Habuz was harassed by 
these perplexities and molestations, an ancient 
Arabian physician arrived at his court. His gray 
beard descended to his girdle, aud he had every 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



125 



mark of extreme age, yet he had travelled almost 
the whole way from Egypt on foot, with no other 
aid than a staff marked with hieroglyphics. His 
fame had preceded him. His name was Ibrahim Ebn 
Abu Ayub ; he was said to have lived ever since the 
days of Mahomet, and to be the son of Abu Ayub, 
the last of the companions of the prophet. He had, 
when a child, followed the conquering army of Amru 
into Egypt, where he had remained many years 
studying the dark sciences, and particularly magic, 
among the Egyptian priests. It was moreover said 
that he had found out the secret of prolonging life, 
by means of which he had arrived to the great age 
of upwards of two centuries ; though, as he did not 
discover the secret until well stricken in years, he 
could only perpetuate his gray hairs and wrmkles. 

This wonderful old man was very honourably en- 
tertained by the king ; who, like most superannu- 
ated monarchs, began to take physicians into great 
favour. He would have assigned him an apartment 
in his palace, but the astrologer preferred a cave in 
the side of the hill, which rises above the city of 
Granada, being the same on which the Alhambra 
has since been built. He caused the cave to be en- 
larged so as to form a spacious and lofty hall with 
a circular hole at the top, through which, as through 
a well, he could see the heavens and behold the stars 
even at mid-day. The walls of this hall were cov- 
ered with Egyptian hieroglyphics, with cabalistic 
symbols, and with the figures of the stars in their 
signs. This hall he furnished with many imple- 
ments, fabricated under his direction by cunning 
artificers of Granada, but the occult properties of 
which were only known to himself. In a little while 
the sage Ibrahim became the bosom counsellor of 
the king, to whom he applied for advice in every 
emergency. Aben Habuz was once inveighing 
against the injustice of his neighbours, and bewailing 
the restless vigilance he had to observe to guard 
himself against their invasions ; — when he had fin- 
ished, the astrologer remained silent for a moment, 
and then replied, " Know, O king, that when I was 
in Egypt I beheld a great marvel devised by a pagan 
priestess of old. On a mountain above the city of 
Borsa, and overlooking the great valley of the Nile, 
was a figure of a ram, and above it a figure of a 
cock, both of molten briss and turning upon a pivot. 
Whenever the country was threatened with invasion, 
the ram would turn in the direction of the enemy 
and the cock would crow ; upon this the inhabitants 
of the city knew of the danger, and of the quarter 
from which it was approaching, and could take 
timely notice to guard against it." 

" God is great I " exclaimed the pacific Aben Ha- 
buz ; " what a treasure would be such a ram to keep 
an eye upon these mountains around me, and then 
such a cock to crow in time of danger ! Allah Ach- 
bar ! how securely I might sleep in my palace with 
such sentinels on the top !" 

" Listen, O king,"continued the astrologer gravely. 
"When the victorious Amru (God's peace be upon 
him !) conquered the city of Borsa, this talisman was 
destroyed ; but I was present, and examined it, and 
studied its secret and mystery, and can make one of 
like, and even of greater virtues." 

" O wise son of Abu Ayub," cried Aben Habuz, 
"better were such a talisman than all the watch- 
towers on the hills, and sentinels upon the borders. 
Give me such a safeguard, and the riches of my treas- 
ury are at thy command." 

The astrologer immediately set to work to gratify 
the wishes of the monarch, shutting himself up in 
his astrological hall, and exerting the necromantic 
arts he had learnt in Egypt, he summoned to his as- 
sistance the spirits and demons of the Nile. By his 



command they transported to his presence a mummy 
from a sepulchral chamber in the centre of one of 
the Pyramids. It was the mummy of the priest 
who had aided by magic art in rearing that stupend- 
ous pile. 

The astrologer opened the outer cases of the 
mummy, and unfolded its many wrappers. On the 
breast of the corpse was a book written in Chaklaic 
characters. He seized it with trembling hand, then 
returning the mummy to its case, ordered the de- 
mons to transport it again to its dark and silent 
sepulchre in the Pyramid, there to await the final 
day of resurrection and judgment. 

This book, say the traditions, was the book of 
knowledge given by God to Adam after his fall. It 
had been handed down from generation to genera- 
tion, to king Solomon the Wise, and by the aid of 
the wonderful secrets in magic and art revealed in 
it, he had built the temple of Jerusalem. How it 
had come into the possession of the builder of the 
Pyramids, He only knows who knows all things. 

Instructed by this mystic volume, and aided by 
the genii which it subjected to his command, the 
astrologer soon erected a great tower upon the top 
of the palace of Aben Habuz, which stood on the 
brow of the hill of the Albaycin. The tower was 
built of stones brought from Egypt, and taken, it is 
said, from one of the Pyramids. In the upper part 
of the tower was a circular hall, with windows look- 
ing toward every point of the compass, and before 
each window was a table, on which was arranged, 
as on a chess-board, a mimic army of horse and 
foot, with the effigy of the potentate that ruled in 
that direction ; all carved of wood. To each of 
these tables there was a small lance, no bigger than a 
bodkin, on which were engraved certain mysterious 
Chaklaic characters. This hall was kept constantly 
closed by a gate of brass with a great lock of steel, 
the key of which was in possession of the king. 

On the top of the tower was a bronze figure of a 
Moorish horseman, fixed on a pivot, with a shield on 
one arm, and his lance elevated perpendicularly. 
The face of this horseman was towards the city, as 
if keeping guard over it ; but if any foe were at hand, 
the figure would turn in that direction and would 
level the lance as if for action. 

When this talisman was finished, Aben Habuz 
was all impatient to try its virtues ; and longed as 
ardently for an invasion as he had ever sighed after 
repose. His desire was soon gratified. Tidings 
were brought early one morning, by the sentinel ap- 
pointed to watch the tower, that the face of the 
brazen horseman was turned towards the mountains 
of Elvira, and that his lance pointed directly against 
the pass of Lope. 

" Let the drums and trumpets sound to arms, 
and all Granada be put on the alert," — said Aben 
Habuz. 

"O king," said the astrologer, "let not your city 
be disquieted, nor your warriors called to arms ; we 
need no aid of force to deliver you from your ene- 
mies. Dismiss your attendants and let us proceed 
alone to the secret hall of the tower." 

The ancient Aben Habuz mounted the staircase 
of the tower, leaning on the arm of the still more 
ancient Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub. They unlocked 
the brazen door and entered. The window that 
looked towards the pass of Lope was open. " In 
this direction," said the astrologer, "lies the danger 
— approach, O king, and behold the mystery of the 
table." 

King Aben Habuz approached the seeming chess- 
board, on which were arranged the small wooden 
effigies ; when lo I they were all in motion. The 
horses pranced and curveted, the warriors bran- 



126 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



dished their weapons, and there was a faint sound 
of drums and trumpets, and a clang of arms and 
neighing of steeds, but all no louder, nor more dis- 
tinct, than the hum of the bee or summer-tly in 
the drowsy ear of him who lies at noon-tide in the 
shade. 

" Behold, O king," said the astrologer, "a proof 
that thy enemies are even now in the field. They 
must be advancing through yonder mountains by 
the pass of Lope. Would you produce a panic and 
confusion amongst them, and cause them to abandon 
their enterprise and retreat without loss of life, strike 
these effigies with the butt end of this magic lance ; 
liut would you cause bloody feud and carnage among 
them, strike with the point." 

A livid streak passed across the countenance of 
the pacific Aben Habuz ; he seized the mimic lance 
with trembling eagerness, and tottered towards the 
table ; his gray beard wagged with chuckling exul- 
tation. "Son of Abu Ayub," exclaimed he, "I 
think we will have a little blood ! " 

So saying he thrust the magic lance into some of 
the pigmy effigies, and belaboured others with the 
butt end ; upon which the former fell, as dead, up- 
on the board, and the rest turning upon each other, 
began, pell-mell, a chance medley fight. 

It was with difficulty the astrologer could stay the 
hand of the most pacific of monarchs, and prevent 
him from absolutely exterminating his foes. At 
length he prevailed upon him to leave the tower, 
and to send out scouts to the mountains by the pa.ss 
of Lope. 

They returned with the intelligence that a Chris- 
tian army had advanced through the heart of the 
Sierra, almost within sight of Granada, when a dis- 
sension having broken out among them, they had 
turned their weapons against each other, and after 
much slaughter, had retreated over the border. 

Aben Habuz was transported with joy on thus 
proving the efficacy of the talisman. "At length," 
said he, " I shall lead a life of tranquillity, and have 
all my enemies in my power. Oh ! wise son of Abu 
Ayub, what can I bestow on thee in reward for such 
a blessing.' " 

" The wants of an old man and a philosopher, O 
king, are few and simple — grant me but the means 
of fitting up my cave as a suitable hermitage, and I 
am content." 

" How noble is the moderation of the truly wise ! " 
exclaimed Aben Habuz, secretly pleased at the 
cheapness of the recompense. He summoned his 
treasurer, and bade him dispense Vi-hatever sums 
might be required by Ibrahim to complete and 
furnish his hermitage. 

The astrologer now gave orders to have various 
chambers hewn out of the solid rock, so as to form 
ranges of apartments connected with his astrologi- 
cal hall. These he caused to be furnished with 
luxurious ottomans and divans ; and the walls to be 
hung with the richest silks of Damascus. " I am an 
old man," said he, " and can no longer rest my 
bones on stone couches ; and these damp walls re- 
quire covering." 

He also had baths constructed and provided with 
all kinds of perfumery and aromatic oils ; " for a 
bath," said he, " is necessary to counteract the rigid- 
ity of age, and to restore freshness and suppleness 
to the frame withered by study." 

He caused the apartments to be hung with in- 
numerable silver and crystal lamps, which he filled 
with a fragrant oil prepared according to a receipt 
discovered by him in the tombs of Egypt. This oil 
was perpetual in its nature, and diffused a soft radi- 
ance like the tempered light of day. " The light of 
the sun," said he, " is too garish and violent for the 



eyes of an old man ; and the light of the lamp is 
more congenial to the studies of a philosopher." 

The treasurer of King Aben Habuz groaned at 
the sums daily demanded to fit up this hermitage, 
and he carried his complaints to the king. The 
royal word, however, was given — Aben Habuz 
shrugged his shoulders. — " We must have patience," 
said he ; " this old man has taken his idea of a philo- 
sophic retreat from the interior of the Pyramids and 
the vast ruins of Egypt ; but all things have an end, 
and so will the furnishing of his cavern." 

The king was in the right, the hermitage was at 
length complete and formed a sumptuous subter- 
ranean palace. "I am now content," said Ibrahim 
Ebn Abu Ayub, to the treasurer ; " I will shut myself 
up in my cell and devote my time to study. I desire 
nothing more, — nothing, — except a trifling solace 
to amuse me at the intervals of mental labour." 

"Oh! wise Ibrahim, ask what thou wilt; I am 
bound to furnish all that is necessary for thy soli- 
tude." 

" I would fain have then a few dancing women," 
said the philosopher. 

" Dancing women ! " echoed the treasurer with 
surprise. 

"Dancing women," replied the sage, gravely: 
" a few will suffice ; for 1 am an old man and a 
philosopher, of simple habits and easily satisfied. 
Let them, however, be young and fair to look upon 
— for the sight of youth and beauty is refreshing to 
old age." 

While the philosophic Ibrahim Ebn .\yub passed 
his time thus sagely in his hermitage, the ])acific 
Aben Habuz carried on furious campaigns in effigy 
in his tower. It was a glorious thing for an old man 
like himself, of quiet habits, to have war made easy, 
and to be enabled to amuse himself in his chamber 
by brushing away whole armies like so many swarms 
of flies. For a time he rioted in the indulgence of 
his humours, and even taunted and insulted his 
neighbours to induce them to make incursions ; but 
by degrees they grew warv from repeated disasters, 
until no one ventured to invade his territories. For 
many months the bronze horseman remained on the 
peace establishment with his lance elevated in the 
air, and the worthy old monarch began to repine at 
the want of his accustomed sport, and to grow pee- 
vish at his monotonous tranquillity. 

At length, one day, the talismanic horseman 
veered suddenly round, and, lowering his lance, 
made a dead point towards the mountains of Guadix. 
Aben Habuz hastened to his tower, but the magic 
table in that direction remained quiet — not a single 
warrior was in motion. Perplexed at the circum- 
stance, he sent forth a troop of horse to scour the 
mountains and reconnoitre. They returned after 
three days' absence. Rodovan, the captain of the 
troop, addressed the king : " We have searched 
every mountam pass," said he, "but not a helm or 
spear was stirring. All that we have found in the 
course of our foray was a Christian damsel of sur- 
passing beauty, sleeping at noon-tide beside a foun- 
tain, whom we have brought away captive." 

"A damsel of surpassing beauty!" exclaimed 
Aben Habuz, his eyes gleaming with animation : 
" let her be conducted into my presence." " Pardon 
me, O kmg ! " replied Rodovan, " but our warfare 
at present is scanty ; and yields but little haivest. 
I had hoped this chance gleaning would have been 
allowed for my services." 

" Chance gleaning ! " cried Aben Habuz. " What I 
— a damsel of surpassing beauty ! By the head of 
my father ! it is the choice fruits of warfare, only to 
be garnered up into the royal keeping. — Let the 
damsel be brought hither instantly." 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



127 



The beautiful damsel was accordinojly conducted 
into his presence. She was arrayed in the Gothic 
style with all the luxury of ornament that had pre- 
vailed among the Gothic Spaniards at the time of 
the Arabian conquest. Pearls of dazzling whiteness 
were entwined with her raven tresses ; and jewels 
sparkled on her forehead, rivalling the lustre of her 
eyes. Around her neck was a golden chain, to 
which was suspended a silver lyre which hung by 
her side. 

The Hashes of her dark refulgent eye were like 
sparks of fire on the withered, yet combustible 
breast of Aben Habuz, and set it in a flame. The 
swimming voluptuousness of her gait made his 
senses reel. " Fairest of women." cried he, with 
rapture, " who and what art thou ? " — 

"The daughter of one of the Gothic princes who 
lately ruled over this land. The armies of my father 
have been destroyed as if by magic among these 
mountains, he has been driven into e,\ile, and his 
daughter is a slave." 

" Be comforted, beautiful princess — thou art no 
longer a slave, but a sovereign ; turn thine eyes gra- 
ciously upon Aben Habuz, and reign over him and 
his dominions." 

" Beware, O king," whispered Ibrahim Ebn Abu 
Ayub ; " this may be some spirit conjured up by the 
magicians of the Goths, and sent for thy undoing. 
Or it may be one of those northern sorceresses, who 
assume the most seducing forms to beguile the un- 
wary. Methinks I read witchcraft in her eve, and 
sorcery in every movement. Let my sovereign be- 
ware — this must be the enemy pointed out by the 
talisman." " Son of Abu Ayub," replied the king, 
"you are a wise man and a conjuror, I grant — but 
you are little versed in the ways of woman. In the 
knowledge of the sex, I will yield to no man ; no, 
not to the wise Solomon himself, notwithstanding 
the number of his wives and his concubines. As to 
this damsel, I see much comfort in her for my old 
days, even such comfort as David, the father of Sol- 
omon, found in the society of Abishag the Shuna- 
mite." 

" Hearken, O king," rejoined the astrologer, sud- 
denly changing his tone — " I have given thee many 
triumphs over thy enemies, and by means of my 
talisman, yet thou hast never given me share of the 
spoils ; grant me this one stray captive to solace me 
in my retirement, and I am content." 

" What ! " cried Aben Habuz, " more women I 
hast thou not already dancing women to solace thee 
. — what more wouldst thou desire." 

" Dancing women, have I, it is true ; but I have 
none that sing ; and music is a balm to old age. — 
This captive, I perceive, beareth a silver lyre, and 
must be skilled in minstrelsy. Give her to me, I 
pray thee, to sooth my senses after the toil of 
study." 

The ire of the pacific monarch was kindled, and 
he loaded the philosopher with reproaches. The 
latter retired indignantly to his hermitage; but ere 
he departed, he again warned the monarch to be- 
ware of his beautiful captive. Where, in fact, is the 
old man in love that will listen to counsel ? Aben 
Habuz had felt the full power of the witcheiy of the 
eye, and the sorceiy of movement, and the more he 
gazed, the more he was enamoured. 

He resigned himself to the full sway of his pas- 
sions. His only study, was how to render himself 
amiable in the eyes of the Gothic beauty. He had 
not youth, it is true, to recommend him, but then 
he had riches ; and when a lover is no longer young, 
he becomes generous. The Zacatin of Granada 
'was ransacked for the most precious merchandise of 
the East. Silks, jewels, precious gems and exquis- 



ite perfumes, all that Asia and Africa yielded of 
rich and rare, were lavished upon the princess. She 
received all as her due, and regarded them with the 
indifference of one accustomed to magnificence. 
All kinds of spectacles and festivities were devised 
for her entertainment ; minstrelsy, dancing, tourna- 
ments, bull-fights. — Granada, for a time, was a scene 
of perpetual pageant. The Gothic princess seemed 
to take a delight in causing expense, as if she sought 
to drain the treasures of the monarch. There were 
no bounds to her caprice, or to the extravagance 
of her ideas. Yet, notwithstanding all this niunfi- 
cence, the venerable Aben Habuz could not flatter 
himself that he had made any impression on her 
heart. She never frowned on him, it is true, but she 
had a singular way of baffling his tender advances. 
Whenever he began to plead his passion, she struck 
her silver lyre. There was a mystic charm in the 
sound : on hearing of it, an irresistible drowsiness 
seized upon the superannuated lover, he fell asleep, 
and only woke when the temporary fumes of pas- 
sion had evaporated. Still the dream of love had a 
bewitching power over his senses ; so he continued 
to dream on ; while all Granada scoffed at his in- 
fatuation, and groaned at the treasures lavished for 
a song. 

At length a danger burst over the head of Aben 
Habuz, against which, his talisman yielded him no 
warning. A rebellion broke out in the very heart 
of his capital ; headed by the bold Rodovan. Aben 
Habuz was, for a time, besieged in his palace, and 
it was not without the greatest difficulty that he re- 
pelled his assailants and quelled the insurrection. 

He now felt himself compelled once more to re- 
sort to the assistance of the astrologer. He found 
him still shut up in his hermitage, chewing the cud 
of resentment. " O wise son of Abu Ayub," said 
he, " what thou hast foretold, has, in some sort, 
come to pass. This Gothic princess has brought 
trouble and danger upon me." 

" Is the king then disposed to put her away from 
him.'" said the astrologer with animation. 

" Sooner would I part with my kingdom ! " replied 
Aben Habuz. 

" What then is the need of disturbing me in my 
philosophical retirement.' " said the astrologer, pee- 
vishly. 

" Be not angry, O sagest of philosophers. I 
would fain have one more exertion of thy magic 
art. Devise some means by which I may be secure 
from internal treason, as well as outward war — some 
safe retreat, where I may take refuge and be at 
peace." 

The astrologer ruminated for a moment, and a 
subtle gleam shone from his eye under his bushy 
eyebrows. 

"Thou hast heard, no doubt, O king," said he, 
" of the palace and garden of Irem, whereof mention 
is made in that chapter of the Koran entitled ' the 
dawn of day.' " 

" I have heard of that garden, — marvellous things 
are related of it by the pilgrims who visit Mecca, but 
I have thought them wild fables, such as those are 
prone to tell who visit remote regions." 

" Listen, O king, and thou shalt know the mystery 
of that garden. In my younger days I was in Arabia 
the Happy, tending my father's camels. One of 
them strayed away from the rest, and was lost. I 
searched for it for several days about the deserts of 
Aden, until wearied and faint, I laid myself down 
and slept under a palm tree by the side of a scanty 
well. When I awoke, I found myself at the gate of 
a city. I entered and beheld noble streets and 
squares and market places, but all were silent and 
without an inhabitant. I wandered on until I came 



128 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



to a sumptuous palace, with a garden adorned with 
fountains and fish-ponds ; and groves and flowers ; 
and orchards laden with delicious fruit ; but still no 
one was to be seen. Upon which, appalled at this 
loneliness, I hastened to depart, and, after issuing 
forth at the gate of the city, I turned to look upon 
the place, but it was no longer to be seen, nothing 
but the silent desert extended before my eyes. 

" In the neighbourhood I met with an aged den'ise, 
learned m the traditions and secrets of the land, and 
related to him what had befallen me. 'This,' said 
he, 'is the far famed garden of Irem, one of the 
wonders of the desert. It only appears at times to 
some wanderer like thyself, gladdening him with the 
sight of towers and palaces, and garden walls over- 
hung with richly laden fruit trees, and then vanishes, 
leaving nothing but a lonely desert. — And this is the 
story of it : — In old times, when this country was 
inhabited by the Addiles, king Sheddad, the son of 
Ad, the great grandson of Noah, founded here a 
splendid city. When it was finished, and he saw its 
grandeur, his heart was puffed up with pride and 
arrogance, and he determined to build a royal pal- 
ace, with gardens that should rival all that was re- 
lated in the Koran of the celestial paradise. But the 
curse of heaven fell upon him for his presumption. 
He and his subjects were swept from the earth, and 
his splendid city, and palace, and garden, were laid 
under a perpetual spell, that hides them from the 
human sight, exceptmg that they are seen at inter- 
vals ; by way of keeping his sin in perpetual remem- 
brance.' 

" This story, O king, and the wonders I had seen, 
ever dwell in my mind, and, in after years, when I 
had been in Egypt and made myself master of all 
kinds of magic spells, I determined to return and 
visit the garden of Irem. I did so, and found it re- 
vealed to my instructed sight. I took possession of 
the palace of Sheddad, and passed several days in 
his mock paradise. The genii who watch over the 
place, were obedient to my magic power, and reveal- 
ed to me the spells by wdiich the whole garden had 
been, as it were, conjured into existence, and by 
which it was rendered invisible. Such spells, O 
king, are within the scope of my art. What sayest 
thou ? Wouldst thou have a palace and garden like 
those of Irem, filled with all manner of delights, but 
hidden from the eyes of mortals ? " 

"O, wise son of Abu Ayub," exclaimed Aben 
Habuz, trembling with eagerness — " Contrive me 
such a paradise, and ask any reward, even to the 
half of my kingdom." 

" Alas," replied the other, " thou knowest I am 
an old man, and a philosopher, and easily satisfied ; 
all the reward I ask, is the first beast of burden, with 
its load, that shall enter the magic portal of the 
palace." 

The monarch gladly agreed to so moderate a stip- 
ulation, and the astrologer began his work. On the 
summit of the hill immediately above his subterra- 
nean hermitage he caused a great gateway or barbi- 
can to be erected ; opening through the centre of a 
strong tower. There was an outer vestibule or porch 
with a lofty arch, and within it a portal secured by 
massive gates. On the key-stone of the portal the 
astrologer, with his own hand, wrought the figure of 
a huge key, and on the key-stone of the outer arch 
of the vestibule, which was loftier than that of the 
portal, he carved a gigantic hand. These were po- 
tent talismans, over which he repeated many sen- 
tences in an unknown tongue. 

When this gateway was finished, he shut himself 
up for two days in his astrological hall, engaged in 
secret incantations : on the third he ascended the 
hill, and passed the whole day on its summit. At a 



late hour of the night he came down and presented 
himself before Aben Habuz. " At length, O king," 
said he, " my labour is accomplished. On the sum- 
mit of the hill stands one of the most delectable pal- 
aces that ever the head of man devised, or the heart 
of man desired. It contains sumptuous halls and 
galleries, delicious gardens, cool fountams and fra- 
grant baths ; in a word, the whole mountain is con- 
verted into a paradise. Like the garden of Irem, it 
is protected by a mighty charm, which hides it from 
the view and search of mortals, excepting such as 
possess the secret of its talismans." 

" Enough," cried Aben Habuz, joyfully ; "to-mor- 
row morning, bright and early, we will ascend and 
take possession." The happy monarch scarcely 
slept that night. Scarcely had the rays of the sun 
begun to play about the snowy summit of the Sierra 
Nevada, when he mounted his steed, and accom- 
panied only by a few chosen attendants, ascended a 
steep and narrow road leading up the hill. Beside 
him, on a white palfrey, rode the Gothic princess, her 
dress sparkling with jewels, while round her neck 
was suspended her silver lyre. The astrologer walk- 
ed on the olher side of the king, assisting his steps 
with his hieroglyphic staff, for he never mounted 
steed of any kind. 

Aben Habuz looked to see the towers of the prom- 
ised palace brightening above him, and the embow- 
ered terraces of its gardens stretching along the 
heights, but as yet, nothing of the king was to be 
descried. " That is the mystery and safeguard of the 
place," said the astrologer, " nothing can be discern- 
ed until you have passed the spell-bound gateway, 
and been put in possession of the place." 

As they approached the gateway, the astrologer 
paused, and pointed out to the king the mystic hand 
and key carved upon the portal and the arch. 
" These," said he, "are the talismans which guard 
the entrance to this paradise. Until yonder hand 
shall reach down and seize that key, neither mortal 
power, nor magic artifice, can prevail against the 
lord of this mountain." 

While Aben Habuz was gazing with open mouth 
and silent wonder at these mystic talismans, the pal- 
frey of the princess proceeded on, and bore her in at 
the portal, to the very centre of the barbican. 

" Behold," cried the astrologer, " my promised re- 
ward ! — the first animal with its burden, that should 
enter the m.agic gateway." 

Aben Habuz smiled at what he considered a pleas- 
antry of the ancient man ; but when he found him to 
be in earnest, his gray beard trembled with indig- 
nation. 

" Son of Abu Ayub," said he, sternly, " what equiv- 
ocation is this.' Thou knowest the meaning of my 
promise, the first beast of burden, with its load, that 
should enter this portal. Take the strongest mule 
in my stables, load it with the most precious things 
of my treasury, and it is thine ; but dare not to raise 
thy thoughts to her, who is the delight of my heart." 

" What need I of wealth," cried the astrologer, 
scornfully ; " have I not the book of knowledge of 
Solomon the Wise, and through it, the command of 
the secret treasures of the earth .'' The princess is 
mine by right ; thy royal word is pledged ; I claim 
her as my own." 

The princess sat upon her palfrey, in the pride of 
youth and beauty, and a light smile of scorn curled 
her rosy lip, at this dispute between two gray beards 
for her charms. The wrath of the monarch got the 
better of his discretion. " Base son of the desert," 
cried he, "thou mayest be i laster of many arts, but 
know me for thy master — and presume not to juggle 
with thy king." 

" My master ! " echoed the astrologer, " my king ! 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



129 



The monarch of a mole-hill to claim sway over him 
who possesses the talismans of Solomon. Farewell, 
Ahen Habuz ; reig-n over thy petty kingdom, and 
revel in thy paradise of fools — for me, I will laugh at 
thee in my philosophic retirement " 

So s.ying, he seized the bridle of the palfrey, smote 
the earth with his staff, and sank with the Gothic 
princess through the centre of the barbican. The 
earth closed over them, and no trace remained of 
the opening by which they had descended. Ahen 
Habuz was struck dumb for a time with astonish- 
ment. Recovering himself he ordered a thousand 
workmen to dig with pickaxe and spade into the 
ground where the astrologer had disappeared. They 
digged and digged, but in vain ; the flinty bosom of 
the hill resisted their implements ; or if they did pen- 
etrate a little way, the earth filled in again as fast as 
they threw it out. Aben Habuz sought the mouth 
of the cavern at the foot of the hill, leading to the 
subterranean palace of the astrologer, but it was no 
where to be found : where once had been an en- 
trance, was now a solid surface of primeval rock. 
With the disappearance of Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub 
ceased the benefit of his talismans. The bronze 
horseman remained fixed with his face turned toward 
the hill, and his spear pointed to the spot where the 
astrologer had descended, as if there still lurked the 
deadliest foe of Aben Habuz. From time to time 
the sound of music and the tones of a female voice 
could be faintly heard from the bosom of the hill, 
and a peasant one day brought word to the king, 
that in the preceding night he had found a fissure in 
the rock, by which he had crept in until he looked 
down into a subterranean hall, in which sat the as- 
trologer on a magnificent divan, slumbering and 
nodding to the silver lyre of the princess, which 
seemed to hold a magic sway over his senses. 

Aben Habuz sought for the fissure in the rock, 
but it was again closed. He renewed the attempt to 
unearth his rival, but all in vain. The spell of the 
hand and key was too potent to be counteracted by 
human power, .^s to the summit of the mountain, 
the site of the promised palace and garden, it re- 
mained a naked waste : either the boasted Elysium 
was hidden from sight by enchantment, or was a 
mere fable of the astrologer. The world charitably 
supposed the latter, and some used to call the place 
"the king's folly," while others named it " the fool's 
Paradise." 

To add to tlie chagrin of Aben Habuz, the neigh- 
bours, whom he had defied and taunted, and cut up 
at his leisure, while master of the talismanic horse- 
man, finding him no longer protected by magic spell, 
made inroads into his territories from all sides, and 
the remainder of the life of the most pacific of mon- 
archs, was a tissue of turmoils. 

At length, Aben Habuz died and was buried. 
Ages have since rolled away. The Alhambra has 
been built on the eventful mountain, and in some 
measure realizes the fabled delights of the garden of 
Irem. The spell-bound gateway still exists, protect- 
ed, no doubt, by the mystic hand and key, and now 
forms the gate of justice, the grand entrance to the 
fortress. Under that gateway, it is said, the old as- 
trologer remains in his subterranean hall ; nodding 
on his divan, lulled by the silver lyre of the princess. 

The old invalid sentinels, who mount guard at the 
gate, hear the strains occasionally in the summer 
nights, and, yielding to their soporific power, doze 
quietly at their posts. Nay, so drowsy an influence 
pervades the place, that even those who watch by 
day, may generally be seen nodding on the stone 
benches of the barbican, or sleeping under the neigh- 
bouring trees; so that it is, in fact, the drowsiest 
military post in all Christendom. All this, say the 
9 



legends, will endure ; from age to age the princess 
will remain captive to the astrologer, and the astrol- 
oger bound up in magic slumber by the princess, 
until the last day ; unless the mystic hand shall grasp 
the fated key, and dispel the whole charm of this 
enchanted mountain. 



LEGEND OF THE THREE BEAUTIFUL 
PRINCESSES, 



In old times there reigned a Moorish king in 
Granada, whose name was Mohamed, to which 
his subjects added the appellation of el Haygari, 
or " the left-handed." Some say he was so called, 
on account of his being really more expert with his 
sinister, than his dexter hand ; others, because he 
was prone to take every thing by the v<rong end ; 
or, in other words, to mar wherever he meddled. 
Certain it is, either through misfortune or misman- 
agement, he was continually in trouble. Thrice 
w.as he driven from his throne, and on one occasion 
barely escaped to Africa with his life, in the dis- 
guise of a fisherman. Still he was as brave as he 
was blundering, and, though left-handed, wielded 
his scimitar to such purpose, that he each time 
re-established himself upon his throne, by dint of 
hard fighting. Instead, however, of learning wis- 
dom from adversity, he hardened his neck, and 
stiffened his left-arm in wilfulness. The evils of 
a public nature which he thus brought upon him- 
self and his kingdom, may be learned by those 
who will delve into the Arabian annals of Grana- 
da ; the present legend deals but with his domestic 
policy. 

As this Mohamed was one day riding forth, with 
a train of his courtiers, by the foot of the mountain 
of Elvira, he met a band of horsemen returning 
from a foray into the land of the Christians. They 
were conducting a long string of mules laden with 
spoil, and many captives of both sexes, among 
whom, the monarch was struck with the appear- 
ance of a beautiful damsel richly attired, who sat 
weeping, on a low palt'rey, and heeded not the con- 
soling words of a duenna, who rode beside her. 

The monarch was struck with her beauty, and on 
inquiring of the captain of the troop, found that she 
was the daughter of the alcayde of a frontier for- 
tress that had been surprised and sicked in the 
course of the foray. 

Mohamed claimed her as his royal share of the 
booty, and had her conveyed to his harem in the 
Alhambra. There every thing was devised to sooth 
her melancholy, and the monarch, more and more 
enamoured, sought to make her his queen. 

The Spanish maid at first repulsed his addresses. 
He was an infidel — he was the open foe of her 
country — what was worse, he was stricken in 
years ' 



The monarch finding his assiduities of no avail, 
determined to enlist in his favour the duenna, who 
had been captured with the lady. She was an Anda- 
lusian by birth, whose Christian name is forgotten, 
being mentioned in Moorish legends, by no other 
appellation than that of the discreet Cadiga — and 
discreet, in truth she was, as her whole history makes 
evident. No sooner had the Moorish king held a 
little private conversation with her, than she saw at 
once the cogency of his reasoning, and undertook his 
cause with her young mistress. 

" Go to, now ! " cried she; " what is there in all 



130 



WORKS OF WASHINCxTON IRVING. 



this to weep and wail about ? — Is it not better to 
be mistress of this beautiful palace with all its gar- 
dens and fountains, than to be shut up within your 
father's old frontier tower? As to this Mohanied 
being- an infidel — what is that to the y)urpose ? You 
marry him — not his religion. And if he is waxing 
a little old, the sooner will you be a widow and 
mistress of yourself. At any rate you are in his 
power — and must either be a queen or a slave. — 
When in the hands of a robber, it is better to sell 
one's merchandise for a fair price, than to have it 
taken by main force." 

The arguments of the discreet Cadiga prevailed. 
The Spanish lady dried her tears and became the 
spouse of Mohamed the left-handed. She even con- 
formed in appearance to the faith of her royal hus- 
band, and her discreet duenna immediately became 
a zealous convert to the Moslem doctrines ; it was 
then the latter received the Arabian name of Cadiga, 
and was permitted to remain in the confidential 
employ of her mistress. 

In due process of time, the Moorish king was 
made the proud and happy father of three lovely 
daughters, all born at a birth. He could have 
wished they had been sons, but consoled himself 
v.'ith the idea that three daughters at a birth, were 
pretty well for a man somewhat stricken in years, 
and left-handed. 

As 'usual with all Moslem monarchs, he sum- 
moned his astrologers on this happy event. They 
cast the nativities of the three princesses, and 
shook their heads. " Daughters, O king," said 
they, " are always precarious property ; but these 
will most need your watchfulness w.hen they ar- 
rive at a marriageable age. — At that time gather 
them under your wing, and trust them to no other 
guardianship." 

Mohamed the left-handed was acknowledged bv 
his courtiers to be a wise king, and was certainly 
so considered by himself. The prediction of the 
astrologers caused him but little disquiet, trusting 
to his ingenuity to guard his daughters and outwit 
the fates. 

The threefold birth was the last matrimonial 
trophy of the monarch ; his queen bore him no more 
children, and died within a few years, bequeathing 
her infant daughters to his love, and to the fidelity 
of the discreet Cadiga. 

Many years had yet to elapse before the prin- 
cesses would arrive at that period of danger, the 
marriageable age. " It is good, however, to be cau- 
tious in time," said the shrewd monarch ; so he de- 
termined to have them reared in the royal castle 
of Salobrena. This was a sumptuous palace, in- 
crusted, as it were in a powerful Moorish fortress, 
on the summit of a hill that overlooks the Mediter- 
ranean sea. 

It was a royal retreat, in which the Moslem mon- 
archs shut up such of their relations as might en- 
danger their safety; allowing them all kinds of lux- 
uries and amusements, in the midst of which they 
passed their lives in voluptuous indolence. 

Here the princesses remained, immured from the 
world, but surrounded by enjoyments ; and attended 
by female slaves who anticipated their wishes. 
They had delightful gardens for their recreation, 
filled with the rarest fruits and flowers, with aromat- 
ic groves and perfumed baths. On three sides the 
castle looked down upon a rich valley, enamel ed 
with all kinds of culture, and bounded by the lofty 
Alpuxarra mountains ; on the other side it over- 
looke.d the broad sunny sea. 

In this delicious abode, in a propitious climate 
and under a cloudless sky, the three princesses 
grew up into wondrous beauty ; but, though all 



reared alike, they gave early tokens of diversity ot 
character. Their names were Zayda, Zorayda, and 
Zorahayda ; and such was the order of seniority, 
for there had been precisely three minutes between 
their births. 

Zayda, the eldest, was of an intrepid spirit, and 
took the lead of her sisters in every thing, as she 
had done in entering first into the world. She 
was curious and inquisitive, and fond of getting at 
the bottom of things. 

Zorayda had a great feeling for beauty, which 
was the reason, no doubt, of her delighting to regard 
her own image in a mirror or a fountain, ana of 
her fondness for flowers and jewels, and other taste- 
ful ornaments. 

As to Zorahayda, the youngest, she was soft and 
timid, and extremely sensitive, with a vast deal of 
disposable tenderness, as was evident from her 
number of pet flowers, and pet birds, and pet ani- 
mals, all of which she cherished with the fondest 
care. Her amusements, too, were of a gentle na- 
ture, and mixed up with musing and reverie. She 
would sit for hours in a balcony gazing on the spark- 
ling stars of a summer night ; or on the sea when 
lit up' by the moon, and at such times the song of a 
fisherman faintly heard from the beach, or the notes 
of an arrafia or Moorish flute from some gliding 
bark, sufficed to elevate her feelings into ecstasy. 
The least uproar of the elements, however, filled her 
with dismav, and a clap of thunder was enough to 
throw her into a swoon. 

Years moved on serenely, and Cadiga, to whom 
the princesses were confided, was faithful to her trust 
and attended them with unremitting care. 

The castle of Salobrena, as has been said, was 
built upon a hill on the sea coast. One of the ex- 
terior walls straggled down the profile of the hill, 
until it reached a jutting rock overhanging the sea, 
with a narrow sandy beach at its foot, laved by the 
rippling billows. A small watch tower on this rock 
had been fitted up as a pavilion, with latticed win- 
dows to admit the sea breeze. Here the princesses 
used to pass the sultry hours of mid-day. 

The curious Zayda was one day seated at one of 
the windows of the pavilion, as her sisters, reclined 
on ottomans, were taking the siesta, or noon-tide 
slumber. Her attention had been attracted to a 
galley, which came coasting along, with measured 
strokes of the oar. As it drew near, she observed 
that it was filled with armed men. The galley 
anchored at the foot of the tower : a numb^-r of 
Moorish soldiers landed on the narrow beach, con- 
ducting several Christian prisoners. The curious 
Zayda awakened her sisters, and all three peeped 
cautiously through the close jealousies of the lattice, 
which screened them from sight. Among the 
prisoners were three Spanish cavaliers, richly dressed. 
They were in the flower of youth, and of noble 
presence, and the lofty manner in which they carried 
themselves, though loaded with chains and surround- 
ed with enemies, bespoke the grandeur of their souls. 
The princesses gazed with intense and breathless 
interest. Cooped up as they had been in this castle 
among female attendants, seeing nothing of the male 
sex but black slaves, or the rude fishermen of the 
sea coast, it is not to be wondered at, that the ap- 
pearance of three gallant cavaliers in the pride of 
youth and manly beauty should produce some com- 
motion in their bosoms. 

" Did ever nobler bemg tread the earth, than that 
cavalier in crimson ? " cried Zayda. the eldest of the 
sisters. " See how proudly he bears himself, as 
though all around him were his slaves ! " 

" I5ut notice that one in green," exclaimed Zo- 
rayda ; " what grace ! what elegance ! what spirit '. " 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



13t 



The gentle Zorahayda said nothing, but she se- 
cretly gave preference to the cavalier in green. 

The princesses remained gazing until the prison- 
ers were out of sight ; then heaving long-drawn 
sighs, they turned round, looked at each other for a 
moment, and sat down musing and pensive on their 
ottomans. 

The discreet Cadiga found them in this situation ; 
they related to her what they had seen, and even the 
Withered heart of the duenna was warmed. " Poor 
youths!" exclaimed she, "I'll warrant their cap- 
tivity makes many a fair and high-born lady's heart 
ache in their native land ! Ah, my children, you 
have little idea of the life these cavaliers lead in their 
own country. Such prankling at tournaments ! such 
devotion to the ladies ! such courting and serenad- 
ing ! " 

The curiosity of Zayda was fully aroused. She 
was insatiable in her inquiries, and drew from the 
duenna the most animated pictures of the scenes of 
her vouthful days and native land. The beautiful 
Zorayda bridled up, and slyly regarded herself in a 
mirror, when the theme turned upon the charms of 
the Spanish ladies ; while Zorahayda suppressed a 
struggling sigh at the mention of moonlight sere- 
nades. 

Every day the curious Zayda renewed her in- 
quiries; and every day the sage duenna repeated her 
stories, which were listened to with unmoved inter- 
est, though frequent sighs, by her gentle auditors. 
The discreet old woman at length awakened to the 
Tiischief she might be doing. She had been ac- 
:ustomed to think of the princesses only as children, 
3ut they had imperceptibly ripened beneath her eye, 
ind now bloomed before her three lovely damsels of 
:he marriageable age. — It is time, thought the 
duenna, to give notice to the king. 

Mohamed the left-handed was seated one morn- 
ing on a divan in one of the court halls of the Al- 
aambra, when a noble arrived from the fortress of 
Salobrena, with a message from the sage Cadiga, 
:ongratulating him on the anniversary of his 
daughters' birth-day. The slave at the same time 
presented a delicate little -basket decorated with 
flowers, W'ithin which, on a couch of vine and fig 
leaves, lay a peach, an apricot, and a nectarine, with 
their blojni and down, and dewy sweetness upon 
them, and all in the early stage of tempting ripeness. 
The monarch was versed in the oriental language 
of fruits and flowers, and readily divined the mean- 
ing of this emblematical offering. 

"So!" said he, "the critical period pointed out 
by the astrologers is arrived. — My daughters are at 
a marriageable age. What is to be done ? They are 
shut up from the eyes of men, — they are under the 
eye of the discreet Cadiga — all ver)' good — but still 
they are not under my own eye. as was prescribed 
by the astrologers. — ' I must gather them under my 
wing, and trust to no other guardianship.' " 

So saying, he ordered that a tower of the Alham- 
bra should be prepared for their reception, and de- 
parted at the head of his guards for the fortress of 
Salobrena, to conduct them home in person. 

About three years had elapsed since Mohamed 
had beheld his daughters, and he could scarcely 
credit his eyes at the wonderful change which that 
small space of time had made in their appearance. 
During the interval they had passed that wondrous 
boundary line in female life, which separates the 
crude, unformed and thoughtless girl from the bloom- 
ing, blushing, meditative woman. It is like passing 
from the flat, bleak, uninteresting plains of La 
Mancha to the voluptuous valleys and swelling hills 
of Andalusia. 

Zayda was tall and finely formed, with a lofty de- 



meanour and a penetrating eye. She entered with 
a stately and decided step, and made a profound 
reverence to Mohained, treating him more as her 
sovereign than her father. Zorayda was of the 
middle height, with an alluring look and swimming 
gait, and a sparkling beauty heightened by the as- 
sistance of the toilette. She approached her father 
with a smile, kissed his hand, and saluted him with 
several stanzas from a popular Arabian poet, with 
which the monarch was delighted. Zorahayda was 
shy and timid ; smaller than her sisters, and with a 
beauty of that tender, beseeching kind which looks 
for fondness and protection. She was little fitted to 
command like her elder sister, o_" to dazzle like the 
second ; but was rather formed to creep to the 
bosom of manly affection, to nestle within it, and be 
content. She drew near her father with a timid and 
almost faltering step, and would have taken his hand 
to kiss, but on looking up into his face, and seeing it 
beaming with a paternal smile, the tenderness of her 
nature broke forth, and she threw herself upon his 
neck. 

Mohamed, the left-handed, surveyed his blooming 
daughters with mingled pride and perplexity ; for 
while he exulted in their charms, he bethought him- 
self of the prediction of the astrologers. " Three 
daughters ! — three daughters ! " muttered he, re- 
peatedly to himself " and all of a marriageable age ! 
Here's tempting hesperian fruit, that requires a 
dragon watch ! " 

He prepared for his return to Granada, by send- 
ing heralds before him, commanding ever)' one to 
keep out of the road by which he was to i)ass, and 
that all doors and windows should be closed at the 
approach of the princesses. This done, he set forth 
escorted by a troop of black horsemen of hideous 
aspect, and clad in shining armour. 

The princesses rode beside the king, closely veiled, 
on beautiful white palfreys, with velvet caparisons 
embroidered with gold, and sweeping the ground ; 
the bits and stirrups were of gold, and the silken 
bridles adorned with pearls and precious stones. 
The palfrevs were covered with little silver bells that 
made the most musical tinkling as they ambkd 
gently along. Wo to the unlucky wight, however, 
who lingered in the way when he heard the tinkling 
of these bells — the guards were ordered to cut him 
down without mercy. 

The cavalcade was drawing near to Granada, 
when it overtook, on the banks of the river Xenil, a 
small body of Moorish soldiers, with a convoy of 
prisoners. It was too late for the soldiers to get out 
of the way, so they threw themselves on their faces 
on the earth, ordering their captives to do the like. 
Among the prisoners, were the three identical cava- 
liers whom the princesses had seen from the pavilion. 
They either did not understand, or were too haughty 
to obey the order, and remained standing and gazing 
upon the cavalcade as it approached. 

The ire of the monarch was kindled at this fla- 
grant defiance of his orders, and he deterinined to 
punish it with his own hand. Drawing his scimitar 
and pressing forward, he was about to deal a left- 
handed blow, that would have been fatal to at least 
one of the gazers, when the princesses crowded 
round him, and implored mercv for the prisoners ; 
even the timid Zorahayda forgot her shyness and 
became eloquent in their behalf Mohamed paused, 
with uplifted scimitar, when the captain of the guard 
threw himself at his feet. " Let not your majesty, " 
said he, " do a deed that may cause great scandal 
throughout the kingdom. These are three brave 
and noble Spanish knights wdio have been taken in 
battle, fighting like lions ; they are of high birth, 
and may bring great ransoms." 



132 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



"Enough," said the king; "I will spare their 
lives, but punish their audacity — let them be taken to 
the Vermilion towers and put to hard labour." 

Mohamed was making one of his usual left-handed 
blunders. In the tumult and agitation of this blus- 
tering scene, the veils of the three princesses had 
been thrown back, and the radiance of their beauty 
revealed ; and in prolonging the parley, the king 
had given that beauty time to have its full effect. In 
those days, people fell in love much more suddenly 
than at present, as all ancient stories make manifest ; 
it is not a matter of wonder, therefore, that the 
hearts of the three cavaliers were completely capti- 
vated ; especially as gratitude was added to their 
admiration ; it is a little singular, however, though 
no less certain, that each of them was enraptured 
with a several beauty. As to the princesses, they 
were more than ever struck with the noble demean- 
our of the captives, and cherished in their hearts all 
that they had heard of their valour and noble lineage. 

The cavalcade resumed its march ; the three prin- 
cesses rode pensively along on their tinkling pal- 
freys, now and then stealing a glance behind in 
search of the Christian captives, and the latter were 
conducted to their allotted prison in the Vermilion 
towers. 

The residence provided for the princesses, was one 
of the most dainty that fancy could devise. It was 
in a tower somewhat apart from the main palace of 
the Alhambra, though connected with it by the main 
wall that encircled the whole summit of the hill. On 
one side it looked into the interior of the fortress, 
and had at its foot a small garden filled with the 
rarest flowers. On the other side it overlooked a 
deep embowered ravine, that separated the grounds 
of the Alhambra from those of the Generaliffe. The 
interior of the tower was divided into small fairy 
apartments, beautifully ornamented in the light 
Arabian style, surrounding a lofty hall, the vaulted 
roof of which rose almost to the summit of the tower. 
The walls and ceiling of the hall were adorned with 
arabesques and fret-work sparkling with gold, and 
with brilliant pencilling. In the centre of the marble 
])avement, was an alabaster fountain, set round with 
aromatic shrubs and flowers, and throwing up a jet 
of water that cooled the whole edifice and had a 
lulling sound. Round the hall were suspended cages 
of gold and silver wire, containing singing birds of 
the finest plumage or sweetest note. 

The princesses having been represented as always 
cheerful when in the castle of Salobrena, the king 
had expected to see them enraptured with the Al- 
hambra. To his surprise, however, they began to 
pine, and grew green and melancholy, and dissatis- 
fied with every thing around them. The flowers 
yielded them no fragrance ; the song of the night- 
ingale disturbed their night's rest, and they were 
out of all patience with the alabaster fountain, with 
its eternal drop, drop, and splash, splash, from morn- 
ing till night, and from night till morning. 

The king, who was somewhat of a testy, tyranni- 
cal old man, took this at first in high dudgeon ; but 
he reflected that his daughters had arrived at an age 
when the female mind expands and its desires aug- 
ment. "They are no longer children," said he to 
himself; "they are women grown, and require suit- 
able objects to interest them." He put in requisi- 
tion, therefore, all the dress makers, and the jewel- 
lers, and the artificers in gold and silver throughout 
the Zacatin of Granada, and the princesses were 
overwhelmed with robes of silk, and of tissue and 
of brocade, and cachemire shawls, and necklaces of 
pearls, and diamonds, and rings, and bracelets, and 
anklets, and all manner of precious things. 

All, however, was of no avail. The princesses 



continued pale and languid in the midst of their 
finery, and looked like three blighted rose buds, 
drooping from one stalk. The king was at his wit's 
end. He had in general a laudable confidence in 
his own judgment, and never took advice. " The 
whims and caprices of three marriageable damsels, 
however, are sufficient," said he, " to puzzle the 
shrewdest head." — So, for once in his life, he called 
in the aid of counsel. 

The person to whom he applied was the experi- 
enced duenna. 

" Cadiga," said the king, " I know you to be one 
of the most discreet women in the whole world, as 
well as one of the most trustworthy; for these rea- 
sons, I have always continued you about the persons 
of my daughters. Fathers cannot be too wary in 
whom they repose such confidence. I now wish you 
to find out the secret malady that is preying upon 
the princesses, and to devise some means of restor- 
ing them to health and cheerfulness." 

Cadiga promised implicit obedience. In fact, she 
knew more of the malady of the princesses than 
they did themselves. Shutting herself up with 
them, however, she endeavoured to insinuate her- 
self into their confidence. 

" My dear children, what is the reason you are so 
dismal and downcast, in so beautiful a place, where 
you have every thing that heart can wish .' " 

The princesses looked vacantly round the apart- 
ment, and sighed. 

" What more, then, would you have.' Shall I get 
you the wonderful parrot that talks all languages, 
and is the delight of Granada? " 

"Odious!" exclaimed the princess Zayda. "A 
horrid screaming bird that chatters words without 
ideas ! One must be without brains to tolerate such 
a pest." 

" Shall I send for a monkey from the rock of Gib- 
raltar, to divert you with his antics.' " 

"A monkey! faugh!" cried Zorayda, "the de- 
testable mimic of man. I hate the nauseous 
animal." 

" What say you to the famous black singer, Casem, 
from the royal harem in Morocco. They say he has 
a voice as fine as a woman's " 

" I am terrified at the sight of these black slaves,' 
said the delicate Zorahayda ; " beside, I have lost all 
relish for music." 

" Ah, my child, you would not say so," replied the 
old woman, slyly, " had you heard the music I heard 
last evening, from the three Spanish cavaliers whom 
we met on our journey. — But bless me, children ! 
what is the matter that you blush so, and are in such 
a flutter .' " 

" Nothing, nothing, good mother, pray proceed.' 
" Well — as I was passing by the Vermilion tow- 
ers, last evening, I saw the three cavaliers resting 
after their day's labour. One was playing on the 
guitar so gracefully, and the others sang by turns — 
and they did it in such style, that the very guards 
seemed like statues or men enchanted. Allah for- 
give me, 1 could not help being moved at hearing 
the songs of iny native country. — And then to see 
three such noble and handsome youths in chains and 
slavery." 

Here the kind-hearted old woman could not re- 
strain her tears. 

" Perhaps, mother, you could manage to procure 
us a sight of these cavaliers." said Zayda. 

" 1 think," said Zorayda, "a little music would be 
quite reviving." 

The timiU Zorahayda said nothing, but threw her 
arms round the neck of Cadiga. 

" Mercy on me ! " exclaimed the discreet old 
woman ; " what are you talking of, my children .' 



THE ALHAMBRA 



133 



Your father would be the death of us all, if he heard ' 
of such a thing-. To be sure, these cavaliers are ' 
.nidenlly well-bred and high-minded youths — but 
what of that ! they are the enemies of our faith, and j 
you must not even think of them, but with abhor- 
rence." I 
There is an admirable intrepidity in the female : 
will, particularly about the marriageable ag-e, which 
is not to be deterred by dangers and prohibitions. 
The princesses hung round their old duenna, and 
coaxed and entreated, and declared that a refusal 
would break their hearts. What could she do .? She 
was certainly the most discreet old woman in the 
whole world, and one of the most faithful servants 
to the king— but was she to see three beautiful prin- 
cesses break their hearts for the mere tinkling of a 
guitar.' Beside, though she had been so long among 
the Moors, and changed her faith, in imitation of he'r 
nistress, like a trusty follower, yet she was a Span- 
iard born, and had the lingerings of Christianity in 
ler heart. So she set about to contrive how the 
.vishfs of the princesses might be gratified. 

The Christian captives confined in the Vermilion 
owers, were under the charge of a big-whiskered, 
Jroad-shouldered renegado, called Hussein Baba,' 
vho was reported to have a most itching palm. She 
vent to him, privately, and slipping a broad piece of 
i'old into his hand, "Hussein Baba," said she, "my 
nistresses, the three princesses, who are shut up in 
he tower, and in sad want of amusement, have 
leard of the musical talents of the three Spanish 
avaliers, and are desirous of hearing a specimen of 
heir skill. I am sure you are too kind-hearted to 
etuse them so innocent a gratification." 

What, and to have my head set grinning over 
he gate of my own tower— for that would be the 
eward, if the king should discover it " 

" No danger of any thing ol the kind ; the affair 
nay be managed so that the whim of the princesses 
nay be gratified, and their father be never the wiser, 
('ou know the deep ravine outside of the walls, that 
asses immediately below the tower. Put the three 
Zhristians to work there, and at the intervals of 
heir labour let them play and sing, as if for their 
iwn recreation. In this way, the princesses will be 
-We to hear them from the windows of the tower, 
ind you may be sure of their paying well for your 
ompliance." 

As the good old woman concluded her harancnie, 
he kindly pressed the rough hand of the renegado,' 
md lelt within it another piece of gold. 

Her eloquence was irresistible. The very next 
lay the three cavaliers were put to work in the ra- 
ine. During the noon-tide heat when their fellow 
abourers were sleeping in the shade, and the guard 
lodded drowsily at his post, they seated themselves 
imong the herbage at the foot of the tower, and 
■ang a Spanish roundelay to the accompaniment of 
he guitar. 

The glen was deep, the tower was high, but their 
■oices rose distinctly in the stillness of the summer 
lOon. The princesses listened from their balcony • 
hey had been taught the Spanish language by their 
luenna, and were moved by the tenderness of the 
■ong. 

Ttie discreet Cadiga, on the contrary, was terribly 
hocked. "Allah preserve us," cried she, "they 
ire singing a love dittv addressed to yourselves — 
ha ever mortal hear of such audacity? I will run 
o the slave master and have them soundly basti- 
•adoed. 

"What, bastinado such gallant cavaliers, and for 
inging so charmingly ! " The three beautiful prin- 
:esses were filled with horror at the idea. With all 
ler virtuous indignation, the good old woman was 



of a placable nature and easily appeased. Beside, 
the music seemed to have a beneficial effect upon 
her young mistresses. A rosy bloom had alreadv 
come to their cheeks, and their e\es began to 
sparkle. Siie made no farther obiect'ion, therefore, 
to the amorous ditty of the cavaliers. 

When it was finished, the princesses remained 
silent for a time ; at length Zoravda took up a lute, 
and with a sweet, though faint and trembling voice, 
warbled a little Arabian air, the burden of which 
was, "The rose is concealed among her leaves, 
but she listens with delight to the song of the night- 
ingale." 

From this time forward the cavaliers worked 
almost daily in the ravine. The considerate Hussein 
Baba became more and more indulgent, and daily 
more prone to sleep at his post. For some time a 
vague intercourse was kept up by popular songs and 
romances ; which in some measure responded to 
each other, and breathed the feelings of the parties. 
By degrees the princesses showed themselves at the 
balcony, when they could do so without being per- 
ceived by the guards. They conversed with the 
cavaliers also by means of flowers, with the sym- 
bolical language of which thev were mutually ac- 
quainted : the difficulties of their intercourse added 
to its charms, and strengtiiened the passion they 
had so singulariv conceived ; lor love delights to 
struggle with difficulties, and thrives \he most 
hardily on the scantiest soil. 

The change effected in the looks and spirits of 
the princesses by this secret intercourse, surprised 
and gratified the left-handed king; but no one was 
more elated than the discreet Cadiga, who consider- 
ed it all owing to her able management. 

At length there was an interruption in this tele- 
graphic correspondence, for several days the cavaliers 
ceased to make their appearance in the glen. The 
three beautiful princesses looked out from the tower 
in vain.— In vain they stretched their swan-like necks 
from the balcony; in vain thev sang like captive 
nightingales in their cage; nothing was to be seen 
of their Christian lovers, not a note responded from 
the groves. The discreet Cadiga sallied forth in 
quest of intelligence, and soon returned with a face 
j lull of trouble. " Ah, my children ! " cried she, " I 
saw what all this would come to, but you would 
have your way ; you may now hang up your lutes 
on the v.illows. The Spanish cavaliers are ransomed 
by their families; they are down in Granada, and 
preparing to return to their native country." 

The three beautiful princesses were in despair at 

the tidings. The fair Zayda was indignant at the 

slight put upon them, in being thus deserted without 

a parting word. Zorayda wrung her hands and 

cried, and looked in the glass, and wiped awav her 

I tears, and cried afresh. The gentle Zorahayda 

j leaned over the balcony, and wept in silence, and 

! her tears fell drop by drop, among the flowers of the 

bank where the faithless cavaliers had so often been 

I seated. 

The discreet Cadiga did all in her power to 
I sooth their sorrow. " Take comfort, my children," 
said she ; " this is nothing when you are used to it. 
This is the way of the world. Ah, when you are as 
old as I am, you will know how to value these men. 
I'll warrant these cavaliers have their loves among 
the Spanish beauties of Cordova and Seville, and will 
soon be serenading under their balconies, and think- 
ing no more of the Moorish beauties in the Alham- 
'^ra.— Take comfort, therefore, my children, and 
drive them from your hearts." 

The comforting words of the discreet Cadiga only 
redoubled the distress of the princesses, and for two 
days they continued inconsolable. On the morning 



134 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of the third, the good old woman entered their 
apartment all ruffling with indignation. 

" Who would have believed such insolence in 
mortal man .' " exxlaimed she, as soon as she could 
find words to express herself; " but I am rightly 
served for having connived at this deception of your 
worthy father — never talk more to me of your Span- 
ish cavaliers." 

•' Why. what has happened, good Cadiga ? " ex- 
claimed the princesses, in breathless anxiety. 

" What has happened .' treason has happened! — 
or what is almost as bad, treason has been proposed 
— and to me — the faithfulest of subjects — the trustiest 
of duennas — yes, my children— the Spanish cavaliers 
have dared to tamper with me ; that I should per- 
suade you to fly with them to Cordova, and become 
their wives." 

Here the excellent old woman covered her face 
with her hands, and gave way to a violent burst of 
grief and indignation. 

The three beautiful princesses turned pale and 
red, and trembled, and looked down ; and cast shy 
looks at each other, but said nothing: meantime, 
the old woman sat rocking backward and forward 
in violent agitation, and now and then breaking out 
into exclamations — " That ever I should live to be 
so insulted — I, the faithfulest of servants ! " 

At length the eldest princess, who had most 
spirit, arfd always took the lead, approached her, 
and laving her hand upon her shoulder — "Well, 
mother," said she, "supposing we were willing to 
fly with these Christian cavaliers — is such a thing 
possible.' " 

The good old woman paused suddenly in her 
grief, and looking up — " Possible ! " echoed she, " to 
be sure it is possible. Have not the cavaliers al- 
ready bribed Hussein Baba, the renegado captain of 
the guard, and arranged the whole plan ? — But then 
to think of deceiving your father — your father, who 
has placed such confidence in me.'"' 

Here the worthy old woman gave way to a fresh 
burst of grief, and began again to rock backwards 
and forwards, and to wring her hands. 

" But our father has never placed any confidence 
in us," said the eldest princess ; " but has trusted to 
bolts and bars, and treated us as captives." 

" Why, that is true enough," replied the old woman, 
again pausing in her grief — " He has indeed treated 
you most unreasonably. Keeping yau shut up here 
to waste your bloom in a moping old tower, like roses 
left to wither in a flower jar. But then to fly from 
your native land." 

" And is not the land we fly to, the native land of 
our mother ; where we shall live in freedom .' — and 
shall we not each have a youthful husband in ex- 
change for a severe old father? " 

" Why, that again is all very true — and your father, 
I must confess, is rather tyrannical. — But what then" 
— relapsing into her grief — " would you leave me be- 
hind to bear the brunt of his vengeance .' " 

" By no means, my good Cadiga. Cannot you fly 
with us? " 

" Very true, my child, and to tell the truth, when 
I talked the matter over with Hussein Baba, he prorn- 
ised to take care of me if I would accompany you 
in your flight: but then, bethink you, my children ; 
are you willing to renounce the faith of your 
father?" 

" The Christian faith was the original faith of our 
mother," said the eldest princess; "I am ready to 
embrace it ; and so 1 am sure are my sisters." 

" Right again ! " exclaimed the old woman, bright- 
ening up. " It was the original faith of your mother ; 
and bitterly did she lament, on her death-bed, that 
she had renounced it. I promised her then to take 



care of your souls, and I am rejoiced to see that they 
are now in a fair way to be saved. Yes, my children ; 
I too was born a Christian — and have always been a 
Christian in my heart ; and am resolved to return to 
the faith. I have talked on the subject with Hussein 
Baba, who is a Spaniard by birth, and comes from a 
place not far from my native town. He is equally 
anxious to see his own country and to be reconciled 
to the church, and the cavaliers have promised that 
if we are disposed to become man and wife on 
returning to our native land, they will provide for us 
handsomely." 

In a word, it appeared that this extremely dis- 
creet and provident old woman had consulted with 
the cavaliers and the renegado, and had concerted 
the whole plan of escape. The eldest princess im- 
mediately assented to it, and her example as usual 
determined the conduct of her sisters. It is true, 
the youngest hesitated, for she was gentle and timid 
of soul, and there was a struggle in her bosom be- 
tween filial feeling and youthful passion. The latter, 
however, as usual, gained the victory, and with 
silent tears and stifled sighs she prepared herself for 
flight. 

The rugged hill on which the Alhambra is built 
was in old times perforated with subterranean pas- 
sages, cut through the rock, and leading from the 
fortress to various parts of the city, and to distant 
sally-ports on the banks o( the Darro and the Xenil. 
They had been constructed at different times, by the 
Moorish kings, as means of escape from sudden in- 
surrection, or of secretly issuing forth on private 
enterprises. Many of them are now entirely lost, 
while others remain, partly choked up with rubbish, 
and partly walled up — monuments of the jealous 
precautions and warlike stratagems of the Moorish 
government. By one of these passages, Hussein 
Baba had undertaken to conduct the princesses to a 
sally-port beyond the walls of the city, where the 
cavaliers were to be ready with fleet steeds to bear 
them all over the borders. 

The appointed night arrived. The tower of the 
princesses had been locked up as usual, and the Al- 
hambra was buried in deep sleep. Towards mid- 
night the discreet Cadiga listened from a balcony of a 
window that looked into the garden. Hussein Baba, 
the renegado, was already below, and gave the ap- 
pointed signal. The duenna fastened the end of a 
ladder of ropes to the balcony, lowered it into the 
garden, and descended. The two eldest princesses 
followed her with beating hearts ; but when it came 
to the turn of the youngest princess, Zorahayda, she 
hesitated and trembled. Several times she ventured 
a delicate little foot upon the ladder, and as often 
drew it back ; while her poor little heart fluttered more 
and more the longer she delayed. She cast a wistful 
look back into the silken chamber ; she had lived in 
it, to be sure, like a bird in a cage, but within it she 
was secure— who could not tell what dangers might 
beset her should she flutter forth into the wide world ? 
Now she bethought her of her gallant Christian 
lover, and her little foot was instantly upon the lad- 
der, and anon she thought of her father, and shrunk 
back. But fruitless is the attempt to describe the 
conflict in the bosom of one so young, and tender, 
and loving, but so timid and so ignorant of tlie 
world. In vain her sisters implored, the duenna 
scolded, and the renegado blasphemed beneath the 
balcony. The gentle little Moorish maid stood 
doubting and wavering on the verge of elopement ; 
tempted by the sweetness of the sin, but terrified at 
its perils. 

Every moment increased the danger of discovery. 
A distant tramp was heard. — " The patrols are walk- 
ing the rounds," cried the renegado; "if we linger 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



13a 



long-er we perish — princess, descend instantly, or we 
leave you." 

Zorahayda was for a moment in fearful agitation, 
then loosening the ladder of ropes, with desperate 
resolution she flung- it from the balcony. 

•■ It is decided," cried she, " flight is now out of 
my power !— Allah guide and bless ye, my dear sis- 
ters ! " 

The two eldest princesses were shocked at the 
thoughts of leaving her behind, and would fain have 
lingered, but the patrol was advancmg; the rene- 
gade was furious, and they were hurried away to 
the subterraneous passage. They groped their way 
through a fearful labyrinth cut through the heart of 
the mountain, and succeeded in reaching, undiscov- 
ered, an iron gate that opened outside of the walls. 
The Spanish cavaliers were waiting to receive them, 
disguised as Moorish soldiers of the guard com- 
manded by the renegado. 

The lover of Zorahayda was frantic when he 
learned that she had refused to leave the tower; 
but there was no time to w^aste in lamentations. 
The two princesses were placed behind their lovers ; 
the discreet Cadiga mounted behind the renegado, 
and all set off at a round pace in the direction of the 
pass of Lope, which leads through the mountains 
towards Cordova. 

They had not proceeded far when they heard the 
noise of drums and trumpets from the battlements 
of the Alhambra. "Our flight is discovered," said 
the renegado. " We have fleet steeds, the night is 
dark, and we may distance all pursuit," replied the 
cavaliers. 

They put spurs to their horses and scoured across 
the Vega. They attained to the foot of the moun- 
tain of Elvira, which stretches like a promontory 
into the plain. The renegado paused and listened. 
"As yet," said he, "there is no one on our traces, 
we shall make good our escape to the mountains." 
While he spoke a ball of tire sprang up in a light 
blaze on the top of the watch-tower of the Al- 
hambra. 

" Confusion ! " cried the renegado, " that fire will 
put all the guaids of the passes on the alert. 
Away, away, spur like mad ; there is no time to be 
lost." 

Away they dashed— the clattering of their horses' 
hoofs echoed from rock to rock as they swept along 
the road that skirts the rocky mountain of Elvira. 
As they galloped on, they beheld that the ball of fire 
of the Alhambra was answered in every direction ; 
light after light blazed on the atalayas or watch- 
towers of the mountains 

" Forward ! forward ! " cried the renegado, with 
many an oath — " to the bridge !— to the bridge ! 
before the alarm has reached there." 

They doubled the promontory of the mountain, 
and arrived in sight of the famous Puente del Pinos, 
that crosses a rushing stream often dyed with Chris- 
tian and Moslem blood. To their confusion the 
tower on the bridge blazed with lights and glittered 
with armed men. The renegado pulled up his 
steed, rose in his stirrups and looked about him for 
a moment, then beckoning to the cavaliers he struck 
off from the road, skirted the river for some dis- 
tance, and dashed into its waters. The ca\-aliers 
called upon the princesses to cling to them, and did the 
same. They were borne for some distance down the 
rapid current, the surges roared round them, but the 
beautiful princesses clung to their Christian knights 
and never uttered a complaint. The cavaliers at- 
tained the opposite bank in safety, and were con- 
ducted by the renegado, by rude and unfrequented 
paths, and wild barrancos through the heart of the 
mountains, so as to avoid all the regular passes. In 



a word, they succeeded in reaching the ancient city 
of Cordova ; when their restoration to their country 
and friends was celebrated with great rejoicings, 
for they were of the noblest families. The beau- 
tiful princesses were forthwith received into the 
bosom of the church, and after being in all due 
form made regular Christians, were rendered happy 
lovers. 

In our hurry to make good the escape of the 
princesses across the river and up the mountains, 
we forgot to mention the fate of the discreet Cadiga. 
She had clung like a cat to Hussein Baba, in the 
scamper across the Vega, screaming at every bound 
and drawing many an oath from the whiskered 
renegado ; but when he prepared to plunge his steed 
into the river her terror knew no bounds. 

"Grasp me not so tightlj," cried Hussein Baba; 
"hold on by my belt, and fear nothing." 

She held firmly with both hands by the leathern 
belt that girded the broad-backed renegado; but 
when he halted with the cavaliers to take breath on 
the mountain summit, the duenna was no longer to 
be seen. 

" What has become of Cadiga ? " cried the prin- 
cesses in alarm. 

" I know not," replied the renegado. " My belt 
came loose in the midst of the river, and Cadiga 
was swept with it down the stream. The will of 
Allah be done !— but it was an embroidered belt 
and of great price ! " 

There was no time to waste in idle reports, yet 
bitteriy did the princesses bewail the loss of their 
faithful and discreet counsellor. That excellent old 
woman, however, did not lose more than half of her 
nine lives in the stream.— A fisherman who was 
drawing his nets some distance down the stream, 
brought her to land and was not a little astonished 
at his miraculous draught. What farther became 
of the discreet Cadiga, the legend does not mention. 
—Certain it is, that she evinced her discretion in 
never venturing within the reach of Mohamed the 
lelt-handed. 

Almost as little is known of the conduct of that 
sagacious monarch, when he discovered the escape 
of his daughters and the deceit practised upon him 
by the most faithful of servants. It was the only in- 
stance in which he had called in the aid of counsel, 
and he was never afterwards known to be guilty of 
a similar weakness. He took good care, however, 
to guard his remaining daughter ; who had no dis- 
position to elope. It is thought, indeed, that she 
secretly repented having remained behind. Now 
and then she was seen leaning on the battlements 
ot the tower and looking mournfully towards the 
mountains, in the direction of Cordova ; and some- 
times the notes of her lute were heard accompanying 
plaintive ditties, in which she was said to lament 
the loss of her sisters and her lover, and to bewail 
her soHtary Hie. She died young, and, according to 
popular rumour, was buried in a vault beneath the 
tower, and her untimely fate has given rise to more 
than one traditionary fable. 



LOCAL TRADITIONS. 

The common people of Spain have an oriental pas- 
sion for story-telling and are fond of the marvellous. 
They will jjather round the doors of their cottages im 
summer evenings, or in the great cavernous chimney 
corners of tlieir ventas in the winter, and listen with, 
insatiable delight to miraculous legends of saints, per- 
ilous adventures of travellers, and daring e.xploits off 
robbers and contrabandistas. The wild and solitary, 
nature of a great part of Spain ; the imperfect state of: 
knowledge ; the scantiness of general topics of con- 



136 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



v^rsation, and the romanlic, adventurous life that every 
one leads in a land where travelling is ye( in its prim- 
itive state, all contribute to cherish this love of oral 
narration, and to produce a strong expression of the 
extravagant and wonderful. There is no theme, how- 
ever, more prevalent or popular than that of treasures 
buried bv tne Moors. It pervades the whole country. 
In traversing the wild Sierras, the scenes of ancient 
prey and exploit, you cannot see a Moorish atalaya or 
watch-tower perched among the cliffs, or beetling 
above its rock-built village, but your muleteer, on be- 
ing closely questioned, will suspend the smoking of 
his cigarillo to tell some tale of Moslem gold buried 
beneath its foundations ; nor is there a ruined alca/.ar 
in a city, but has its golden tradition, handed down, 
from generation to generation, among the poor people 
of the neighbourhood. 

These, like most popular fictions, have had some 
groundwork in fact. During the wars between Moor 
and Christian, which distracted the country for cen- 
turies, towns and castles were liable frequently and 
suddenlv to change owners ; and the inhabitants, dur- 
ing sieges and assaults, were fain to bury their money 
and jewels in the earth, or hide them in vaults and 
wells, as is often done at the present day in the des- 
potic and belligerent countries of the East. At the 
time of the expulsion of the Moors, also, many of them 
concealed their most precious effects, hoping that their 
exile would be but temporary, and that they would 
be enabled lo return and retrieve their treasures at 
some future dav. It is certain that, from time to time, 
hoards of gold and silver coin have been accidentally 
digged up, after a lapse of centuries, from among the 
ruins of Moorish fortresses and habitations, and it re- 
quires but a few facts of the kind to give birth to a 
tnousand fictions. 

The stories thus originating have generally some- 
thing of an oriental tinge, and are marked with that 
mixture of the Arabic and Gothic which seems to me 
to characterize every thing in Spain ; and especially in 
its southern provinces. The hidden wealth is always 
laid under magic spell, and secured by charm and 
talisman. Sometimes it is guarded by uncouth mon- 
sters, or fier\' dragons ; sometimes by enchanted 
Moors, who sit by it in armour, with drawn swo:ds. 
but motionless as statues, maintaining a sleepless 
watch for ages. 

The Alhnmbra, of course, from the peculiar circum- 
stances of its history, is a strong hold for popular fic- 
tions of the kind, and curious reliques, dug up from 
time to time, have contributed to strengthen them. 
At one time, an earthen vessel was found, containing 
Moorish coins and the skeleton o( a cock, which, ac- 
cording to the opinion of shrewd inspectors, must have 
been buried alive. At another time, a vessel \vas 
digged up. containing a great scarabnsus, or beetle, 
of baked clay, covered with Arabic inscriptions, which 
was pronounced a prodigious amulet of occult virtues. 
In this way the wits of the ragged brood who inhabit 
the Alhambra have been set wool gathering, until there 
is not a hall, or tower, or vault, of the old fortress that 
has not been luade the scene of some marvellous tra- 
dition. 

I have already given brief notices of some related 
to me by the authentic Mateo Ximenes, and now sub- 
join one wrought out from various particulars gath- 
ered among the gossips of the fortress. 



LEGEND OF THE MOOR'S LEGACY. 



Just within the fortress of the Alhambra, in front 
•of the royal paLice, is a broad open esplanade, called 
uhe place or square of the cisterns, (la plaza de los 
algibes) so called from being undermined by reser- 
woirs of water, hidden from sight, and which liave 



existed from the time of the Moors. At one corner 
of this esplanade is a Moorish well, cut through the 
living rock to a great depth, the water of which is 
cold as ice and clear as crystal. The wells made by 
the Moors are always in repute, for it is well known 
what pains they took to ])enetrate to the purest and 
sweetest springs and fountains. The one we are 
speaking of is famous throughout Granada, insomuch 
that the water-carriers, some bearing great water- 
jars on their shoulders, others driving asses before 
them, laden with earthen vessels, are ascending and 
descending the steep woody avenues of the Alham- 
bra from early dawn until a late hour of the night. 

Fountains and wells, ever since the scriptural days, 
have been noted gossiping places in hot climates, 
and at the well in question there is a kind of per- 
petual club kept up during the live-long day, by the 
invalids, old women, and other curious, do-nothing 
folk of the fortress, who sit here on the stone benches 
under an awning spread over the well to shelter the 
toll-gatherer from the sun, and dawdle over the gos- 
sip of the fortress, and question any water-carrier 
that ariives, about the news of the city, and make 
long comments on every thing they hear and see. 
Not an hour of the day but loitering housewives and 
idle maid-servants may be seen, lingering with pitcher 
on head or in hand, to hear the last of the endless 
tattle of these worthies. 

Ainong the water-carriers who once resorted to 
this well there was a sturdy, strong-backed, bandy- 
legged little fellow, named Pedro Gil, but called 
Peregil for shortness. Being a water-carrier, he was 
a Gallego, or native of Gallicia, of course. Nature 
seems to have formed races of men as she has of 
animals for different kinds of drudgery. In France 
the shoeblacks are all Savoyards, the porters of 
hotels all Swiss, and in the days of hoops and hair 
powder in England, no man could give the regular 
swing to a sedan chair but a bog-trotting Irishman. 
So in Spain the carriers of water and bearers of 
burdens are all sturdy little natives of Gallicia. No 
man says, "get me a porter," but, " call a Gallego." 

To return from this digression. Peregil the Gal- 
lego had begun business with merely a great earthen 
jar, which he carried upon his shoulder ; by degrees 
he rose in the world, and was enabled to purchase 
an assistant, of a correspondent class of animals, 
b;ing a stout shaggy-haired donkey. On each side 
of this his long-eared aid-de-camp, in a kind of pan- 
nier, were slung his water-jars covered with fig 
leaves to protect them from the sun. There was 
not a more industrious water-carrier in all Granada, 
nor one more merry withal. The streets rang with 
his cheerful voice as he trudged after his donkey, 
singing forth the usual summer note that resounds 
through the .Spanish towns : " quicn quicre agiea — 
agua mas fria que la nievc. — Who wants water — 
water colder than snow — who wants water from the 
well of the Alhambra — cold as ice and clear as crys- 
tal .' " When he served a customer with a spark- 
ling glass, it was always with a pleasant word that 
caused a smile, and if, perchance, it was a comely 
dame, or dimpling damsel, it was always with a sly 
leer and a compliment to her beauty that was irre- 
sistible. Thus Peregil the Gallego was noted through- 
out all Granada for being one of the civilest, pleasant- 
est, and happiest of mortals Yet it is not he who 
sings loudest and jokes most that has the lightest 
heart. Under ail this air of merriment, honest Pere- 
gil had his cares and troubles. He had a large 
family of ragged children to support, who were 
hungry and clamorous as a nest of young swallows, 
and beset him with their outcries for food whenever 
he came home of an evening. He had a help-mate 
too, who was any thing but a help to him. She had 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



137 



been a village beauty before marriag-e, noted for her 
skill in dancing the bolero and rattling the castanets, 
and she still retained her early propensities, spend- 
ing the hard earnings of honest Peregil in frippery, 
and laying the very donkey under requisition for 
junketting parties into the countrj- on Sundays, and 
saints' days, and those innumerable holydays which 
are rather more numerous in Spain than the days of 
the week. With all this she was a little of a slaftern, 
something more of a lie-a-bed, and, above all, a gos- 
sip of the first water ; neglecting house, household 
and every thing else, to loiter slip-shod in the houses 
of her gossip neighbours. 

He, however, who tempers the wind to the shorn 
lamb, accommodates the yoke of matrimony to the 
submissive neck. I'eregil bore all the heavy dispen- 
sations of wife and children with as meek a spirit as 
his donkey bore the water-jars ; and, however he 
might shake his ears in private, never ventured to 
question the household virtues of his slattern spouse. 

He loved his children too, even as an owl loves its 
owlets, seeing in them his own image multiplied and 
perpetuated, for they were a sturdy, long-backed, 
bandy-legged little brood. The great pleasure of 
honest Peregil was, whenever he could afford him- 
self a scanty holyday and had a handful of marave- 
dies to spare, to take the whole litter forth with him, 
some in his arms, some tugging at his skirts, and 
some trudging at his heels, and to treat them to a 
gambol among the orchards of the Vega, w'hile his 
wife was dancing with her holyday friends in the 
Angosturas of the Darro. 

It was a late hour one summer night, and most 
of the water-carriers had delisted from their toils. 
The day had been uncommonly sultry; the night 
was one of those delicious moonlights, which tempt 
the inhabitants of those southern ch.nies to indemnify 
themselves for the heat and inaction of the day, by 
lingering in the open air and enjoying its tempered 
sweetness until after midnight. Customers for 
water were therefore still abroad. Peregil, like a 
considerate, painstaking little father, thought of his 
hungry children. " One more journey to the well," 
said he to himself, •' to earn a good Sunday's puchero 
for the little ones." So saying, he trudged rapidly 
up the steep avenue of the Alhambra, singing as he 
went, and now and then bestowing a hearty thwack 
with a cudgel on the flanks of his donkey, either by 
way of cadence to the song, or refreshment to the 
animal ; for dry blows serve in lieu for provender in 
Spain, for all beasts of burden. 

When arrived at the well, he found it deserted by 
every one except a solitary stranger in Moorish garb, 
seated on the stone bench in the moonlight. Pere- 
gil paused at first, and regarded him with surprise, 
not unmixed with awe, but the Moor feebly beckoned 
him to approach. 

" I am faint and ill," said he ; " aid me to return 
to the city, and I will pay thee double what thou 
couldst gain by thy jars of water." 

The honest heart of the little water-carrier was 
touched with compassion at the appeal of the 
stranger. "God forbid," said he, " that I should 
ask fee or reward for doing a common act of hu- 
manity." 

He accordingly helped the Moor on his donkey, 
and set off slowly for Granad^a. the poor Moslem 
being so weak that it was necessary to hold him 
on the animal to keep him from falling to the earth. 

When they entered the city, the water-carrier de- 
manded whither he should conduct him. " Alas ! " 
said the Moor, faintly, " I have neither home nor 
habitation. I am a stranger in the land. Suffer me 
to lay my head this night beneath thy roof, and thou 
shall be amply repaid." 



Honest Peregil thus saw himself unexpectedly 
saddled with an infidel guest, but he was too hu- 
mane to refuse a night's shelter to a fellow being in 
so forlorn a plight ; so he conducted the Moor to 
his dwelling. The children, who had sallied forth, 
open-mouthed as usual, on hearing the tramp of the 
donkey, ran back with affright, when they beheld 
the turbaned stranger, and hid themselves behind 
their mother. The latter stepped forth intrepidly, 
like a ruffling hen before her brood, when a vagrant 
dog approaches. 

"What infidel companion," cried she, "is this 
you have brought home at this late hour, to draw 
upon us the eyes of the Inquisition? " 

"Be quiet, wife," replied the Gallego, "here is a 
poor sick stranger, witliout friend or home : wouklst 
thou turn him forth to perish in the streets .'' " 

The wife would still have remonstrated, for, 
though she lived in a hovel, she was a furious stick- 
ler for the credit of her house; the little water-car- 
rier, however, for once was stiff-necked, and refused 
to bend beneath the yoke. He assisted the poor 
Moslem to alight, and spread a mat and a sheep- 
skin for him, on the ground, in the coolest part of 
the house ; being the only kind of bed that his 
poverty aflbrded. 

In a little while the Moor was seized with violent 
convulsions, which defied all the ministering skill of 
the sim|)le water-carrier. The eye of the poor pa- 
tient acknowledged his kindness. During an inter- 
val of his fits he called him to his side, and address- 
ing him in a low voice ; " ^ly end," said he, " I fear 
is at hand. If I die I bequeath you this box as a 
reward for your charity." So saying, he opened his 
albornoz, or cloak, and showed a small box of sandal 
wood, strapped round his body. 

" God grant, my friend," replied the worthy little 
Gallego, " that you may live many years to enjoy 
your treasure, whatever it may be." 

The Moor shook his head ; he laid his hand upon 
the box, and would have said something more con- 
cerning it, but his convulsions returned with in- 
creased violence, and in a little while he expired. 

The water-carrier's wife was now as one dis- 
tracted. " This comes," said she, " of your foolish 
good nature, always running into scrapes to oblige 
others. What will become of us when this corpse 
is found in our house ? We shall be sent to prison 
as murderers ; and if we escape with our lives, shall 
be ruined by notaries and alguazils." 

Poor Peregil was in equal tribulation, and almost 
repented himself of having done a good deed. At 
length a thought struck him. " It is not yet day," 
said he. " I can convey the dead body out of the 
city and bury it in the sands on the banks of the 
Xenil. No one saw the Moor enter our dwelling, 
and no one will know any thing of his death." So 
said, so done. The wife aided him ; they rolled the 
body of the unfortunate Moslem in the mat on w hich 
he had expired, laid it across the ass, and Mattias 
set out with it for the banks of the river. 

As ill luck would have it, there lived opposite to 
the water-carrier a barber, named Pedrillo Pedrugo, 
one of the most prying, tattling, mischief-making, of 
his gossip tribe. He was a weasel-faced, spider- 
legged varlet, supple and insinuating ; the famous 
Barber of Seville could not surpass him for his uni- 
versal knowledge of the affairs of others, and he had 
no more power of retention than a sieve. It was 
said that he slept with but one eye at a time, and 
kept one ear uncovered, so that, even in his sleep, 
he might see and hear all that was going on. Cer- 
tain it is, he was a sort ot scandalous chronicle for 
the quidnuncs of Granada, and had more customers 
than all the rest of his fraternity. 



138 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



This meddlesome barber heard Peregil arrive at 
an unusual hour of night, and the exclamations of his 
wife and children. His head was instantly popped 
out of a little window which served him as a look- 
out, and he saw his neighbour assist a man in a 
Moorish garb into his dwelling. This was so strange 
an occurrence, that Pedrillo Pedrugo sle))t not a 
wink that night — every five minutes he was at his 
loop-hole, watching the lights that gleamed through 
the chinks of his neighbour's door, and before day- 
light he beheld Peregil sally forth with his donkey 
unusually laden. 

The inquisitive barber was in a fidget ; he slipped 
on his clothes, and, stealing forth silently, followed 
the water-carrier at a distance, until he saw him dig 
a hole in the sandy bank of the Xenil, and bury 
something that had the appearance of a dead body. 

The barber hied him home and fidgeted about 
his shop, setting every thing upside down, until sun- 
rise. He then took a basin under his arm, and 
sallied forth to the house of his daily customer, the 
Alcalde. 

The Alcalde was just risen. Pedrillo Pedrugo 
seated him in a chair, threw a napkin round his 
neck, put a basin of hot water under his chin, and 
began to mollify his beard with his fingers. 

" Strange doings," said Pedrugo, who played bar- 
ber and newsmonger at the same time. " Strange 
doings ! Robbery, and murder, and burial, all in 
one night ! " 

"Hey.' how! What is it vou say.'" cried the 
Alcalde. 

" I say," replied the barber, rubbing a piece of 
soap over the nose and mouth of the dignitary, for 
a Spanish barber disdains to emplov a brush ; " I 
say that Peregil the Gallego has robbed and mur- 
dered a Moorish Mussulman, and buried him this 
blessed night, — nialdita sea la noc/ie, — accursed be 
the night for the same ! " 

" But how do you know all this .' " demanded the 
Alcalde. 

" Be patient, Senor, and you shall hear all about 
it," replied Pedrillo, taking him by the nose and 
sliding a razor over his cheek. He then recounted 
all that he had seen, going through both operations 
at the same time, shaving his beard, washing his 
chin, and wiping him dry with a dirty napkin, while 
he was robbing, murdering, and burying the Moslem. 

Now it so happened that this Alcalde was one of 
the most overbearing, and at the same time most 
griping and corrupt curmudgeons in all Granada. It 
could not be denied, however, that he set a high val- 
ue upon justice, for he sold it at its weight in gold. 
He presumed the case in point to be one of murder 
and robbery ; doubtless there must be rich spoil ; 
how was it to be secured into the legitimate hands 
of the law.' for as to merely entrapping the delin- 
quent—that would be feeding the gallows : but en- 
trapping the booty — that would be enriching the 
judge ; and such, according to his creed, was the 
great end of justice. So thinking, he summoned to 
his presence his trustiest alguazil ; a gaunt, hungry- 
looking varlet, clad, according to the custom of his 
order, in the ancient Spanish garb — a broad black 
beaver, turned up at the sides ; a quaint ruff, a small 
black cloak dangling from his shoulders ; rusty black 
under-clothes that set off his spare wiry form ; while 
in his hand he bore a slender white wand, the dread- 
ed insignia of his office. Such was the legal blood- 
hound of the ancient Spanish breed, that he put upon 
the traces of the unlucky water-carrier ; and such was 
his speed and certainty that he was upon the haunches 
of poor Peregil before he had returned to his dwell- 
ing, and brought both him and his donkey before the 
dispenser of justice. 



The Alcalde bent upon him one of his most ter- 
rific frowns. " Hark ye, culprit," roared he in a 
voice that made the knees of the little Gallego smite 
together, — " Hark ye, culprit ! there is no need of 
denying thy guilt : eveiy thing is known to me. A 
gallows is the proper rew-ard for the crime thou hast 
committed, but I am merciful, and readily listen to 
reason. The man that has been murdered in thy 
house was a Moor, an infidel, the enemy of our faith. 
It was doubtless in a fit of religious zeal that thou 
hast slain him. I will be indulgent, therefore ; ren- 
der up the property of which thou hast robbed him, 
and we will hush the matter up." 

The poor water-carrier called upon all the saints 
to witness his innocence ; alas ! not one of them ap- 
peared, and if there had, the Alcalde would have dis- 
believed the whole kalendar. The water-carrier 
related the wdiole story of the dying Moor with the 
straightforward simplicity of truth, but it was all in 
vain : " Wilt thou persist in saying," demanded the 
judge, " that this Moslem had neither gold nor jew- 
els, which were the object of thy cupidity ? " 

"As I hope to be saved, your worship," replied 
the water-carrier, " he had nothing but a small box 
of sandal wood, which he bequeathed to me in re- 
ward of my services." 

"A box of sandal wood ! a box of sandal wood ! " 
exclaimed the Alcalde, his eyes sparkling at the idea 
of precious jewels, " and where is this box ? where 
have you concealed it .' " 

" An'it please your grace," replied the water- 
carrier, " it is in one of the panniers of my mule, and 
heartily at the service of your worship." 

He had hardly spoken the words when the keen 
alguazil darted off and reappeared in an instant with 
the mysterious box of sandal wood. The Alcalde 
opened it with an eager and trembling hand ; all 
pressed forward to gaze upon the treasures it was 
expected to contain ; when, to their disappointment, 
nothing appeared within but a parchment scroll, 
covered with Arabic characters, and an end of a 
waxen taper ! 

When there is nothing to be gained by the con- 
viction of a prisoner, justice, even in Spain, is apt to 
be impartial. The Alcalde, having recovered from 
his disappointment and found there was really no 
booty in the case, now listened dispassionately to tlie 
explanation of the water-carrier, which was corrob- 
orated by the testimony of his wife. Being con- 
vinced, therefore, of his innocence, he discharged him 
from arrest ; nay more, he permitted him to carry 
off the Moor's legacy, the box of sandal wood and 
Its contents, as the well-merited reward of his hu- 
manity ; but he retained his donkey in payment of 
cost and charges. 

Behold the unfortunate little Gallego reduced 
once more to the necessity of being his own water- 
carrier, and trudging up to the well of the Alhambra 
with a great earthen jar upon his shoulder. As he 
toiled up the hill in the heat of a summer noon his 
usual good-humour forsook him. " Dog of an Al- 
calde ! " would he cry, " to rob a poor man of the 
means of his subsistence — of the best friend he had 
in the world ! " And then at the remembrance of 
the beloved companion of his labours all the kind- 
ness of his nature would break forth. " Ah doni^ey 
of my heart ! " would he exclaim, resting his burden 
on a stone, and wiping the sweat from his brow, 
" Ah donkey of my heart ! I warrant me thou think- 
est of thy old master ! I warrant me thou missest the 
water jars : — poor beast ! " 

To add to his afflictions his wife received him, on 
his return home, with whimperings and repinings ; 
she had clearly the vantage-ground of him, having 
warned him not to commit the egregious act of hos- 



THE AI.HAMBRA. 



139 



pitality that had brought on him all these misfor- 
tunes, and Hl<e a knowing woman, she took every 
occasion to throw her superior sagacity in his teeth. 
It" ever her children lacked food, or needed a new 
garment, she would answer with a sneer, " Go to 
your father; he's heir to king Chico of the Alhatn- 
bra. Ask him to help you out of the Moor's strong 
box." 

Was ever poor mortal more soundly punished, for 
having- done a good action ! The unlucky Peregil 
was grieved in flesh and spirit, but still he bore 
meekly with the raihngs of his spouse. At length 
one evening, when, after a hot day's toil, she taunted 
him in the usual manner, he lost all patience. He 
did not venture to retort upon her, but his eye rested 
U|)on the box of sandal ^vood, which lay on a shelf 
with lid half open, as if laughing in mockery of his 
vexation. Seizing it up he dashed it with indigna- 
tion on the floor. " Unlucky was the day that I ever 
set eyes on thee," he cried, " or sheltered thy master 
beneath my roof." 

As the box struck the floor the lid flew wide open, 
and the parchment scroll rolled forth. Peregil sat 
regarding the scroll for some time in moody silence. 
At length rallying his ideas, " Who knows," thought 
he, " but this writing may be of some importance, as 
the Moor seems to have guarded it with such care." 
Picking it up, therefore, he put it in his bosom, and 
the next morning, as he was crying water through 
the streets, he stopped at the shop of a Moor, a na- 
tive of Tangiers, who sold trinkets and perfumery in 
the Zacatin, and asked him to explain the contents. 

The Moor read the scroll attentively, then stroked 
his beard and smiled. " This manuscript," said he, 
" is a form of incantation for the recover)' of hidden 
treasure, that is under the power of enchantment. 
It is said to have such virtue that the strongest bolts 
and bars, nay the adamantine rock itself will yield 
before it." 

" Bah ! " cried the little Gallego, "what is all that 
to me. I am no enchanter, and know nothing of 
buried treasure." So saying he shouldered his water- 
jar, left the scroll in the hands of the Moor, and 
trudged forward on his daily rounds. 

That evening, however, as he rested himself about 
twilight at the well of the Alhambra, he found a 
number of gossips assembled at the place, and their 
conversation, as is not unusual at that shadowy 
hour, turned upon old tales and traditions of a su- 
pernatural nature. Being all poor as rats, they 
dwelt with peculiar fondness upon the popular theme 
of enchanted riches left by the Moors in various 
parts of the Alhambra. Above all, they concurred 
in the belief that there were great treasures buried 
deep in the earth under the tower of the Seven 
Floors. • 

These stories made an unusual impression on the 
mind of honest Peregil, and they sank deeper and 
deeper into his thoughts as he returned alone down 
the darkling avenues. " If, after all, there should be 
treasure hid beneath that tower — and if the scroll 1 
left with the Moor should enable me to get at it ! " 
In the sudden ecstasy of the thought he had well 
nigh let fall his water jar. 

That night he tumbled and tossed, and could 
scarcely get a wink of sleep for the thoughts that 
were bewildering his brain. In the morning, bright 
and early, he repaired to the shop of the Moor, and 
told hmi all that was passing in his mind. " You 
can read Arabic," said he, "suppose we go together 
to the tower and try the effect of the charm ; if it 
fails we are no worse off than before, but if it suc- 
ceeds we will share equally all the treasure we may 
discover." 

"Hold," replied the Moslem, "this writing is not 



sufficient of itself; it must be read at midnight, by 
the light of a taper singularly compounded and pre- 
pared, the ingredients of which are not within my 
reach. Without such taper the scroll is of no avail." 

" Say no more ! " cried the little Gallego. " I 
have such a taper at hand and will bring it here in a 
moment." So saying he hastened home, and soon 
returned with the end of a yellow wax taper that he 
had found in the box of sandal wood. 

The Moor felt it, and smelt to it. " Here are rare 
and costly perlumes," said he, " combined with this 
yellow wax This is the kind of taper specified in the 
scroll. While this burns, the strongest walls and 
most secret caverns will remain open ; woe to him, 
however, who lingers within until it be extinguished. 
He will remain enchanted with the treasure." 

It was now agreed between them to try the charm 
that very night. At a late hour, therefore, when 
nothing was stirring but bats and owls, they ascend- 
ed the woody hill of the Alhambra, and approached 
that awful tower, shrouded by trees and rendered 
formidable by so many traditionary tales. 

By the light of a lantern, they groped their way 
through bushes, and over fallen stones, to the door 
of a vault beneath the tower. With fear and trem- 
bling they descended a flight of steps cut into the 
rock. It led to an empty chamber, damp and drear, 
from which another flight of steps led to a deeper 
vault. In this way they descended four several 
flights, leading into as many vaults, one below the 
other, but the floor of the fourth was solid, and 
though, according to tradition, there remained three 
vaults still below, it was said to be impossible to 
penetrate further, the residue being shut up by 
strong enchantment. The air of this vault was 
damp and chilly, and had an earthy smell, and the 
light scarce cast forth any rays. They paused here 
for a time in breathless suspense, until they faintly 
heard the clock of the watch tower strike midnight ; 
upon this they lit the waxen taper, which diffused 
an odour of myrrh, and frankincense, and storax. 

The Moor began to read in a hurried voice. He 
had scarce finished, when there was a noise as of 
subterraneous thunder. The earth shook, and the 
floor yawning open disclosed a flight of steps. 
Trembling with awe they descended, and by the 
light of the lantern found themselves in another 
vault, covered with Arabic inscriptions. In the 
centre stood a great chest, secured with seven bands 
of steel, at each end of which sat an enchanted 
Moor in armour, but motionless as a statue, being 
controlled by the power of the incantation. Before 
the chest were several jars filled with gold and silver 
and precious stones. 'In the largest of these they 
thrust their arms up to the elbow, and at every dip 
hauled forth hands-full of broad yellow pieces of 
Moorish gold, or bracelets and ornaments of the 
same precious metal, while occasionally a necklace 
of oriental pearl would stick to their fingers. Still 
they trembled and breathed short while cramming 
their pockets with the spoils ; and cast many a fear- 
ful glance at the two enchanted Moors, who sat 
grim and motionless, glaring upon them with un- 
winking eyes. At length, struck with a sudden panic 
at some fancied noise, they both rushed up the stair- 
case, tumbled over one another into the upper apart- 
ment, overturned and e.xtiiiguished the waxen taper, 
and the pavement again closed with a thundering 
sound. 

Filled with dismay, they did not pause until they 
had groped their way out of the tower, and beheld 
the stars shining through the trees. Then seating 
themselves upon the grass, they divided the spoil, 
determining to content themselves for the present 
with this mere skimming of the jars, but to return 



140 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



on some future night and drain them to the bottom. 
To make sure of each other's good faith, also, they 
divided the talismans between them, one retaining 
the scroll and the other the taper ; this done, they 
set off with light hearts and well lined pockets for 
Granada. 

As they wended their way down the hill, the 
shrewd Moor whispered a word of counsel in the 
ear of the simple little water-carrier. 

" Friend Peregil," said he, " all this affair must be 
kept a profound secret until we have secured the 
treasure and conveyed it out of harm's way. If a 
whisper of it gets to the ear of the Alcalde we are 
undone ! " 

" Certainly ! " replied the Gallego ; " nothing can 
be more true." 

" Friend Peregil," said the Moor, " you are a dis- 
creet man, and I make no doubt can keep a secret ; 
but — you have a wife — " 

" She shall not know a word of it ! " replied the 
little water-carrier sturdily. 

" Enough," said the Moor, " I depend upon thy 
discretion and thy promise." 

Never was promise more positive and sincere ; 
but alas ! what man can keep a secret from his wife .' 
Certainly not such a one as Peregil the water-car- 
rier, who was one of the most loving and tractable 
of husbands. On his return home he found his wife 
moping in a corner. 

" Mighty well ! " cried she, as he entered ; " you've 
come at last : after rambling about until this hour of 
the night. I wonder you have not brought home 
another Moor as a housemate." Then bursting into 
tears she began to wring her hands and smite her 
breast. " Unhappy woman that I am ! " exclaimed 
she, " what will become of me ! My house stripped 
and plundered by lawj-ers and alguazils ; my hus- 
band a do-no-good that no longer brings home bread 
for his family, but goes rambling about, day and 
night, with infidel Moors. Oh, my children ! my 
children ! what will become of us ; we shall all have 
to beg in the streets ! " 

Honest Peregil was so moved by the distress of 
his spouse, that he could not help whimpering also. 
His heart was as full as his pocket, and not to be 
restrained. Thrusting his hand into the latter he 
hauled forth three or four broad gold pieces and 
slipped them into her bosom. The poor woman 
stared with astonishment, and could not understand 
the meaning of this golden shower. Before she 
could recover her surprise, the little Gallego drew 
forth a chain of gold and dangled it before her, 
capering with exultation, his mouth distended from 
ear to ear. 

" Holy Virgin protect us!" exclaimed the wife. 
" What hast thou been doing, Peregil .'' Surely thou 
hast not been committing murder and robbery! '' 

The idea scarce entered the brain of the poor 
woman than it became a certainty with her. She 
saw a prison and a gallows in the distance, and 
a little bandy-legged Gallego dangling pendant 
from it ; and, overcome by the horrors conjured up 
by her imagination, fell into violent hysterics. 

What could the poor man do ? He had no other 
means of pacifying his wife and dispelling the 
phantoms of her fancy, than by relating the whole 
story of his good fortune. This, however, he did 
not do until he had exacted from her the most 
solemn promise to keep it a profound secret from 
every living being. 

To describe her joy would be impossible. She 
flung her arms round the neck of her husband, and 
almost strangled him with her caresses. " Now, 
wife!" exclaimed the little man with honest exulta- 
tion, " what say you now to the Moor's legacy .'' 



Henceforth never abuse me for helping a fellow 
creature in distress." 

The honest Gallego retired to Ids sheepskin mat, 
and slept as soundly as if on a bed of down. Not 
so his wife. — She emptied the whole contents of his 
pockets upon the mat, and sat all night counting 
gold pieces of Arabic coin, trying on necklaces and 
ear-rings, and fancying the figure she should one day 
make when permitted to enjoy her riches. 

On the following morning the honest Gallego took 
a broad golden coin, and repaired with it to a jewel- 
ler's shop in the Zacatin to offer it for sale ; pretend- 
ing to have found it among the ruins of the Alham- 
bra. The jeweller saw that it had an Arabic 
inscription and was of the purest gold ; he offered, 
however, but a third of its value, with which the 
water-carrier was perfectly content. Peregil now 
bought new clothes for his little flock, and all kinds 
of toys, together with ample provisions for a hearty 
meal, and returning to his dwelling set all his 
children dancing around him, while he capered in 
the midst, the happiest of fathers. 

The wife of the water-carrier kept her promise 
of secrecy with surprising strictness. For a whole 
day and a half she went about with a look of mys- 
tery and a heart swelling almost to bursting, yet she 
held her peace, though surrounded by her gossips. 
It is true she could not help giving herself a few 
airs, apologized for her ragged dress, and talked of 
ordering a new basquina all trimmed with gold lace 
and bugles, and a new lace mantilla. She threw 
out hints of her husband's intention of leaving off 
his trade of water-carrying, as it did not altogether 
agree with his health. In fact she thought they 
should all retire to the country for the summer, that 
the children might have the lienefit of the mountain 
air, for there was no living in the city in this sultry 
season. 

The neighbours stared at each other, and thought 
the poor woman had lost her wits, and her airs and 
graces and elegant pretensions were the theme of 
universal scoffing and merriment among her friends, 
the moment her back was turned. 

If she restrained herself abroad, however, she 
indemnified herself at home, and, putting a string 
of rich oriental pearls round her neck, Moorish 
bracelets on her arms ; an aigrette of diamonds on 
her head, sailed backwards and forwards in her 
slattern rags about the room, now and then stopping 
to admire herself in a piece of broken mirror. Nay, 
in the impulse of her simple vanit)', she could not 
resist on one occasion showing herself at the 
window, to enjoy the effect of her finery on the 
passers by. 

As the fates would have it, Pedrillo Pedrugo, the 
meddlesome barber, was at this moment sitting idly 
in his shop on the opposite side of the street, when 
his ever watchful eye caught the sparkle of a diamond. 
In an instant he was at his loop-hole, reconnoitring 
the slattern spouse of the water-carrier, decorated 
with the splendour of an eastern bride. No sooner 
had he taken an accurate inventory of her ornaments 
than he ])osted off with all speed to the Alcalde. In 
a little while the hungry alguazil was again on the 
scent, and before the day was over, the unfortunate 
Peregil was again dragged into the presence of the 
judge. 

"How is this, villain!" cried the Alcalde in a 
furious voice. " You told me that the infidel who 
died in your house left nothing behind but an empty 
coffer, and now I hear of your wife flaunting in her 
rags decked out with pearls and diamonds. Wretch 
that thou art ! prepare to render up the spoils of thy 
miserable victim, and to swing on the gallows that 
is already tired of waiting for thee." 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



141 



The terrified water-carrier fell on his knees, and 
made a lull relation of the marvellous manner in 
which he had gained his wealth. The Alcalde, the 
alguazil, and the inquisitive barber listened with 
greedy ears to this Arabian tale of enchanted 
treasure. The alguazil was despatched to bring 
the Moor who had assisted in the incantation. 
The Moslem entered half frightened out of his wits 
at finding himself in the hands of the harpies of the 
law. When he beheld the water-carrier standing 
with sheepish look and downcast countenance, he 
comprehended the whole matter. " Miserable ani- 
mal," said he, as he passed near him, " did I not 
warn thee against babbling to thy wife? " 

The story of the Moor coincided exactly with that 
of his colleague ; but the Alcalde affected to be slow 
of belief, and threw out menaces of imprisonment 
and rigorous investigation. 

" Softly, good Sefior Alcalde," said the Mussul- 
man, who by this time had recovered his usual 
shrewdness and self-possession. " Let us not mar 
fortune's favours in the scramble for them. Nobody 
knows any thing of this matter but ourselves ; let us 
keep the secret. There is wealth enough in the cave 
to enrich us all. Promise a fair division, and all 
shall be produced ; refuse, and the cave shall remain 
for ever closed.'' 

The Alcalde consulted apart with the alguazil. 
The latter was an old fox in his profession. " Prom- 
ise any thing," said he, " until you get possession of 
the treasure. You may then seize upon the whole, 
and if he and his accomplice dare to murmur, 
threaten them with the faggot and the stake as in- 
fidels and sorcerers." 

The Alcalde relished the advice. Smoothing his 
brow and turning to the Moor, — " This is a strange 
story," said he, "and may be true, but I must have 
oculai proof of it. This very night you must repeat 
the incantation in my presence. If there be really 
such treasure, we will share it amicably between us, 
and say nothing further of the matter ; if ye have 
deceived me, expect no mercy at my hands. In the 
mean time you must remain in custody." 

The Moor and the water-carrier cheerfully agreed 
to these conditions, satisfied that the event would 
prove the truth of their words. 

Towards midnight the Alcalde sallied forth se- 
cretly, attended by the alguazil and the meddlesome 
barber, all strongly armed. They conducted the 
Moor and the water-carrier as prisoners, and were 
provided with the stout donkey of the latter, to bear 
off the expected treasure. They arrived at the tower 
without being observed, and tving the donkey to a 
fig-tree, descended into the fourth vault of the 
tower. 

The scroll was produced, the yellow waxen taper 
lighted, and the Moor read the form of incantation. 
The earth trembled as before, and the pavement 
opened with a thundering sound, disclosing the 
narrow flight of steps. The Alcalde, the alguazil, 
and the barber were struck aghast, and could not 
summon courage to descend. The Moor and the 
water-carrier entered the lower vault and found the 
two Moors seated as before, silent and motionless. 
They removed two of the great jars, filled with 
golden coin and precious stones. The water-carrier 
bore them up one by one upon his shoulders, but 
though a strong-backed little man, and accustomed 
to carry burdens, he staggered beneath their weight, 
ana found, when slung on each side of his donkey, 
they were as much as the animal could bear. 

" Let us be content for the present," said the 
Moor ; " here is as much treasure as we can carry 
off without being perceived, and enough to make us 
all wealthy to our heart's desire." 



" Is there more treasure remaining behind ? " de- 
manded the Alcalde. 

"The greatest prize of all," said the Moor; "a 
huge coffer, bound with bands of steel, and filled 
with pearls and precious stones." 

" Let us have up the coffer by all means," cried the 
grasping Alcalde. 

" I will descend for no more," said the Moor, dog- 
gedly. " Enough is enough for a reasonable man ; 
more is superfluous." 

"And I," said the water-carrier, "will bring up 
no further burthen to break the back of my poor 
donkey." 

Finding commands, threats, and entreaties equally 
vain, the Alcalde turned to his two adherents. " Aid 
me," said he, " to bring up the coffer, and its con- 
tents shall be divided between us." So saying he 
descended the steps, followed, with trembling re- 
luctance, by the alguazil and the barber. 

No sooner did the Moor behold them fairly earthed 
than he extinguished the yellow taper: the pave- 
ment closed with its usual crash, and the three 
worthies remained buried in its womb. 

He then hastened up the different flights of steps, 
nor stopped until in the open air. The little water- 
carrier followed him as fast as his short legs would 
permit. 

"What hast thou done ?" cried Peregil, as soon 
as he could recover breath. " The Alcalde and the 
other two are shut up in the vault ! " 

" It is the will of Allah ! " said the Moor, de- 
voutly. 

"And will you not release them ? " demanded the 
Gal lego. 

" Allah forbid ! " replied the Moor, smoothing his 
beard. " It is written in the book of fate that they 
shall remain enchanted until some future adventurer 
shall come to break the charm. The will of God be 
done ! " So saying he hurled the end of the wa.xen 
taper far among the gloomy thickets of the glen. 

There was now no remedy ; so the Moor and the 
water-carrier proceeded with the richly-laden donkey 
towards the city : nor could honest Peregil refrain 
from huETSjing and kissing his long-eared fellow- 
labourer, thus restored to him from the clutches ot 
the law ; and, in fact, it is doubtful which gave the 
simple-hearted little man most joy at the moment, 
the gaining of the treasure or the recoveiy of the 
donkey. 

The two partners in good luck divided their spoil 
amicably and fairly, excepting that the Moor, who 
had a little taste for trinketry, made out to get into 
his heap the most of the pearls and precious stones, 
and other baubles, but then he always gave the 
water-carrier in lieu magnificent jewels of massy 
gold four times the size, with which the latter was 
heartily content. They took care not to linger within 
reach of accidents, but made off to enjoy their wealth 
undisturbed in other countries. The Moor returned 
into Africa, to his native city of Tetuan, and the 
Gallego, with his wife, his children and his donkey, 
made the best of his way to Portugal. Here, under 
the admonition and tuition of his wife, he became a 
personage of some consequence, for she made the 
little man array his long body and short legs in 
doublet and hose, with a feather in his hat and a 
sword by his side ; and, laying aside the familiar 
appellation of Peregil, assume the more sonorous 
title of Don Pedro Gil. His progeny grew up a 
thriving and merry-hearted, though short and bandy- 
legged generation ; while the Senora Gil, be-fringed, 
be-laced, and be-tasselled from her head to her heels, 
with glittering rings on every finger, became a model 
of slattern fashion and finery. 

As to the Alcalde, and his adjuncts, they re- 



142 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



niained shut up under the great tower of the 
Seven Floors, and there they remain spell-bound 
at the present day. Whenever there shall be a lack 
in Spain of pimping barbers, sharking alguazils, and 
corrupt Alcaldes, they may be sought after ; but 
if they have to wait until such time for their deliver- 
ance, there is danger of their enchantment enduring 
until doomsday. 



VISITORS TO THE ALHAMBRA, 



It is now nearly three months since I took up 
my abode in the Alhambra, during which time 
the progress of the season has wrought many 
changes. When I first arrived every thing was 
in the freshness of May ; the foliage of the trees 
was still tender and transparent ; the pomegran- 
ate had not yet shed its brilliant crimson blos- 
soms ; the orchards of the Xenil and the Darro 
were in full bloom ; the rocks were hung with wild 
flowers, and Granada seemed completely surrounded 
by a wilderness of roses, among which innumerable 
nightingales sang, not merely in the night, but all 
day long. 

The advance of summer has withered the rose 
and silenced the nightingale, and the distant coun- 
try begins to look parched and sunburnt ; though 
a perennial verdure reigns immediately round the 
city, and in the deep narrow valleys at the foot of 
the snow-capped mountains. 

The Alhambra possesses retreats graduated to 
the heat of the weather, among which the most 
peculiar is the almost subterranean apartment of 
the baths. This still retains its ancient oriental 
character, though stamped with the touching traces 
of decline. At the entrance, opening into a small 
court formerly adorned with flowers, is a hall, 
moderate in size, but light and graceful in archi- 
tecture. It is overlooked by a small gallery sup- 
ported by marble pillars and moresco arches. An 
alabaster fountain in the centre of the pavement still 
throws up a jet of water to cool the place. On each 
side are deep alcoves with raised platforms, where 
the bathers after their ablutions reclined on luxuri- 
ous cushions, soothed to voluptuous repose by the 
fragrance of the perfumed air and the notes of soft 
music from the galler)'. Beyond this hall are the in- 
terior chambers, still more private and retired, 
where no light is admitted but through small aper- 
tures in the vaulted ceilings. Here was the sanc- 
tum sanctorum of female privacy, where the beauties 
of the harem indulged in the luxury of the baths. 
A soft mysterious light reigns through the place, 
the broken baths are still there, and traces of ancient 
elegance. 

The prevailing silence and obscurity have made 
this a faroifrite resort of bats, who nestle during the 
day in the dark nooks and corners, and, on being 
disturbed, flit mysteriously about the twilight cham- 
bers, heightening in an indescribable degree their 
air of desertion and decay. 

In this cool and elegant though dilapidated re- 
treat, which has the freshness and seclusion of a 
, grotto, I have of late passed the sultry hours of the 
day ; emerging toward sunset, and bathing, or 
rather swimming, at night in the great reservoir of 
the main court. In this way I have been enabled in 
a measure to counteract the relaxing and enervating 
influence of the climate. 

My dream of absolute sovereignty, however, is at 
an end : 1 was roused from it lately by the report of 



fire-arms, which reverberated among the towers as if 
the castle had been taken by surprise. On sallying 
forth I found an old cavalier with a number of 
domestics in possession of the hall of ambassadors. 
He was an ancient Count, who had come up from 
his palace.in Granada to pass a short time in the Al- 
hambra for the benefit ol purer air, and who, being 
a veteran and inveterate sportsman, was endeavour- 
ing to get an appetite for his breakfast by shooting 
at swallows from the balconies. It was a harmless 
amusement, for though, by the alertness of his 
attendants in loading his pieces, he was enabled to 
keep up a brisk fire, I could not accuse him of the 
death of a single swallow. Nay, the birds them- 
selves seemed to enjoy the sport, and to deride his 
want of skill, skimming in circles close to the 
balconies, and twittering as they darted by. 

The arrival of this old gentleman has in some 
measure changed the aspect of affairs, but has like- 
wise afforded matter for agreeable speculation. We 
have tacitly shared the empire between us, like 
the last kings of Granada, excepting that we main- 
tain a most amicable alliance. He reigns absolute 
over the Court of the Lions and its adjacent halls, 
while I maintain peaceful possession of the region of 
the baths and the little garden of Lindaraxa. We 
take our meals together under the arcades of the 
court, where the fountains cool the air, and bub- 
bling rills run along the channels of the marble 
pavement. 

In the evening, a domestic circle gathers about 
the worthy old cavalier. The countess comes up 
from the city, with a favourite daughter about 
sixteen years of age. Then there are the official de- 
pendents of the Count, his chaplain, his lawyer, his 
secretary, his steward, and other officers and agents 
of his extensive possessions. Thus he holds a kind 
of domestic court, where every person seeks to con- 
tribute to his amusement, without sacrificing his 
own pleasure or self-respect. In fact, whatever may 
be said of Spanish pride, it certainly does not enter 
into social or domestic life. Among no people are 
the relations between kindred more cordial, or be- 
tween superior and dependent more frank and ge- 
nial ; in these respects there still remains, in the 
provincial life of Spain, much of the vaunted simpli- 
city of the olden times. 

The most interesting member of this family group, 
however, is the daughter of the Count, the charm- 
ing though almost infantile little Carmen. Her 
form has not yet attained its maturity, but has al- 
ready the exquisite symmetry and pliant grace so 
prevalent in this country. Her blue eyes, fair com- 
plexion, and light hair are unusual in Andalusia, and 
give a mildness and gentleness to her demeanour, in 
contrast to the usual fire of Spanish beauty, but in 
perfect unison with the guileless and confiding inno- 
cence of her manners. She has, however, all the 
innate aptness and versatility of her fascinating 
country-women, and sings, dances, and plays the 
guitar and other instruments to admiration. A few 
days after taking up his residence in the Alhambra, 
the Count gave a domestic fete on his saint's day, 
assembling round him the members of his family 
and household, while several old servants came from 
his distant possessions to pay their reverence to him, 
and partake of the good cheer. 

Tills patriarchal spirit which characterized the 
Spanish nobility in the d.ays of their opulence has 
declined with their fortunes; but some who, like the 
Count, still retain their ancient family possessiotT^, 
keep up a little of the ancient system, and have thru- 
estates overrun and almost eaten up by gfenerations 
of idle retainers. According to this magnificent old 
Spanish system, in which the national pride and 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



143 



generosity bore equal parts, a superannuated serv- 
ant was never turned off, but became a charge for 
tlie rest of his da)s; nay, his children, and his chil- 
dren's children, and often their relations, to the rig-ht 
and left, became gradually entailed upon the family. 
Hence the huge palaces of the Spanish nobility, 
which have such an air of empty ostentation from 
the greatness of their size compared with the medi- 
ocrity and scantiness of their furniture, were abso- 
lutely required in the golden days of Spain by the 
patriarchal habits of their possessors. They were 
litlle better than vast barracks for the hereditary 
generations of hangers-on that battened at the ex- 
pense of a Spanish noble. The worthy Count, who 
has estates in various parts of the kingdom, assures 
me that some of them barely feed the hordes of de- 
pendents nestled upon them ; who consider them- 
selves entitled to be maintained upon the place, rent 
free, because their forefathers have been so for gen- 
erations. 

The domestic fete of the Count broke in upon the 
usual still life of the Alhambra. Music and laugh- 
ter resounded through its late silent halls; there 
were groups of the guests amusing themselves about 
the galleries and gardens, and officious servants from 
town hurrying through the courts, hearing viands to 
Lhe ancient kitchen, which was again alive with the 
tread of cooks and scullions, and blazed with un- 
vvonted tires. 

The feast, for a Spanish set dinner is literally a 
"east, was laid in the beautiful moresco hall called 
'la sala de las dos Hermanas," (the saloon of the 
.wo sisters ; ) the table groaned with abundance, 
ind a joyous conviviality prevailed round the 
joard ; for though the Spaniards are generally an 
ibstemious people, they are complete revellers at a 
banquet. 

For my own part, there was something peculiarly 
nteresting in thus sitting at a feast, in the royal halls 
3f the Alhambra, given by the representative of one 
3f its most renowned conquerors ; for the venerable 
Count, though unwarlike himself, is the lineal de- 
scendant and representative of the " Great Captain," 
the illustrious Gonsalvo of Cordova, whose sword 
he guards in the archives of his palace at Granada. 

The banquet ended, the company adjourned to the 
hall of ambassadors. Here every one contributed 
to the general amusement by exerting some peculiar 
talent ; singing, improvising, telling wonderful tales, 
or dancing to that all-pervading talisman of Spanish 
pleasure, the guitar. 

The life and charm of the whole assemblage, how- 
ever, was the gifted little Carmen. She took her 
part in two or three scenes from Spanish comedies, 
exhibiting a charming dramatic talent ; she gave 
imitations of the popular Italian singers, with singu- 
lar and whimsical felicity, and a rare quality of 
voice ; she imitated the dialects, dances, and bal- 
lads of the gipsies and the neighbouring peasantry, 
but did every thing with a facility, a neatness, a 
grace, and an all-pervading prettiness, that were 
perfectly fascinating. The great charm of her per- 
formances, however, was their being free from all 
pretension or ambition of display. She seemed un- 
conscious of the extent of her own talents, and in 
fact is accustomed only to exert them casually, like a 
child, for the amusement of the domestic circle. 
Her observation and tact must be remarkably quick, 
for her life is passed in the bosom of her family, and 
she can only have had casual and transient glances 
at the various characters and traits, brought out im- 
promptu in moments of domestic hilarity, like the 
one in question. It is pleasing to see the fondness 
and admiration with which every one of the house- 
hold regards her : she is never spoken of, even by 



the domestics, by any other appellation than that of 
La Nifla, " the child," an appellation which thus 
applied has something peculiarly kind and endearing 
in the Spanish language. 

Never shall I think of the Alhambra without re- 
membering the lovely little Carmen sporting in happy 
and innocent girlhood in its marble halls ; dancing to 
the sound of the Moorish castanets, or mingling the 
silver warbling of her voice with the music of the 
fountains. 

On this festive occasion several curious and amus- 
ing legends and traditions were told ; many of which 
have escaped my memory ; but of those that most 
struck me, I will endeavour to shape forth some en- 
tertainment for the reader. 



LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL; 



THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 



There was once a Moorish King of Granada who 
had but one son, whom he named Ahmed, to which 
his courtiers added the surname of al Kamel, or the 
perlect, from the indubitable signs of super-excel- 
lence which they perceived in him in his very infancy. 
The astrologers countenanced them in their fore- 
sight, predicting every thing in his favour that could 
make a perfect prince and a prosperous sovereign. 
One cloud only rested upon his destiny, and even 
that was of a roseate hue. He would be of an 
amorous temperament, and run great perils from the 
tender passion. If, however, he could be kept from 
the allurements of love until of mature age, these 
dangers would be averted, and his life thereafter be 
one uninterrupted course of felicity. 

To prevent all danger of the kind, the king wisely 
determined to rear the prince in a seclusion, where 
he should never see a female face nor hear even the 
name of love. For this purpose he built a beautiful 
palace on the brow of a hill above the Alhambra, in 
the midst of delightful gardens, but surrounded by 
lofty walls ; being, in tact, the same palace known at 
the present day by the name of the Generaliffe. In 
this palace the youthful prince was shut up and en- 
trusted to the guardianship and instruction of Ebon 
Bonabbon, one of the wisest and dryest of Arabian 
sages, who had passed the greatest part of his life in 
Egypt, studying hieroglyphics and making researches 
among the tombs and pyramids, and who saw more 
charms in an Egyptian mummy than in the most 
tempting of living beauties. The sage was ordered 
to instruct the prince in all kinds of knowledge but 
one — he is to be kept utterly ignorant of love — " use 
every precaution for the purpose you may think 
proper," said the king, " but remember, oh Ebon 
Bonabbon, if my son learns aught of that forbidden 
knowledge, while under your care, your head shall 
answer for it." A withered smile came over the dry 
visage of the wise Bonabbon at the menace. " Let 
your majesty's heart be as easy about your son as 
mine is about my head. Am I a man likely to give 
lessons in the idle passion ? " 

Under the vigilant care of the philosopher, the 
prince grew up in the seclusion of the palace and its 
gardens. He had black slaves to attend upon him 
— hideous mutes, who knew nothing of love, or if 
they did, had not words to communicate it. His 
mental endowments were the peculiar care of Ebon 
Bonabbon, who sought to initiate him into the ab- 



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WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



struse lore of Egypt, but in this the prince made little 
progress, and it was soon evident that he had no 
turn for philosophy. 

He was, however, amazingly ductile for a youthful 
pnnce ; ready to follow any advice and always guided 
by the last councillor. He suppressed his yawns, 
and listened patiently to the long and learned dis- 
courses of Ebon Bonabbon, from which he imbibed 
a smattering of various kinds of knowledge, and thus 
happily attained his twentieth year, a miracle of 
princely wisdom, but totally ignorant of love. 

About this time, however, a change came over the 
conduct of the prince. He completely abandoned 
his studies and took to strolling about the gardens 
and musing by the side of the fountains. He had 
been taught a little music among his various accom- 
plishments ; it now engrossed a great part of his 
time, and a turn for poetry became apparent. The sage 
Ebon Bonabbon look the alarm, and endeavoured 
to work these idle humours out of him by a severe 
course of algebra ; but the prince turned from it with 
distaste. "I cannot endure algebra," said he; "it 
is an abomination to me. I want something that 
speaks more to the heart." 

The sage Ebon Bonabbon shook his dry head at 
the words. " Here's an end to philosophy," thought 
he. " The prince has discovered he has a heart ! " 
He now kept anxious watch upon his pupil, and saw 
that the latent tenderness of his nature was in activ- 
ity, and only wanted an object. He wandered about 
the gardens of the Generaliffe in an intoxication of 
feelings of which he knew not the cause. Sometimes 
he would sit plunged in a delicious reverie ; then he 
would seize his lute and draw from it the most 
touching notes, and then throw it aside, and break 
forth into sighs and ejaculations. 

By degrees this loving disposition began to extend 
to inanimate objects; he had his favourite flowers 
which he cherished with tender assiduity ; then he 
became attached to various trees, and there was one 
in particular, of a graceful form and drooping foliage, 
on which he lavished his amorous devotion, carving 
his name on its bark, hanging garlands on its 
branches, and singing couplets in its praise, to the 
accompaniment of his lute. 

The sage Ebon Bonabbon was alarmed at this ex- 
cited state of his pupil. He saw him on the very 
brink of forbidden knowledge — the least hint might 
reveal to him the fatal secret. Trembling for the 
safety of the prince, and the security of his own head, 
he hastened to draw him from the seductions of the 
garden, and shut him up in the highest tower of the 
Generaliffe. It contained beautiful apartments, and 
commanded an almost boundless prospect, but was 
elevated far above that atmosphere of sweets and 
those witching bowers so dangerous to the feelings 
of the too susceptible Ahmed. 

What was to be done, however, to reconcile him 
to this restraint and to beguile the tedious hours ? 
He had exhausted almost all kinds of agreeable 
knowledge ; and algebra was not to be mentioned. 
Fortunately Ebon Bonabbon had been instructed, 
when in Egypt, in the language of birds, by a Jewish 
Rabbin, who had received it in lineal transmission 
from Solomon the wise, who had been taught it by 
the Queen of Sheba. At the very mention of such a 
study the eyes of the prince sparkled with animation, 
and he applied himself to it with such avidity, that 
he soon became as great an adept as his master. 

The tower of the Generaliffe was no longer a soli- 
tude ; he had companions at hand with whom he 
could converse. The first acquaintance he formed 
was with a hawk who built his nest in a crevice of 
the lofty battlements, from whence he soared far and 
wide in quest of prey. The prince, however, found 



little to like or esteem in him. He was a mere 
pirate of the air, swaggering and boastful, whose 
talk was all about rapine, and carnage, and desperate 
exploits. 

His next acquaintance was an owl, a mighty wise- 
looking bird, with a large head and staring eyes, 
who sat blinking and goggling all day in a hole in 
the wall, but roamed forth at night. He had great 
pretensions to wisdom ; talked something of astrology 
and the moon, and hinted at the dark sciences, but 
he was grievously given to metaphysics, and the 
prince found his prosings were more ponderous than 
those of the sage Ebon Bonabbon. 

Then there was a bat, that hung all day by his 
heels in the dark corner of a vault, but sallied out in 
a slip-shod style at twilight. He, however, had but 
twilight ideas' on all subjects, derided things of which 
he had taken but an imperfect view, and seemed to 
take delight in nothing. 

Beside these there was a swallow, with whom the 
prince was at first much taken. He was a smart 
talker, but restless, bustling, and for ever on the 
wing ; seldom remaining long enough for any con- 
tinued conversation. He turned out in the end to 
be a mere smatterer, who did but skim over the sur- 
face of things, pretending to know every thing, but 
knowing nothing thoroughly. 

These were the only feathered associates with 
whom the prince had any opportunity of exercising 
his newly acquired language ; the tower was too 
high for any other birds to frequent it. He soon 
grew weaiy of his new acquaintances, whose conver- 
sation spake so little to the head and nothing to the 
heart ; and gradually relapsed into his loneliness. 
A winter passed away, spring opened with all its 
bloom, and verdure, and breathing sweetness, and 
the happy time arrived for birds to pair and build 
their nests. Suddenly, as it were, a universal burst 
of song and melody broke forth from the groves and 
gardens of the Generaliffe, and reached the prince in 
the solitude of his tower. From every side he heard 
the same universal theme — love — love — love — 
chaunted forth and responded to in every variety of 
note and tone. The prince listened in silence and 
perplexity. " What can be this love," thought he, 
"of which the world seems so full, and of which 1 
know nothing? " He applied for information to his 
friend the hawk. The ruffian bird answered in a 
tone of scorn, — " You must apply,'' said he, " to the 
vulgar, peaceable birds of earth, who are made for 
the prey of us princes of the air. My trade is war, 
and fighting my delight. In a word, I am a warrior, 
and know nothing of this thing called love." 

The prince turned from him with disgust, and 
sought the owl in his retreat. "This is a bird," 
said he, " of peaceful habits, and may be able to 
solve my question." So he asked the owl to tell him 
what was this love about which all the birds in the 
groves below were singing. 

Upon this the owl put on a look of offended dig- 
nity. " My nights," said he, " are taken up in study 
and research, and my days in ruminating in my cell 
upon all that I have learnt. As to these singing 
birds of whom you talk, I never listen to them. I 
despise them and their themes. Allah be praised, I 
cannot sing. In a word. I am a philosopher, and 
know nothing of this thing called love." 

The prince now repaired to the vault where his 
friend the bat was hanging by the heels, and pro- 
pounded the same question. The bat wrinkled up 
his nose into a most snappish expression. " Why do 
you disturb me in my morning's nap with such an 
idle question," said he peevishly. " I only fly by 
twilight when all birds are asleep, and never trouble 
myself with their concerns. I am neither bird nor 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



145 



beast, and I thank heaven for it. I have found out 
the villainy of the whole of them, and hate them, one 
ind all. In a word, I am a misanthrope, and know 
nothing of this thing called love." 

As a last resort, the prince now sought the swal- 
o\v, and stopped him just as he was circling about 
.he summit of the tower. The swallow as usual was 
n a prodigious hurry, and had scarce time to make a 
"epiy. " Upon my word," said he, " I have so much 
jubiic business to attend to, and so many pursuits 
-0 follow, that I have had no time to think on the 
lubject. I have every day a thousand visits to pay ; 
I thousand affairs of importance to examine into, 
hat leave me not a moment of leisure for these little 
;ing-song matters. In a word, lama citizen of the 
vorld. I know nothing of this thing called love." 
50 saying, the swallow dived into the valley and was 
)Ut of sight in a moment. 

The prince remained disappointed and perplexed, 
)ut with his curiosity still more piqued by the difii- 
ulty of gratifying it. While in this mood his ancient 
;iiardian entered the tower. The prince advanced 
agerly to meet him. "Oh sage Ebon Bonabbon," 
ried he, " thou hast revealed to me much of the 
visdom of the earth, but there is one thing of which 

remain in utter ignorance, and would fain be in- 
armed." 

" My prince has but to make the inquiry, and 
very thing within the limited range of his servant's 
itellect is at his command." 

" Tell me then, oh most profound of sages, what 
> the nature of this thing called love ? " 

The sage Ebon Bonabbon was struck as with a 
hunderbolt. He trembled and turned pale, and felt 
s if his head sat but loosely on his shoulders. 

" What could suggest such a question to my 
'rince ? — • where could he have learnt so idle a 
vord ? " 

The prince led him to the window of the tower. 

Listen, oh Ebon f'onabbon ! " said he. The sage 
istened. The nightingale sat in a thicket below the 
ower singing to his paramour, the rose ; from every 
)lossomed spray and tufted grove arose a strain of 
iielody, and love — love — love, was still the unvary- 
ag theme. "Allah Achbar ! God is great!" ex- 
laimed the wise Bonabbon. " Who shall pretend 
keep this secret from the hearts of men when even 
he birds of the air conspire to betray it.? " 

Then turning to Ahmed, " Oh my prince," cried 
le, " shut thine ears to these seductive strains, 
-lose thy mind against this dangerous knowledge. 
Cnow that this love is the cause of half the ills of 
vretched mortality. It is this which produces bit- 
erness of strife between brethren and friends ; which 
:auses treacherous murder and desolating war. Care 
ind sorrow, weary days and sleepless nights, are its 
attendants. It withers the bloom and blights the 
joys of youth, and brings on the ills and griefs of 
)remature old age. Allah presei-vc thee, my prince, 
n total ignorance of this thing called love ! ". 

The sage Ebon Bonabbon hastily retired, leaving 
he prince plunged in still deeper perplexity. It was 
n vain he attempted to dismiss the subject from his 
nind ; it still continued uppermost in his thoughts, 
ind teased and exhausted him with vain conjectures. 
'Surely," said he to himself as he listened to the 
uneful strains of the birds, " there is no sorrow in 
hose notes : every thing seems tenderness and joy. 
f love be a cause of such wretchedness and strife, 
vhy are not these birds drooping in solitude, or tear- 
ng each other in pieces, instead of fluttering cheer- 
uUy about the groves, or sporting with each other 
imong the flowers.-' " 

He lay one morning on his couch meditating on 
his inexplicable matter. The window of his cham- 
10 



ber was open to admit the soft morning breeze which 
came laden with the perfume of orange blossoms 
from the valley of the Darro. The voice of the 
nightingale was faintly heard, still chanting the 
wonted theme. As the prince was listening and 
sighing, there was a sudden rushing noise in the air; 
a beautiful dove, pursued by a hawk, darted in at the 
window and fell panting on the floor; while the pur- 
suer, balked of his prey, soared off to the mountains. 

The prince took up the gasping bird, smoothed 
its feathers, and nestled it in his bosom. When he 
had soothed it by his caresses he put it in a golden 
cage, and offered it, with his own hands, the whitest 
and finest of wheat and the purest of water. The bird, 
however, refused food, and sat drooping and pining, 
and uttering piteous moans. 

" What aileth thee.'' " said Ahmed. " Hast thou 
not every thing thy heart can wish ? " 

"Alas, no !" replied the dove, " am I not sepa- 
rated from the partner of my heart — and that too in 
the happy spring-time — the very season of love .' " 

" Of love ! " echoed Ahmed. " I pray thee, my 
pretty bird, canst thou then tell me what is love ? " 

" Too well can I, my prince. It is the torment of 
one, the felicity of two, the strife and enmity of 
three. It is a charm which draws two beings to- 
gether, and unites them by delicious sympathies, 
making it happiness to be with each other, but mis- 
ery to be apart. Is there no being to whom you are 
drawn by these ties of tender affection ? " 

"I like my old teacher. Ebon Bonabbon, better 
than any other being ; but he is often tedious, and I 
occasionally feel myself happier without his society." 

" That is not the sympathy I mean. I speak of 
love, the great mystery and principle of life ; the in- 
toxicating revel of youth ; the sober delight of age. 
Look forth, my prince, and behold how at this blest 
season all nature is full of love. Every created being 
has its mate ; the most insignificant bird sings to its 
paramour ; the very beetle woos its lady beetle in the 
dust, and yon butterflies which you see fluttering high 
above the tower and toying in the air are happy in 
each other's love. Alas, my prince ! hast thou 
spent so many of the precious days of youth without 
knowmg any thing of love ! Is there no gentle be- 
ing of another sex ; no beautiful princess, or lovely 
damsel who has ensnared your heart, and filled your 
bosom with a soft tumult of pleasing pains and ten- 
der wishes.' " 

" I begin to understand ! " said the prince sigh- 
ing. " Such a tumult I have more than once experi- 
enced without knowing the cause ; and where should 
1 seek lor an object such as you describe in this dis- 
mal solitude ? " 

A little further conversation ensued, and the first 
amatory lesson of the prince was complete. 

" Alas ! " said he, " if love be indeed such a de- 
light, and its interruption such a misery, Allah for- 
bid that I should mar the joy of any of its votaries." 
He opened the cage, took out the dove, and, having 
fondly kissed it, earned it to the window. " Go, 
happy bird," said he, " rejoice with the partner of 
thy heart in the days of youth and spring-time. 
Why should I make thee a fellow prisoner in this 
dreary tower, where love can never enter ? " 

The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave one 
vault into the air, and then swooped downward on 
whistling wings to the blooming bowers of the Darro. 

The prince followed him with his eyes, and then 
gave way to bitter repining. The singing of the 
birds which once delighted him now added to his 
bitterness. Love ! love ! love ! Alas, poor youth, 
he now understood the strain. 

His eyes flashed tire when next he beheld the sage 
Bonabbon. " Why hast thou kept me in this abject 



UG 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ignorance.^" cried he. "Why has the great mys- 
tery and principle of life been withheld from me, in 
which I find the meanest insect is so learned ? Be- 
hold all nature is in a revel of delight. Every cre- 
ated being rejoices with its mate. This — this is the 
love about which 1 have sought instruction ; why am 
1 alone debarred its enjoyment ? why has so much 
of my youth been wasted without a knowledge of 
its rapture .' " 

The sage Bonabbon saw that all further reserve 
was useless, for the prince had acquired the danger- 
ous and forbidden knowledge. He revealed to him, 
therefore, the predictions of the astrologers, and the 
precautions that had been taken in his education to 
avert the threatened evils. " And now, my prince," 
added he, " my life is in your hands. Let the king 
your father discover that you have learned the pas- 
sion of love while under my guardianship, and my 
head must answer for it." 

The prince was as reasonable as most young men 
of his age, and easily listened to the remonstrances 
of his tutor, since nothing pleaded against them. 
Beside, he really was attached to the sage Bonab- 
bon, and being as yet but theoretically acquainted 
with the passion of love, he consented to confine the 
knowledge of it to his own bosom, rather than en- 
danger the head of the philosopher. His discre- 
tion was doomed, however, to be put to still further 
proofs. A few mornings afterwards, as he was ru- 
minating on the battlements of the tower, the dove 
which had been released by him came hovering in 
the air, and alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder. 

The prince fondled it to his breast. " Happy 
bird," said he, " who can fly, as it were, with the 
wings of the morning to the uttermost parts of the 
earth. Where hast thou been since we parted .'" 

"In a far country, my prince; from whence I 
bring you tidings in reward for my liberty. In the 
wide compass of my flight, which extends over plain 
and mountain, as 1 was soaring in the air, I beheld 
below me a delightful garden with all kinds of fruits 
and flowers. It was in a green meadow on the 
banks of a meandering stream, and in the centre of 
the garden was a stately palace. I alighted in one 
of the bowers to repose after my weary flight ; on 
the green bank below me was a youthful princess in 
the very sweetness and bloom of her years. She 
was surrounded by female attendants, young like 
herself, who decked her with garlands and coronets 
of flowers ; but no flower of field or garden could 
compare with her for loveliness. Here, however, she 
bloomed in secret, for the garden was surrounded by 
high walls, and no mortal man was permitted to enter. 
When I beheld this beauteous maid thus young, and 
innocent, and unspotted by the world, I thought, 
here is the being formed by heaven to inspire my 
prince with love." 

The description was as a spark of fire to the com- 
bustible heart of Ahmed ; all the latent amorousness 
of his temperament had at once found an object, and 
he conceived an immeasurable passion for the prin- 
cess. He wrote a letter couched in the most im- 
passioned language, breathing his fervent devotion, 
but the unhappy thraldom of his person, which pre- 
vented him from seeking her out, and throwing him- 
self at her feet. He added couplets of the most 
tender and moving eloquence, lor he was a poet by 
nature and inspired by love. He addressed his letter, 
" To the unknown beauty, from the captive prince 
Ahmed, ' then perfuming it with musk and roses, he 
gave it to the dove. 

"Away, trustiest of messengers," said he. " Fly 
over mountain, and valley, and river, and plain ; rest 
not in bower nor set foot on earth, until thou hast 
given this letter to the mistress of my heart." 



The dove soared high in air, and taking his course 
darted away in one undeviating direction. The 
prince foUow'ed him with his eye until he was a mere 
speck on a cloud, and gradually disappeared behind 
a mountain. 

Day after day he watched for the return of the 
messenger of love ; but he watched in vain. He 
began to accuse him of forgetfulness, when towards 
sunset, one evening, the faithful bird fluttered into 
his apartment, and, falling at his feet, expired. The 
arrow of some wanton archer had pierced his breast, 
yet he had struggled with the fingerings of life to 
execute his mission, .'^s the prince bent with grief 
over this gentle martyr to fidelity, he beheld a chain 
of pearls round his neck, attached to which, beneath 
his wing, was a small enamelled picture. It repre- 
sented a lovely princess in the very flower of her 
years. It was, doubtless, the unknown beauty of the 
garden : but who and where was she — how had she 
received his letter — and was this picture sent as a 
token of an approval of his passion .' Unfortunately, 
the death of the faithful dove left every thing in 
mystery and doubt. 

The prince gazed on the picture till his eyes swam 
with tears. He pressed it to his lips and to his 
heart ; he sat for hours contemplating it in an almost 
agony of tenderness. " Beautiful image ! " said he. 
" Alas, thou art but an image. Yet thy dewy eyes 
beam tenderly upon me ; those rosy lips look as 
though they would speak encouragement. Vain 
fancies ! Have they not looked the same on some 
more happy rival ? But where in this wide world 
shall I hope to find the original } Who knows what 
mountains, what realms may separate us ? What 
adverse chances may intervene ? Perhaps now, 
even now, lovers may be crowding around her, 
while I sit here, a prisoner in a tower, wasting my 
time in adoration of a painted shadow." 

The resolution of prince Ahmed was taken. " I 
will fly from this palace," said he, "which has be 
come an odious prison, and, a pilgrim of love, will 
seek this unknown princess throughout the world." 

To escape from the tower in the day, when every 
one was awake, might be a difficult matter ; but at 
night the palace was slightly guarded, for no one 
apprehended any attempt of the kind from the 
prince, who had always been so passive in his cap' 
tivity. How was he to guide himself, however, in 
his darkling flight, being ignorant of the countn' 
He bethought him of the owl, who was accustomed 
to roam at night, and must know every by-lane and 
secret pass. Seeking him in his hermitage, he 
questioned hiin touching his knowledge of the land 
Upon this the owl put on a mighty self-important 
look. 

" You must know, O prince," said he, " that we 
owls are of a very ancient and extensive family, 
though rather fallen to decay, and possess ruinous 
castles and palaces in all parts of Spain. There ij 
scarceh' a tower of the mountains, or fortress of the 
plains, or an old citadel of a city but has some 
brother, or uncle, or cousin quartered in it ; and in 
going the rounds to visit these my numerous 
kindred 1 have pryed into every nook and corner, 
and made myself acquainted with every secret of 
the land." 

The prince was overjoyed to find the owl so deep' 
ly versed in topography, and now informed him, in 
confidence, of his tender passion and his intended 
elopement, urging him to be his companion and 
counsellor. 

" Go to ! " said the owl, with a look of displeasure 
"Am I a bird to engage in a love affair; 1 whose 
whole time is devoted to meditation and the moon ! ' 

" Be not offended, most solemn owl ! " replied the 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



147 



prince. " Abstract thyself for a time from medita- 
tion and the moon, and aid me in my flight, and thou 
shalt have whatever heart can wish." 

" I have that already," said the owl. " A few 
mice are sufficient for my frugal table, and this hole 
in the wall is spacious enough for my studies, and 
what more does a philosopher like myself desire ? " 

" Bethink thee, most wise owl. that while moping 
in thy cell and gazing at the moon all thy talents are 
lost to the world. I shall one day be a sovereign 
prince, and may advance thee to some post of hon- 
our and dignity." 

The owl, though a philosopher and above the 
ordinary wants of life, was not above ambition, 
so he was finally prevailed upon to elope with the 
prince, and be his guide and Mentor in his pil- 
grimage. 

The plans of a lover are promptly executed. The 
prince collected all his jewels and concealed them 
about his person as travelling funds. That very 
night he lowered himself by his scarf from a balcony 
of the tower, clambered over the outer walls of the 
Generaliffe, and guided by the owl, made good his 
escape before morning to the mountains. 

He now held a council with his Mentor as to his 
future course. 

" Might I advise," said the owl, " I would recom- 
mend you to repair to Seville. You must know that 
many years since I was on a visit to an uncle, an 
owl of great dignity and power, who lived in a ruined 
wing of the Alcazar of that place. In my hoverings 
at night over the city I frequently remarked a light 
burning in a lonely tower. At length I alighted on 
the battlements, and found it to proceed from the 
lamp of an Arabian magician. He was surrounded 
by his magic books, and on his shoulder was perched 
his familiar, an ancient raven, who had come with 
him from Egypt. I became acquainted with that 
raven, and owe to him a great part of the knowledge 
I possess. The magician is since dead, but the 
raven still inhabits the tower, for these birds are of 
wonderful long life. I would advise you, O prince, 
to seek that raven, for he is a soothsayer and a 
conjuror, and deals in the black art, for which all 
ravens, and especially those of Egypt, are renowned." 

The prince was struck with the wisdom of this 
advice, and accordingly bent his course towards 
Seville. He travelled only in the night, to accom- 
modate his companion, and lay by during the day 
in some dark cavern or mouldering watch-tower, 
for the owl knew every hiding hole of the kind in 
the country, and had a most antiquarian taste for 
ruins. 

At length, one morning at day-break they reached 
the city of Seville, where the owl, who hated the 
glare and bustle of crowded streets, halted without 
the gate, and took up his quarters in a hollow tree. 

The prince entered the gate and readily found 
the magic tower, which rose above the houses of 
the city as a palm tree rises above the shrubs of the 
desert. It was, in fact, the same tower known at 
the present day as the Giralda, the famous Moorish 
tower of Seville. 

The prince ascended by a great winding staircase 
to the summit of the tower, where he found the 
cabalistic raven, an old, mysterious, gray-headed 
bird, ragged in feather, with a film over one eye 
that gave him the glare of a spectre. He was 
perched on one leg, with his head turned on one 
side, and poring with his remaining eye on a diagram 
described on the pavement. 

The prince approached him with the awe and 
reverence naturally inspired by his venerable ap- 
pearance and supernatural wisdom. " Pardon me, 
most ancient and darkly wise raven," exclaimed he, 



" if for a moment I interrupt those studies which are 
the wonder of the world. You behold before you a 
votary of love, who would fain seek counsel how to 
obtain the object qf his passion." 

" In other words," said the raven with a signifi- 
cant look, " you seek to try- my skill in palmistr\-. 
Come, show me your hand, and let me decipher the 
mysterious lines of fortune." 

"Excuse me," said the prince,"! come not to 
pry into the decrees of fate, w-hich are hidden by 
Allah from the eyes of mortals. I am a pilgrim of 
love, and seek but to find a clue to the object of my 
pilgrimage." 

" And can you be at any loss for an object in am- 
orous Andalusia." said the old raven, leering upon 
him with his single eve. " Above all, can you be at 
a loss in wanton Seville, where black-eyed damsels 
dance the zambra under every orange grove ? " 

The prince blushed and was somew-hat shocked at 
hearing an old bird, with one foot in the grave, talk 
thus loosely. " Believe me," said he gravely, " I am 
on none such light and vagrant errand as thou dost 
insinuate. The black-eved damsels of Andalusia 
who dance among the orange groves of the Guadal- 
quiver, are as naught to me. I seek one unknown 
but immaculate beauty, the original of this picture, 
and I beseech thee, most potent raven, if it be within 
the scope of thy knowledge, or the reach of thy art, 
inform me where she may be found." 

The gray-headed raven was rebuked by the grav- 
ity of the prince. " What know I," replied he dryly, 
" of youth and beauty ? My visits are to the old and 
withered, not the young and fair. The harbinger 
of fate am I, who croak bodings of death from the 
chimney top, and flap my wings at the sick man's 
window. You muot seek elsewhere for tidings of 
your unknown beauty." 

" And where am I to seek, if not among the sons 
of wisdom, versed in the book of destiny ? A royal 
prince am I, fated by the stars and sent on a myste- 
rious enterprise, on which may hang the destiny of 
empires." 

When the raven heard that it was a matter of vast 
moment, in which the stars took interest, he changed 
his tone and manner, and listened with profound at- 
tention to the story of the prince. When it was 
concluded, he replied, "Touching this princess. I can 
give thee no information of myself, for my flight is 
not among gardens or around ladies' bowers ; but 
hie thee to Cordova, seek the palm-tree of the great 
Abderahman, which stands in the court of the prin- 
cipal mosque; at the foot of it you will find a great 
traveller, who has visited all countries and courts, 
and been a favourite with queens and princesses. 
He vvill give you tidings of the object of your search." 

" Many thanks for this precious information," said 
the prince. "Farewell, most venerable conjuror." 

" Farew'ell, pilgrim of love," said the raven dryly, 
and again fell to pondering on the diagram. 

The prince sallied forth from Seville, sought his 
fellow traveller the owl. who was still dozing in the 
hollow tree, and set off for Cordova. 

He approached it along hanging gardens, and or- 
ange and citron groves overlooking the fair valley of 
the Guadalquiver. When arrived at its gates the 
owl flew up to a dark hole in the wall, and the prince 
proceeded in quest of the palm-tree planted in days 
of yore by the great Abderahman. It stood in the 
midst of the great court of the Mosque, towering 
I from amidst orange and cypress trees. Dervises and 
Faquirs were seated in groups under the cloisters ol 
I the court, and many of the faithful were performing 
their ablutions at the fountains, before entering the 
j Mosque. 
1 At the foot of the palm-tree was a crowd listening 



148 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



to the words of one who appeared to be talking with 
great volubility. This, said the prince to himself, 
must be the great traveller who is to give me tidings 
of the unknown princess. He mingled in the crowd, 
but was astonished to perceive that they were all 
listening to a parrot, who, with his bright green 
coat, pragmatical eye, and consequential topknot, 
had the air of a bird on excellent terms with himself. 

" How is this," said the prince to one of the by- 
standers, " that so many grave persons can be de- 
lighted with the garrulity of a chattering bird ? " 

"You know not of whom you speak," said the 
other ; " this parrot is a descendant of the famous 
parrot of Persia, renowned for his story-telling tal- 
ent. He has all the learning of the East at the tip 
of his tongue, and can quote poetry as fast as he can 
talk. He has visited various foreign courts, where 
he has been considered an oracle of erudition. He 
has been a universal favourite also with the fair sex, 
who have a vast admiration for erudite parrots that 
can quote poetry." 

"Enough," said the prince, "I will have some 
private talk with this distinguished traveller." 

He sought a private interview, and expounded 
the nature of his errand. He had scarcely mention- 
ed it when the parrot burst into a fit of dry rickety 
laughter, that absolutely brought tears in his eyes. 
" Excuse my mirth," said he, " but the mere mention 
of love always sets me laughing." 

The prince was shocked at this ill-timed merri- 
ment. " Is not love," said he, " the great mystery 
of nature, — the secret principle of life, — the universal 
bond of sympathy .' " 

"A fig's end!" cried the parrot, interrupting 
him. " Pry'thee where hast thou learnt this senti- 
mental jargon ? Trust me, love is quite out of 
vogue ; one never hears of it in the company of wits 
and people of refinement." 

The prince sighed as he recalled the different 
language of his friend the dove. But this parrot, 
thought he, has lived about court; he affects the wit 
and the fine gentleman ; he knows nothing of the 
thing called love. 

Unwilling to provoke any more ridicule of the 
sentiment which filled his heart, he now directed 
his inquiries to the immediate purport of his visit. 

"Tell me," said he, "most accomplished parrot, 
thou who hast every where been admitted to the 
most secret bowers of beauty, hast thou in the 
course of thy travels met with the original of this 
portrait .' " 

The parrot took the picture in his claw, turned 
his head from side to side, and examined it curiously 
with either eye. "Upon my honour," said he, "a 
very pretty face ; very pretty. But then one sees so 
many pretty women in one's travels that one can 
hardly — but hold — bless me ! now I look at it again 
— sure enough, this is the princess Aldegonda : how 
could I forget one that is so prodigious a favourite 
with me ? " 

" The princess Aldegonda ! " echoed the prince, 
" and where is she to be found ? " 

"Softly — softly," said the parrot, "easier to be 
found than gained. She is the only daughter of the 
Christian king who reigns at Toledo, and is shut up 
from the world until her seventeenth birth-day, on 
account of some prediction of those meddlesome 
fellows, the astrologers. You'll not get a sight of 
her, no mortal man can see her. I was admitted to 
her presence to entertain her, and I assure you, on 
the word of a parrot who has seen the world, I have 
conversed with much sillier princesses in my time." 

" A word in confidence, my dear parrot," said the 
prince. " I am heir to a kingdom, and shall one 
day sit upon, a throne. I see that you are a bird of 



parts and understand the world. Help me to gain 
possession of this princess and I will advance you to 
some distinguished post about court." 

" With all my heart." said the parrot ; "but let it 
be a sinecure if possible, for we wits have a great 
dislike to labour." 

Arrangements were promptly made ; the prince 
sallied forth from Cordova through the same gate by 
which he had entered ; called the owl down from 
the hole in the wall, introduced him to his new 
travelling companion as a brother scavant, and away 
they set off on their journey. 

They travelled much more slowly than accorded 
with the impatience of the prince, but the parrot 
was accustomed to high lile, and did not like to be 
disturbed early in the morning. The owl, on the 
other hand, was for sleeping at mid-day, and lost a 
great deal of time by his long siestas. His anti- 
quarian taste also was in the way ; for he insisted 
on pausing and inspecting every ruin, and had long 
legendary tales to tell about every old tower and 
castle in the country. The prince had supposed 
that he and the parrot, being both birds of learning, 
could delight in each other's society, but never had 
he been more mistaken. They were eternally bick- 
ering. The one was a wit, the other a philosopher. 
The parrot quoted poetry, was critical on new read- 
ings, and eloquent on small points of erudition ; the 
owl treated all such knowledge as trifling, and 
relished nothing but metaphysics. Then the parrot 
would sing songs and repeat bon mots, and crack 
jokes upon his solenm neighbour, and laugh out- 
rageously at his own wit; all which the owl con- 
sidered a grievous invasion of his dignity, and would 
scowl, and sulk, and swell, and sit silent for a whole 
day together. 

The prince heeded not the wranglings of his 
companions, being wrapped up in the dreams of his 
own fancy, and the contemplation of the portrait of 
the beautiful princess. In this way they journeyed 
through the stern passes of the Sierra Morena, across 
the sunburnt plains of La Mancha and Castile, and 
along the banks of the " Golden Tagus," which 
winds its wizard mazes over one-half of Spain and 
Portugal. At length, they came in sight of a strong 
city with walls and towers, built on a rocky promon- 
torx', round the foot of which the Tagus circled with 
brawling violence. 

" Behold," exclaimed the owl, "the ancient and 
renowned city of Toledo ; a city famous for its 
antiquities. Behold those venerable domes and 
towers, hoary with time, and clothed with legendary 
grandeur; in which so many of my ancestors have 
meditated — " 

" Pish," cried the parrot, interrupting his solemn 
antiquarian rapture, " what have we to do with anti- 
quities, and legends, and your ancestors .' Behold, 
what is more to the purpose, behold the abode of 
youth and beauty, — behold, at length, oh prince, the 
abode of your long sought princess." 

The prince looked in the direction indicated by 
the parrot, and beheld, in a delightful green meadow 
on the banks of the Tagus, a stately palace rising 
from amidst the bowers of a delicious garden. It 
was just such a place as had been described by the 
dove as the residence of the original of the picture. 
He gazed at it with a throbbing heart: "Perhaps 
at this moment," thought he, "the beautiful prin- 
cess is sporting beneath those shady bowers, or 
pacing with delicate step those stately terraces, or 
reposing beneath those lofty roofs ! " As he looked 
more narrowly, he perceived that the walls of the 
garden were of great height, so as to defy access, 
while numbers of armed guards patrolled around 
them. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



149 



The prince turned to the parrot. " Oh most 
accomplished of birds," said he, "thou hast the 
gilt of human speech. Hie thee to yon garden ; 
seek the idol of my soul, and tell her that prince 
Ahmed, a pilgrim of love, and guided by the stars, 
has arrived in quest of her on the flowery banks of 
the Tagus." 

The parrot, proud of his embassy, flew away to 
the garden, mounted above its lofty walls, and, after 
soaring for a time over the lawns and groves, 
alighted on the balcony of a pavilion that overhung 
the river. Here, looking in at the casement, he be- 
held the princess reclining on a couch, with her 
eyes fixed on a paper, while tears gently stole after 
each other down her pallid cheek. 

Pluming his wings for a moment, adjusting his 
bright green coat, and elevating his topknot, the 
parrot perched himself beside her with a gallant air ; 
then assuming a tenderness of tone, — 

" Dry thy tears, most beautiful of princesses," said 
he, " I come to bring solace to thy heart." 

The princess was startled on hearing a voice, but 
turning and seeing nothing but a little green-coated 
bird bobbing and bowing before her : — " Alas ! what 
solace canst thou yield," said she, "seeing thou art 
but a parrot ! " 

The parrot was nettled at the question. " I have 
consoled many beautiful ladies in my time," said 
he ; " but let that pass. .At present, I come ambas- 
sador from a royal prince. Know that Ahmed, the 
prince of Granada, has arrived in quest of thee, and 
is encamped even now on the flowery banks of the 
Tagus." 

The eyes of the beautiful princess sparkled at these 
words, even brighter than the diamonds in her coro- 
net. "O sweetest of parrots," cried she, "joyful 
indeed are thy tidings ; for I was faint, and weary, 
and sick almost unto death, with doubt of the con- 
stancy of Ahmed. Hie thee back, and tell him that 
the words of his letter are engraven in my heart, 
and his poetry has been the food of my soul. Tell 
him, however, that he must prepare to prove his 
love by force of arms ; to-morrow is my seventeenth 
birth-day, when the king, my father, holds a great 
tournament ; several princes are to enter the lists, 
and my hand is to be the prize of the victor." 

The parrot again took w'ing, and, rustling through 
the groves, flew back to where the prince awaited 
his return. The rapture of Ahmed on finding the 
original of his adored portrait, and finding her kind 
and true, can only be conceived by those favoured 
mortals, who have had the good fortune to realize 
day dreams, and turn shadows into substance. Still 
there was one thing that alloyed his transport, — 
this impending tournament, in fact, the banks of 
the Tagus were already glittering with arms, and 
resounding with trumpets of the various knights, 
who with proud retinues were prancnig on towards 
Toledo, to attend the ceremonial. The same star 
that had controlled the destiny of the prince, had 
governed that of the princess, and until her seven- 
teenth birth-day, she had been shut up from the 
world, to guard her from the tender passion. The 
fame of her charms, however, had been enhanced, 
rather than obscured by this seclusion. Several 
powerful prmces had contended for her alliance, and 
her father, who was a king of wondrous shrewdness, 
to avoid making enemies by showing partialitv, had 
referred them to the arbitrament of arms. Among 
the rival candidates, were several renowned for 
strength and prowess. What a predicament for the 
unfortunate Ahmed, unprovided as he was with 
weapons, and unskilled in the exercises of chivalr)-. 
"Luckless prince that I am!" said he, " to have 
been brought up in seclusion, under the eye of a 



philosopher ! of what avail are algebra and philos- 
ophy in affairs of love ! alas. Ebon Bonabbon, why 
hast thou neglected to instruct me in the manage- 
ment of arms .' " Upon this the owl broke silence, 
prefacing his harangue with a pious ejaculation, for 
he was a devout Mussulman : 

" Allah Achliar ! ' God is great,' " exclaimed he ; 
" in his hands are all secret things, he alone governs 
the destinv of princes ! Know, O prince, that this 
land is full of mysteries, hidden from all but those 
who, like myself, can grope after knowledge in the 
dark. Know that in the neighbouring mountains 
there is a cave, and in that cave there is an iron 
table, and on that table lies a suit of magic armour, 
and beside that table stands a spell-bound steed, 
which have been shut up there for many genera- 
tions." 

The prince stared with wonder, while the owl 
blinking his huge round eyes and erecting his horns, 
proceeded : 

" Many years since, I accompanied my father to 
these parts on a tour of his estates, and we so- 
journed in that cave, and thus became I acquainted 
with the m.ystery. It is a tradition in our family, 
which I have heard from my grandfather when I 
was yet but a verv little owlet, that this armour be- 
longed to a Moorish magician, who took refuge in 
this cavern when Toledo was captured by the Chris- 
tians, and died here, leaving his steed and weapons 
under a mystic spell, never to be used but by a Mos- 
lem, and by him only from sunrise to mid-day. In 
that interval, whoever uses them, will overthrow 
every opponent." 

" Enough, let us seek this cave," exclaimed 
Ahmed. 

Guided by his legendary Mentor, the prince found 
the cavern, which was in one of the wildest recesses 
of those rocky cliff's which rose around Toledo ; 
none but the mousing eye of an owl or an antiquary 
could have discovered the entrance to it. A sepul- 
chral lamp of everlasting oil, shed a solemn light 
through the place. On an iron table in the centre 
of the cavern lay the magic armour, against it leaned 
the lance, and beside it stood an Arabian steed, 
caparisoned for the field, but motionless as a statue. 
The armour was bright and unsullied, as it- had 
gleamed in days of old ; the steed in as good condi- 
tion as if just from the pasture, and when Ahmed 
laid 'his hand upon his neck, he pawed the ground 
and gave a loud neigh of joy that shook the walls 
of the cavern. Thus provided with horse to ride 
and weapon to wear, the prince determined to defy 
the field at the impending tourney. 

The eventful morning arrived. The lists for the 
combat were prepared in the Vega or plain just 
below the cliff-built walls of Toledo. Here were 
erected stages and galleries for the spectators, cov- 
ered with rich tapestiy and sheltered from the sun 
by silken awnings. All the beauties of the land 
were assembled in those galleries, while below 
pranced plumed knights with their pages and es- 
quires, among whom figured conspicuously the 
princes who were to contend in the tourney. All 
the beauties of the land, however, were eclipsed, 
when the princess Aldegonda appeared in the royal 
pavilion, and for the first time broke forth upon the 
gaze of an admiring w^orld. A murmur of wonder 
ran through the crowd at her transcendent loveli- 
ness ; and the princes who w^ere candidates for her 
hand merely on the faith of her reported charms, 
now felt ten-fold ardour for the conflict. 

The princess, however, had a troubled look. The 
colour came and went from her cheek, and her eye 
wandered with a restless and unsatisfied. expression 
over the plumed throng of knights. The trumpets 



150 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



were about sounding for the encounter when a 
herald announced the arrival of a stranger knight, 
and Ahmed rode into the field. A steeled helmet 
studded with gems rose above his turban ; his cui- 
rass was embossed with gold ; his scimitar and 
dagger were of the workmanship of Fay, and flamed 
with precious stones. A round shield was at his 
shoulder, and in his hand he bore the lance of 
charmed virtue. The caparison of his Arabian was 
richly embroidered, and swept the ground ; and the 
proud animal pranced and snuffed the air, and 
neighed with joy at once more beholding the array 
of arms. The lofty and graceful demeanour of the 
prince struck every eye, and when his appellation 
was announced, "The pilgrim of love," a universal 
flutter and agitation prevailed among the fair dames 
in the galleries. 

When Ahmed presented himself at the lists, how- 
ever, they were closed against him ; none but princes, 
he was told, were admitted to the contest. He de- 
clared his name and rank. Still worse, he was a 
Moslem, and could not engage in a tourney where 
the hand of a Christian princess was the prize. 

The rival princes surrounded him with haughty 
and menacing aspects, and one of insolent demeanour 
and Herculean frame sneered at his light and youth- 
ful form, and scoffed at his amorous appellation. 
The ire of the prince was roused ; he defied his rival 
to the encounter. They took distance, wheeled, 
and charged ; at the first touch of the magic lance 
the brawny scoffer was tilted from his saddle. Here 
the prince would have paused, but alas ! he had to 
deal with a demoniac horse and armour : once in 
action, nothing could control them. The Arabian 
steed charged into the thickest of the throng : the 
lance overturned every thing that presented ; the 
gentle prince was carried pell-mell about the field, 
strewing it with high and low, gentle and sim])le, 
and grieving at his own involuntary exploits. The 
king stormed and raged at this outrage on his sub- 
jects and his guests. He ordered out all his guards 
— they were unhorsed as fast as they came up. The 
king threw off his robes, grasped buckler and lance, 
and rode forth to awe the stranger with the presence 
of majesty itself Alas, majesty fared no better than 
the vulgar ; the steed and lance were no respecters 
of persons ; to the dismay of Ahmed, he was borne 
full tilt against the king, and in a moment the royal 
heels were in the air, and the crown was rolling in 
the dust. 

At this moment the sun reached the meridian ; 
the magic spell resumed its power. The Arabian 
steed scoured across the plain, leaped the barrier, 
plunged into the Tagus, swam its raging current, 
bore the prince, breathless and amazed, to the cav- 
ern, and resumed his station like a statue beside the 
iron table. The prince dismounted right gladly, 
and replaced the armour, to abide the further de- 
crees of fate. Then seating himself in the cavern, 
he ruminated on the desperate state to which this 
bedeviled steed and armour had ^educed him. Never 
should he dare to show his face at Toledo, after in- 
flicting such disgrace upon its chivalry, and such an 
outrage on its kmg. What, too, would the princess 
think of so rude and riotous an achievement.' Full 
of anxiety, he sent forth his winged messengers to 
gather tidings. The parrot resorted to all the public 
places and crowded resorts of the city, and soon re- 
turned with a world of gossip. All Toledo was in 
consternation. The princess had been borne off sense- 
less to the palace ; the tournament had ended in con- 
fusion ; every one was talking of the sudden appari- 
tion, prodigious exploits, and strange disappearance 
of the Moslem knight. Some pronounced him a 
Moorish magician ; others thought him a demon 



who had assumed a human shape ; while others re- 
lated traditions of enchanted warriors hidden in the 
caves of the mountains, and thought it might be one 
of these, who had made a sudden irruption from his 
den. All agreed that no mere ordinary mortal 
could have wrought such wonders, or unhorsed such 
accomplished and stalwart Christian warriors. 

The owl flew forth at night, and hovered about 
the dusky city, perching on the roofs and chimneys. 
He then wheeled his flight up to the royal palace, 
which stood on the rocky summit of Toledo, and 
went prowling about its terraces and battlements, 
eaves-dropping at every cranny, and glaring in with 
his big goggling eyes at every window where there 
was a light, so as to throw two or three maids of 
honour into fits. It was not until the gray dawn 
began to peer above the mountains that he returned 
from his mousing expedition, and related to the 
prince what he had seen. 

" As I was prying about one of the loftiest towers 
of the palace," said he, "I beheld through a case- 
ment a beautiful princess. She was reclining on a 
couch, with attendants and physicians around her, 
but she would none of their ministry and relief. 
When they retired, I beheld her draw forth a letter 
from her bosom, and read, and kiss it, and give way 
to loud lamentations ; at which, philosopher as I 
am, I could not but be greatly moved." 

The tender heart of Ahmed was distressed at 
these tidings. " Too true were thy words, oh sage 
Ebon Bonabbon ! " cried he. "Care and sorrow, 
and sleepless nights are the lot of lovers. Allah 
preserve the princess from the blighting influence of 
this thing called love." 

Further intelligence from Toledo corroborated the 
report of the owl. The city was a prey to uneasi- 
ness and alarm. The princess was conveyed to the 
highest tower of the palace, every avenue to which 
was strongly guarded. In the mean time, a devour- 
ing melancholy had seized upon her, of which no 
one could divine the cause. She refused food, and 
turned a deaf ear to every consolation. The most 
skilful physicians had essayed their art in vain ; it 
was thought some magic spell had been practised 
upon her, and the king made proclamation, declar- 
ing that whoever should effect her cure, should 
receive the richest jewel in the royal treasury. 

When the owl, who was dozing in a comer, heard 
of this proclamation, he rolled his large eyes and 
looked more mysterious than ever. 

"Allah Achbar ! " exclaimed he. "Happy the 
man that shall effect that cure, should he but know 
what to choose from the royal treasury." 

" What mean you, most reverend owl .' " said 
Ahmed. 

" Hearken, O prince, to what I shall relate. We 
owls, you must know, are a learned body, and much 
given to dark and dusty research. During my late 
prowling at night about the domes and turrets of 
Toledo, I discovered a college of antiquarian owls, 
who hold their meetings in a great vaulted tower 
where the royal treasure is deposited. Here they 
were discussing the forms and inscriptions, and de- - 
signs of ancient gems and jewels, and of golden and I 
silver vessels, heaped up in the treasury, the fashion I 
of evei7 country and age : but mostly they were in- 
terested about certain reliques and talismans, that 
have remained in the treasury since the time of 
Roderick the Goth. Among these, was a box of 
shittim wood, secured by bands of steel of oriental 
workmanship, and inscribed with mystic characters 
known only to the learned few. This box and its ' 
inscription had occupied the college for several ses- 
sions, and had caused much long and grave dispute. 
At the time of my visit, a very ancient owl, v.'ho had 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



151 



recently arrived from Egypt, was seated on the lid 
of the box lecturing- upon the inscription, and proved 
Irom It, that the coffer contained the silken carpet of 
the throne of Solomon the wise : which doubtless 
had been brought to Toledo by the Jews, who took 
refuge there after the downfall of Jerusalem." 

When the owl had concluded his antiquarian 
harangue, the prince remained for a time absorbed 
in thought. " I have heard," said he, " from the 
sage Ebon Bonabbon, of the wonderful properties of 
that talisman, which disappeared at the fall of Jeru- 
salem, and was supposed to be lost to mankind. 
Doubtless it remains a sealed mystery to the Chris- 
tians of Toledo. If I can get possession of that 
carpet, my fortune is secure." 

The ne.xt day the prince laid aside his rich attire, 
and arrayed himself in the simple garb of an Arab 
of the desert. He dyed his complexion to a tawny 
hue, and no one could have recognized in him the 
splendid warrior who had caused such admiration 
and dismay at the tournament. With staff in hand 
and scrip by his side, and a small pastoral reed, he 
repaired to Toledo, and presenting himself at the 
gate of the royal palace, announced himself as a 
candidate for the reward offered for the cure of the 
princess. The guards would have driven him away 
with blows: " What can a vagrant Arab like thyself 
pretend to do," said they, "in a case where the 
most learned of the land have failed .'' " The king, 
however, overheard the tumult, and ordered the Arab 
to be brought into his presence. 

"Most potent king," said Ahmed, "you behold 
before you a Bedouin Arab, the greater part of 
whose life has been passed in the solitudes of the 
desert. Those solitudes, it is well known, are the 
haunts of demons and evil spirits, who beset us poor 
shepherds in our lonely vvatchings, enter into and 
possess our flocks and herds, and sometimes render 
even the patient camel furious. Against these, our 
countercharm is music ; and we have legendary airs 
handed down from generation to generation, that we 
chant and pipe to cast forth these evil spirits. I am 
of a gifted line, and possess this power in its fullest 
force. If it be any evil influence of the kind that 
holds a spell over thy daughter, I pledge my head to 
free her from its sway." 

The king, who was a man of understanding, and 
knew the wonderful secrets possessed by the Arabs, 
was inspired with hope by the confident language of 
the prince. He conducted him immediately to the 
lofty tower secured by several doors, in the summit 
of which was the chamber of the princess. The 
windows opened upon a terrace with balustrades, 
commanding a view over Toledo and all the sur- 
rounding country. The windows v\ere darkened, 
for the princess lay within, a prey to a devouring 
grief that refused all alleviation. 

The prince seated himself on the terrace, and per- 
formed several wild Arabian airs on his pastoral 
pipe, which he had learnt from his attendants in the 
Generaliffe at Granada. The princess continued in- 
sensible, and the doctors, who were present, shook 
their heads, and smiled with incredibility and con- 
tempt. At length the prince laid aside the reed, 
and, to a simple melody, chanted the amatory verses 
of the letter which had declared his passion. 

The princess recognized the strain. A fluttering 
joy stole to her heart ; she raised her head and lis- 
tened : tears rushed to her eyes and streamed down 
her cheeks ; her bosom rose and fell with a tumult 
of emotions. She would have asked for the minstrel 
to be brought into her presence, but maiden coyness 
held her silent. The king read her wishes, and at 
his command Ahmed was conducted into the cham- 
ber. The lovers were discreet : they but exchanged 



glances, yet those glances spoke volumes. Never 
was triumph of music more complete. The rose 
had returned to the soft cheek of the princess, the 
freshness to her lip, and the dewy light to her lan- 
guishing eye. 

All the physicians present stared at each other 
with astonishment. The king regarded the Arab 
minstrel with admiration, mixt with awe. " Won- 
derful youth," exclaimed he, " thou shalt henceforth 
be the first physician of my court, and no other pre- 
scription will I take but thy melody. For the pres- 
ent, receive thy reward, the most precious jewel in 
my treasury." 

"O king," replied Ahmed, "I care not for silver, 
or gold, or precious stones. One relique hast thou 
in thy treasury, handed down from the Moslems who 
once owned Toledo. A box of sandal wood contain- 
ing a silken carpet. Give me that box, and I am 
content." 

All present were surprised at the moderation of 
the Arab ; and still more, when the box of sandal 
wood was brought and the carpet drawn forth. It 
was of fine green silk, covered with Hebrew and 
Chaldaic characters. The court physicians looked 
at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and smiled 
at the simplicity of this new practitioner, who could 
be content witli so paltry a fee. 

"This carpet," said the prince, "once covered 
the throne of Solomon the wise ; it is worthy of be- 
ing placed beneath the feet of beauty." 

So saying, he spread it on the terrace beneath an 
ottoman that had been brought forth for the prin- 
cess ; then seating himself at her feet, — 

" Who," said he, " shall counteract what is vvrit- 
ten in the book of fate.' Behold the prediction of 
the astrologers verified. Know, oh king, that your 
daughter and I have long loved each other in secret. 
Behold in me the pilgrim of love." 

These words were scarcely from his lips, when the 
carpet rose in the air, bearing off the prince and 
princess. The king and the physicians gazed after 
it with open mouths and straining eyes, until it be- 
came a little speck on the white bor.om of a cloud, 
and then disappeared in the blue vault of heaven. 

The kmg in a rage summoned his treasurer. 
"How is this," said he, "that thou hast suffered an 
infidel to get possession of such a talisman ? " 

" Alas ! sire, we knew not its nature, nor could we 
decipher the inscription of the box. If it be indeed 
the carpet of the throne of the wise Solomon, it is 
possessed of magic power, and can transport its 
owmer from place to place through the air." 

The king assembled a mighty army, and set off for 
Granada in pursuit of the fugitives. His march was 
long and toilsome. Encamping in the Vega, he sent 
a herald to demand restitution of his daughter. The 
king himself came forth with all his court to meet 
him. In the king, he beheld the Arab minstrel, for Ah- 
med had succeeded to the throne on the death of his 
father, and the beautiful Aldegonda was his Sultana. 

The Christian king was easily pacified, when he 
found that his daughter was suffered to continue in 
her faith ; not that he was particularly pious ; but 
religion is always a point of pride and etiquette with 
princes. Instead of bloody battles, there was a suc- 
cession of feasts and rejoicings ; after which, the king 
returned well pleased to Toledo, and the youthful 
couple continued to reign as happily as wisely, in the 
Alhambra. 

It is proper to add, that the owl and the parrot 
had severally followed the prince by easy stages tO' 
Granada : the former travelling by night, and stop- 
ping at the various hereditary possessions of his. 
family ; the latter figuring in the gay circles of every, 
town and city on his route. 



152 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Ahmed gratefully requited the services which they 
had rendered him on his pilg-rimage. He appointed 
the owl his prime minister ; the parrot his master of 
ceremonies. It is needless to say, that never was a 
realm more sagely administered, or a court con- 
ducted with more exact punctilio. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE OF THE ALHAM3RA; 



THE PAGE AND THE GER-FALCON. 



For some time after the surrender of Granada by 
the Moors, that delightful city was a frequent and 
favourite residence of the Spanish so\'ereigns. until 
they were frightened away by successive shocks of 
earthquakes, which toppled down various houses and 
made the old Moslem towers rock to their founda- 
tion. 

Many, many years then rolled aw-ay, during which 
Granada was rarely honoured by a royal guest. The 
palaces of the nobility remained silent and shut up ; 
and the Alhambra, like a slighted beauty, sat in 
mournful desolation among her neglected gardens. 
The tower of the Infantas, once the residence of the 
three beautiful Moorish princesses, partook of the 
general desolation ; and the spider spun her web 
athwart the gilded vault, and bats and owls nestled 
in those chambers that had been graced by the pres- 
ence of Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda. The ne- 
glect of the tower may partly have been owing to 
some superstitious notions of the neighbou'rs. It 
was rumoured that the spirit of the youthful Zora- 
hayda, who had perished in that tower, was often 
seen by moonlight seated beside the fountain in the 
hall, or moaning about the battlements, and that the 
notes of her silver lute would be heard at midnight 
by wayfarers passing along the glen. 

At length, the city of Granada was once more en- 
livened by the royal presence. All the world knows 
that Philip V. was the first Bourbon that swayed the 
Spanish sceptre. All the world knows that he mar- 
ried, in second nuptials, Elizabetta or Isabella, (for 
they are the same,) the beautiful princess of Parma ; 
and all the world knows, that by this chain of con- 
tingencies, a French prince and an Italian princess 
were seated together on the Spanish throne. For 
the reception of this illustrious pair, the Alhambra 
was repaired and fitted up with all possible expedi- 
tion. The arrival of the court changed the whole 
aspect of tlie lately deserted place. The clangour 
of drum and trumpet, the tramp of steed about the 
avenues and outer court, the glitter of arms and dis- 
play of banners about barbican and battlement, re- 
called the ancient and walike glories of the fortress. 
A softer spirit, however, reigned within the royal 
palace. There was the rustling of robes, and the cau- 
tious tread and murmuring voice of reverential 
courtiers about the antechambers; a loitering of' 
ipages and maids of honour about the gardens, and 
the sound of music stealing from open casements. 

Among those who attended in the train of the 
imonarchs, was a favourite page of the queen, named 
^Ruyz de ."Vlarcon. To say that he was a favourite 
-page of the queen, was at once to speak his eulogium, 
:for every one in the suite of the stately Elizabetta 
■was chosen for grace, and beauty, and acconi])lish- 
;ments. He was just turned of eighteen, light and 
.little of form, and graceful as a young Antinous. To 
ahe queen, he was all deference and respect, yet he 



was at heart a roguish stripling, petted and spoiled 
by the ladies about the court, and experienced in the 
ways of women far beyond his years. 

This loitering page was one morning rambling 
about the groves of the Generaliffe, which overlook 
the grounds of the Alhambra. He had taken with 
him for his amusement, a favourite ger-falcon of the 
queen. In the course of his rambles, seeing a bird 
rising from a thicket, he unhooded the hawk and let 
him fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made 
a swoop at his quarrj', but missing it, soared away 
regardless of the calls of the page. The latter fol- 
lowed the truant bird with his eye in its capricious 
flight, until he saw it alight upon the battlements of 
a remote and lonely tower, in the outer wall of the 
Alhambra, built on the edge of a ravine that sepa- 
rated the royal fortress from the grounds of the 
Generaliffe. It was, in fact, the " tower of the Prin- 
cesses." 

The page descended into the ravine, and approach- 
ed the tower, but it had no entrance from the glen, 
and its lofty height rendered any attempt to scale it 
fruitless. Seeking one of the gates of the fortress, 
therefore, he made a wide circuit to that side of the 
tower facing within the walls. A small garden en- 
closed by a trellis-work of reeds overhung with myrtle 
lay before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page 
passed between beds of flowers and thickets of roses 
to the door. It was closed and bolted. A crevice 
in the door gave him a peep into the interior. There 
was a small Moorish hall, with fretted walls, light 
marble columns, and an alabaster fountain surround- 
ed with flowers. In the centre hung a gilt cage con- 
taining a singing bird ; beneath it, on a chair, lay a 
tortoise-shell cat among reels of silk and other 
articles of female labour, and a guitar, decorated 
with ribands, leaned against the fountain. 

Ruyz de Alarcon was struck with these traces of 
female taste and elegance in a lonely, and, as he had 
supposed, deserted tower. They reminded him of 
the tales of enchanted halls, current in the Alham- 
bra ; and the tortoise-shell cat might be some spell- 
bound princess. 

He knocked gently at the door, — a beautiful face 
peeped out from a little window above, but was in- 
stantly withdrawn. He waited, expecting that the 
door would be opened ; but he waited in vain : no 
footstep was to be heard within, all was silent. Had 
his senses deceived him, or was this beautiful ap- 
parition the fairy of the tower .' He knocked again, 
and more loudly. After a little while, the beaming 
face once more peeped forth : it was that of a bloom- 
ing damsel of fifteen. 

The page immediately doffed his plumed bonnet, 
and entreated in the most courteous accents to be 
permitted to ascend the tower in pursuit of his 
falcon. 

"I dare not open the door, Sefior," replied the 
little damsel, blushing ; " my aunt has forbidden it." 

" I do beseech you, fair maid ; it is the favourite 
falcon of the queen ; I dare not return to the palace 
without it." 

"Are you, then, one of the cavaliers of the 
court .' " 

"I am, fair maid; but I shall lose the queen's 
favour and my place if I lose this hawk." 

" Santa Maria ! It is against you cavaliers of the 
court that my aunt has charged nie especially to bar 
the door." 

"Against wicked cavaliers, doubtless; but I am 
none of those, but a simple, harmless page, who will 
be ruined and undone if you deny me this small re- 
quest." 

The heart of the little damsel was touched by 
the distress of the page. It was a thousand pities 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



153 



he should be ruined for the want of so trifling a boon. 
Surely, too, he could not be one of those dangerous 
beings whom her aunt had described as a species of 
cannibal, ever on the prowl to make prey of thought- 
less damsels ; he was gentle and modest, and stood 
so entreatingly with cap in hand, and looked so 
charming. The sly page saw that the garrison 
began to waver, and redoubled his entreaties in such 
moving terms, that it was not in the nature of mortal 
maiden to deny him ; so, the blushing little warder 
of the tower descended and opened the door with a 
trembling hand ; and if the page had been charmed 
by a mere glimpse of her countenance from the win- 
dow, he was ravished by the full-length portrait now 
revealed to him. 

Her Andalusian bodice and trim basquina set 
off the round but delicate symmetry of her form, 
which was as yet scarce verging into womanhood. 
Her glossy hair was parted on her forehead with 
scrupulous exactness, and decorated with a fresh 
plucked rose, according to the universal custom of 
the country. 

It is true, her complexion was tinged by the 
.ardour of a southern sun, but it served to give rich- 
ness to the mantUng bloom of her cheek, and to 
heighten the lustre of her melting eyes. 

Ruyz de Alarcon beheld all this with a single 
glance, for it became him not to tarry ; he merely 
murmured his acknowledgments, and then bounded 
lightly up the spiral staircase in quest of his falcon. 
He soon returned with the truant bird upon his fist. 
The damsel, in the mean time, had seated herself 
jy the fountain in the hall, and was winding silk ; 
but in her agitation she let fall the reel upon the 
pavement. The page sprang, picked it up, then 
dropping gracefully on one knee, presented it to 
her, but, seizing the hand extended to receive it, 
imprinted on it a kiss more fervent and devout 
than he had ever imprinted on the fair hand of his 
sovereign. 

" Ave Maria ! Seuor ! " exclaimed the damsel, 
blushing still deeper with confusion and surprise, 
for never before had she received such a salutation. 

The modest page made a thousand apologies, as- 
suring her it was the way, at court, of expressing the 
most profound homage and respect. 

Her anger, if anger she felt, was easily pacified ; 
but her agitation and embarrassment continued, and 
she sat blushing deeper and deeper, with her eyes 
cast down upon her work, entangling the silk which 
she attempted to wind. 

The cunning page saw the confusion in the op- 
posite camp, and would fain have profited by it, 
but the fine speeches he would have uttered died 
upon his lips ; his attempts at gallantry were awk- 
ward and ineffectual ; and, to his surprise, the 
adroit page who had figured with such grace 
and effrontery among the most knowing and ex- 
perienced ladies of the court, found himself awed 
and abashed in the presence of a simple damsel of 
fifteen. 

In fact, the artless maiden, in her own modesty 
and innocence, had guardians more effectual than 
the bolts and bars prescribed by her vigilant aunt. 
Still, where is the female bosom proof against the 
first whisperings of love ? The little damsel, with 
all her artlessness, instinctively comprehended all 
that the faltering tongue of the page failed to ex- 
press, and her heart was fluttered at beholding, 
for the first time, a lover at her feet — and such a 
lover ! 

The diffidence of the page, though genuine, was 
short-lived, and he was recovering his usual ease 
and confidence, when a shrill voice was heard at a 
distance. 



" My aunt is returning from mass ! " cried the 
damsel in affright. " I pray you, Sefior, depart." 

" Not until you grant me that rose from your hair, 
as a remembrance." 

She hastily untwisted the rose from her raven 
locks. " Take it," cried she, agitated and blushing, 
" but pray begone." 

The page took the rose, and at the same time 
covered with kisses the fair hand that gave it. 
Then placing the flower in his bonnet, and taking 
the falcon upon his fist, he bounded off through the 
garden, bearing away with him the heart of the gen- 
tle Jacinta. 

When the vigilant aunt arrived at the tower, 
she remarked the agitation of her niece, and an air 
of confusion in the hall ; but a word of explanation 
sufficed. " A ger-falcon had pursued his prey into 
the hall." 

" Mercy on us ! To think of a falcon flying into the 
tower. Did ever one hear of so saucy a hawk ? Why, 
the very bird in the cage is not safe." 

The vigilant Fredegonda was one of the most 
wary of ancient spinsters. She had a becoming ter- 
ror and distrust of w'hat she denominated " the op- 
posite sex," which had gradually increased through 
a long life of celibacy. Not that the good lady had 
ever suffered from their wiles ; nature having set up 
a safeguard in her face, that forbade all trespass 
upon her premises ; but ladies who have least cause 
to fear for themselves, are most ready to keep a 
watch over their more tempting neighbours. The 
niece was the orphan of an officer who had fallen 
in the wars. She had been educated in a convent, 
and had recently been transferred from her sacred 
asylum to the immediate guardianship of her aunt ; 
under whose overshadowing care she vegetated in 
obscurity, like an opening rose blooming beneath a 
briar. Nor, indeed, is this comparison entirely 
accidental, for to tell the truth her fresh and dawn- 
ing beauty had caught the public eye, even in her 
seclusion, and, with that poetical turn common to 
the people of Andalusia, the peasantr)- of the neigh- 
bourhood had given her the appellation of " The 
Rose of the Alhambra." 

The wary aunt continued to keep a faithful watch 
over her tempting little niece as long as the court 
continued at Granada, and flattered herself that her 
vigilance had been successful. It is true, the good 
lady was now and then discomposed by the tinkling 
of guitars, and chanting of love ditties from the 
moonlit groves beneath the tower, but she would 
exhort her niece to shut her ears against such idle 
minstrelsy, assuring her that it was one of the arts 
of the opposite sex, by which simple maids were 
often lured to their undoing ; — alas, what chance 
with a simple maid has a dry lecture against a moon- 
light serenade ! 

At length king Philip cut short his sojourn at 
Granada, and suddenly departed with all his train. 
The vigilant Fredegonda watched the royal pageant 
as it issued forth from the gate of Justice, and de- 
scended the great avenue leading to the city. When 
the last banner disappeared from her sight, she re- 
turned exulting to her tower, for all her cares were 
over. To her surprise, a light Arabian steed pawed 
the ground at the wicket gate of the garden, — to her 
horror she saw through the thickets of roses, a 
youth, in gaily embroidered dress, at the feet of her 
niece. At the sound of her footsteps he gave a ten- 
der adieu, bounded lightly over the barrier of reeds 
and myrtles, sprang upon his horse, and was out of 
sight in an instant. 

The tender Jacinta in the agony of her grief lost 
all thought of her aunt's displeasure. Throwing her- 
self into her arms, she broke forth into sobs and tears. 



154 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



"Ay di mi ! " cried she, " he is gone ! he is gone ! 
and I shall never see him more." 

" Gone ! who is gone ! what youth is this I saw at 
your feet ?" 

"A queen's page, aunt, who came to bid me fare- 
well." 

"A queen's page, child," echoed the vigilant Fre- 
degonda faintly, " and when did you become ac- 
quainted with a queen's page ? " 

" The morning that the ger-falcon flew into the 
tower. It was the queen's ger-falcon, and he came 
in pursuit of it." 

•' Ah, silly, silly girl ! know that there are no ger- 
falcons half so dangerous as these prankling pages, 
and it is precisely such simple birds as thee that they 
pounce upon." 

The aunt was at first indignant at learning that, 
in despite of her boasted vigilance, a tender inter- 
course had been carried on by the youthful lovers, 
almost beneath her eye ; but when she found that 
her simple-hearted niece, though thus exposed, with- 
out the protection of bolt or bar, to all the machina- 
tions of the opposite sex, had come forth unsinged 
from the fiery ordeal, she consoled herself with the 
persuasion that it was owing to the chaste and cau- 
tious maxims in which she had, as it were, steeped 
her to the very lips. 

While the aunt laid this soothing unction to her 
pride, the niece treasured up the oft-repeated vows 
of fidelity of the page. But what is the love of 
restless, roving man ? a vagrant stream that dallies 
for a time with each flower upon its banks, then 
passes on and leaves them all in tears. 

Days, weeks, months elapsed, and nothing more 
was heard of the page. The pomegranate ripened, 
the vine yielded up its fruit, the autumnal rains de- 
scended in torrents from the mountains ; the Sierra 
Nevada became covered with a snowy mantle, and 
wintry blasts howled through the halls of the Al- 
hambra : still he came not. The winter passed 
away. Again the genial spring burst forth with 
song, and blossoms, and balmy zephyr ; the snows 
melted from the mountains, until none remained, but 
on the lofty summit of the Nevada, glistening through 
the sultry summer air : still nothing was heard of the 
forgetful page. 

In the mean time, the poor little Jacinta grew pale 
and thoughtful. Her former occupations and 
amusements were abandoned ; her silk lay entangled, 
her guitar unstrung, her flowers were neglected, the 
notes of her bird unheeded, and her eyes, once so 
bright, were dimmed with secret weeping. If any 
solitude could be devised to foster the passion of a 
lovelorn damsel, it would be such a place as the Alham- 
bra, where every thing seems disposed to produce 
tender and romantic reveries. It is a very Paradise 
for lovers ; how hard then to be alone in such a 
Paradise ; and not merely alone, but forsaken. 

"Alas, silly child ! " would the staid and immacu- 
late Fredegonda say, when she found her niece in 
one of her desponding moods, " did I not warn 
thee against the wiles and deceptions of these men ? 
What couldst thou expect, too, from one of a haughty 
and aspiring family, thou, an orphan, the descend- 
ant of a fallen and impoverished line ; be assured, if 
the youth were true, his father, who is one of the 
proudest nobles about the court, would prohibit his 
union with one so humble and portionless as thou. 
Pluck up thy resolution, therefore, and drive these 
idle notions from thy mind." 

The words of the immaculate Fredegonda only 
served to increase the melancholy of her niece, but 
she sought to indulge it in private. At a late hour 
one midsummer night, after her aunt had retired to 
rest, she remained alone in the hall of the tower, 



seated beside the alabaster fountain. It was here 
that the faithless page had first knelt and kissed her 
hand, it was here that he had often vowed eternal 
fidelity. The poor little damsel's heart was over- 
laden with sad and tender recollections, her tears 
began to flow, and slowly fell, drop by drop, into the 
fountain. By degrees the crystal water became agi- 
tated, and, bubble — bubble — bubble, boiled up, and 
was tossed about until a female figure, richly clad in 
Moorish robes, slowly rose to view. 

Jacinta was so frightened, that she fled from the 
hall, and did not venture to return. The next 
morning, she related what she had seen to her aunt, 
but the good lady treated it as a fantasy of her 
troubled mind, or supposed she had fallen asleep and 
dreamt beside the fountain. " Thou hast been think- 
ing of the story of the three Moorish princesses that 
once inhabited the tower," continued she, " and it 
has entered into thy dreams." 

" What story, aunt .'' I know nothing of it." 

" Thou hast certainly heard of the three prin- 
cesses, Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda, who were 
confined in this tower by the king their father, and 
agreed to fly with three Christian cavaliers. The 
first two accompHshed their escape, but the third 
failed in resolution and remained, and it is said died 
in this tower." 

" I now recollect to have heard of it," said Jacinta, 
" and to have wept over the fate of the gentle Zora- 
hayda." 

" Thou mayst well weep over her fate,'' continued 
the aunt, " for the lover of Zorahayda was thy an- 
cestor. He long bemoaned his Moorish love, but 
time cured him of his grief, and he married a Span- 
ish lady, from whom thou art descended." 

Jacinta ruminated upon these words. " That 
what I have seen is no fantasy of the brain," said she 
to herself, " I am confident. If indeed it be the 
sprite of the gentle Zorahayda, which I have heard 
lingers about this tower, of what should I be afraid ? 
I'll watch by the fountain to-night, perhaps the visit 
will be repeated." 

Towards midnight, when every thing was quiet, 
she again took her seat in the hall. As the bell on 
the distant watch-tower of the Alhambra struck the 
midnight hour, the fountain was again agitated, and 
bubble — bubble — bubble, it tossed about the waters 
until the .Moorish female again rose to view. She 
was young and beautiful; her dress was rich with 
jewels, and in her hand she held a silver lute. Jacinta 
trembled and was faint, but was reassured by the 
soft and plaintive voice of the apparition, and the 
sweet expression of her pale melancholy counte- 
nance. 

"Daughter of Mortality," said she, "what aileth 
thee ? Why do thy tears trouble my fountain, and 
thy sighs and plaints disturb the quiet watches of 
the night? " 

" I weep because of the faithlessness of man ; and 
I bemoan my solitary and forsaken state." 

" Take comfort, thy sorrows may yet have an end. 
Thou beholdest a Moorish princess, who, like thee, 
was unhappy in her love. A Christian knight, thy 
ancestor, won my heart, and would have borne me 
to his native land, and to the bosom of his church. 
I was a convert in my heart, but I lacked courage 
equal to my faith, and lingered till too late. For 
this, the evil genii are permitted to have power over 
me, and I remam enchanted in this tower, until 
some pure Christian will deign to break the magic 
spell. Wilt thou undertake the task ? " 

" I will ! " replied the damsel, trembling. 

" Come hither, then, and fear not : dip thy hand 
in the fountain, sprinkle the water over me, and bap- 
tize me after the manner of thy faith ; so shall the 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



155 



enchantment be dispelled, and my troubled spirit 
have repose." 

The damsel advanced with faltering steps, dipped 
her hand in the fountain, collected water in the palm, 
and sprinkled it over the pale face of the phantom. 

The latter smiled with ineffable benignity. She 
dropped her silver lute at the feet of Jacinta, crossed 
her white arms upon her bosom, and melted from 
sight, so that it seemed merely as if a shower of 
dewdrops had fallen into the fountain. 

Jacinta retired from the hall, tilled with awe and 
wonder. She scarcely closed her eyes that night, 
but when she awoke at daybreak out of a troubled 
slumber, the whole appeared to her like a distem- 
pered dream. On descending into the hall, how- 
ever, the truth of the vision was established; for, 
beside the fountain she beheld the silver lute glitter- 
ing in the morning sunshine. 

She hastened to her aunt, related all that had be- 
fallen her, and called her to behold the lute as a tes- 
timonial of the reality of her story. If the good lady 
had any lingering doubts, they were removed when 
Jacinta touched the instrument, for she drew forth 
such ravishing tones as to thaw even the frigid bo- 
som of the immaculate Fredegonda, that region of 
eternal winter, into a genial flow. Nothing but su- 
pernatural melody could have produced such an 
effect. 

The extraordinary power of the lute became every 
day more and more apparent. The wayfarer pass- 
ing by the tower was detained, and, as it were, spell- 
bound, in breathless ecstasy. The very birds gath- 
ered in the neighbouring trees, and, hushing their 
own strains, listened in charmed silence. Rumour 
soon spread the news abroad. The inhabitants of 
Granada thronged to the Alhambra, to catch a few 
notes of the transcendent music that floated about 
the tower of Las Infantas. 

The lovely little minstrel was at length drawn 
forth from her retreat. The rich and powerful of 
the land contended who should entertain and do 
honour to her ; or rather, who should secure the 
charms of her lute, to draw fashionable throngs to 
their saloons. Wherever she went, her vigilant aunt 
kept a dragon-watch at her elbow, awing the throngs 
of impassioned admirers who hung in raptures on 
her strains. The report of her wonderful powers 
spread from city to city : Malaga, Seville, Cordova, 
all became successively mad on the theme ; nothing 
was talked of throughout Andalusia, but the beau- 
tiful minstrel of the Alhambra. How could it be 
otherwise among a people so musical and gallant as 
the Andalusians, when the lute was magical in its 
powers, and the minstrel inspired by love. 

While all Andalusia was thus music-mad, a dif- 
ferent mood prevailed at the court of Spain. Philip 
v., as is well known, was a miserable hypochon- 
driac, and subject to all kinds of fancies. Some- 
times he would keep to his bed for weeks together, 
groaning under imaginary complaints.' At other 
times he would insist upon abdicating his throne, 
to the great annoyance of his royal spouse, who had 
a strong relish for the splendours of a court and the 
glories of a crown, and guided the sceptre of her 
imbecile lord with an expert and steady hand. 

Nothing was found to be so efficacious in dispel- 
ling the royal megrims as the powers of music ; 
the queen took care, therefore, to have the best per- 
formers, both vocal and instrumental, at hand, and 
retained the famous Italian singer Farinelli about 
the court as a kind ol royal physician. 

At the moment we treat of, however, a freak had 
come over the mind of this sapient and illustrious 
Bourbon, that surpassed all former vagaries. After 
a long spell of imaginary illness, which set all the 



strains of Farinelli, and the consultations of a whole 
orchestra of court fiddlers, at defiance, the monarch 
fairly, in idea, gave up the ghost, and considered 
himself absolutely dead. 

This would have been harmless enough, and even 
convenient both to his queen and courtiers, had he 
been content to remain in the quietude befitting a 
dead man ; but, to their annoyance, he insisted upon 
having the funeral ceremonies performed over him ; 
and, to their inexpressible perplexity, began to grow 
impatient, and to revile bitterly at them for negli- 
gence and disrespect in leaving him unburied. What 
was to be done ? To disobey the king's positive 
commands was monstrous in the eyes of the obse- 
f;uious courtiers of a punctihous court,-^but to obey 
him, and bury him alive, would be downrigth regi- 
cide ! 

In the midst of this fearful dilemma, a rumour 
reached the court of the female minstrel, who was 
turning the brains of all Andalusia. The queen 
despatched missives in all haste, to summon her to 
St. Ildefonso, where the court at that time resided. 

Within a few days, as the queen with her maids 
of honour was walking in those stately gardens, in- 
tended, with their avenues, and terraces, and fount- 
anis, to eclipse the glories of Versailles, the far- 
famed minstrel was conducted into her presence. 
The imperial Elizabetta gazed with surprise at the 
youthful and unpretending appearance of the little 
being that had set the world madding. She was in 
her picturesque Andalusian dress ; her silver lute 
was in her hand, and she stood with modest and 
downcast eyes, but with a simplicity and freshness 
of beauty that still bespoke her " The Rose of the 
Alhambra." 

As usual, she was accompanied by the ever vigi- 
lant Fredegonda, who gave the whole history of her 
parentage and descent to the inquiring queen. If 
the stately Elizabetta had been interested by the ap- 
pearance of Jacinta, she was still more pleased when 
she learnt that she was of a meritorious, though im- 
poverished line, and that her father had bravely fallen 
in the service of the crown. " If thy powers equal 
their renown," said she, "and thou canst cast forth 
this evil spirit that possesses thy sovereign, thy for- 
tune shall henceforth be my care, and honours and 
wealth attend thee." 

Impatient to make trial of her skill, she led the 
way at once to the apartment of the moody monarch. 
Jacinta followed with downcast eyes through files of 
guards and crowds of courtiers. They arrived at 
length at a great chamber hung in black. The win- 
dows were closed, to exclude the light of day ; a 
number of yellow wax tapers, in silver sconces, dif- 
fused a lugubrious light, and dimly revealed the fig- 
ures of mutes in mourning dresses, and courtiers, 
who glided about with noiseless step and woe-begone 
visage. On the midst of a funeral bed or bier, his 
hands folded on his breast, and the tip of his nose 
just visible, lay extended this would-be-buried mon- 
arch. 

The queen entered the chamber in silence, and, 
pointing to a footstool in an obscure corner, beck- 
oned to Jacinta to sit down and commence. 

At first she touched her lute with a faltering hand, 
but gathering confidence and animation as she pro- 
ceeded, drew forth such soft, aerial harmony, that 
all present could scarce believe it mortal. As to the 
monarch, who had already considered himself in the 
world of spirits, he set it dovvn for some angelic mel- 
ody, or the music of the spheres. By degrees the 
theme was varied, and the voice of the minstrel ac- 
companied the instrument. She poured forth one 
of the legendary ballads treating of the ancient glo- 
, ries of the Alhambra, and the achievements of the 



156 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Moors. Her whole soul entered into the theme, for 
with the recollections of the Alhambra was associ- 
ated the story of her love ; the funereal chamber re- 
sounded with the animating strain. It entered into 
the gloomy heart of the monarch. He raised his 
head and gazed around ; he sat up on his couch ; 
his eye began to kindle ; at length, leaping upon the 
floor, he called for sword and buckler. 

The triumph of music, or rather of the enchanted 
lute, was complete ; the demon of melancholy was 
cast forth ; and, as it were, a dead man brought to 
life. The windows of the apartment were thrown 
open ; the glorious effulgence of Spanish sunshine 
burst into the late lugubrious chamber ; all eyes 
sought the lovely enchantress, but the lute had fallen 
from her hand ; she had sank upon the earth, and 
the next moment was clasped to the bosom of Ruyz 
de Alarcon. 

The nuptials of the happy couple were shortly 
after celebrated with great splendour, — but hold, I 
hear the reader ask how did Ruyz de Alarcon ac- 
count for his long neglect ? Oh, — that was all owing 
to the opposition of a proud pragmatical old father, — 
besides, young people, who really like one another, 
soon come to an amicable understanding, and bury 
all past grievances whenever they meet. 

But how was the proud pragmatical old father 
reconciled to the match .'' 

Oh, his scruples were easily overruled by a word 
or two from the queen, — especially as dignities and 
rewards were showered upon the blooming favour- 
ite of royalty. Besides, the lute of Jacinta, you know, 
possessed a magic power, and could control the most 
stubborn head and hardest heart. 

And what became of the enchanted lute .' 

Oh, that is the most curious matter of all, and 
plainly proves the truth of all the story. That lute 
remained for some time in the family, but was pur- 
loined and carried off, as was supposed, by the great 
singer Farinelli, in pure jealousy. At his death it 
passed into other hands in Italy, who were ignorant 
of its mystic powers, and melting down the silver, 
transferred the strings to an old Cremona fiddle. 
The strings still retain something of their magic vir- 
tues. A word in the reader's ear, but let it go no 
further, — that fiddle is now bewitching the whole 
world, — it is the fiddle of Paganini ! 



Malaga during a time of peril and confusion, and 
been made a general by the inhabitants to protect 
them from the invasion of the French. 

This has entailed upon him a number of just 
claims upon government that I fear will employ him 
until his dying day in writing and printing petitions 
and memorials, to the great disquiet of his mind, ex- 
haustion of his purse, and penance of his friends ; 
not one of whom can visit him without having to 
listen to a mortal document of half an hour in 
length, and to carry away half a dozen pamphlets in 
his pocket. This, however, is the case throughout 
Spain : every where you meet with some worthy 
wight brooding in a corner, and nursing up some 
pet grievance and cherished wrong. Beside, a 
Spaniard who has a lawsuit, or a claim upon gov- 
ernment, may be considered as furnished with em- 
ployment for the remainder of his life. 

I visited the veteran in his quarters in the upper 
part of the Terre del Vino, or Wine Tower. His 
room was small but snug, and commanded a beau- 
tiful view of the Vega. It was arranged with a sol- 
dier's precision. Three muskets and a brace of 
pistols, all bright and shining, were suspended 
against the wall, with a sabre and a cane hanging 
side by side, and above these two cocked hats, one 
for parade, and one for ordinary use. A small shelf, 
containing some half dozen books, formed his library, 
one of which, a little old mouldy volume of philo- 
sophical maxims, was his favourite reading. This 
he thumbed and pondered over day by day ; apply- 
ing every maxim to his own particular case, provided 
it had a little tinge of wholesome bitterness, and 
treated of the injustice of the world. 

Yet he is social and kind-hearted, and, provided 
he can be diverted from his wrongs and his philoso- 
phy, is an entertaining companion. I like these old 
weather-beaten sons of fortune, and enjoy their 
rough campaigning anecdotes. In the course of my 
visit to the one in question, I learnt some curious 
facts about an old military commander of the for- 
tress, who seems to have resembled him in some re- 
spects, and to have had similar fortunes in the wars. 
These particulars have been augmented by inquiries 
among some of the old inhabitants of the place, par- 
ticularly the father of Mateo Ximenes, of whose tra- 
ditional stories the worthy 1 am about to introduce 
to the reader is a favourite hero. 



THE VETERAN. 



Among the cmious acquaintances I have made in 
my rambles about the fortress, is a brave and bat- 
tered old Colonel of Invalids, who is nestled like a 
hawk in one of the Moorish towers. His history, 
which he is fond of telling, is a tissue of those advent- 
ures, mishaps, and vicissitudes that render the life 
of almost every Spaniard of note as varied and 
whimsical as the pages of Gil Bias. 

He was in America at twelve years of age, and 
reckons among the most signal and fortunate events 
of his life, his having seen General Washington. 
Since tlien he has taken a part in all the wars of his 
country ; he can speak experimentally of most of the 
prisons and dungeons of the Peninsula, has been 
lamed of one leg, crippled in his hand, and so cut up 
and carbonadoed, that he is a kind of walking monu- 
ment of the troubles of Spain, on which there is a 
scar for every battle and broil, as every year was 
notched upon the tree of Robinson Crusoe. The 
greatest misfortune of the brave old cavalier, how- 
ever, appears to have been his having commanded at 



THE GOVERNOR AND THE NOTARY, 



In former times there ruled, as governor of the 
Alhambra, a doughty old cavalier, who, from having 
lost one arm in the wars, was commonly known by 
the name of El Gobernador Manco, or the one- 
armed governor. He in fact prided himself upon 
being an old soldier, wore his mustachios curled up 
to his eyes, a pair of campaigning boots, and a toledo 
as long as a spit, with his pocket handkerchief in 
the basket-hilt. 

He was, moreover, exceedingly proud and punctil- 
ious, and tenacious of all his privileges and dignities. 
Under his sway, the immunities of the Alhambra. as 
a royal residence 'and domain, were rigidly exactr.l. 
No one was permitted to enter the fortress with fire- 
arms, or even with a sword or staff, unless he wt r-- 
of a certain rank, and every horseman was oblii;! d 
to dismount at the gate and lead his liorse by tlic 
bridle. Now, as the hill of the Alhambra rises from 
the very midst of the city of Granada, being, as it 
were, an excrescence of the capital, it must at all 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



157 



imes be somewhat irksome to the captain-general 
ivho commands the province, to have thus an im- 
Dcrium in imperio, a petty independent post, in the 
■ery core of his domains. It was rendered the more 
jailing in the present instance, from the irritable 
ealousy of the old governor, that took fire on the 
east question of authority and jurisdiction, and from 
:he loose vagrant character of the people that had 
gradually nestled themselves within the fortress as 
n a sanctuary, and from thence carried on a system 
jf rogueiy and depredation at the expense of the 
lonest inhabitants of the city. Thus there was a 
jerpelual feud and heart-burning between the cap- 
ain-general and the governor; the more virulent on 
.he part of the latter, inasmuch as the smallest of 
.wo neighbouring potentates is always the most 
;aptious about his dignity. The stately palace of 
he captain-general stood in the Plaza Nueva, im- 
nediately at the foot of the hill of the Alhambra, 
md here was always a bustle and parade of guards, 
uid domestics, and city functionaries. A beetling 
jastion of the fortress overlooked the palace and the 
)ublic square in front of it ; and on this bastion the 
)]d governor would occasionally strut backwards 
md forwards, with his toledo girded by his side, 
:eeping a wary eye down upon his rival, like a 
lawk reconnoitring his quarry from his nest in a 
Iry tree. 

Whenever he descended into the city, it was in 
jrand parade, on horseback, surrounded by his 
guards, or in his state coach, an ancient and un- 
vieldy Spanish edifice of carved timber and gilt 
eather, drawn by eight mules, with running foot- 
nen, outriders, and lacqueys, on which occasions 
le flattered himself he impressed every beholder 
,vith awe and admiration as vicegerent of the king, 
.hough the wits of Granada, particularly those who 
oitered about the palace of the captain-general, 
.vere apt to sneer at his petty parade, and, in al- 
usion to the vagrant character of his subjects, to 
jreet him with the appellation of " the King of the 
oeggars." 

One of the most iVuitful sources of dispute between 
these two doughty rivals, was the right claimed by 
the governor to have all things passed free of duty 
through the city, that were intended for the use of 
himself or his garrison. By degrees, this privilege 
had given rise to extensive smuggling. A nest of 
contrabandistas took up their abode in the hovels 
of the fortress and the numerous caves in its vicinity, 
and drove a thriving business under the connivance 
of the soldiers of the garrison. 

The vigilance of the captain-general was aroused. 
He consulted his legal adviser and factotum, a 
shrewd, meddlesome Escribano or notary, who re- 
joiced in an opportunity of perplexing the old poten- 
tate of the Alhambra, and involving him in a maze 
of legal subtilities. He advised the captain-general 
to insist upon the right of examining every convoy 
passing through the gates of his city, and he penned 
a long letter for him, in vindication of the right. 
Governor Manco was a straight-forward, cut-and- 
thrust old soldier, who hated an Escribano worse 
than the devil, and this one in particular, worse 
than all other Escribanoes. 

" What ! " said he, curling up his mustachios 
fiercely, " does the captain-general set his man of 
the pen to practise confusions upon me.'' I'll let 
him see that an old soldier is not to be baffled by 
Schoolcraft." 

He seized his pen, and scrawled a short letter in 
a crabbed hand, in which, without deigning to enter 
into argument, he insisted on the right of transit 
free of search, and denounced vengeance on any 
custom-house officer who should lay his unhallowed 



hand on any convoy protected by the flag of the 
Alhambra. 

While this question was agitated between the two 
pragmatical potentates, it so happened that a mule 
laden with supplies for the fortress arrived one day 
at the gate of Xenil, by which it was to traverse a 
suburb of the city on its way to the Alhambra. 
The convoy was headed by a testy old corporal, who 
had long served under the governor, and was a man 
after his own heart ; as trusty and staunch as an old 
toledo blade. As they approached the gate of the 
city, the corporal placed the banner of the Alhambra 
on the pack saddle of the mule, and, drawing him- 
self up to a perfect perpendicular, advanced with his 
head dressed to the front, but with the wary side 
glance of a cur passing through hostile grounds, and 
ready for a snap and a snarl. 

"Who goes there?" said the sentinel at the 
gate. 

" Soldier of the Alhambra," said the corporal, 
without turning his head. 

" What have you in charge ? " 

" Provisions for the garrison." 

" Proceed." 

The corporal marched straight forward, followed 
by the convoy, but had not advanced many paces, 
before a posse of custom-house officers rushed out 
of a small toll-house. 

"Hallo, there!" cried the leader: "Muleteer, 
halt and open those packages." 

The corporal wheeled round, and drew himself 
up in battle array. " Respect the flag of the Al- 
hambra," said he; "these things are for the gov- 
ernor." 

" A fig for the governor, and a fig for his flag. 
Muleteer, halt, I say." 

" Stop the convoy at your peril ! " cried the cor- 
poral, cocking his musket. " Muleteer, proceed." 

The muleteer gave his beast a hearty thwack, the 
custom-house officer sprang forward, and seized the 
halter ; whereupon the corporal levelled his piece 
and shot him dead. 

The street was immediately in an uproar. The 
old corporal was seized, and alter undergoing sundry 
kicks and cuffs, and cudgellings, which are generally 
given impromptu, by the mob in Spain, as a fore- 
taste of the after penalties of the law, he was loaded 
with irons, and conducted to the city prison ; while 
his comrades were permitted to proceed with the 
convoy, after it had been well rummaged, to the 
Alhambra. 

The old governor was in a towering passion, when 
he heard of this insult to his flag and capture of his 
corporal. For a time he stormed about the Moorish 
halls, and vapoured about the bastions, and looked 
down fire and sword upon the palace of the captain- 
general. Having vented the first ebullition of his 
wrath, he despatched a message demanding the 
surrender of the corporal, as to him alone belonged 
the right of sitting in judgment on the offences of 
those under his command. The captain-general, 
aided by the pen of the delighted Escribano, replied 
at great length, irguing that as the offence had been 
committed within the walls of his city, and against 
one of his civil ofticers, it was clearly within his 
proper jurisdiction. The governor rejoined by a 
repetition of his demand ; the captain-general gave 
a sur-rejoinder of still greater length, and legal 
acumen ; the governor became hotter and more 
peremptory in his demands, and the captain-general 
cooler and more copious in his replies ; until the old 
lion-hearted soldier absolutely roared with fury, 
at being thus entangled in the meshes of legal con- 
troversy. 

While the subtle Escribano was thus amusing 



158 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



himself at the expense of the governor, he was con- 
ducting' the trial of the corporal ; who, mewed up in 
a narrow dungeon of the prison, had merely a small 
grated window at which to show his iron-bound 
visage, and receive the consolations of his friends ; a 
mountain of written testimony was diligently heaped 
up, according to Spanish form, by the indefatigable 
Escribano ; the corporal was completely overwhelmed 
by it. He was convicted of murder, and sentenced 
to be hanged. 

It was in vain the governor sent down remon- 
strance and menace from the Alhambra. The fatal 
day was at hand, and the corporal was put in capilla, 
that is to say, in the chapel of the prison ; as is al- 
ways done with culprits the day before execution, 
that they may meditate on their approaching end, 
and repent them of their sins. 

_ Seeing things drawing to an extremity, the old 
governor determined to attend to the affair in person. 
For this purpose he ordered out his carriage of 
state, and, surrounded by his guards, rumbled down 
the avenue of the Alhambra into the city. Driving 
to the house of the Escribano, he summoned him to 
the portal. 

The eye of the old governor gleamed like a coal at 
beholding the smirking man of the law advancing 
with an air of exultation. 

" What is this I hear," cried he, " that you are 
about to put to death one of my soldiers ? " 

" All according to law, — all in strict form of jus- 
tice," said the self-sufficient Escribano, chuckling 
and rubbing his hands. " I can show your excel- 
lency the written testimony in the case." 

" Fetch it hither," said the governor. 

The Escribano bustled into his office, delighted 
with having another opportunity of displaying his 
ingenuity at the expense of the hard-headed veteran. 
He returned with a .satchel full of papers, and 
began to read a long deposition with professional 
volubility. By this time, a crowd had collected, 
listening with outstretched necks and gaping mouths. 

"Pry'thee man, get into the carriage out of this 
pestilent throng, that I may the better hear thee," 
said the governor. 

The Escribano entered the carriage, when, in a 
twinkling, the door was closed, the coachman 
smacked his whip, mules, carriage, guards, and all 
dashed off at a thundering rate, leaving the crowd 
in gaping wonderment, nor did the governor pause 
until he had lodged his prey in one of the strongest 
dungeons of the Alhambra. 

He then sent down a flag of truce in military 
style, proposing a cartel or exchange of prisoners, 
the corporal for the notary. The pride of the cap- 
tain-general was piqued, he returned a contemptuous 
refusal, and forthwith caused a gallows, tall and 
strong, to be erected in the centre of the Plaza 
Neuva, for the execution of the corporal. 

" O ho ! is that the game ? " said governor Manco : 
he gave orders, and immediately a gibbet was reared 
on the verge of the great beetling bastion that over- 
looked the Plaza. " Now," said he, in a message to 
the captain-general, " hang my soldier when you 
please ; but at the same time that he is swung off 
in the square, look up to see your Escribano dan- 
gling against the sky." 

The captain-general was inflexible ; troops were 
paraded in the square ; the drums beat ; the bell 
tolled ; an immense multitude of amateurs had 
collected to behold the execution ; on the other 
hand, the governor paraded his garrison on the bas- 
tion, and tolled the funeral dirge of the notary from 
the Torre de la Campana, or tower of the bell. 

The notary's wife pressed through the crowd with 
a whole progeny of little embryo Escribanoes at her 



heels, and throwing herself at the feet of the captain- 
general, implored him not to sacrifice the life of her 
husband, and the welfare of herself and her numer- 
ous little ones to a point of pride ; " for you know 
the old governor too well," said she, " to doubt that 
he will put his threat in execution if you hang the 
soldier." 

The captain-general was overpowered by her 
tears and lamentations, and the clamours of her 
callow brood. The corpor.il was sent up to the 
Alhambra under a guard, in his gallows garb, like a 
hooded friar; but with head erect and a face of iron. 
The Escribano was demanded in exchange, accord- 
ing to the cartel. The once bustling and self-suf- 
ficient man of the law was drawn forth from his 
dungeon, more dead than alive. All his flippancy 
and conceit had evaporated ; his hair, it is said, had 
nearly turned gray with affright, and he had a 
downcast, dogged look, as if he still felt the halter 
round his neck. 

The old governor stuck his one arm a-kimbo, 
and for a moment surveyed him with an iron smile. 
" Henceforth, my friend," said he, " moderate your 
zeal in hun7ing others to the gallows ; be not too 
certain of your own safety, even though you should 
have the law on your side ; and, above all, take care 
how you play off your Schoolcraft another time upon 
an old soldier." 



GOVERNOR MANCO AND THE SOLDIER. 



When governor Manco, or the one-armed, kept 
up a show of military state in the Alhambra, he 
became nettled at the reproaches continually cast 
upon his fortress of being a nestling place of rogues 
and contrabandistas. On a sudden, the old poten- 
tate determined on reform, and setting vigorously to 
work, ejected whole nests of vagabonds out of the 
fortress, and the gipsy caves with which the sur- 
rounding hills are honey-combed. He sent out sol- 
diers, also, to patrol the avenues and footpaths, with 
orders to take up all suspicious persons. 

One bright summer morning, a patrol consisting 
of the testy old corporal who had distinguished 
himself in the affair of the notary, a trumpeter and 
two privates were seated under the garden wall of 
the Generaliffe, beside the road which leads down 
from the mountain of the Sun, when they heard the 
tramp of a horse, and a male voice singing in rough, 
though not unmusical tones, an old Castilian cam- 
paigning song. 

Presently they beheld a sturdy, sun-burnt fellow, 
clad in the ragged garb of a foot-soldier, leading a 
powerful Arabian horse caparisoned in the ancient 
Morisco fashion. 

Astonished at the sight of a strange soldier de- 
scending, steed in hand, from that solitary moun- 
tain, the corporal stepped forth and challenged him. 

" Who goes there .-' " 

"A friend." 

"Who, and what are you?" 

" A poor soldier, just from the wars, with a 
cracked crown and empty purse for a reward." 

By this time they were enabled to view him more 
narrowly. He had a black patch across his fore- 
head, which, with a grizzled beard, added to a cer- 
tain dare-devil cast of countenance, while a slight 
squint threw into the whole an occasional gleam of 
roguish good-humour. 

Having answered the questions of the patrol, the 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



159 



soldier seemed to consider himself entitled to make 
others in return. 

" May I ask," said he, " what city is this which I 
see at the foot of the hill ? " 

" What city ! " cried the trumpeter ; " come, that's 
too bad. Here's a fellow lurking about the moun- 
tain of the Sun, and demands the name of the great 
city of Granada. " 

" Granada ! Madre de Dios ! can it be possible ! " 

" Perhaps not ! " rejoined the trumpeter, " and 
perhaps you have no idea that yonder are the towers 
of the Alhambra? " 

" Son of a trumpet," replied the stranger, " do 
not trifle with me ; if this be indeed the Alhambra, i 
have some strange matters to reveal to the governor." 

"You will have an opportunity," said the cor- 
poral, " for we mean to take you before him." 

By this time the trumpeter had seized the bridle 
of the steed, the two privates had each secured an 
arm of the soldier, the corporal put himself in front, 
gave the word, " forward, march ! " and away they 
marched for the Alhambra. 

The sight of a ragged foot-soldier and a fine 
Arabian horse brought in captive by the patrol, at- 
tracted the attention of all the idlers of the fortress, 
and of those gossip groups that generally assemble 
about wells and fountains at early dawn. The wheel 
of the cistern paused in its rotations ; the slipshod 
servant-maid stood gaping with pitcher in hand, as 
the corporal passed by with his prize. A motley 
train gradually gathered in the rear of the escort. 
Knowing nods, and winks, and conjectures passed 
from one to another. It is a deserter, said one ; a 
contrabandista, said another ; a bandalero, said a 
third, until it was affirmed that a captain of a des- 
perate band of robbers had been captured by the 
prowess of the corporal and his patrol. " Well, 
well," said the old crones one to another, "captain 
or not, let him get out of the grasp of old governor 
Manco if he can, though he is but one-handed." 

Governor Manco was seated in one of the inner 
halls of the Alhambra, taking his morning's cup of 
chocolate in company with his confessor, a fat 
Franciscan friar from the neighbouring convent. A 
demure, dark-eyed damsel of Malaga, the daughter 
of his housekeeper, was attending upon him. 

The world hinted that the damsel, who, with all 
her demureness, was a sly, buxom baggage, had 
found out a soft spot in the iron heart of the old 
governor, and held complete control over him, — but 
let that pass ; the domestic affairs of these mighty 
potentates of the earth should not be too narrowly 
scrutinized. 

When word was brought that a suspicious stranger 
had been taken lurking about the fortress, and was 
actually in the outer court, in durance of the cor- 
poral, waiting the pleasure of his excellency, the 
pride and stateliness of office swelled the bosom of 
the governor. Giving back his chocolate cup into 
the hands of the demure damsel, he called for his 
basket-hilted sword, girded it to his side, twirled up 
his mustachios, took his seat in a large high-backed 
chair, assumed a bitter and forbidding aspect, and 
ordered the prisoner into his presence. The soldier 
was brought in, still closely pinioned by his captors, 
and guarded by the corporal. He maintained, how- 
ever, a resolute, self-confident air, and returned the 
sharp, scrutinizing look of the governor with an 
easy squint, which by no means pleased the punc- 
tilious old potentate. 

" Well, culprit ! " said the governor, after he had 
regarded him for a moment in silence, " what have 
you to say for yourself? who are you ? " 

" A soldier, just from the wars, who has brought 
away nothing but scars and bruises." 



" A soldier ? humph ! a foot-soldier by your garb. 
I understand you have a fine Arabian horse. I pre- 
sume you brought him too from the wars, beside 
your scars and bruises." 

" May it please your excellency, I have something 
strange to tell about that horse. Indeed, I have one 
of the most wonderful things to relate — something 
too that concerns the security of this fortress, indeed 
of all Granada. But it is a matter to be imparted 
only to your private ear, or in presence of such only 
as are in your confidence." 

The governor considered for a moment, and then 
directed the corporal and his men to withdraw, but 
to post themselves outside of the door, and be ready 
at call. "This holy friar," said he, "is my confes- 
sor, you may say any thing in his presence — and 
this damsel," nodding towards the handmaid, who 
had loitered with an air of great curiosity, " this 
damsel is of great secrecy and discretion, and to be 
trusted with any thing." 

The soldier gave a glance between a squint and a 
leer at the demure handmaid. " I am perfectly will- 
ing," said he, '• that the damsel should remain." 

When all the rest had withdrawn, the soldier com- 
menced his story. He was a fluent, smooth-tongued 
varlet, and had a command of language above his 
apparent rank. 

" May it please your excellency," said he, " I am, 
as I before observed, a soldier, and have seen some 
hard service, but my term of enlistment being ex- 
pired, I was discharged not long since from the army 
at Valladolid, and set out on foot for my native vil- 
lage in Andalusia. Yesterday evening the sun went 
down as I was traversing a great dry plain of old 
Castile." 

" Hold ! " cried the governor, " what is this you 
say ? Old Castile is some two or three hundred 
miles from this." 

" Even so," replied the soldier, coolly, " I told your 
excellency 1 had strange things to relate — but not 
more strange than true — as your excellency will find, 
if you will deign me a patient hearing." 

" Proceed, culprit," said the governor, twirling up 
his mustachios. 

"As the sun went down," continued the soldier, 
" I cast my eyes about in search of some quarters 
for the night, but far as my sight could reach, 
there was no signs of habitation. I saw that I 
should have to make my bed on the naked plain, 
with my knapsack for a pillow ; but your excellency 
is an old soldier, and knows that to one who has 
been in the wars, such a night's lodging is no great 
hardship." 

The governor nodded assent, as he drew his pock- 
et-handkerchief out of the basket-hilt of his sword, 
to drive away a fly that buzzed about his nose. 

" Well, to make a long story short," continued the 
soldier, " I trudged forward for several miles, until I 
came to a bridge over a deep ravine, through which 
ran a little thread of water, almost dried up by the 
summer heat. At one end of the bridge was a 
Moorish tower, the upper part all in ruins, but a 
vault in the foundations quite entire. Here, thinks 
I, is a good place to make a halt. So I went down 
to the stream, took a hearty drink, for the water was 
pure and sweet, and I was parched with thirst, then 
opening my wallet, I took out an onion and a few 
crusts, which were all my provisions, and seating 
myself on a stone on the margin of the stream, 
began to make my supper ; intending afterwards to 
quarter myself for the night in the vault of the tower, 
and capital quarters they would have been for a 
campaigner just from the wars, as your excellency, 
who IS an old soldier, may suppose." 

" I have put up gladly with worse in my time," 



160 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



said the governor, returning his pocket-handl<erchief 
into the hilt of his sword. 

"While I was quietly craunching my crust," pur- 
sued the soldier, " I heard something stir within the 
vault; I listened: it was the tramp of a horse. By 
and by a man came forth from a door in the founda- 
tion of the tower, close by the water's edge, leading 
a powerful horse by the bridle. I could not well 
make out what he was by the starlight. It had a 
suspicious look to be lurking among the ruins of a 
tower in that wild solitary- place. He might be a 
mere wayfarer like myself; he might be a contra- 
bandista ; he might be a bandalero ! What of that, 
— thank heaven and my poverty, I had nothing to 
lose, — so I sat still and craunched my crusts. 

" He led his horse to the water close by where I 
was sitting, so that I had a fair opportunity of re- 
connoitring him. To my surprise, he was dressed 
in a Moorish garb, with a cuirass of steel, and a 
polished skullcap, that I distinguished by the reflec- 
tion of the stars upon it. His horse, too, was har- 
nessed in the Morisco fashion, with great shovel 
stirrups. He led him, as I said, to the side of the 
stream, into which the animal plunged his head al- 
most to the eyes, and drank until I thought he 
would have burst. 

" 'Comrade,' said I, 'your steed drinks well ; it's 
a good sign when a horse plunges his muzzle bravely 
into the water.' 

" ' He may well drink,' said the stranger, speaking 
with a Moorish accent; 'it is a good year since he 
had his last draught.' 

" ' By Santiago,' said I, ' that beats even the 
camels that I have seen in Africa. But come, you 
seem to be something of a soldier, won't you sit 
down, and take part of a soldier's fare? ' — In fact, I 
felt the want of a companion in this lonely place, 
and was willing to put up with an infidel. Besides, 
as your excellency well knows, a soldier is never 
very particular about the faith of his company, and 
soldiers of all countries are comrades on peaceable 
ground." 

The governor again nodded assent. 

" Well, as I was saying, I invited him to share my 
supper, such as it was, for I could not do less in 
common hospitality. 

" ' I have no time to pause for meat or drink,' 
said he, ' I have a long journey to make before morn- 
ing.' 

•' ' In which direction .' ' said I. 

"' Andalusia,' said he. 

" ' Exactly my route,' said I. ' So as you won't 
stop and eat with me, perhaps you'll let me mount 
and ride w-ith you. I see your horse is of a powerful 
frame : I'll warrant he'll carry double.' 

" ' Agreed,' said the trooper ; and it would not 
have been civil and soldierlike to refuse, especially 
as I had offered to share my supper with him. So 
up he mounted, and up I mounted behind him. 

"'Hold fast,' said he, 'my steed goes like the 
wind.' 

"' Never fear me,' said I, and so off we set. 

" From a walk the horse soon passed to a trot, 
from a trot to a gallop, and from a gallop to a 
harum-scarum scamper. It seemed as if rocks, 
trees, houses, every thing, flew hurry-scurry behind 
us. 

" ' What town is this ? ' said I. 

"' Segovia,' said he; and before the words were 
out of his mouth, the towers of Segovia were out 
of sight. We swept up the Guadarama mountains, 
and down by the Escurial ; and we skirted the walls 
of Madrid, and we scoured away across the plains of 
La Mancha. In this way we went up hill and down 
dale, by towns and cities all buried in deep sleep. 



and across mountains, and plains, and rivers, just 
glimmering in the starlight. 

" To make a long story short, and not to fatigue 
your excellency, the trooper suddenly pulled up on 
the side of a mountain. ' Here we are,' said he, 'at 
the end of our journey.' 

" I looked about, but could see no signs of habita- 
tion : nothing but the mouth of a cavern : while I 
looked, I saw multitudes of people in Moorish dresses, 
some on horseback, some on foot, arriving as if 
borne by the wind from all points of the compass, 
and hurrying into the mouth of the cavern like bees 
into a hive. Before I could ask a question, the 
trooper struck his long Moorish spurs into the horse's 
flanks, and dashed in with the throng. We passed 
along a steep winding way that descended into the 
very bowels of the mountain. As we pushed on, a 
light began to glimmer up by little and little, like the 
first glimmerings of day, but what caused it, I could 
not discover. It grew stronger and stronger, and 
enabled me to see every thing around. 1 now no- 
ticed as we passed along, great caverns opening to 
the right and left, like halls in an arsenal. In some 
there were shields, and helmets, and cuirasses, and 
lances, and scimitars hanging against the walls ; in 
others, tliere were great heaps of warlike munitions 
and camp equipage lying upon the ground. 

" It would have done your excellency's heart 
good, being an old soldier, to have seen such grand 
provision for war. Then in other carverns there 
were long rows of horsemen, armed to the teeth, 
with lances raised and banners unfurled, all ready 
for the field ; but they all sat motionless in their 
saddles like so many statues. In other halls, were 
warriors sleeping on the ground beside their horses, 
and foot soldiers in groups, ready to fall into the 
ranks. All were in old-fashioned Moorish dresses 
and armour. 

" Well, your excellency, to cut a long story short, 
we at length entered an immense cavern, or I might 
say palace, of grotto work, the walls of w'hich 
seemed to be veined with gold and silver, and to 
sparkle with diamonds and sapphires, and all kinds 
of precious stones. At the upper end sat a Moorish 
king on a golden throne, with his nobles on each 
side, and a guard of African blacks with draw-n 
scimitars. All the crowd that continued to flock 
in, and amounted to thousands and thousands, 
passed one by one before his throne, each paying 
homage as he passed. Some of the multitude were 
dressed in magnificent robes, without stain or blem- 
ish, and sparkling with jewels ; others in burnished 
and enamelled armour ; while others were in moul- 
dered and mildewed garments, and in armour all 
battered and dinted, and covered with rust. 

" I had hitherto held my tongue, for your ex- 
cellency well knows, it is not for a soldier to ask 
many questions when on duty, but I could keep 
silence no longer. 

" ' Pry'thee, comrade,' said I, ' what is the mean- 
ing of all this? ' 

" ' This,' said the trooper, ' is a great and pow- 
erful mystery. Know, O Christian, that you see be- 
fore you the court and army of Boabdil, the last king 
of Granada.' 

" ' What is this you tell me ! ' cried I. ' Boabdil 
and his court were exiled from the land hundreds of 
years agone, and all died in Africa.' 

" • So it is recorded in your lying chronicles,' re- 
plied the Moor, ' but know that Boabdil and the war- 
riors who made the last struggle for Granada were 
all shut up in this mountain by powerful enchant- 
ment. As to the kmg and army that marched forth 
from Granada at the time of the surrender, they 
were a mere phantom train, or spirits and demons 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



IGl 



permitted to assume those shapes to deceive the 
Christian sovereigns. And furthermore let me tell 
you, friend, that all Spain is a country under the 
power of enchantment. There is not a mountain- 
cave, not a lonely watch-tower in the plains, nor 
ruined castle on the hills, but has some spell-bound 
warriors sleeping from age to age within its vaults, 
until the sins are expiated for which Allah permitted 
the dominion to pass for a time out of the hands of 
the faithful. Once every year, on the eve of St. 
John, they are released from enchantment from sun- 
set to sunrise, and permitted to repair here to pay 
homage to their sovereign ; and the crowds which 
you beheld swarming into the cavern are Moslem 
warriors from their haunts in all parts of Spain ; for 
my own part, you saw the ruined tower of the 
bridge in old Castile, where I have now wintered 
and summered for many hundred years, and where 
I must be back again by day-break. As to the bat- 
talions of horse and foot which you beheld drawn 
up in array in the neighbouring caverns, they are 
the spell-bound warriors of Granada. It is written 
in the book of fate, that when the enchantment is 
broken, Boabdil will descend from the mountains at 
the head of this army, resume his throne in the Al- 
hambra and his sway of Granada, and gathering 
together the enchanted warriors from all parts of 
Spain, will reconquer the peninsula, and restore it to 
Moslem rule.' 

" ' .'\nd when shall this happen ? ' said I. 

" ' Allah alone knows. We had hoped the day of 
deliverance was at hand ; but there reigns at present 
a vigilant governor in Aihambra, a staunch old 
soldier, the same called governor Manco ; while 
such a warrior holds command of the very outpost, 
and stands ready to check the first irruption from 
the mountain, I fear Boabdil and his soldiery must 
be content to rest upon their arms.' " 

Here the governor raised himself somewhat per- 
pendicularly, adjusted his sword, and twirled up his 
mustachios. 

" To make a long storv short, and not to fatigue 
your excellency, the trooper having given me this ac- 
count, dismounted from his steed. 

"'Tarry here,' said he, 'and guard my steed, 
while I go and bow the knee to Boabdil.' So saying, 
he strode away among the throng that pressed for- 
ward to the throne. 

" What's to be done ? thought I, when thus left to 
myself Shall 1 wait here until this infidel returns 
to whisk me off on his goblin steed, the Lord knows 
where ? or shall I make the most of my time, and 
beat a retreat from this hobgoblin community ? — A 
soldier's mind is soon made up, as your excellency 
well knows. As to the horse, he belonged to an 
avowed enemy of the faith and the realm, and was a 
fair prize according to the rules of war. So hoisting 
myself from the crupper into the saddle, I turned 
the reins, struck the Moorish stirrups into the sides 
of the steed, and put him to make the best of his 
way out of the passage by which we had entered. 
As we scoured by the halls where the Moslem 
horsemen sat in motionless battalions, I thought I 
heard the clang of armour, and a hollow murmur of 
voices. I gave the steed another taste of the stir- 
rups, and doubled my speed. There was now a 
sound behind me like a rushing blast ; I heard the 
clatter of a thousand hoofs ; a countless throng over- 
took me ; I was borne along m the press, and hurled 
forth from the mouth of the cavern, while thou- 
sands of shadowy forms were swept off in every di- 
rection by the four winds of heaven. 

" In the whirl and confusion of the scene, I was 
thrown from the saddle, and fell senseless to the 
earth. When I came to myself I was lying on the 



brow of a hill, with the Arabian steed standing be- 
side me, for in falling my arm had slipped within 
the bridle, which, I presume, prevented his whisking 
off to old Castile. 

" Your excellency may easily judge of my sur|)rise 
on looking round, to behold hedges of aloes and 
Indian figs, and other proofs of a southern climate, 
and see a great city below me with towers and 
palaces, and a grand cathedral. I descended the 
hill cautiously, leading my steed, for I was afraid to 
mount hini again, lest he should play me some 
slippery trick. As I descended, I met with your 
patrol, who let me into the secret that it was Gra- 
nada that lay before me: and that I was actually un- 
der the walls of the Aihambra, the fortress of the 
redoubted governor Manco, the terror of all en- 
chanted Moslems. When I heard this, I deter- 
mined at once to seek your excellency, to inform you 
of all that I had seen, and to warn you of the perils 
that surround and undermine you, that you may 
take measures in time to guard your fortress, anti 
the kingdom itself, from this intestine army that 
lurks in the very bowels of the land." 

" And pry'thee, friend, you who are a veteran cam- 
paigner, and have seen so much service," said the 
governor, " how would you advise me to go about to 
prevent this evil ? " 

" It is not for an humble private of the ranks," 
said the soldier modestly, "to pretend to instruct a 
commander of your excellency's sagacity ; but it ap- 
pears to me that your excellency might cause all the 
caves and entrances into the mountain to be walled 
up with solid mason-work, so that Boabdil and his 
army might be completely corked up in their sub- 
terranean habitation. If the good father too," added 
the soldier, reverently bowing to the friar, and de- 
voutly crossing himself, " would consecrate the bar- 
ricadoes with his blessing, and put up a few crosses 
and reliques, and images of saints, I thmk they 
might withstand all the power of infidel enchant- 
ments." 

" They doubtless would be of great avail," said 
the friar. 

The governor now placed his arm a-kimbo, with 
his hand resting on the hilt of his toledo, fixed his 
eye upon the soldier, and gently wagging his head 
from one side to the other : 

"So, friend," said he, "then you really suppose I 
am to be gulled with this cock-and-bull story about 
enchanted mountains, and enchanted Moors. Hark 
ye, culprit ! — not another word. — An old soldier you 
may be, but you'll find you have an old soldier to 
deal with ; and one not easily outgeneralled. Ho ! 
guard there ! — put this fellow in irons." 

The demure handmaid would have put in a word 
in favour of the prisoner, but the governor silenced 
her with a look. 

As they were pinioning the soldier, one of the 
guards felt something of bulk in his pocket, and 
drawing it forth, found a long leathern purse that 
appeared to be well filled. Holding it by one corner, 
he turned out the contents on the table before the 
governor, and never did freebooter's bag make more 
gorgeous deliver)'. Out tumbled rings and jewels, 
and rosaries of pearls, and sparkling diamond cross- 
es, and a profusion of ancient golden coin, some of 
which fell jingling to the floor, .and rolled away to 
the uttermost parts of the chamber. 

For a time the sanctions of justice were sus- 
pended : there was a universal scramble after the 
glittering fugitives. The governor alone, who was 
imbued with true Spanish pride, maintained his 
stately decorum, though his eye betrayed a little 
anxiety until the last com and jewel was restored to 
the sack. 



162 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The friar was not so calm; his whole face glowed 
like a furnace, and his eyes twinkled and flashed at 
sight of the rosaries and crosses. 

" Sacrilegious wretch that thou art," exclaimed he, 
"what church or sanctuary hast thou been plundering 
of these sacred reiiques? " 

" Neither one nor the other, holy father. If they 
be sacrilegious spoils, they must have been taken in 
times long past by the intidel trooper I have men- 
tioned. I was just gping to tell his excellency, when 
he interrupted me, that, on taking possession of the 
trooper's horse, I unhooked a leathern sack which 
hung at the saddle bow, and which, I presume, con- 
tained the plunder of his campaignings in days ot 
old, when the Moors overran the country. " 

" Mighty well, — at present you will make up your 
mind to take up your quarters in a chamber of the 
Vermilion towers, which, though not under a magic 
spell, will hold you as safe as any cave of your en- 
chanted Moors." 

" Your excellency will do as you think proper," 
said the prisoner coolly. " I shall be thankful to 
J-our excellency for any accommodation in the fortress. 
A soldier who has been in the wars, as your excel- 
lency well knows, is not particular about his lodg- 
ings ; and provided I have a snug dungeon and regu- 
lar rations, I shall manage to make myself comfort- 
able. I would only entreat, that while your excel- 
lency is so careful about me, you would have an 
eye to your fortress, and think on the hint I drop- 
ped about stopping up the entrances to the moun- 
tain." 

Here ended the scene. The prisoner was con- 
ducted to a strong dungeon in the Vermilion towers, 
the Arabian steed was led to his excellency's stable, 
and the trooper's sack was deposited in his excel- 
lency's strong box. To the latter, it is true, the 
friar made some demur, questioning whether the 
sacred reiiques, which were evidently sacrilegious 
spoils, should not be placed in custody of the church ; 
but as the governor was peremptory on the subject, 
and was absolute lord in the Alhambra, the friar dis- 
creetly dropped the discussion, but determined to 
convey intelligence of the fact to the church digni- 
taries in Granada. 

To explain these prompt and rigid measures on 
the part of old governor .Manco, it is proper to ob- 
serve, that about this time the Alpuxarra mountains in 
the neighbourhood of Granada were terribly infested 
by a gang of robbers, under the command of a daring 
chief, named Manuel Borasco, who were accustomed 
to prowl about the countr\', and even to enter the 
city in various disguises to gain intelligence of the 
departure of convoys of merchandise, or travellers 
with well-lined purses, whom they took care to way- 
lay in distant and solitary passes of their road. 
These repeated and daring outrages had awakened 
the attention of government, and the commanders 
of the various posts had received instructions to be 
on the alert, and to take up all suspicious strag- 
glers. Governor Manco was particularly zealous, 
in consequence of the various stigmas that had 
been cast upon his fortress, and he now doubted not 
that he had entrapped some formidable desperado 
of this gang. 

In the mean time the story took wind, and became 
the talk not merely of the fortress, but of the whole 
city of Granada. It was said that the noted robber, 
Manuel Borasco, the terror of the Alpuxarras, had 
fallen into the clutches of old governor Manco, and 
been cooped up by him in a dungeon of the Vermilion 
towers, and every one who had been robbed by him 
flocked to recognize the marauder. The Vermilion 
towers, as is well known, stand apart from the Al- 
hambra, on a sister hill separated from the main 



fortress by the ravine, down which passes the main 
avenue. There were no outer walls, but a sentinel 
patrolled before the tower. The window of the 
chamber in which the soldier was confined was 
strongly grated, and looked upon a small esplanade. 
Here the good folks of Granada repaired to gaze at 
him, as they would at a laughing hyena grinning 
through the cage of a menagerie. Nobody, how- 
ever, recognized him for Manuel Borasco, for that 
terrible robber was noted for a ferocious physiog- 
nomy, and had by no means the good-humoured 
squint of the prisoner. Visitors came not merely 
from the city, but from all parts of the country, but 
nobody knew him, and there began to be doubts in 
the minds of the common people, whether there 
might not be some truth in his story. That Boabdil 
and his army were shut up in the mountain, was an 
old tradition which many of the ancient inhabitants 
had heard from their fathers. Numbers went up to 
the mountain of the Sun, or rather of St. Elena, in 
search of the cave mentioned by the soldier ; and 
saw and peeped into the deep dark pit, descending, 
no one knows how far, into the mountain, and 
which remains there to this day, the fabled entrance 
to the subterranean abode of Boabdil. 

By degrees, the soldier became popular with the 
common people. A freebooter of the mountains is 
by no means the opprobrious character in Spain that 
a robber is in any other country; on the contrary, 
he is a kind of chivalrous personage in the eyes of 
the lower classes. There is always a disposition, 
also, to cavil at the conduct of those in command, 
and many began to murmur at the high-handed 
measures of old governor Manco, and to look upon 
the prisoner in the light of a martyr. 

The soldier, moreover, was a merry, waggish fel- 
low, that had a joke for every one who came near 
his window, and a soft speech for every female. He 
had procured an old guitar also, and would sit by his 
window and sing ballads and love-ditties to the de- 
light of the women of the neighbourhood, who 
would assemble on the esplanade in the evenings, 
and dance boleros to his music. Having trimmed 
off his rough beard, his sunburnt face found favour ' 
in the eyes of the fair, and the demure handmaid of 
the governor declared that his squint was perfectly 
irresistible. This kind-hearted damsel had, from the 
first, evinced a deep sympathy in his fortunes, and 
having in vain tried to mollify the governor, had set 
to work privately to mitigate the rigour of his dis- 
pensations. Every day she brought the prisoner 
some crumbs of comfort which had fallen Irom the 
governor's table, or been abstracted from his larder, 
together with, now and then, a consoling bottle of 
choice Val de Pefias, or rich Malaga. 

While this petty treason was going on in the very 
centre of the old governor's citadel, a storm of open 
war was brewing up among his external foes. The 
circumstance of a bag of gold and jewels having 
been found upon the person of the supposed robber, 
had been reported with many exaggerations in 
Granada. A question of territorial jurisdiction 
was immediately started by the governor's inveter- 
ate rival, the captain-general. He insisted that the 
prisoner had been cajitured without the precincts of 
the Alhambra, and within the rules of his authority, i 
He demanded his body therefore, and the spolia 
opima taken with him. Due information having 
been carried likewise by the friar to the grand In- 
quisitor, of the crosses, and the rosaries, and other 
reiiques contained in the bag, he claimed the culprit, 
as having been guilty of sacrilege, and insisted that 
his plunder was due to the church, and his body to 
the next Auto da Fe. The feuds ran high ; the gov- 
ernor was furious, and swore, ralher than surrender 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



163 



his captive, he would hang him up within the Al- 
hambra, as a spy caught within the purlieus of the 
fortress. 

The captain-general threatened to send a body of 
soldiers to transfer the prisoner from the Vermilion 
towers to the city. The grand Inquisitor was 
equally bent upon despatching a number of the fa- 
miliars of the holy office. Word was brought late 
at night to the governor, of these machinations. 
"Let them come," said he, "they'll find me before- 
hand with tliem. He must rise bright and early who 
would take in an old soldier." He accordingly issued 
orders to hive the prisoner removed at daybreak to 
the Donjon Keep within the walls of the Alhambra : 
" And d'ye hear, child," said he to his demure hand- 
maid, "tap at my door, and wake me before cock- 
crowing, that I may see to the matter myself." 

The day dawned, the cock crowed, but nobody 
tapped at the door of the governor. The sun rose 
high above the mountain-tops, and glittered in at 
his casement ere the governor was awakened from 
his morning dreams by his veteran corporal, who 
stood before him with terror stamped upon his iron 
visage. 

"He's off! he's gone ! " cried the corporal, gasp- 
ing for breath. 

" Who's off? — who's gone ? " 

"The soldier — the robber — the devil, for aught, I 
know. His dungeon is empty, but the door locked. 
No one knows how he has escaped out of it." 

" Who saw him last ? " 

" Your handmaid, — she brought him his supper." 

" Let her be called instantly." 

Here was new matter of confusion. The chamber 
of the demure damsel was likewise empty ; her bed 
had not been slept in ; she had doubtless gone off 
with the culprit, as she had appeared, for some days 
past, to have frequent conversations with him. 

This was wounding the old governor in a tender 
part, but he had scarce time to wince at it, when 
new misfortunes broke upon his view. On going 
into his cabinet, he found his strong box open, the 
leathern purse of the trooper abstracted, and with it 
a couple of corpulent bags of doubloons. 

But how, and which way had'the fugitives escaped ? 
A peasant who lived in a cottage by the road-side 
leading up into the Sierra, declared that he had heard 
the tramp of a powerful steed, just before daybreak, 
passing up into the mountains. He had looked out 
at his casement, and couki just distinguish a horse- 
man, with a female seated before him. 

" Search the stables," cried governor Manco. The 
stables were searched ; all the horses were in their 
stalls, excepting the Arabian steed. In his place 
was a stout cudgel tied to the manger, and on it a 
label bearing these words, " A gift to governor 
Manco, from an old soldier." 



LEGEND OF THE TWO DISCREET STATUES, 



There lived once, in a waste apartment of the 
Alhambra, a merry little fellow named Lope Sanchez, 
who worked in the gardens, and was as brisk and 
blithe as a grasshopper, singing all day long. He 
was the life and soul of the fortress ; when his work 
was over, he would sit on one of the stone benches 
of the esplanade and strum his guitar, and sing long 
ditties about the Cid, and Bernardo del Carpio, and 
Fernando del Pulgar, and other Spanish heroes, for 
the amusement of the old soldiers of the fortress, or 



would strike up a merrier tune, and set tlie girls 
dancing boleros and fandangos. 

Like most little men. Lope Sanchez had a strap- 
ping buxom dame for a wife, who could almost have 
put him in her pocket ; but he lacked the usual poor 
man's lot, — instead of ten children he had but one. 
This was a little black-eyed girl, about twelve years 
of age, named Sanchica, who was as merry as him- 
self, and the delight of his heart. -She played about 
him as he worked in the gardens, danced to his guitar 
as he sat in the shade, and ran as wild as a young 
fawn about the groves, and alleys, and ruined halls 
of the Alhambra. 

It was now the eve of the blessed St. John, and 
the holiday-loving gossips of the Alhambra, men, 
women, and children, went up at night to the moun- 
tain of the Sun, which rises above the Generaliffe, to 
keep their midsummer vigil on its level summit. It 
was a bright moonlight night, and all the mountains 
were gray and silvery, and the city, with its domes 
and spires, lay in shadows below, and the Vega was 
like a fairy land, with haunted streams gleaming 
among its dusky groves. On the highest part of the 
mountain they lit up a bale fire, according to an old 
custom of the country handed down from the Moors. 
The inhabitants of the surrounding country were 
keeping a similar vigil, and bale fires here and there 
in the Vega, and along the folds of the mountains, 
blazed up palely in the moonlight. 

The evening was gaily passed in dancing to the 
guitar of Lope Sanchez, who was never so joyous as 
when on a holiday revel of the kind. While the 
dance was going on, the little Sanchica with some 
of her playmates sported among the ruins of an old 
Moorish fort that crowns the mountain, when, on 
gathering pebbles in the fosse, she found a small 
hand, curiously carved of jet, the fingers closed, and 
the thumb firmly clasped upon them. Overjoyed 
with her good fortune, she ran to her mother with 
her prize. It immediately became a subject of sage 
speculation, and was eyed by some with superstitious 
distrust. " Throw it away," said one, " it is Moorish, 
— depend upon it there's mischief and witchcraft in 
it." " By no means," said another, "you may sell 
it for something to the jewellers of the Zacatin." In 
the midst of this discussion an old tawny soldier drew 
near, who had served in Africa, and was as swarthy 
as a Moor. He examined the hand with a knowing 
look. "I have seen things of this kind," said he, 
"among the Moors of Barbary. It is of great value 
to guard against the evil eye, and all kinds of spells 
and enchantments. I give you joy, friend Lope, this 
bodes good luck to your child." 

Upon hearing this, the wife of Lope Sanchez tied 
the little hand of jet to a riband, and hung it round 
the neck of her daughter. 

The sight of this talisman called up all the favour- 
ite superstitions about the Moors. The dance was 
neglected, and they sat in groups on the ground, 
telling old legendary tales handed down from their 
ancestors. Some of their stories turned upon the 
wonders of the very mountain upon which they were 
seated, which is a famous hobgoblin region. 

One ancient crone gave a long account of the sub- 
terranean palace in the bov/els of that mountain, 
where Boabdil and all his Moslem court are said to 
remain enchanted. " Among yonder ruins," said 
she, pointing to some crumbling walls and mounds 
of earth on a distant part of the mountain, " there is 
a deep black pit that goes down, down into the very 
heart of the mountain. For all the money in Grana- 
da, I would not look down into it. Once u|)on a 
time, a poor man of the Alhambra, who tended goats 
upon this mountain, scrambled down into that pit 
after a kid that had fallen in. He came, out again. 



164 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



all wild and staring, and told such things of what he 
had seen, that every one thought his brain was 
turned. He raved for a day or two about hobgoblin 
Moors that had pursued him in the cavern, and could 
hardly be persuaded to drive his goats up again to 
the mountain. He did so at last, but, poor man, he 
never came down again. The neighbours I'ound his 
goats browsing about the Moorish ruins, and his hat 
and mantle lying near the mouth of the pit, but he 
was never more heard of." 

The little Sanchica listened with breathless atten- 
tion to this story. She was of a curious nature, and 
felt immediately a great hankering to peep into this 
dangerous pit. Stealing away from her companions, 
she sought the distant ruins, and after groping for 
some time among them, came to a small hollow or 
basin, near the brow of the mountain, where it swept 
steeply down into the valley of the Darro. In the 
centre of this basin yawned the mouth of tite pit. 
Sanchica ventured to the verge and peeped in. All 
was black as pitch, and gave an idea of immeasura- 
ble depth. Her blood ran cold — she drew back — 
then peeped again — then would have run away — 
then took another peep — the very horror of the thing 
was dehghtful to her. At length she rolled a large 
stone, and pushed it over the brink. For some time 
it fell in silence ; then struck some rocky projection 
with a violent crash, then rebounded from side to 
side, rumbling and tumbling, with a noise like thun- 
der, then made a hnal splash into water, far, far be- 
low, and all was again silent. 

The silence, however, did not long continue. It 
seemed as if something had been awakened within 
this dreary abyss. A murmuring sound gradually 
rose out of the pit like th= huai and buzz of a bee- 
hive. It grew louder and louder: there was the 
confusion of voices as of a distant multitude, together 
with the faint din of arms, clash of cymbals, and 
clangour of trumpets, as if some army were marshal- 
ling for battle in the very bowels of the mountain. 

The child drew off with silent awe. and hastened 
back to the place where she had left her parents and 
their companions. All were gone. The bale tire 
was e.\piring, and its last wreath of smoke curling 
up in the moonshine. The distant tires that had 
blazed along the mountains and in the Vega were 
all extinguished ; every thing seemed to have sunk 
to repose. Sanchica called her parents and some of 
her companions byname, but received no reply. She 
ran down the side of the mountain, and by the gar- 
dens of the Generaliffe, until she arrived in the alley 
of trees leading to the Alhambra, where she seated 
herself on a bench of a woody recess to recover 
breath. The bell from the watch-tower of the Al- 
hambra told midnight. There was a deep tranquillity, 
as if all nature slept ; excepting the low tinkling sound 
of an unseen stream that ran under the covert of the 
bushes. The breathing sweetness of the atmosphere 
was lulling her to sleep, when her eye was caught 
by something glittering at a distance, and to her sur- 
prise, she beheld a long cavalcade of Moorish war- 
riors pouring down the mountain side, and along the 
leafy avenues. Some were armed with lances and 
shields ; others with scimitars and liattle-axes, and 
with polished cuirasses that flashed in the moon- 
beams. Their horses pranced proudly, and champ- 
ed upon the bit, but their tramp caused no more 
sound than if they had been shod with felt, and the 
riders were all as pale as death. Among them rode 
a beautiful lady with a crowned head and long golden 
locks entwined with pearls. The housings of her 
palfrey were of crimson velvet embroidered with 
gold, and swept the earth ; but she rode all discon- 
solate, with eyes ever fixed upon the ground. 

Then succeeded a train of courtiers magnificently 



arrayed in robes and turbans of divers colours, and 
amidst these, on a cream-coloured charger, rode 
king Boabdil el Chico, in a royal mantle covered 
with jewels, and a crown sparkling with diamonds. 
The little Sanchica knew him by his yellow beard, 
and his resemblance to his portrait, which she had 
often seen in the picture gallery of the Generaliffe. 
She gazed in wonder and admiration at this royal 
pageant as it passed glistening among the trees, but 
though she knew these monarchs, and courtiers, and 
warriors, so pale and silent, were out of the common 
course of nature, and things of magic or enchant- 
ment, yet she looked on with a bold heart, such 
courage did she derive from the mystic talisman of 
the hand which was suspended about her neck. 

The cavalcade having passed by, she rose and fol- 
lowed. It continued on to the great gate of Justice, 
which stood wide open ; the old invalid sentinels on 
duty, lay on the stone benches of the Barbican, bur- 
ied in profound and apparently charmed sleep, and 
the phantom jxigcant swept noiselessly by them with 
flaunting banner and triumphant state. Sanchica 
would have followed, but, to her surprise, she beheld 
an opening in the earth within the Barbican, leading 
down beneath the foundations of the tower. She 
entered for a little distance, and was encouraged to 
proceed by finding steps rudely hewn in the rock, 
and a vaulted passage here and there lit up by a sil- 
ver lamp, which, while it gave light, diffused like- 
wise a grateful fragrance. Venturing on, she came 
at last to a great hall wrought out of the heart of the 
mountain, magnificently furnished in the i\loorish 
style, and lighted up by silver and crystal lamps. 
Here on an ottoman sat an old man in Moorish dress, 
with a long white beard, nodding and dozing, with 
a staff in his hand, which seemed ever to be slipping 
from his grasp ; while at a little distance, sat a beau- 
tiful lady, in ancient Spanish dress, with a coronet 
all sparkling with diamonds, and her hair entwined 
with pearls, who was softly playing on a silver lyre. 
The little Sanchica now recollected a story she had 
heard among the old people of the Alhambra, con- 
cerning a Gothic princess confined in the centre of 
the mountain by an old Arabian magician, whom she 
kept bound up in magic sleep by the power of music. 

The lady paused with surprise, at seeing a mortal 
in that enchanted hall. " Is it the eve of the blessed 
St. John ? " said she. 

"It is," replied Sanchica. 

" Then for one night the magic charm is sus- 
pended. Come hither, child, and fear not, I am a 
Christian like thyself, though bound here by en- 
chantment. Touch my fetters with the talisman 
that hangs about thy neck, and for this night I shall 
be free." 

So saying, she opened her robes and displayed a 
broad golden band round her waist, and a golden 
chain that fastened her to the ground. The child 
hesitated not to apply the little hand of jet to the 
golden band, and immediately the chain fell to the 
earth. At the sound the old man awoke, and began 
to rub his eyes, hut the lady ran her fingers over the 
chords of the lyre, and again he fell into a slumber 
and began to nod, and his staff to falter :n his hand. 
" Now," said the lady, "touch his staff with the tal- 
ismanic hand of jet." The child did so, and it fell 
from his grasp, and he sunk in a deep sleep on the 
ottoman. The lady gentlv laid the silver lyre on the 
ottoman, leaning it against the head of the sleeping 
magician, then touching the chords until they vibra- 
ted in his ear, " O potent spirit of harmony," said 
she, " continue thus to hold his senses in thraldom 
till the return of day." " Now follow me, my child," 
continued she, " and thou shalt behold the Alhambra 
as it was in the days of its gloiy, for thou hast a 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



1G5 



magic talisman that reveals all enchantments." 
Sanchica followed the lady in silence. They passed 
up through the entrance of the cavern into the Bar- 
bican of the gate of Justice, and thence to the Plaza 
de las Algibes, or esplanade within the fortress. 
This was all filled with Moorish soldiery, horse and 
foot, marshalled in squadrons, with banners display- 
ed. There were royal guards also at the portal, and 
rows of African blacks with drawn scimitars. No 
one spoke a word, and Sanchica passed on fearlessly 
after her conductor. Her astonishment increased on 
entering the royal palace, in which she had been 
reared. The broad moonshine lit up all the halls, 
and courts, and gardens, almost as brightly as if it 
were day ; but revealed a far different scene from 
that to which she was accustomed. The walls of the 
apartments were no longer stained and rent by time. 
Instead of cobwebs, they were now hung with rich 
silks of Damascus, and the gildings and arabesque 
paintings were restored to their original brilliancy 
and freshness. The halls, instead of being naked 
and unfurnished, were set out with divans and otto- 
mans of the rarest stuffs, embroidered with pearls, 
and studded with precious gems, and all the foun- 
tains in the courts and gardens were playing. 

The kitchens were again in full operation ; cooks 
were busied preparing shadowy dishes, and roasting 
and boiling the phantoms of pullets and partridges ; 
servants were hurr}-ing to and fro with silver dishes 
heaped up with dainties, and arranging a delicious ban- 
quet. The court of Lions was thronged with guards, 
and courtiers, and alfaquis, as in the old times of the 
IMoors ; and at the upper end, in the saloon of judg- 
ment, sat Boabdil on his throne, surrounded by his 
court, and swayed a shadowy sceptre for the night. 

Notwithstanding all this throng and seeming 
bustle, not a voice or footstep was to be heard ; 
nothing interrupted the midnight silence but the 
plashing of the fountains. The little Sanchica fol- 
lowed her conductress in mute amazement about the 
palace, until they came to a portal opening to the 
vaulted passages beneath the great tower of Co- 
mares. On each side of the portal sat the figure of 
a nymph, wrought out of alabaster. Their heads 
were turned aside, and their regards fixed upon the 
same spot within the vault. The enchanted lady 
paused, and beckoned the child to her. "Here," 
said she, " is a great secret, which I will reveal to 
thee in reward lor thy faith and courage. These 
discreet statues watch over a mighty treasure hid- 
den in old times by a Moorish king. Tell thy 
father to search the spot on which their eyes are 
fixed, and he will find what will make him richer 
than any man in Granada. Thy innocent hands 
alone, however, gifted as thou art also with the talis- 
man, can remove the treasure. Bid thy father use 
it discreetly, and devote a part of it to the perform- 
ance of daily masses for my deliverance from this 
unholy enchantment." 

When the lady had spoken these words, she led 
the child onward to the little garden of Lindaraxa, 
which is hard by the vault of the statues. The 
moon trembled upon the waters of the solitary 
fountain in the centre of the garden, and shed a 
tender light upon the orange and citron trees. The 
beautiful lady plucked a branch of myrtle and 
wreathed it round the head of the child. " Let this 
be a memento," said she, "of what I have revealed 
to thee, and a testimonial of its truth. My hour is 
come. — I must return to the enchanted hall ; follow 
me not, lest evil befall thee ; farewell, remember 
what I have said, and have masses performed for 
my deliverance." So saying, the lady entered a dark 
passage leading beneath the towers of Comares, and 
was no longer to be seen. 



The faint crowing of a cock was now heard from 
the cott.ages below the Alhambra, in the valley of 
the Darro, and a pale streak of light began to appear 
above the eastern mountains. A slight wind arose ; 
there was a sound like the rustling of dry leaves 
through the courts and corridors, and door after 
door shut to with a jarring sound. Sanchica re- 
turned to the scenes she had so lately beheld 
thronged with the shadowy multitude, but Boabdil 
and his phantom court were gone. 

The moon shone into empty halls and galleries, 
stripped of their transient splendour, stained and 
dilapidated by time, and hung with cobvifebs ; the 
bat flitted about in the uncertain light, and the frog 
croaked from the fish-pond. 

Sanchica now made the best of her way to a re- 
mote staircase that led up to the humble apartment 
occupied by her family. The door as usual was 
open, for Lope Sanchez was too poor to need bolt or 
bar : she crept quietly to her pallet, and, putting 
the myrtle wreath beneath her pillow, soon fell 
asleep. 

In the morning she related all that had befallen 
her to her father. Lope Sanchez, however, treated 
the whole as a mere dream, and laughed at the 
child for her credulity. He went forth to his cus- 
tomary labours in the garden, but had not been 
there long when his little daughter came running to 
him almost breathless. " Father ! father ! " cried 
she, " behold the myrtle wreath which the Moorish 
lady bound round my head." 

Lope Sanchez gazed with astonishment, for the 
stalk of the myrtle was of pure gold, and every leaf 
was a sparkling emerald ! Being not much accus- 
tomed to precious stones, he was ignorant of the 
real value of the wreath, but he saw enough to con- 
vince him that it was something more substantial 
than the stuff that dreams are generally made of, 
and that at any rate the child had dreamt to some 
purpose. His first care was to enjoin the most 
absolute secrecy upon his daughter; in this respect, 
however, he was secure, for she had discretion far 
bej'ond her years or sex. He then repaired to the 
vault where stood the statues of the two alabaster 
nymphs. He remarked that their heads were turned 
from the portal, and that the regards of each were 
fixed upon the same point in the interior of the build- 
ing. Lope Sanchez could not but admire this most 
discreet contrivance for guarding a secret. He drew 
a line from the eyes of the statues to the pomt of 
regard, made a private mark on the wall, and then 
retired. 

All day, however, the mind of Lope Sanchez was 
distracted with a thousand cares. He could not 
help hovering within distant view of the two statues, 
and became nervous from the dread that the golden 
secret might be discovered. Every footstep that 
approached the place, made him tremble. He would 
have given any thing could he but turn the heads 
of the statues, forgetting that they had looked pre- 
cisely in the same direction for some hundreds of 
years, without any person being the wiser. " A 
plague upon them," he would say to himself, " they'll 
betray all. Did ever mortal hear of such a mode of 
guarding a secret ! " Then, on hearing any one 
advance he would steal off, as though his very lurk- 
ing near the place would awaken suspicions. Then 
he would return cautiously, and peep iVom a distance 
to see if every thing was secure, but the sight of the 
statues would again call forth his indignation. "Aye, 
there they stand," would he say, "always looking, 
and looking, and looking, just where they should 
not. Confound them ! they are just like all their 
sex ; if they have not tongues to tattle with, they'll 
be sure to do it with their eyes ! " 



166 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



At lenjjth, to his relief, the long anxious day drew 
to a close. The sound of footsteps was no longer 
heard in the echoing halls of the Alhambra ; the 
last stranger passed the threshold, the great portal 
was barred and bolted, and the bat, and the frog, 
and the hooting owl gradually resumed their nightly 
vocations in the deserted palace. 

Lope Sanchez waited, however, until the night 
was far advanced, before he ventured with his little 
daughter to the hall of the two nymphs. He found 
them looking as knowingly and mysteriously as 
ever, at the secret place of deposit. " By your 
leaves, gentle ladies," thought Lope Sanchez as he 
passed between them, " I will relieve you from this 
charge that must have set so heavy in your minds 
for the last two or three centuries." He accordingly 
went to work at the part of the wall which he had 
marked, and in a little while laid open a concealed 
recess, in which stood two great jars of porcelain. 
He attempted to draw them forth, but they were im- 
movable until touched '\]y the innocent hand of his 
little daughter. With her aid he dislodged them 
from their niche, and found, to his great joy, that 
they were filled with pieces of Moorish gold, mingled 
with jewels and precious stones. Before daylight he 
managed to convey them to his chamber, and left 
the two guardian statues with their eyes still fixed 
on the vacant wall. 

Lope Sanchez had thus on a sudden become a 
rich man, but riches, as usual, brought a world of 
cares, to which he had hitherto been a stranger. 
How was he to convey away his wealth with safety.' 
How was he even to enter upon the enjoyment of it 
without awakening suspicion ? Now too, for the 
first time in his life, the dread of robbers entered 
into his mind. He looked with terror at the inse- 
curity of his habitation, and went to work to barri- 
cade the doors and windows; yet after all his pre- 
cautions, he could not sleep soundly. His usual 
gaiety was at an end ; he had no longer a joke or a 
song for his neighbours, and, in short, became the 
most miserable animal in the Alhambra. His old 
comrades remarked this alteration ; pitied him 
heartily, and began to desert him, thinking he must 
be falling into want, and in danger of looking to 
them for assistance ; little did they suspect that his 
only calamity was riches. 

The wite of Lope Sanchez shared his anxiety ; 
but then she had ghostly comfort. We ought Ije- 
fore this to have mentioned, that Lope being rather 
a light, inconsiderate little man, his wife was ac- 
customed, in all grave matters, to seek the counsel 
and ministry of her confessor. Fray Simon, a sturdy, 
broad-shouldered, blue-bearded, bullet-headed friar 
of the neighbouring convent of San Francisco, who 
was, in fact, the spiritual comforter of half the good 
wives of the neighbourhood. He was, moreover, in 
great esteem among divers sisterhoods of nuns, who 
requited him for his ghostly services by frequent 
presents of those little dainties and nicknacks 
manufactured in convents, such as delicate con- 
fections, sweet biscuits, and bottles of spiced cor- 
di.als, found to be marvellous restoratives after fasts 
and vigils. 

Kray Sitnon thrived in the exercise of his func- 
tions. His oily skin glistened in the sunshine as he 
toiled up the hill of the Alhambra on a sultry day. 
Yet notwithstanding his sleek condition, the knotted 
rope round his waist showed the austerity of his self- 
discipline ; the multitude doffed their caps to him as 
a mirror of piety, and even the dogs scented the 
odour of sanctity that exhaled from his garments, 
and howled from their kennels as he passed. 

Such was Fray Simon, the spiritual counsellor 
of the comely wife of Lope Sanchez, and as the 



father confessor is the domestic confidant of women 
in humble life in Spain, he was soon made ac- 
quainted, in great secrecy, with the story of the hid- 
den treasure. 

The friar opened eyes and mouth, and crossed 
himself a dozen times at the news. After a mo- 
ment's pause, " Daughter of my soul ! " said he, 
"know that thy husband has committed a double 
sin, a sin against both state and church ! The 
treasure he has thus seized upon for himself, being 
found in the royal domains, belongs of course to the 
crown ; but being infidel wealth, rescued, as it were, 
from the very fangs of Satan, should be devoted to 
the church. Still, however, the matter may be ac- 
commodated. Bring hither the myrtle wreath." 

When the good father beheld it, his eyes twinkled 
more than ever, with admiration of the size and 
beauty of the emeralds. "This," said he, "being 
the first fruits of this discovery, should be dedicated 
to pious purposes. I will hang it up as a votive 
offering before the image of San Francisco in our 
chapel, and will earnestly pray to him, this very 
night, that your husband be permitted to remain 
in quiet possession of your wealth." 

The good dame was delighted to make her peace 
with heaven at so cheap a rate, and the friar, put- 
ting tlie wreath under his mantle, departed with 
saintly steps towards his convent. 

When Lope Sanchez came home, his wife told 
him what had passed. He was excessively pro- 
voked, for he lacked his wife's devotion, and had for 
some time groaned in secret at the domestic visita- 
tions of the friar. "Woman," said he, "what hast 
thou done ! Thou hast put. every thing at hazard 
by thy tattling." 

"What!" cried the good woman, "would you 
forbid my disburthening my conscience to my con- 
fessor ? " 

" No, wife ! confess as many of your own sins as 
you please ; but as to this money-digging, it is a sin 
of my own, and my conscience is very easy under 
the weight of it." 

There was no use, however, in complaining ; the 
secret was told, and, like water spilled on the sand, 
was not again to be gathered. Their only chance 
was, that the friar would be discreet. 

The next day, while Lope Sanchez was abroad, 
there was an humble knocking at the door, and 
Frav Simon entered with meek and demure coun- 
tenance. 

" Daughter," said he, " I have prayed earnestly 
to San Francisco, and he has heard my prayer. In 
the dead of the night the saint appeared to me in a 
dream, but with a frowning aspect. ' Why,' said 
he, ' dost thou pray to me to dispense with this 
treasure of the Gentiles, when thou seest the poverty 
of my chapel.? Go to the house of Lope Sanchez, 
crave in my name a portion of the Moorish gold to 
furnish two candlesticks for the main altar, and let 
him possess the residue in peace.' " 

When the good woman heard of this vision, she 
crossed herself with awe, and going to the secret 
place where Lope had hid the treasure, she filled a 
great leathern purse with pieces of Moorish gold, 
and gave it to the friar. The pious monk bestowed 
upon her in return, benedictions enough, if paid by 
heaven, to enrich her race to the latest posterity ; 
then slipping the purse into the sleeve of his habit, 
he folded his hands upon his breast, and departed 
with an air of humble thankfulness. 

When Lope Sanchez heard of this second dona- 
tion to the church, he had well nigh lost his senses. 
"Unfortunate man," cried he, "what will become 
of me ? I shall be robbed by pieceineal ; I shall be 
ruined and brought to beg^gary ! " 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



167 



It was with the utmost difficulty that his wife 
could pacify him by reminding him of the countless 
weahh that yet remained ; and how considerate it 
was for San Francisco to rest contented with so 
very small a portion. 

Unluckily, Fray Simon had a number of poor re- 
lations to be provided for, not to mention some half 
dozen sturdy, bullet-headed orphan children and 
destitute fouiidlings, that he had taken under his 
care. He repeated his visits, therefore, from day to 
day, with salutations on behalf of Saint Dominick, 
Saint Andrew, .Saint James, until poor Lope was 
driven to despair, and found that, unless he got out 
of the reach of this holy friar, he should have to 
make peace offerings to every saint in the kalendar. 
He determined, therefore, to pack up his remaining 
wealth, beat a secret retreat in the night, and make 
off to another part of the kingdom. 

Full of his project, he bought a stout mule for the 
purpose, and tethered it in a gloomy vault, under- 
neath the tower of the Seven Floors. The very 
place from whence the Bellado, or goblin horse 
without a head, is said to issue forth at midnight 
and to scour the streets of Granada, pursued by a 
pack of hell-hounds. Lope Sanchez had little faith 
in the story, but availed himself of the dread oc- 
casioned by it, knowing that no one would be likely 
to pry into the subterranean stable of the phantom 
steed. He sent off his family in the course of the 
day, with orders to wait for him at a distant village 
of the Vega. As the night advanced, he conveyed 
his treasure to the vault under the tower, and having 
loaded his mule, he led it forth, and cautiously de- 
scended the dusky avenue. 

Honest Lope had taken his measures with the ut- 
most secrecy, imparting them to no one but the 
faithful wife of his bosom. By some miraculous 
revelation, however, they became known to Fray 
Simon ; the zealous friar beheld these infidel treas- 
ures on the point of slipping for ever out of his 
grasp, and determined to have one more dash at 
them for the benefit of the church and San Fran- 
cisco. Accordingly, when the bells had rung for 
animas, and all the Alhambra was quiet, he stole 
out of his convent, and, descending through the 
gate of Justice, concealed himself among the thickets 
of roses and laurels that border the great avenue. 
Here he remained, counting the quarters of hours 
as they were sounded on the bell of the watch- 
tower, and listening to the dreary hootings of 
owls, and the distant barking of dogs from the 
gipsy caverns. 

At length, he heard the tramp of hoofs, and, 
through the gloom of the overshadowing trees, im- 
perfectly beheld a steed descending the avenue. The 
sturdy friar chuckled at the idea of the knowing turn 
he was about to serve honest Lope. Tucking up 
the skirts of his habit, and wriggling like a cat 
watching a mouse, he waited until his prey was di- 
rectly before him, when darting forth from his leafy 
covert, and putting one hand on the shoulder, and 
the other on the crupper, he made a vault that would 
not have disgraced the most experienced master of 
equitation, and alighted well forked astride the steed. 
"Aha! "said the sturdy friar, "we shall now see 
who best understands the game." 

He had scarce uttered the words, when the mule 
began to kick and rear and plunge, and then set off 
at full speed down the hill. The friar attempted to 
check him, but in vain. He bounded from rock to 
rock, and bush to bush ; the friar's habit was torn 
to ribands, and fluttered in the wind ; his shaven poll 
received many a hard knock from the branches of 
the trees, and many a scratch from the brambles. 
To add to his terror and distress, he found a pack 



of seven hounds in full cry at his heels, and per- 
ceived, too late, that he was actually mounted upon 
the terrible Bellado ! 

Away they went, according to the ancient phrase, 
" pull devil, pull friar," down the great avenue, 
across the Plaza Nueva, along the Zacatin. around 
the Vivarambla, — never did huntsman and hound 
make a more furious run, or more infernal uproar. 

In vain did the friar invoke every saint in the kal- 
endar, and the holy virgin into the bargain ; every 
time he mentioned a name of the kind, it was like a 
fresh application of the spur, and made the Bellado 
bound as high as a house. Through the remainder 
of the night was the unlucky Fray Simon carried 
hither and thither and whither he would not, until 
every bone in his body ached, and he suffered a loss 
of leather too grievous to be mentioned. At length, 
the crowing of a cock gave the signal of returning 
day. At the sound, the goblin steed wheeled about, 
and galloped back for his tower. Again he scoured 
the Vivarambla, the Zacatin, the Plaza Nueva, and 
the avenue of fountains, the seven dogs yelling and 
barking, and leaping up, and snapping at the heels 
of the terrified friar. The first streak of day had 
just appeared as they reached the tower ; here the 
gobhn steed kicked 'up his heels, sent the friar a 
somerset through the air. plunged into the dark vault 
followed by the infernal pack, and a profound si- 
lence succeeded to the late deafening clamour. 

Was ever so diabolical a trick played off upon holy 
friar ? A peasant going to his labours at early dawn, 
found the unfortunate Fray Simon lying under a fig- 
tree at the foot of the tower, but so bruised and be- 
deviled, that he could neither speak nor move. He 
was conveved with all care and tenderness to his 
cell, and the story went that he had been waylaid 
and maltreated by robbers, A day or two elapsed 
before he recovered the use of his limbs : he con- 
soled himself in the mean time, with the thoughts 
that though the mule with the treasure had escaped 
him. he had previously had some rare pickings at 
the infidel spoils. His first care on being able to 
use his limbs, was to search beneath his pallet, 
where he had secreted the myrtle wreath and the 
leathern pouches of gold, extracted from the piety 
of dame Sanchez. What was his dismay at finding 
the wreath, in effect, but a withered branch of myr- 
tle, and the leathern pouches filled with sand and 
gravel ! 

Frav Simon, with all his chagrin, had the discre- 
tion to hold his tongue, for to betray the secret 
might draw on him the ridicule of the public, and 
the punishment of his superior ; it was not until 
many years afterwards, on his death-bed, that he 
revealed to his confessor his nocturnal ride on the 
Bellado. 

Nothing was heard of Lope Sanchez for a long 
time after his disappearance from the Alhambra. 
His memory was alwavs cherished as that of a merry 
companion, though it was feared, from the care and 
melancholy showed in his conduct shortly before his 
mysterious departure, that poverty and distress had 
driven him to some extremity. Some years after- 
wards, one of his old companions, an invalid sol- 
dier, being at Malaga, was knocked down and nearly 
run over by a coach and six. The carriage stopped ; 
an old gentleman, magnificently dressed, with a bag- 
wig and sword, stepped out to assist the poor inva- 
lid. What was the astonishment of the latter to 
behold in this grand cavalier, his old friend Lope 
.Sanchez, who was actually celebrating the marriage 
of his daughter Sanchica, with one of the first gran- 
dees in the land. 

The carriage contained the bridal party. There 
was dame Sanchez now grown as round as a barrel. 



168 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and dressed out with feathers and jewels, and neck- I 
laces of pearls, and necklaces of diamonds, and rings 
on every finger, and altogether a finery ot apparel 
that had not been seen since the days ol Queen 
Sheba. The little Sanchica had now grown to be a 
woman, and for grace and beauty might have been 
mistaken for a duchess, if not a princess outright. 
The bridegroom sat beside her, rather a withered, 
spindle-shanked little man, but this only proved him 
to be of the true blue blood, a legitimate Spanish 
grantlee being rarely above three cubits in stature. 
The match had been of the mother's making. 

Riches had not spoiled the heart of honest Lope. 
He kept his old comrade with him for several days ; 
feasted him like a king, took him to plays and bull- 
fights, and at length sent him away rejoicing, with 
a big bag of money for himself, and another to be 
distributed among his ancient messmates ot the 
Alhambra. 

Lope always gave out I hat a rich brother had died 
in America, and left him heir to a copper mine, but 
the shrewd gossips of the Alhambra insist that his 
wealth was all derived from his having discovered 
the secret guarded by the two marble nymphs of 
the Alhambra. It is remarked, that these very dis- 
creet statues continue even unto the present day 
with their eyes fixed most significantly on the same 
part ot the wall, which leads many to sup])Ose there 
is still some hidden treasure remaining there, well 
worthy the attention of the enterprizing traveller. 
Though others, and particularly all female visitors, 
regard them with great complacency, as lasting 
monuments of the fact, that women can keep a 
secret. 



MAHAMAD ABEN ALAHMAR: 



THE FOUNDER OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



Having dealt so freely in the marvellous legends 
of the Alhambra, I feel as if bound to give the reader 
a few facts concerning its sober history, or rather the 
history of those magnificent princes, its founder and 
finisher, to whom Europe is indebted for so beauti- 
ful and romantic an oriental monument. To at- 
tain these facts, I descended from this regi:in of 
fancy and fiction, where every thing is liable to take 
an imaginative tint, and carried my researches among 
the dusty tomes of the old Jesuit's library in the uni- 
versity. This once boasted repository of erudition 
is now a mere shadow of its former self, having been 
stripped of its manuscripts and rarest works by the 
French, while masters of Granada. Still it contains, 
among many ponderous tomes of polemics of the 
Jesuit fathers, several curious tracts of Spanish 
literature, and above all, a number of those antiqua- 
ted, dusty, parchment-bound chronicles, for which I 
have a peculiar veneration. 

In this old library I have passed many delightful 
hours of quiet, undisturbed, literary foraging, for the' 
keys of the doors and bookcases were kindly en- 
trusted to me, and I was left alone to rummage at 
my leisure — a rare indulgence in those sanctuaries 
of learning, which too often tantalize the thirsty 
student with the sight of sealed fountains of knowl- 
edge. 

In the course of these visits I gleaned the follow- 
ing particulars concerning the historical characters 
in question. 

The Moors of Granada regarded the Alhambra as 
a miracle of art, and had a tr.adilion that the king 



who founded it dealt in magic, or at least was deeply 
versed in alchymy, by means of which, he procured 
the immense sums of gold expended in its erection. 
A brief view of his reign will show the real secret of 
his wealth. 

The name of this monarch, as inscribed on the 
walls of some of the apartments, was Aben Abd'allah, 
{i. e. the father of Abdallah,) but he is commonly 
known in Moorish history as Mahamad Aben Alah- 
mar, (or Mahamad son of Alahmar,) or simply Aben 
Alahmar, for the sake of brevity. 

He was borr. in Arjona, in the vear of the Hegira, 
591, of the Christian era, 1195, of the noble family 
of the Beni Nasar, or children of Nasar, and no ex- 
pense was spared by his parents to fit him for the 
high station to which the opulence and dignity of his 
family entitled him. The Saracens of Spain were 
greatly advanced in civilization. Every principal 
city was a seat of learning and the arts, so that it 
was easy to command the most enlightened instruct- 
ors for a youth of rank and fortune. Aben Alah- 
mar, when he arrived at manly years, was appointed 
Alcayde or governor of Arjona and Jaen, and gained 
great popularity by his benignity and justice. Some 
years afterwards, on the death of Aben Hud, the 
Moorish power of Spain was broken into factions, 
and many places declared for Mahamad Aben Alah- 
mar. Being of a sanguine spirit and lofty ambition, 
he seized upon the occasion, made a circuit through 
the country, and was every where received with ac- 
clamation. It was in the year 1238 that he entered 
Granada amidst the enthusiastic shouts of the mul- 
titude. He was proclaimed king with every demon- 
stration of joy, and soon became the head of the 
Moslems in Spain, being the first of the illustrious 
line of Beni Nasar that had sat upon the throne. 

His reign was such as to render him a blessing to 
his subjects. He gave the command of his various 
cities to such as had distinguished themselves by 
valour and prudence, and who seemed most accept- 
able to the people. He organized a vigilant police, 
and established rigid rules for the administration of 
justice. The poor and the distressed always found 
ready admission to his presence, and he attended 
personally to their assistance and redress. He 
erected hospitals for the blind, the aged, and infirm, 
and all those incapable of labour, and visited them 
frequently, not on set days, with pomp and form, so 
as to give time for every thing to be put in order and 
every abuse concealed, but suddenly and unexpect- 
edly, informing himself by actual obsen'ation and 
close inquiry of the treatment of the sick, and the 
conduct of those appointed to administer to their re- 
lief. 

He founded schools and colleges, which he visited 
in the same manner, inspecting personally the in- 
struction of the youth. He established butcheries 
and public ovens, that the people might be furnished 
with wholesome provisions at just and regular prices. 
He introduced abundant streams of water into the 
city, erecting baths and fountains, and constructing 
aqueducts and canals to irrigate and fertilize the 
Vega. By these means, prosperity and abundance 
prevailed in this beautiful city, its gates were 
thronged with commerce, and its warehouses filled 
with the luxuries and merchandize of every clime 
and country. 

While Mahamad Aben Alahmar was ruling his 
fair domains thus wisely and prosperously, he was 
suddenly menaced by the horrors of war. The 
Christians at that time, profiting by the dismember- 
ment of the Moslem power, were rapidly regaining 
their ancient territories. James the Conqueror had 
subjected all Valentia, and Ferdinand the S.aint was 
carrying his victorious armies into Andalusia. The 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



169 



latter invested the city of Jaen, and swore not to 
raise his camp until he had gained possession of the 
place. Mahamad Aben Alahmar was conscious of 
the insufficiency of his means to carry on a war with 
the potent sovereign of Castile. Taking a sudden 
resolution, therefore, he repaired privately to the 
Christian camp, and made his unexpected appear- 
ance in th:: presence of king Ferdinand. " In me," 
said he, " you behold Mahamad. king of Granada. 
I confide in your good faith, and put myself under 
your protection. Take all I possess, and receive me 
as your vassal." So saying, he knelt and kissed the 
king's hand in token of submission. 

King Ferdinand was touched by this instance of 
confiding faith, and determined not to be outdone in 
generosity. He raised his late rival from the earth 
and embraced him as a friend, nor would he accept 
the wealth he offered, but received him as a vassal, 
leaving him sovereign of his dominions, on condition 
of paying a yearly tribute, attending the cortes as 
one of the nobles of the empire, and serving him in 
war with a certain number of horsemen. 

It was not long after this that Mahamad was called 
upon for his military services, to aid king Ferdinand 
in his famous siege of Seville. The Moorish king 
sallied forth with five hundred chosen horsemen of 
Granada, than whom none in the world knew better 
how to manage the steed or wield the lance. It was 
a melancholy and humiliating service, however, for 
they had to draw the sword against their brethren 
of the faith. Mahamad gained a melancholy dis- 
tinction by his prowess in this renowned conquest, 
but more true honour by the humanity which he 
prevailed ujion Ferdinand to introduce into the usages 
of w-ar. When in 1248, the famous city of Seville 
surrendered to the Castilian monarch, Mahamad 
returned sad and full of care to his dominions. He 
saw the gathering ills that menaced the Moslem 
cause, and uttered an ejaculation olten used by him 
in moments of anxiety and trouble : " How straitened 
and wretched would be our life, if our hope were not 
so spacious and extensive."* 

When the melancholy conqueror approached his 
beloved Granada, the people thronged forth to see 
him with imp.atient joy, for they loved him as a ben- 
efactor. They had erected arches of triumph in 
honour of his martial exploits, and wherever he 
passed he was hailed with acclamations, as El Galib, 
or the conqueror ; Mahamad shook his head when 
he heard the appellation, " Wa Ic Galib He Aid," 
exclaimed he : (there is no conqueror but God !) 
From that time forward, he adopted this exclama- 
tion as a motto. He inscribed it on an oblique band 
across his escutcheon, and it continued to be the 
motto of his descendants. 

Mahamad had purchased peace by submission to 
the Christian yoke, but he knew that where the ele- 
ments were so discordant, and the motives for hos- 
tility so deep and ancient, it could not be secure or 
permanent. Acting therefore upon an old maxim, 
"arm thyself in peace, and clothe thyself in sum- 
mer," he improved the present interval of tranquil- 
lity by fortifying his dominions and replenishing his 
arsenals, and by promoting those useful arts which 
give wealth and real power to an empire. He gave 
premiums and privileges to the best artizans ; im- 
proved the breed of horses and other domestic ani- 
mals ; encouraged husbandry ; and increased the 
natural fertility of the soil twofold by his protection, 
making the lonely valleys of his kingdom to bloom 
like gardens. He fostered also the growth and 
fabrication of silk, until the looms of Granada sur- 
passed even those of Syria in the fineness and beauty 

* '' Que angosto y miserabile seria nuestra vida, sino fuera tan 
dilauda y espaciosa nuestra esperanza ! *' 



of their productions. He, moreover, caused the 
mines of gold and silver, and other metals found in 
the mountainous regions of his dominions, to be 
diligently worked, and was the first king of Granada 
who struck money of gold and silver with his name, 
taking great care that the coins should be skilfully 
executed. 

It was about this time, towards the middle of the 
thirteenth century, and just after his return from the 
siege of Seville, that he commenced the splendid 
palace of the Alhambra : superintending the build- 
ing of it in person, mingling frequently among the 
artists and workmen, and directing their labours. 

Though thus magTiificent in his works, and great 
in his enterprises, he was simple in his person, and 
moderate in his enjoyments. His dress was not 
merely void of splendour, but so plain as not to dis- 
tinguish him from his subjects. His harem boasted 
but few beauties, and these he visited but seldom, 
though they were entertained with great magnifi- 
cence. His wives were daughters of the principal 
nobles, and were treated by him as friends and ra- 
tional companions; what is more, he managed to 
make them live as friends with one another. 

He passed much of his time in his gardens ; es- 
pecially in those of the Alhambra, which he had 
stored with the rarest plants, and the most beauti- 
ful and aromatic flowers. Here he delighted him- 
self in reading histories, or in causing them to be 
read and related to him ; and sometimes, in inter- 
vals of leisure, employed himself in the instruction 
of his three sons, for whom he had provided the 
most learned and virtuous masters. 

As he had frankly and voluntarily offered himself 
a tributary vassal to Ferdinand, so he always re- 
mamed loyal to his word, giving him repeated proofs 
of fidelity and attachment. When that renowned 
monarch died in Seville, in 1254, Mahamad .A.ben 
Alahmar sent ambassadors to condole with his suc- 
cessor, Alonzo X., and with them a gallant train of 
a hundred Moorish cavaliers of distinguished rank, 
who were to attend, each bearing a lighted taper 
round the royal bier, during the funeral ceremonies. 
This grand testimonial of respect was repeated by 
the Moslem monarch during the remainder of his 
life, on each anniversary of the death of King Fer- 
nando el Santo, when the hundred Moorish knights 
repaired from Granada to Seville, and took tt;eir 
stations with lighted tapers in the centre of the 
sumptuous cathedral round the cenotaph of the il- 
lustrious deceased. 

Mahamad Aben Alahmar retained his faculties 
and vigour to an advanced age. In his seventy- 
ninth year he took the field on horseback, accom- 
panied by the flower of his chivalry, to resist an in- 
vasion of his territories. As the army sallied forth 
from Granada, one of the principal adalides or 
guides, who rode in the advance, accidentally broke 
his lance against the arch of the gate. The coun- 
sellors of the king, alarmed by this circumstance, 
which was considered an evil omen, entreated him 
to return. Their supplications were in vain. The 
king persisted, and at noon-tide the omen, say the 
Moorish chroniclers, was fatally fulfilled. Mahamad 
was suddenly struck with illness, and had nearly 
fallen from his horse. He was placed on a litter, 
and borne back towards Granada, but his illness in- 
creased to such a degree, that they were obliged to 
pitch his tent in the Vega. His physicians were 
filled with consternation, not knowing what remedy 
to prescribe. In a few hours he died vomiting blood, 
and in violent convulsions. The Castilian prince, 
Don Philip, brother of .A.lonzo X., was by his side 
when he expired. His body was embalmed, enclosed 
in a silver coffin, and buried in the Alhambra, in a 



170 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sepulchre of precious marble, amidst the unfeigned 
lamentations of his subjects, who bewailed him as a 
parent. 

Such was the enlightened patriot prince, who 
founded the Alhambra, whose name remains em- 
blazoned among its most delicate and graceful orna- 
ments, and whose memory is calculated to inspire 
the loftiest associations in those who tread these 
fading scenes of his magnificence and glory. Though 
his undertakings were vast, and his expenditures 
immense, yet his treasury was always full ; and this 
seeming contradiction gave rise to the story that he 
was versed in magic art and possessed of the secret 
for transmuting baser metals into gold. 

Those who have attended to his domestic policy, 
as here set forth, will easily understand the natural 
magic and simple alchymy which made his ample 
treasury to overflow. 



JUSEF ABUL HAGIAS; 

THE FINISHER OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



Beneath the governor's apartment in the Al- 
hambra, is the royal Mosque, where the Moorish 
monarchs performed their private devotions. Though 
consecrated as a Catholic chapel, it still bears traces 
of its Moslem origin ; the Saracenic columns with 
their gilded capitals, and the latticed gallery for the 
females of the harem, may yet be seen, and the 
escutcheons of the Moorish kings are mingled on 
the walls with those of the Castilian sovereigns. 

In this consecrated place perished the illustrious 
Jusef Abul Hagias, the high-minded prince who 
completed the Alhambra, and who, for his virtues 
and endowments, deserves almost equal renown with 
its magnanimous founder. It is with pleasure I draw 
forth from the obscurity in which it has too long 
remained, the name of another of those princes of a 
departed and almost forgotten race, who reigned in 
elegance and splendour in Andalusia, when all Eu- 
rope was in comparative barbarism. 

Jusef Abul Hagias, (or, as it is sometimes written, 
Haxis,) ascended the throne of Granada in the year 
1333, and his personal appearance and mental quali- 
ties were such as to win all hearts, and to awaken 
anticipations of a beneficent and prosperous reign. 
He was of a noble presence and great bodily strength, 
united to manly beauty. His complexion was ex- 
ceeding fair, and, according to the Arabian chron- 
iclers, he heightened the gravity and majesty of his 
appearance by suffering his beard to grow to a dig- 
nified length, and dying it black. He had an excel- 
lent memory, well stored with science and erudition ; 
he was of a lively genius, and accounted the best 
poet ol his time, and his manners were gentle, affa- 
ble, and urbane. 

Jusef possessed the courage common to all gener- 
ous spirits, but his genius was more calculated for 
peace than war, and, though obliged to take up 
arms repeatedly in his time, he was generally un- 
fortunate. He carried the benignity of his nature 
into w^arfare, prohibiting all wanton cruelty, and 
enjoining mercy and protection towards women and 
children, the aged and infirm, and all Iriars and per- 
sons of holy and recluse life. Among other ill- 
starred enterprizes, he undertook a great campaign 
in conjunction with the king of Morocco, against the 
kings of Castile and Portugal, but was defeated in 
the memorable battle of Salado ; a disastrous re- 



verse which had nearly proved a death blow to the 
Moslem power in Spain. 

Jusef obtained a long truce after this defeat, dur- 
ing which time he devoted himself to the instruction 
of his people and the improvement of their morals 
and manners. For this purpose he established 
schools in all the villages, with simple and uniform 
systems of education ; he obliged every hamlet of 
more than twelve houses to have a Mosque, and 
prohibited various abuses and indecorums, that had 
been introduced into the ceremonies of religion, and 
the festivals and public amusements of the people. 
He attended vigilantly to the police of the city, 
establishing nocturnal guards and patrols, and super- 
intending all municipal concerns. 

His attention was also directed towards finishing 
the great architectural works commenced by his 
predecessors, and erecting others on his own plans. 
The Alhambra, which had been founded by the 
good Aben Alahmar, was now completed. Jusef 
constructed the beautiful gate of Justice, forming the 
grand entrance to the fortress, which he finished in 
1348. He likewise adorned many of the courts and 
halls of the palace, as may be seen by the inscrip- 
tions on the walls, in which his name repeatedly 
occurs. He built also the noble Alcazar, or citadel 
of Malaga; now unfortunately a mere mass of crum- 
bling ruins, but which, probably, exhibited in its in- 
terior similar elegance and magnificence with the 
Alhambra. 

The genius of a sovereign stamps a character upon 
his time. The nobles of Granada, imitating the 
elegant and graceful taste of Jusef, soon filled the 
city of Granada with magnificent palaces ; the halls 
of which paved in Mosaic, the walls and ceilings 
wrought in fret-work, and delicately gilded and 
painted with azure, vermilion, and other brilliant 
colours, or minutely inlaid with cedar and other 
precious woods ; specimens of which have survived 
in all their lustre the lapse of several centuries. 

Many of the houses hatl fountains, which threw 
up jets of water to refresh and cool the air. They 
had lofty towers also, of wood or stone, curiously 
carved and ornamented, and covered with plates of 
metal that glittered in the sun. Such was the refined 
and delicate taste in architecture that prevailed 
among this elegant people; insomuch, that to use 
the beautiful simile of an Arabian writer, " Gra- 
nada, in the days of Jusef, was as a silver vase filled 
with emeralds and jacinths." 

One anecdote will be sufficient to show the mag- 
nanimity of this generous prince. The long truce 
which had succeeded the battle of Salado, was at an 
end, and every effort of Jusef to renew it was in vain. 
His deadly foe, Alfonso XI. of Castile, took the field 
with great force, and laid siege to Gibraltar. Jusef 
reluctantly took up arms, and sent troops to the re- 
lief of the place ; when, in the midst of his anxiety, 
he received tidings that his dreaded foe had suddenly 
fallen a victim to the plague. Instead of manifest- 
ing exultation on the occasion, Jusef called to mind 
the great qualities of the deceased, and was touched 
with a noble sorrow. " Alas ! " cried he, " the world 
has lost one of its most excellent princes ; a sover- 
eign who knew how to honour merit, whether in 
friend or foe ! " 

The Spanish chroniclers themselves bear witness 
to this magnanimity. According to their accounts, 
the Moorish cavaliers partook of the sentiment of 
their king, and put on mourning for the death of Al- 
fonso. Even those of Gibraltar, who had been so 
closely invested, when they knew that the hostile 
monarch lay dead in his camp, determined among 
themselves that no hostile movement should be 
made against the Christians. 



THE ALHAMBRA. 



171 



The (lay on which the camp was broken up, and 
thi- army departed, bearing the corpse of Alfonso, 
the Moors issued in multitudes from Gibraltar, and 
stood mute and melancholy, watching the mournful 
pageant. The same reverence for the deceased was 
observed by all the Moorish commanders on the 
frontiers, who suffered the funeral train to pass in 
safety, bearing the corpse of the Christian sovereign 
from Gibraltar to Seville.* 

Jusef did not long survive the enemy he had so 
generously deplored. In the year 1354, as he was 
one day praying in the royal mosque of the Alham- 
bra, a maniac rushed suddenly from behind, and 
plunged a dagger in his side. The cries of the king 
brought his guards and courtiers to his assistance. 
They found him weltering in his blood, and in con- 



* " Y los Moros que estaban en la vill.-i y Castillo de Gibralta- 
despues que sopieron que el Rey tJon Alonzo era muerto, order 
naron entresi que ninguno non fuesse osado He fazer ningun movi- 
miento contra los Christianos, ntn mover pelear contra ellos, es- 
tovieron todos quedos y dezian entre ellos que aquel dia muriera un 
noble rey y gran principe del mundo 1 " 



vulsions. He was borne to the royal apartments, 
but expired almost immediately. The .murderer was 
cut to pieces, and his limbs burnt in public, to gratify 
the fury of the populace. 

The body of the king was interred in a superb 
sepulchre of white marble; a long epitaph in letters 
of gold upon an azure ground recorded his virtues. 
" Here lies a king and martyr of an illustrious line ; 
gentle, learned and virtuous ; renowned tor the 
graces of his person and his manners ; whose 
clemency, piety, and benevolence, were extolled 
throughout the kingdom of Granada. He was a 
great prince, an illustrious captain ; a sharp sword 
of the Moslems ; a valiant standard-bearer among 
the most potent monarchs." &c. 

The mosque still remains, which once resounded 
with the dying cries of Jusef, but the monument 
which recorded his virtues, has long since disap- 
peared. His name, however, remains inscribed 
among the ornaments of the Alhambra, and will 
be perpetuated in connexion with this renowned 
pile, which it was his pride and delight to beautify. 



A Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada. 



BY FRAY ANTONIO AGAPIDA. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Although the followinor Chronicle bears the name 
of the venerable Frav Antonio Agapida, it is rather a 
superstructure reared upon the frafrmcnts which re- 
main of his work. It maybe asked. Who is this same 
Agapida, who is cited with such deference, yet whose 
name is not to be found in any of the catalogues of 
Spanish antiiors ? The question is hard to answer : 
he appears to have been one of the many indefatigable 
authors of Spain, who have filled the libraries of con- 
vents and cathedrals with their tomes, without ever 
dreaming of bringing their labors to the press. He 
evidently was deeply and accurately informed of the 
particidars of the wars between his countrymen and 
the Moors — a tract of history but too much overgrown 
with the weeds of fable. His glowing zeal, also, in the 
cause of the Catholic faith, entitles hini to be held up 
as a model of the good old orthodox chroniclers, who 
recorded with such pious exultation the tinited tri- 
umphs of the cross and the sword. It is deeply to be 
regretted, therefore, that his manuscripts, deposited in 
the libraries of various convents, have been dispersed 
during the late convulsions in Spain, so that nothing 
is now to be met of them but disjointed fragments. 
These, however, are too precious to be sutTered to fall 
into oblivion, as they contain many curious facts, not to 
be found in any other historian. In the following work, 
therefore, the manuscript of the worthy Fray Antonio 
will be adopted, wherever it exists entite ; but will be 
filled up, extended, illustrated, and corroborated, by 
citations from various authors, both Spanish and Ara- 
bian, who have treated of the subject. Those who may 
wish to know how far the work is indebted to tlie 
chronicle of Fray Antonio Agapida, may readily salisfv 
their curiosity by referring to his manuscript fragments, 
which are carefully preserved in the library of the 
Escurial. 

Before entering upon the history, it may be as well 
to notice the opinions of certain of the most learned 
and devout historiographers of former times, relative 
to this war. 

Marinus Siculus, historian to Charles V., pronounces 
it a war to avenge the ancient injuries received by the 
Christians from the Moors, to recover the kingdom of 
Granada, .-ftul to extend the name and honor of the 
Christian religion.* 

Estevan de Garibay, one of the most distinguished 
among the Spanish historians, regards the war as a 
special act of divine clemency towards the Moors ; to 
the end that those barb.nriaiis and infidels, who had 
dragged out so many centuries under the diabolical 
oppression of the absurd sect of Mahomet, should at 
length be reduced to the Christian faitli.f 

Padre Mariana, also, a venerable Jesuit, and the 
most renowned historian of Spain, considers the past 
domination of the Moors as a scourge inflicted on the 
Spanish nation, for its iniquities; but the trinmpliant 
war with Granada, as the reward of Heaven for its 



* Lucio Marino Siculo, Cosas Mrmorabiles de Espafla, lib. 20. 
+ Garibay, Compend. Hist. Espafla, lib. 18, c. 22. 



great act of propitiation in establishing the glorious 
tribunal of the Inquisition ! No sooner (sa\s the 
worthy father) was this holy office opened in S|iain, 
than there instantly shone forth a resplendent light. 
Then it was, that, through divine favor, the nation in 
creased in power, and became competent to overthrow 
and trample down the Moorish domination.* 

Having thus cited high and venerable authority for 
considering this war in the light of one of those pious 
enterprises denominated crusades, we trust we have 
said enough to engage the Christian reader to follow 
us into the field, and to stand by us to the very issue 
of the encounter. 



CHAPTER I. 



OF THE KINGDOM OF GRAN.\DA, AND THE TRIBUTE 
WHICH IT PAID TO THE CASTILIAN CROWN. 

The history of those bloody and disastrous wars, 
which have caused the downfall of mighty empires, 
(observes Fray Antonio Agapida,) has ever been 
considered a study highly delectable, and full of 
precious edification. What then must be the history 
of a pious crusade, waged by the most Catholic of 
sovereigns, to rescue from the jjower of the Infidels 
one of the tnost beautiful but benighted regions of 
the globe ? Listen then, while, from the solitude of 
my cell, I relate the events of the conquest of Gra- 
nada, where Christian knight and turbaned Infidel 
disputed, inch by inch, the fair land of Andalusia, 
until the crescent, that symbol of heathenish abomi- 
nation, was cast down, and the blessed cross, the 
tree of our redemption, erected in its stead. 

Nearly eight hundred years were past and gone, 
since the Arabian invaders had sealed the peidition 
of Spain, by the defeat of Don Roderick, the last 
of her Gothic kings. .Since that disastrous event, 
kingdom after kingdom had been gradually recover- 
ed by the Christian princes, until the single, but 
powerful, territory of Granada alone remained under 
domination of the Moors. 

This renowned kingdom was situated in the 
southern part of Spain, bordering on the Mediter- 
ranean sea, and defended on the land side by lofty 
and rugged mountains, locking up within their em- 
braces, deep, rich, and verdant valleys, where the 
sterility of the surrounding heights was repaid by 
prodigal fertility. The city of Granada lay in the 
centre of the kingdom, sheltered as it were in the 
lap of the Sierra Nevada, or chain of snowy mount- 
ains. It covered two lofty hills, and a deep valley 
which divides them, through which flows the river 
Darro. One of these hills was crowned by the 
royal palace and fortress of the Alhambra, capable 
of containing forty thousand tnen within its walls 
and towers. There is a Moorish tradition, that the 



* Mariana, Hist. Espafta, lib. 25, c. i. 



(17a) 



174 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



king who built tliis mighty pile, was skilled in the 
occult sciences, and furnished himself with gold and 
silver for the purpose by means of alchemy.* Cer- 
tainly, never was there an edifice accomplished in a 
superior style of barbaric magnificence ; and the 
stranger who, even at the present day, wanders 
among its silent and deserted courts and ruined 
halls, gazes with astonishment at its gilded and fret- 
ted domes and luxurious decorations, still retaining 
their brilliancy and beauty in defiance of the ravages 
of time. 

Opposite to the hill on which stood the .41hambra, 
was its rival hill, on the summit of which was a 
spacious plain, covered with houses and crowded 
with inhabitants. It was commanded by a fortress 
called the Alcazaba. The declivities and skirts of 
these hills were covered with houses to the number 
of seventy thousand, separated by narrow streets 
and small squares, according to the custom of Moor- 
ish cities. The houses had interior courts and gar- 
dens, refreshed by fountains and running streams, 
and set out with oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, 
so that as the edifices of the city rose above each 
other on the sides of the hill, they presented a min- 
gled appearance of city and grove, delightful to the 
eye. The whole was surrounded by high walls, three 
leagues in circuit, with twelve gates, and fortified 
by a thousand and thirty towers. The elevation of 
the city, and the neighborhood of the Sierra Nevada 
crowned with perpetual snows, tempered the fervid 
rays of summer ; so that, while other cities were 
panting with the sultry and stilling heat of the dog- 
days, the most salubrious breezes played through 
the marble halls of Granada. 

The glory of the city, however, was its vega or 
plain, which spread out to a circumference of thirty- 
seven leagues, surrounded by lofty mountains. It 
was a vast garden of delight, refreshed by numerous 
fountains, and by the silver windings of the Xenil. 
The labor and ingenuity of the Moors had diverted 
the waters of this river into thousands of rills and 
streams, and diffused them over the whole surface 
of the plain. Indeed, they had wrought up this 
happy region to a degree of wonderful prosperity, 
and took a pride in decorating it, as if it had been a 
favorite mistress. The hills were clothed with or- 
chards and vineyards, the valleys embroidered with 
gardens, and the wide plains covered with waving 
grain. Here were seen in profusion the orange, the 
citron, the fig, and pomegranate, with great planta- 
tions of mulberry trees, from which was produced 
the finest of silk. The vine clambered from tree to 
tree; the grapes hung in rich clusters about the 
peasant's cottage, and the groves were rejoiced by 
the perpetual .song of the nightingale. In a word, 
so beautiful was the earth, so pure the air, and so 
serene the sky, of this delicious region, that the 
Moors imagined the paradise of their Prophet to be 
situated in that part of the heaven which overhung 
the kingdom of Granada.t 

This rich and populous territory had been left in 
quiet possession of the Infidels, on condition of an 
annual tribute to the sovereign of Castile and Leon, 
of two thousand doblas or pistoles of gold, and six- 
teen hundred Christian captives ; or, in default of 
captives, an equal number of Moors to be surren- 
dered as slaves ; all to be delivered in the city of 
Cordova.J 

At the era at which this chronicle commences, 
Ferdinand and Isabella, of glorious and happy mem- 
ory, reigned over the united kingdoms of Castile, 

* Zurita, lib. so. c. 42. 

t Juan Botero Benes. Relaciones Universales del Mundo. 

X Garibay. Compend. lib. 4. c. 25. 



Leon, and Arragon ; and Muley Aben Hassan sat 
on the throne of Granada. This Muley Aben Hassan 
had succeeded to his father Ismael in 1465, while 
Henry IV., brother and immediate predecessor of 
queen Isabella, was king of Castile and Leon. He 
was of the illustrious lineage of Mohammed Aben 
Alaman, the first Moorish king of Granada, and was 
the most potent of his line. He bad in fact aug- 
mented in power, in consequence of the fall of other 
Moorish kingdoms, which had been conquered by 
the Christians. Many cities and strong places of 
those kingdoms, which lay contiguous to Granada, 
had refused to submit to Christian vassalage, and had 
sheltered themselves under the protection of Muley 
Aben Hassan. His territories had thus increased in 
wealth, extent, and population, beyond all former 
example, and contained fourteen cities and ninety- 
seven fortified towns, besides numerous unwalled 
towns and villages, defended by formidable castles. 
The spirit of Muley Aben Hassan swelled with his 
possessions. 

The tribute of money and captives had been 
regularly paid by his father Ismael ; and Muley 
Aben Hassan had, on one occasion, attended per- 
sonally in Cordova, at the payment. He had wit- 
nessed the taunts and sneers of the haughty Cas- 
tilians ; and so indignant was the proud son of Afric 
at what he considered a degradation of his race, that 
his blood boiled whenever he recollected the humili- 
ating scene. 

When he came to the throne, he ceased all pay- 
ment of the tribute ; and it was sufficient to put him 
in a transport of rage, only to mention it. " He was 
a fierce and warlike Infidel," says the Catholic Fray 
Antonio Agapida ; " his bitterness against the holy 
Christian faith had been signalized in battle, during 
the life-time of his father; and the same diabolical 
spirit of hostility was apparent in his ceasing to pay 
this most righteous tribute." 



CHAPTER II. 



HOW THE CATHOLIC SOVEREIGNS SENT TO DE- 
MAND ARREARS OF TRIBUTE OF THE MOOR, 
AND HOW THE MOOR REPLIED. 

In the year 1478, a Spanish courtier, of powerful 
frame and haughty demeanor, .arrived at the gates 
of Granada, as ambassador from the Catholic mon- 
archs, to demand the arrear of tribute. His name 
was Don Juan de Vera, a zealous and devout knight, 
full of ardor for the faith, and loyalty for the crown. 
He was gallantly mounted, armed at all points, and 
followed by a moderate, but well-appointed retinue. 

The Moorish inhabitants looked jealously at this 
small but proud array of Spanish chivalry, as it 
paraded, with that stateliness possessed only by 
Spanish cavaliers, through the renowned gate of 
Elvira. They were struck with the stern and lofty 
demeanor of Don Juan de Vera, and his sinewy 
frame, which showed him formed for hardy deeds 
of arms ; and they supposed he had come in search 
of distinction, by defying the Moorish knights in open 
tourney, or in the famous tilt with reeds, for which 
they were so renowned; for it was still the custom 
of the knights of either nation to mingle in these 
courteous and chivalrous contests, during the inter- 
vals of war. When they learnt, however, that he 
was come to demand the tribute so abhorrent to the 
ears of the fiery monarch, they observed that it well 
required a warrior of his apparent nerve, to execute 
such an embassy. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



175 



Muley Aben Hassan received the cavalier in state. 
Stated on a magnificent divan, and surrounded t)y 
tlic officers of his court, in the hall of ambassadors, 
one of the most sumptuous apartments of the Al- 
hambra. When De Vera had delivered his message, 
a haughty and bitter smile curled the lip of the fierce 
monarch. " Tell your sovereigns," said he, " that 
the kings of Granada, who used to pay tribute in 
money to the Castilian crown, are dead. Our mint 
at present coins nothing but blades of scimitars and 
heads of lances."* 

The defiance couched in this proud reply, was 
heard with stem and lofty courtesy by Don Juan de 
Vera, for he was a bold soldier, and a devout hater 
of the Infidels; and he saw iron war in the words of 
the Moorish monarch. He retired from the audience 
chamber with stately and ceremonious gravity, being 
master of all points of etiquette. As he passed through 
the Court of Lions, and paused to regard its cele- 
brated fountain, he fell into a discourse with the 
Moorish courtiers on certain mysteries of the Chris- 
tian faith. The arguments advanced by those Infidels 
(says Fray Antonio Agapida) awakened the pious 
indignation of this most Christian knight and discreet 
ambassador; but still herestramed himself within the 
limits of lofty gravity, leanmg on the pommel of his 
sword, and looking down with ineffable scorn upon 
the weak casuists around him. The quick and subtle 
Arabian witlings redoubled their light attacks upon 
this stately Spaniard, and thought they had com- 
pletely foiled him in the contest ; but the stern Juan 
de Vera had an argument in reserve, for which they 
were but little prepared ; for, on one of them, of the 
race of the Abencerrages, daring to question, with a 
sneer, the immaculate conception of the blessed 
virgin, the Catholic knight could no longer restrain 
bis ire. Raising his voice of a sudden, he told the 
Infidel he lied ; and, raising his arm at the same time, 
he smote him on the head with his sheathed sword. 

In an instant the Court of Lions glistened with the 
flash of arms, and its fountains would have been dyed 
with blood, had not Muley Aben Hassan overheard 
the tuinult, and forbade all appeal to arms, pronounc- 
ing the person of the ambassador sacred while within 
his territories. The Abencerrage treasured up the 
remembrance of the insult until an hour of vengeance 
should arrive, and the ambassador prayed our blessed 
lady to grant him an opportunity of proving her im- 
maculate conception on the head of this turbaned 
Infidel.t 

Notwithstanding this occurrence, Don Juan de 
Vera was treated with great distinction by Muley 
Aben Hassan ; but nothing could make him unbend 
from his stern and stately reserve. Before his de- 
parture, a scimitar was sent to him by the king ; the 
blade of the finest Damascus steel, the hilt of agate 
enriched with precious stones, and the guard of gold. 
De Vera drew it, and smiled grimly as he noticed 
the admirable temper of the blade. " His majesty 
has given me a trenchant weapon," said he ; " I trust 
a time will come when I may show him that I know 
how to use his royal present." The reply was con- 
sidered as a compliment, of course; the bystanders 
little knew the bitter hostility that lay couched be- 
neath. 

Don Juan de Vera and his companions, during 
their brief sojourn at Granada, learned the force, and 
situation of the Moor, with the eyes of practiced war- 
riors. They saw that he was well prepared for hos- 

* Garibay. Compend. lib. 40, c. 29. Conde. Hist, do les Arabes, 
p. 4. c. 34- 

+ The Curate of Los Palacios also records this anecdote, but 
mentions it as happening on a subsequent occasion, when Don Juan 
dc Vera was sent to negotiate for certain Christian c.iptives. I'here 
appears every reason, liowever, to consider Fray Antonio Agapida 
most correct in the period to which he refers it. 



tilities. His walls and towers were of vast strength, 
in complete repair, and mounted with lombards and 
other heavy ordnance. His magazines were well 
stored with all the munitions of war : he had a mighty 
host of foot-soldiers, together with squadrons of cav- 
alry, ready to scour the country and carry on either 
defensive or predatory warfare. The Christian war- 
riors noted these things without dismay ; their hearts 
rather glowed with emulation, at the thoughts of en- 
countering so worthy a foe. As they slowly pranced 
through the streets of Granada, on their departure, 
they looked round with eagerness on its stately 
palaces and sumptuous mosques ; on its alca^ceria 
or bazar, crowded with silks and cloth of silver and 
gold, with jewels and precious stones, and other rich 
merchandise, the luxuries of every clime ; and they 
longed for the time when all this wealth should be 
the spoil of the soldiers of the faith, and when each 
tramp of their steeds might be fetlock deep in the 
blood and carnage of the Infidels. 

Don Juan de Vera and his little band pursued 
their way slowly through the country, to the Chris- 
tian frontier. Every town was strongly fortified. 
The vega was studded with towers of refuge for the 
peasantry ; every pass of the mountain had its castle 
of defence, every loftv height its watch-tower. As 
the Christian cavaliers passed under the walls of the 
fortresses, lances and scimitars flashed from their 
battlements, and the turbaned sentinels seemed to 
dart from their dark eyes glances of hatred and de- 
fiance. It was evident that a war with this kingdom 
must be one of doughty peril and valiant enterprise; 
a war of posts, where every step must lie gained by 
toil and bloodshed, and maintained with the utmost 
difficulty. The warrior spirit of the cavaliers kindled 
at the thoughts, and they were impatient for hostili- 
ties ; "not," says Antonio Agapida, "for any thirst 
for rapine and revenge, but from that pure and holy 
indignation which every Spanish knight entertained 
at beholding this beautiful dominion of his ancestors 
defiled by the footsteps of Infidel usurpers. It was 
impossible," he adds, "to contemplate this delicious 
country, and not long to see it restored to the do- 
minion of the true faith, and the sway of the Chris- 
tian monarchs." 

When Don Juan de Vera returned to the Castilian 
court, and reported the particulars of his mission, 
and all that he had heard and seen in the Moorish 
territories, he was highly honored and rewarded by 
king Ferdinand; and the zeal he had shown in vin- 
dication of the sinless conception of the blessed vir- 
gin, was not only applauded by that most Catholic 
of sovereigns, but gained him great favor and re- 
nown among all pious cavaliers and reverend prel- 
ates. 



CHAPTER III. 



HOW THE MOOR DETERMINED TO STRIKE THE 
FIRST BLOW IN THE WAR. 

The defiance thus hurled at the Castilian sover- 
eigns by the fiery Moorish king, would at once have 
been answered by the thunder of their artillery ; .but 
they were embroiled, at that time, in a war with 
Portugal, and in contests with their own factious 
nobles. The truce, therefore, which had existed for 
many years between the nations, was sufiercd to 
continue ; the wary Ferdinand reserving the refusal 
to pay tribute as a fair ground for war, whenever the 
favorable moment to wage it should arrive. 

In the course of three years, the war with Portugal 
was terminated, and the factions of the Spanish 



176 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



nobles were, for the most part, quelled. The Cas- 
tilian sovereigns now turned their thoughts to what, 
from the time of the union of their crowns, had been 
the great object of their ambition, — the conquest of 
Granada, and the complete extirpation of the Moslem 
power from Spain. Ferdinand, whose pious zeal 
was quickened by motives of temporal policy, looked 
with a craving eye at the rich territory of the Moor, 
studded with innumerable towns and cities. He de- 
termined to carry on the war with cautious and per- 
severing patience, taking town after town and for- 
tress after fortress, and gradually plucking away all 
the supports, before he attempted the Moorish capi- 
tal. " 1 will pick out the seeds, one by one, of this 
pomegranate," said the wary Ferdinand.* 

Muley Aben Hassan was aware of the hostile in- 
tentions of the Catholic monarch, but felt confident 
in his means of resisting them. He had amassed 
great wealth, during a tranquil reign ; he had 
strengthened the defences of his kingdom, and had 
drawn large bodies of auxiliary troops from Barbary, 
besides making arrangements with the African 
princes to assist him with supplies, in case of emer- 
gency. His subjects were fierce of spirit, stout of 
heart, and valiant of hand. Inured to the exercises 
of war, they could light skilfully on foot, but, above 
all, were dexterous horsemen, whether heavily armed 
and fully appointed, or lightly mounted a la geiicta, 
with simply lance and target. They were patient 
of fatigue, hunger, thirst, and nakedness ; prompt 
for war, at the first summons of their king, and 
tenacious in defence of their towns and possessions. 

Thus amply provided for war, Muley Aben Hassan 
determined to be beforehand with the politic Ferdi- 
nand, and to be the first to strike a blow. In the 
truce which existed between them, there was a singu- 
lar clause, permitting either party to make sudden 
inroads and assaults upon towns and fortresses, pro- 
vided they were done furtively and by stratagem, 
without display of banners or sound of trumpet, or 
regular encampment, and that they did not last above 
three days.f This gave rise to frequent enterprises 
of a hardy and adventurous character, in which 
castles and strong holds were taken by surprise, 
and carried sword in hand. A long time had elapsed, 
however, without any outrage of the kind on the 
part of the Moors ; and the Christian towns on the 
frontiers had all, in consequence, fallen into a state 
of the most negligent security. 

Muley Aben Hassan cast his eyes round to select 
his object of attack, when information was brought 
him that the fortress of Zahara was but feebly gar- 
risoned and scantily supplied, and that its alcayde 
was careless of his charge. This important post was 
on the frontier, between Ronda and Medina Sidonia, 
and was built on the crest of a rocky mountain, with 
a strong castle perched above it, upon a cliff, so high 
that it was said to be above the flight of birds or 
drift of clouds. The streets and many of the houses 
were mere excavations, wrought out of the living 
rock. The town had but one gate, opening to the 
west, and defended by towers and bulwarks. The 
only ascent to this cragged fortress was by roads 
cut in the rock, and so rugged .as in many places to 
resemble broken stairs. Such was the situation of 
the mountain fortress of Zahara, which seemed to 
sef all attack at defiance, insomuch that it had be- 
come so proverbial throughout Spain, that a woman 
of forbidding and inaccessible virtue was called a 
Zaharena. But the strongest fortress and sternest 
virtue have weak points, and require unremitting 



vigilance to guard them : let warrior and dame take 
warning from the fate of Zahara. 



CHAPTER IV. 



•Granadii is the Spanish term for pomegranate. 
tZurita. Anales de .dragon, 1. 20, c. 41. Mariana. Hist de 
Espafia, 1. 25, c. I. 



EXPEDITION OF MULEV ABEN HASSAN AGAINST 
THE FORTRESS OF ZAHARA. 

It was in the year of our Lord one thousand four 
hundred and eighty-one, and but a night or two 
after the festival of the most blessed Nativity, that 
Muley Aben Hassan made his famous attack upon 
Zahara. The inhabitants of the place were sunk in 
profound sleep ; the very sentinel had deserted his 
post, and sought shelter from a tempest which had 
raged tor three nights in succession ; for it appeared 
but little probable that an enemy would be abroad 
during such an uproar of the elements. But evil 
spirits work best during a storm, (observes the 
worthy Antonio Agapida,) and Muley Aben Hassan 
found such a season most suitable for his diabolical 
purposes. In the midst of the night, an uproar arose 
within the walls of Zahara, more awful than the 
raging of the storm. A fearful alarm cry — " The 
Moor ! the Moor ! " resounded through the streets, 
mingled with the clash of arms, the shriek of anguish, 
and the shout of victory. Muley Aben Hassan, at 
the head of a powerful force, had hurried from Gra- 
nada, and passed unobserved through the mountains 
in the obscurity of the tempest. While the storm 
pelted the sentinel from his post, and howled round 
tower and battlement, the Moors had planted their 
scaling-ladders, and mounted securely, into both 
town and castle. The garrison was unsuspicious of 
danger, until battle and massacre burst forth within 
its very walls. It seemed to the affrighted inhabit- 
ants, as if the fiends of the air had come upon the 
wings of the wind, and possessed themselves of tower 
and turret. The war-cry resounded on every side, 
shout answering shout, above, below, on the battle- 
ments of the castle, in the streets of the town — the 
foe was in all parts, wrapped in obscurity, but acting 
in concert by the aid of preconcerted signals. Start- 
ing from sleep, the soldiers were intercepted and cut 
down as they rushed from their quarters ; or, if they 
escaped, they knew not where to assemble, or where 
to strike. Wherever lights appeared, the flashing 
scimitar was at its deadly work, and all who at- 
tempted resistance fell beneath its edge. 

In a little while, the struggle was at an end. 
Those who were not slain took refuge in the secret 
places of their houses, or gave themselves up as 
captives. The clash of arms ceased ; and the 
stonn continued its howling, mingled with the oc- 
casional shout of the Moorish soldiery, roaming in 
search of plunder. While the inhabitants were 
trembling for their fate, a trumpet resounded 
through the streets, summoning them all to as- 
semble, unarmed, in the public square. Here they 
were surrounded by soldiery, and strictly guarded, 
until day-break. When the day dawned, it was pite- 
ous to behold this once prosperous community, who 
had laid down to rest in peaceful security, now 
crowded together without distinction of age, or 
rank, or sex, and almost without raiment, during 
the severity of a wintry storm. The fierce Muley 
Aben Hassan turned a deaf ear to all their prayers 
and remonstrances, and ordered them to be con- 
ducted captives to Granada. Leaving a strong gar- 
rison in both town and castle, with orders to put 
them in a complete state of defence, he returned, 
flushed with victory, to his capital, entering it at 
the head of his troops, laden with spoil, and bear- 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



177 



ing in triumph the banners and pennons tal<en at 
Zahara. 

While preparations were malcing for jousts and 
other festivities, in honour of this victory over the 
Christians, the captives of Zahara arrived — a 
wretched train o( men, women, and children, worn 
out with fatigue and haggard with despair, and 
driven like cattle into the city gates, by a detach- 
ment of Moorish soldiery. 

Deep was the grief and indignation of the people 
of Granada, at this cruel scene. Old men, who had 
experienced the calamities of warfare, anticipated 
coming troubles. Mothers clasped their infants to 
their breasts, as they beheld the hapless females of 
Zahara, with their children expiring in their arms. 
On every side, the accents of pity for the sufferers 
were mingled with execrations of the barbarity ot 
the king. The preparations for festivity were 
neglected ; and the viands, which were to have 
feasted the conquerors, were distributed among the 
captives. 

The nobles and alfaquis, however, repaired to the 
Alhambra, to congratulate the king ; for, whatever 
storms may rage in the lower regions of society, 
rarely do any clouds, but clouds of incense, rise to 
the awful eminence of the throne. In this instance, 
however, a voice rose from the midst of the obse- 
quious crowd, that burst like thunder upon the ears 
]f Aben Hassan. "Wo! wo! wo! to Granada!" 
exclaimed the voice ; '• its hour of desolation ap- 
proaches. The ruins of Zahara will fall upon our 
leads ; my spirit tells me that the end of our empire 
3 at hand ! " All shrunk back aghast, and left the 
lenouncer of wo standing alone in the centre of the 
lall. He was an ancient and hoary man, in the 
ude attire of a dervise. Age had withered his 
brm without quenching the fire of his spirit, which 
glared in baleful lustre from, his eyes. He was, 
say the Arabian historians,) one of those holy men 
termed santons, who pass their lives in hennitagcs, 
n fasting, meditation, and prayer, until they attain 
:o the purity of saints and the foresight of prophets. 
' He was," says the indignant Fray Antonio Aga- 
)ida, "a son of Belial, one of those fanatic infidels 
possessed by the devil, who are sometimes per- 
mitted to predict the truth to their followers ; but 
.vith the proviso, that their predictions shall be of no 
ivail." 

The voice of the santon resounded through the 
ofty hall of the Alhambra, and struck silence and 
awe into the crowd of courtly sycophants. Muley 
A ben Hassan alone was unmoved ; he eyed the 
loary anchorite with scorn as he stood dauntless 
before him, and treated his predictions as the rav- 
ngs of a maniac. The santon rushed from the 
royal presence, and, descending into the city, hur- 
ried through its streets and squares with frantic ges- 
;iculations. His voice was heard, in ever)' part, in 
iwful denunciation. " The peace is broken ! the 
sxterminating war is commenced. Wo ! wo ! wo 
to Granada! its fall is at hand! desolation shall 
dwell in its palaces ; its strong men shall fall 
beneath the sword, its children and maidens shall 
be led into captivity. Zahara is but a type of 
Granada ! " 

Terror seized upon the populace, for they consid- 
ered these ravings as the inspirations of prophecy, 
rhey hid themselves in their dwellings, as in a time 
af general mourning; or, if they went abroad, it was 
to gather together in knots in the streets and squares, 
to alarm each other with dismal forebodings, and to 
curse the rashness and cruelty of the fierce Aben 
Hassan. 

The Moorish monarch heeded not their murmurs. 
Knowing that his exploit must draw upon him the 
12 



vengeance of the christians, he now threw off all 
resei've, and made attempts to surprise Castellan 
and Elvira, though without success. He sent 
alfaquis, also, to the Barbary powers, informing 
them that the sword was drawn, and inviting them 
to aid in maintaining the kingdom of Granada, and 
the religion of Mahomet, against the violence of 
unbelievers. 



CHAPTER V. 



EXPEDITION OF T?IE MARQUES OF CADIZ AGAINST 
ALHAMA. 

Great was the indignation of king Ferdinand, 
when he heard of the storming of Zahara — more es- 
pecially as it had anticipated his intention of giving 
the first blow in this eventful war. He valued him- 
self upon his deep and prudent policy ; and there is 
nothing which politic monarchs can less forgive, than 
thus being forestalled by an adversary. He im- 
mediately issued orders to all the adelantados and 
alcaydes of the frontiers, to maintain the utmost 
vigilance at their several posts, and to prepare to 
carry fire and sword into the territories of the Moors, 

Among the many valiant cavaliers who rallied 
round the throne of Ferdinand and Isabella, one of 
the most eminent in rank and renowned in arms was 
Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz. 
As he was the distinguished champion of this holy 
war, and commanded in most of its enterprises and 
battles, it is meet that some particular account 
should be given of him. He was born in 1443, of 
the valiant lineage of the Ponces, and from his ear- 
liest youth had rendered himself illustrious in the 
field. He was of the middle stature, with a muscu- 
lar and powerful frame, capable of great exertion 
and fatigue. His hair and beard were red and curled, 
his countenance was open and magnanimous, of a 
ruddy complexion, and slightly marked with the 
small-pox. He was temperate, chaste, valiant, vigi- 
lant ; a just and generous master to his vassals ; 
frank and noble in his deportment towards his 
equals ; loving and faithfiil to his friends; fierce and 
terrible, yet magnanimous, to his enemies. He was 
considered the mirror of chivalry of his times, and 
compared by contemporarv historians to the imm.or- 
tal Cid. 

The marques of Cadiz had vast possessions in the 
most fertile parts of Andalusia, including many towns 
and castles, and could lead forth an army into the 
field from his own vassals and dependants. On re- 
ceiving the orders of the king, he burned to signal- 
ize himself by some sudden mcursion into the king- 
dom of Granada, that should give a brilliant com- 
mencement to the war, and should console the sov- 
ereigns for the insult they had received in the capture 
of Zahara. As his estates lay near to the Moorish 
frontiers, and were subject to sudden inroads, he had 
always in his pay numbers of adalides, or scouts and 
guides, many of them converted Moors. These he 
sent out in all directions, to watch the movements 
of the enemy, and to procure all kinds of information 
important to the security of the frontier. One of 
these spies came to him one day in his town of Mar- 
chena, and informed him that the Moorish town of 
Albania was slightly garrisoned and negligently 
guarded, and might be taken by surprise. This was 
a large, wealthy, and populous place within a few 
leagues of Granada. It was situated on a rocky 
height, nearly surrounded by a river, and defended 
by a fortress to which there was no access but by a 
steep and cragged ascent. The strength of its situ- 



178 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ation, and its being" embosomed in the centre of the ' 
kingdom, had produced the careless security which 
now invited attacl<. 

To ascertain fully the state of the fortress, the 
marques dispatched secretly a veteran soldier, who 
was highly in his confidence. His name was Ortega 
de Prado, a man of great activity, shrewdness, and 
valor, and captain of escaladors, or those employed 
to scale the walls of fortresses in time of attack. 
Ortega approached Alhama one moonless night, and 
paced along its walls with noiseless step, laying his 
ear occasionally to the ground or to the wall. Every 
time, he distinguished the measured tread of a sen- 
tinel, and now and then the challenge of the night- 
w^atch going its rounds. Finding the town thus 
guarded, he clambered to the castle :— there all was 
silent. As he ranged its lofty battlements, between 
him and the sky he saw no sentinel on duty. He 
noticed certain places where the wall might be as- 
cended by scaling-ladders ; and, having marked the 
hour of relieving guard, and made all necessary ob- 
servations, he retired without being discovered. 

Ortega returned to Marchena, and assured the 
marques of Cadiz of the practicability of scaling the 
castle of Alhama, and taking it by surprise. The 
marques had a secret conference with Don Pedro 
Henriquez Adclantado, of Andalusia ; Don Diego de 
Merlo, commander of Seville ; and Sancho de Avila, 
alcayde of Carmona, who all agreed to aid him with 
their forces. On an appointed day, the several com- 
manders assembled at Marchena with their troops 
and retainers. None but the leaders knew the object 
or destination of the enterprise ; but it was enough 
to rouse the Andalusian spirit, to know that a foray 
was intended into the country of their old enemies, 
the Moors. Secrecy and celerity were necessary for 
success. They set out promptly, with three thou- 
sand genetes, or light cavalry, and four thousand in- 
fantry. They chose a route but little travelled, by 
the way of Antiqiiera, passing with great labor 
through rugged and solitary dctiles of the Sierra or 
chain of mountains of Alzerifa, and lel't all their bag- 
gage on the banks of the river Yeguas, to be brought 
after them. Their march was principally in the 
night ; all day they remained quiet ; no noise was 
suffered in their camp, and no fires were made, lest 
the smoke should betray them. On the third day 
they resumed their march as the evening darkened, 
and forcing themselves forward at as quick a pace as 
the rugged and dangerous mountain roads would per- 
mit, they descentled towards midnight into a small 
deep vallev, only half a league from Alhama. Here 
they made a halt, fatigued by this forced march, dur- 
ing a long dark evening towards the end of February. 
The marques of Cadiz now explained to the troops 
the object of the e.xpedition. He told them it was 
for the glory of the most holy faith, and to avenge 
the wrongs of their countrymen of Zahara ; and that 
the rich town of Alhama, full of wealthy spoil, was 
the place to be attacked. The troops were roused 
to new ardor by these words, and desired to be led 
forthwith to the assault. They arrived close to Al- 
hama about two hours before daybreak. Here the 
army remained in ambush, while three hundred men 
were dispatched to scale the walls and get posses- 
sion of the castle. They were picked men, many of 
them alcades and officers, men who preferred death 
to dishonor. This gallant band was guided by the 
escalador Ortega de Prado, at the head of thirty men 
with scaling-ladders. They clambered the ascent to 
the castle in silence, and arrived under the dark 
shadow of its towers without being discovered. Not 
a light was to be seen, not a sound to be heard ; the 
whole place was wrapped in profound repose. 

Fixing their ladders, they ascended cautiously and 



with noiseless steps. Ortega was the first that 
mounted upon the battlements, followed by one 
Martin Galindo, a youthful esquire, full of spirit and 
eager for distinction. Moving stealthily along the 
parapet to the portal of the citadel, they came upon 
the sentinel by surprise. Ortega seized him by the 
throat, brandished a dagger before his eyes, and or- 
dered him to point the way to the guard-room. The 
infidel obeyed, and was instantly dispatched, to pre- 
vent his giving an alarm. The guard-room was a 
scene rather of massacre than combat. Some of the 
soldiery were killed while sleeping, others were cut 
down almost without resistance, bewildered by so 
unexpected an assault: all were dispatched, for the 
scaling party was too small to make prisoners or to 
spare. The alarm spread throughout the castle, but 
by this time the three hundred picked men had 
mounted the battlements. The garrison, startled 
from sleep, found the enemy already masters of the 
towers. Some of the Moors were cut down at once, 
others fought desperately from room to room, and 
the whole castle resounded with the clash of arms, 
the cries of the combatants, and the groans of the 
wounded. The army in ambush, finding by the up- 
roar that the castle was surprised, now rushed from 
their concealment, and approached the walls with 
loud shouts, and sound of kettle-drums and trumpets, 
to increase the confusion and dismay of the garrison. 
A violent conflict took place in the court of the 
castle, where several of the scaling party sought to 
throw open the gates to admit their countrymen. 
Here fell two valiant alcaydes, Nicholas de Roja 
and Sancho de Avila ; but they fell honorably, upon 
a heap of slain. At length Ortega de Prado suc- 
ceeded in throwing open a postern, through which 
the marques of Cadiz, the adelantado of Andalusia, 
and Don Diego de Merlo, entered with a host of fol- 
lowers, and the citadel remained in full possession 
of the christians. 

As the Spanish cavaliers were ranging from room 
to room, the marques of Cadiz, entering an apart- 
ment of superior richness to the rest, beheld, by the 
light of a silver lamp, a beautiful Moorish female, 
the wife of the alcayde of the castle, whose husband 
was absent, attending a wedding-feast at Velez Mal- 
aga. She would have fled at the sight of a christian 
warrior in her apartment, but, entangled in the cover- 
ing of the bed, she fell at the feet of the marques, 
ini|)loring mercy. The christian cavalier, who had 
a soul full of honor and courtesy towards the sex, 
raised her from the floor, and endeavored to allay 
her fears ; but they were increased at the sight of 
her female attendants pursued into the room by the 
Spanish soldiery. The marques reproached his sol- 
diers with their unmanly conduct, and reminded 
them that they made war upon men, not on defence- 
less women. Having soothed the terrors of the 
females by the promise of honorable protection, he 
appointed a trusty guard to watch over the security 
of their apartment. 

The castle was now taken ; but the town below 
it was in arms. It was broad day, and the people, 
recovered from their panic, were enabled to see and 
estimate the force of the enemy. The inhabitants 
were chiefly merchants and trades-people ; but the 
Moors all possessed a knowledge of the use of wea- 
pons, and were of brave and warlike spirit. They 
confided in the strength of their walls, and the cer- 
tainty of speedy relief from Granada, wdiich was 
but about eight leagues distant. Manning the battle- 
ments and towers, they discharged showers of stones 
and arrows, whenever the part of the christian army, 
without the walls, attempted to approach. They 
barricadoed the entrances of their streets, also, which 
opened towards the castle ; stationing men expert at 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



179 



the cross-bow and arquebuse. These kept up a con- 
stant fire upon the gate of the castle, so that no one 
could sallv forth without being instantly shot down. 
Two valiant cavaliers, who attempted to lead forth 
a party in defiance of this fatal tenip:st, were shot 
dead at the very portal. 

The christians now found themselves in a situa- 
tion of great peril. Reintbrcements must soon arrive 
to the enemy from Granada ; unless, therefore, they 
gained possession of the town in the course of the 
day, they were likely to be surrounded and beleaguer- 
ed, without provisions, in the castle. Some observed 
that, even if they took the town, they should not be 
able to maintain possession of it. They proposed, 
therefore, to make booty of every thing valuable, to 
sack the castle, set it on fire, and make good their 
retreat to Seville. 

The marques of Cadiz was of different counsel. 
"God has given the citadel into christian hands," 
said he ; •' he will no doubt strengthen them to main- 
tain it. We have gained the place with difficulty 
and bloodshed ; it would be a stain upon our honor 
to abandon it through fear of imaginary dangers." 
The adelantado and Don Diego de Merlo joined in 
his opinion ; but without their earnest and united 
remonstrances, the place would have been abandon- 
ed ; so exhausted were the troops by forced marches 
and hard fighting, and so apprehensive of the ap- 
proach of the Moors of Granada. 

The strength and spirits of the party within the 
castle were in some degree restored by the provis- 
ions which they found. The Christian army be- 
neath the town, being also refreshed by a morning's 
repast, advanced vigorously to the attack of the 
walls. They planted their scaling-ladders, and, 
swarming up, sword in hand, fought fiercely with the 
Moorish soldiery upon the ramparts. 

In the mean time, the marques of Cadiz, seeing 
that the gate of the castle, which opened toward the 
city, was completely commanded by the artillery of 
the enemy, ordered a large breach to be made in' the 
wall, through which he might lead his troops to the 
attack ; animating them, in this perilous moment, by 
assuring them that the place should be given up to 
plunder, and its inhabitants made captives. 

The breach being made, the marques put himself 
at the head of his troops, and entered sword in 
hand. A sim'iltaneous attack was made by the 
christians in every part — by the ramparts, by the gate, 
by the roofs and walls which connected the castle 
with the town. The Moors fought valiantly in their 
streets, from their windows, and from the tops of 
their houses. They were not equal to the christians 
in bodily strength, for they were for the most part 
peacelul men, of industrious callings, and enervated 
by the frequent use of the warm bath ; but they 
were superior in number, and unconquerable in 
spirit ; old and young, strong and weak, fought with 
the same desperation. The Moors fought for prop- 
erty, for liberty, for life. They fought at their thres- 
holds and their hearths, with the shrieks of their 
wives and children ringing in their ears, and they 
fought in the hope that each moment would bring 
aid from Granada. They regarded neither their own 
wounds nor the deaths of their companions ; but 
continued fighting until they fell, and seemed as if, 
when they could no longer contend, they would 
block up the thresholds of their beloved homes with 
their mangled bodies. The christians fought for 
glory, for revenge, for the holy faith, and for the 
spoil of these wealthy infidels. Success would place 
a rich town at their mercy; failure would deliver 
them into the hands of the tyrant ol Granada. 

The contest raged from morning until night, when 
the Moors began to yield. Retreating to a large 



mosque near the walls, they kept up so galling a fire 
from it with lances, cross-bows, and arquebuses, 
that for some time the christians dared not approach. 
Covering themselves, at length, with bucklers and 
mantelets * to protect them from the deadly shower, 
they made their way to the mosque, and set fire to 
the doors. When the smoke and flames rolled in 
upon them, the Moors gave all up as lost. Many 
rushed forth desperately upon the enemy, but were 
immediately slain ; the rest surrendered themselves 
captives. 

The struggle was now at an end ; the town re- 
mained at the mercy of the christians ; and the in- 
habitants, both male and female, became the slaves 
of those who made them prisoners. Some few es- 
caped by a mine or subterranean way, which led to 
the river, and concealed themselves, their wives and 
children, in caves and secret places ; but in three or 
four da3's, were compelled to surrender themselves 
through hunger. 

The town was given up to plunder, and the booty 
was immense. There were found prodigious quan- 
tities of gold and silver, and jewels, and rich silks, 
and costly stuffs of all kinds ; together with horses 
and beeves, and abundance of grain and oil, and 
honey, and all other productions of this fruitful 
kingdom ; for in Alhama were collected the royal 
rents and tributes of the surrounding country ; it 
was the richest town in the Moorish territory, and, 
from its great strength and its peculiar situation, 
was called the key to Granada. 

Great waste and devastation were committed by 
the Spanish soldiery ; for, thinking it would be im- 
possible to keep possession of the place, they began 
to destroy whatever they could not take away. Im- 
mense jars of oil were broken, costly furniture shat- 
tered to pieces, and magazines of grain broken open, 
and their contents scattered to the winds. Many 
christian captives, who had been taken at Zahara, 
were ibund buried in a Moorish dungeon, and were 
triumphantly restored to light and liberty ; and a 
renegado Spaniard, who had often served as guide 
to the Moors in their incursions into the christian 
territories, was hanged on the highest part of the 
battlements, lor the edification of the army. 



CHAPTER VI. 



HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA WERE AFFECTED, 
ON HEARING OF THE CAPTURE OF ALHAMA ; 
AND HOW THE MOORISH KING SALLIED FORTH 
TO REGAIN IT. 

A MOORISH horseman had spurred across the 
vega, nor reined his panting steed until he alighted 
at the gate of the Alhambra. He brought tidings 
to Muley Aben Hassan, of the attack upon Alhama. 

" The christians," said he, " are in the land. They 
came upon us, we know not whence or how, and 
scaled the walls of the castle in the night. There 
has been dre.^dful fighting and carnage in its towers 
and courts ; and when I spurred my steed from the 
gate of Alhama, the castle was in possession of the 
unbelievers." 

Muley Aben Hassan felt for a moment as if swift 
retribution had come uoon him for the woes he had 
inflicted upon Zahara. Still he flattered himself that 
this had only been some transient inroad of a party 
of marauders, intent upon plunder; and that a little 



* Mantelet— a movable parapet, made of thick planks, to protect 
troops, when advancing to sap or assault a walled place. 



180 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



succor, thrown into the town, would be sufficient to 
expel them from the castle, and drive them from the 
land. He ordered out, therefore, a thousand of his 
chosen cavalry, and sent them in all speed to the 
assistance of Alhama. They arrived before its walls, 
the morning after its capture : the christian stand- 
ards floated upon its towers, .-'nd a body of cavalry 
poured forth from its gates and came wheeling down 
into the plain to receive them. 

The Moorish horsemen turned the reins of their 
steeds, and galloped back for Granada. They en- 
tered its gates in tumultuous confusion, spreading 
terror and lamentation by their tidings. " Albania 
is fallen ! Alhama is fallen ! " exclaimed they; " the 
christians garrison its walls ; the key of Granada is 
in the hands of the enemy ! " 

When the people heard these words, they remem- 
bered the denueciation of the santon. His predic- 
tion seemed still to resound in every ear, and its ful- 
filment to be at hand. Nothing was heard through- 
out the city but sighs and wailings. " Wo is me, 
Alhama ! " was in every mouth ; and this ejaculation 
of deep sorrow and doleful foreboding, came to be 
the burthen of a plaintive ballad, which remains un- 
til the present day.* 

Many aged men, who had taken refuge in Grana- 
da from other Moorish dominions which had fallen 
into the power of the Christians, now groaned in 
despair at the thoughts that war was to follow them 
into this last retreat, to lay waste this pleasant 
land, and to bring trouble and sorrow upon their de- 
clining years. The women were more loud and ve- 
hement in their grief; for they beheld the evils im- 
pending over their children, and what can restrain 
the agony of a mother's heart .■' Many of them made 
their way through the halls of the Alhambra into 
the presence of the king, weeping, and wailing, and 
tearing their hair. " Accursed be the day," cried 
they, " that thou hast lit the flame of war in our 
land ! May the holy Prophet bear witness before 
Allah, that we and our children are innocent of this 
act! Upon thy head, and upon the heads of thy 
posterity, until the end of the world, rest the sin of 
the desolation of Zahara ! "t 

Muley Aben Hassan remained unmoved, amidst 
all this storm ; his heart was h.^rdened (observes 
Fray Antonio AgapidaJ like that of Pharaoh, to the 
end that, through his blind violence and rage, he 
might produce the deliverance of the land from its 
heathen bondage. In fact, he was a bold and fear- 
less warrior, and trusted soon to make this blow 
recoil upon the head of the enemy. He had ascer- 
tained that the captors of Alhama were but a hand- 
ful : they were in the centre of his dominions, within 
a short distance of his capital. They were deficient 
in munitions of war, and provisions for sustaining a 
siege. By a rapid movement, he might surround 
them with a powerful army, cut off all aid from their 
countrymen, and entrap them in the fortress they 
had taken. 

To think was to act, with Muley Aben Hassan ; 
but he was prone to act with too much precipita- 
tion. He immediately set forth in person, with three 
thousand horse and fifty thousand foot, and in his 
eagerness to arrive at the scene of action, would not 
wait to provide artillery and the various engines re- 
quired in a siege. "The multitude of my forces," 
said he, confidently, " will be sufficient to overwhelm 
the enemy." 

The marques of Cadiz, who thus held possession 
of Albania, had a chosen friend and faithful com- 



* The mournful little Spanish romance o[ Ay de >ni\ Alhafiia / 
is supposed to be of Moorish origin, and to embody the grief of 
the people of Granada on this occasion. 

t Garibay, lib. 40. c. 29. 



panion in arms, among the most distinguished of 
the christian chivalry. This was Don Alonzo de 
Cordova, senior and lord of the house of Aguilar, 
and brother of Gonsalvo of Cordova, afterwards re- 
nowned as grand captain of Spain. As yet, Alonzo 
de Aguilar was the glory of his name and race — 
for his brother was but young in arms. He was one 
of the most hardy, valiant, and enterprising of the 
Spanish knights, and foremost in all service of a 
perilous and adventurous nature. He had not been 
at hand, to accompany his friend Ponce de Leon, 
marques of Cadiz, in his inroad into the Moorish 
territory ; but he hastily assembled a number of re- 
tainers, horse and foot, and pressed forward to join 
the enterprise. Arriving at the river Yeguas, he 
found the baggage of the army still upon its banks, 
and took charge of it to carry it to Alhama. The 
marques of Cadiz heard of the approach of his 
friend, whose march was slow in consequence of 
being encumbered by the baggage. He was within 
but a few leagues of Alhama, when scouts came 
hurrying into the place, with intelligence that the 
Moorish king was at hand with a powerful army. 
The marques of Cadiz was filled with alarm lest De 
Aguilar should fall into the hands of the enemy. 
Forgetting his own danger, and thinking only of 
that of his friend, he dispatched a well-mounted 
messenger to ride full speed, and warn him not to 
approach. 

The first determination of Alonzo de Aguilar, when 
he heard that the Moorish king was at hand, was to 
take a strong position in the mountains, and await 
his coming. The madness of an attempt with his 
handful of men to oppose an immense army, was 
represented to him with such force as to induce him 
to abandon the idea ; he then thought of throwing 
himself into Alhama, to share the fortunes of his 
friend : but it was now too late. The Moor would 
infallibly intercept him. and he should only give the 
marques the additional distress of beholding him 
captured beneath his walls. It was even urged upon 
him that he had no time for delay, if he would con- 
sult his own safety, which could only be insured by 
an immediate retreat into the Christian territory. 
This last opinion was confirmed by the return of 
scouts, who brought information that Muley Aben 
Hassan had received notice of his movements, and 
was rapidly advancing in quest of him. It was with 
infinite reluctance that Don Alonzo de Aguilar yield- 
ed to these united and powerful reasons. Proudly 
and sullenly he drew off his forces, laden with the 
b.aggage of the army, and made an unwilling retreat 
towards Antiquera. Muley Aben Hassan pursued 
him for some distance through the mountains, but 
soon gave up the chase and turned with his forces 
upon Alhama. 

As the army approached the town, they beheld the 
fields strewn with the dead bodies of their country- 
men, who had fallen in defence of the place, and had 
been cast forth and left unDuried by tne christians. 
There they lay, mangled, and exposed to every in- 
dignity ; while droves of half-famished dogs were 
preying upon them, and fighting and howling, over 
their hideous repast.* Furious at the sight, the 
Moors, in the first transports of their rage, attacked 
those ravenous animals : their next measure was to 
vent their fury upon the christians. They rushed 
like madmen to the walls, applied scaling-ladders in 
all parts, without waiting for the necessary mante- 
lets and other protections, — thinking, by attacking 
suddenly and at various points, to distract the ene- 
my, and overcome them by the force of numbers. 

The iTiarques of Cadiz, with his confederate com- 



♦ Piilgar. Cronicx. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



181 



manders, distributed themselves along the walls, to 
direct and animate their men in the defence. The 
Moors, in their blind fury, often assailed the most 
difficult and dangerous places. Darts, stones, and 
all kinds of missiles, were hurled down upon their 
defenceless heads. As fast as they mounted, they 
were cut down, or dashed from the battlements, 
their ladders overturned, and all who were on them 
precipitated headlong below. 

Muley .A.ben Hassan stormed with passion at the 
sight ; he sent detachment after detachment to scale 
the walls — but in vain ; they were like waves rush- 
ing upon a rock, only to dash themselves to pieces. 
The Moors lay in heaps beneath the wall, and 
among them many of the bravest cavaliers of Gra- 
nada. The christians, also, sallied frequently from 
the gates, and made great havoc in the irregular 
multitude of assailants. 

On one of these occasions, the party was com- 
manded by Don Juan de Vera, the same pious and 
high-handed knight who had borne the embassy to 
Muley Aben Hassan, demanding tribute. As this 
doughty cavalier, after a career of carnage, was 
slowly retreating to the gate, he heard a voice loudly 
calling after him, in furious accents. "Turn back! 
turn back ! " cried the voice ; " thou who canst in- 
sult in hall, prove that thou canst combat in the 
field." Don Juan de Vera turned, and beheld the 
same Abencerrage whom he had struck with his 
sword in the Alhambra, for scoffing at the immacu- 
late conception of the blessed virgin. All his holy 
zeal and pious indignation rekindled at the sight ; 
he put lance in rest, and spurred his steed to finish 
this doctrinal dispute. Don Juan de Vera was a 
potent and irresistible arguer with his weapon ; and 
he was aided, (says Fray .A.ntonio Agapida, ) by the 
peculiar virtue of his cause. At the very first en- 
counter, his lance entered the mouth of the Moor, 
and hurled him to the earth, never more to utter 
word or breath. Thus (continues the worthy friar) 
did this scoffing infidel receive a well-merited pun- 
ishment, through the very organ with which he had 
offended ; and thus was the immaculate conception 
miraculously vindicated from his foul aspersions. 

The vigorous and successful defence of the chris- 
tians, now made Muley Aben Hassan sensible of his 
error in hurrying from Granada without the proper 
engines for a siege. Destitute of all means to batter 
the fortifications, the town remained uninjured, defy- 
ing the mighty army which raged and roamed before 
it. Incensed at being thus foiled, Muley Aben Hassan 
gave orders to undermine the walls. The Moors 
advanced with shojits to the attempt. They were 
received with a deadly fire from the ramparts, which 
drove them from their works. Repeatedly were 
they repulsed, and repeatedly did they return to the 
charge. The christians not merely galled them from 
the battlements, but issued forth and cut them down 
in the e.tcavations they were attempting to form. 
The contest lasted throughout a whole day, and by 
evening two thousand Moors were cither killed or 
wounded. 

Muley Aben Hassan now abandoned all hope of 
carrying the place by assault, and attempted to dis- 
tress it into terms by turning the channel of the 
river which runs by its walls. On this stream the 
inhabitants depended for their supply of water ; the 
place being destitute of fountains and cisterns, from 
which circumstance it is called Alhama la seca, or 
" the dry." 

A desperate conflict ensued on the banks of the 
river, the Moors endeavoring to plant palisades in 
its bed to divert the stream, and the christians striv- 
ing to prevent them. The Spanish commanders 
exposed themselves to the utmost danger to animate 



their men, who were repeatedly driven back into the 
town. The marques of Cadiz was often up to his 
knees in the stream, fighting hand to hand with the 
Moors. The water ran red with blood, and was 
encumbered with dead bodies. At length, the over- 
whelming numbers of the Moors gave them the ad- 
vantage, and they succeeded in diverting the greater 
part of the water. The christians had to struggle 
severely, to supply themselves from the feeble rill 
which remained. They sallied to the river by a sub- 
terraneous passage ; but the Moorish cross-bowmen 
stationed themselves on the opposite bank, keeping 
up a heavy fire upon the christians, whenever they 
attempted to fill their vessels from the scanty and 
turbid stream. One party of the christians had, 
therefore, to fight, while another drew water. At 
all hours of the day and night, this deadly strife was 
maintained, until it seemed as if evqjy drop of water 
were purchased with a drop of blood. 

In the mean time, the sufferings in the town be- 
came intense. None but the soldiery and their 
horses were allowed the precious beverage so dearly 
earned, and even that in quantities that only tan- 
talized their wants. The wounded, who could not 
sally to procure it, were almost destitute ; while the 
unhappy prisoners, shut up in the mosques, were 
reduced to frightful extremities. Many perished 
raving mad, fancying themselves swimming in bound- 
less seas, yet unable to assuage their thirst. Many 
of the soldiers lay parched and panting along the 
battlements, no longer able to draw a bowstring or 
hurl a s^one ; while above five thousand Moors, 
stationed upon a rocky height which overlooked 
part of the town, kept up a galling fire into it with 
slings and cross-bows ; so that the marques of Cadiz 
was obliged to heighten the battlements, by using 
the doors from the private dwellings. 

The christian cavaliers, exposed to this extreme 
peril, and in imminent danger of falling into the 
hands of the enemy, dispatched fleet messengers to 
Seville and Cordova, entreating the chivalry of An- 
dalusia to hasten to their aid. They sent likewise, 
imploring assistance from the king and queen, who 
at that time held their court in Medina del Campo. 
In the midst of their distress, a tank, or cistern, of 
water, was fortunately discovered in the city, which 
gave temporary relief to their sufferings. 



CHAPTER VII. 



HOW THE DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, AND THE 
CHIVALRY OF ANDALUSIA, HASTENED TO THE 
RELIEF OF ALHAMA. 

The perilous situation of the christian cavaliers, 
pent up and beleaguered within the walls of Alhama, 
spread terror among their friends, and anxiety 
throughout all Andalusia. Nothing, however, could 
equal the anguish of the marchioness of Cadiz, the 
wife of the gallant Roderigo Ponce de Leon. In her 
deep distress, she looked round for some powerful 
noble, who had the means of rousing the country to 
the assistance of her husband. No one appeared 
more competent for the purpose than Don Juan de 
Guzman, the duke of Medina Sidonia. He was one 
of the most wealthy and puissant grandees of Spain ; 
his possessions extended over some of the most fer- 
tile parts of Andalusia, embracing towns, and sea- 
ports, and numerous villages. Here he reigned in 
feudal state, like a petty sovereign, and could at any 
time bring into the field an immense force of vassals 
and retainers. 



182 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The duke of Medina Sidonia, and the marques of 
Cadiz, however, were at this time deadly foes. An 
hereditary feud existed between them, which had 
often arisen to bloodshed and open war ; for as yet 
the fierce contes'.s between the proud and puissant 
Spanisli nobles had not been completely quelled by 
the power of the crown, and in this respect they 
exerted a right of sovereignty, in leading their vassals 
against each other in open field. 

The duke of Medina Sidonia would have appeared, 
to many, the very last person to whom to apply for 
aid of the marques of Cadiz ; but the marchioness 
judged of him by the standard of her own high and 
generous mind. She knew him to be a gallant and 
courteous knight, and had already experienced the 
magnanimity of his spirit, having been relieved by him 
when besieged by the Moors in her husband's for- 
tress of Arcos. To the duke, therefore, she applied 
in this moment of sudden calamity, imploring him 
to furnish succor to her husband. The event showed 
how well noble spirits understand each other. No 
sooner did the duke receive this appeal from the wife 
of his enemy, than he generously forgot all feeling 
of animosity, and determined to go in person to his 
succor. He immediately dispatched a courteous let- 
ter to the marchioness, assuring her that in considera- 
tion of the request of so honorable and estimable a 
lady, and to rescue from peril so valiant a cavalier as 
her husband, whose loss would be great, not only to 
Spain, but to all Christendom, he would forego the 
recollection of all past grievances, and hasten to his 
relief with all the forces he could raise. 

The duke wrote at the same time to the alcaydes 
of his towns and fortresses, ordering them to join 
him forthwith at Seville, with all the forces they could 
spare from their garrisons. He called on all the 
chivalry of Andalusia to make a common cause in 
'ho rescue of those christian cavaliei-s, and he offered 
large pay to all volunteers who would resort to him 
with horses, armor, and provisions. Thus all who 
could be incited by honor, religion, patriotism, or 
thirst of gain, were induced to hasten to his standard, 
and he took the field with an army of live thousand 
horse and fifty thousand foot.* Many cavaliers of 
distinguished name accompanied him in this gener- 
ous enterprise. Among these was the redoubtable 
Alonzo de Agiiilar, the chosen friend of the marques 
of Cadiz, and with him his younger brother, Gonsalvo 
Fernandez de Cordova, afterwards renowned as the 
grand captain ; Don Roderigo Giron, also. Master of 
the order of Calatrava, together with Martin Alonzo 
de Montemayor, and the marques De Villena, es- 
teemed the best lance in Spain. It was a gallant 
and splendid army, comprising the flower of Spanish 
chivaln,', and poured forth in brilliant array from the 
gates of Seville, bearing the great standard of that 
ancient and renowned city. 

Ferdinand and Isabella were at Medina del Campo, 
when tidings came of the capture of Alhama. The 
king was at mass when he received the news, and 
ordered tc dcum to be chanted for this signal triumph 
of the holy faith. When the first flush of triumph 
had subsided, and the king learnt the imminent i)eril 
of the \alorous Ponce de Leon and his companions, 
and the great danger that this strong-hold might 
again be wrested from their grasp, he resolved to 
hurry in person to the scene of action. So pressing 
appeared to him the emergency, that he barely gave 
himself time to take a hasty repast while horses were 
providing, and then departed at furious speed for 
Andalusia, leaving a request for the queen to follow 
him.t He was attended by Don Beltram de la 

* Cronica de los Duques de Medina Sidonia, por Pedro de 
Medina. MS. 
t Illescas. Hist. Pontifical. 



Cueva, duke of Albuquerque, Don Inigo Lopez de 
Mendoza, count of Tendilla, and Don Pedro Mauri- 
ques, count of Treviiio, with a few more cavaliers of 
prowess and distinction. He travelled by forced 
journeys, frequently changing his jaded horses, be- 
ing eager to arrive in time to take command of the 
Andalusian chivalry. When he arrived within five 
leagues of Cordova, the duke of Albuquerque remon- 
strated with him upon entering, with such incautious 
haste, into the enemies' country. He represented to 
him that there were troops enough assembled to succor 
Alhama, and that it was not for him to venture his 
royal person in doing what could be done by his sub- 
jects ; especially as he had such valiant and expe- 
rienced captains to act for him. "Besides, sire," 
added the duke, "your majesty should bethink you 
that the troops about to take the field are mere men 
of Andalusia, whereas your illustrious predecessors 
never made an inroad into the territory of the Moors, 
without being accompanied by a powerful force of 
the staunch and iron warriors of old Castile." 

" Duke," replied the king, " your counsel might 
have been good, had I not departed from Medina 
with the avowed determination of succoring these 
cavaliers in person. I am now near the end of my 
journey, and it would be beneath my dignity to 
change my intention, before even I had met with an 
impediment. I shall take the troops of this country 
who are assembled, without waiting for those of 
Castile, and, with the aid of God, shall prosecute my 
journey."* 

As king Ferdinand approached Cordova, the prin- 
cipal inhabitants came forth to receive him. Learn- 
ing, however, that the duke of Medina Sidonia was 
already on the march, and pressing forward into the 
territory of the Moors, the king was all on fire to 
overtake him, and to lead in person the succor to 
Alhama. Without entering Cordova, therefore, he 
exchanged his weary horses for those of the inhabit- 
ants who had come forth to meet him, and pressed 
forward for the army. He dispatched fleet couriers 
in advance, requesting the duke of Medina Sidonia 
to await his coming, that he might take command 
of the forces. 

Neither the duke nor his companions in arms, 
however, felt inclined to pause in their generous ex- 
pedition, and gratify the inclination of the king. They 
sent back missives, representing that they were far 
within the enemies' frontier, and it was dangerous 
either to pause or turn back. They had likewise 
received pressing entreaties from the besieged to 
hasten their speed, setting forth their great suffer- 
ings, and their hourly peril of being overwhelmed 
by the enemy. 

The king was at Ponton del Maestre, when he re- 
ceived these missives. So inflamed was he with zeal 
for the success of this enterprise, that he would have 
penetrated into the kingdom of Granada with the 
handful of cavaliers who accompanied him, but they 
represented the rashness of such a journey, through 
the mountainous defiles of a hostile country, thickly 
beset with towns and castles. With some difficulty, 
therefore, he was dissuaded from his inclination, and 
prevailed upon to await tidings from the army, in 
the frontier city of Antiquera. 



CHAPTER VIH. 

SEQUEL OF THE EVENTS AT ALHAMA. 

While all Andalusia was thus in arms, and pour- 
ing its chivalry through the mountain passes of the 
Moorish frontier, the garrison of Alhama was re- 

• Pulgar. Cronica^ p. 3, c. 3. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



183 



cluced to great extremity, and in danger of sinking 
under its sufferings liefore tlie promised succor could 
arrive. The intolerable thirst that prevailed in con- 
sequence of the scarcity of water, the incessant 
watch that had to be maintained over the vast force 
of enemies without, and the great number of prison- 
ers within, and the wounds which almost every sol- 
dier had received in the incessant skirmishes and 
assaults, had worn grievously both flesh and spirit. 
The noble Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, still 
animated the soldiery, however, by word and exam- 
ple, sharing every hardship and being foremost in 
every danger; exemplifying that a good commander 
is the vital spirit of an army. 

When Muley Aben Hassan heard of the vast force 
that was approaching under the command of the 
duke of Medina Sidonia, and that Ferdinand was 
coming in jjerson with additional troops, he perceiv- 
ed that no time was to be lost : Alhama must be car- 
ried by one powerful attack, or abandoned entirely 
to the christians. 

A number of Moorish cavaliers, some of the 
bravest youth of Granada, knowing the wishes of 
the king, proposed to undertake a desperate enter- 
prise, which, if successful, must put Alhama in his 
power. Early one morning, when it was scarcely 
the gray of the dawn, about the time of changing the 
watch, these cavaliers approached the town, at, a 
place considered inaccessible, from the steepness of 
the rocks on which the wall was founded ; which, it 
was supposed, elevated the battlements beyond the 
reach of the longest scaling-ladder. The Moorish 
knights, aided by a number of the strongest and most 
active escaladors, mounted these rocks, and applied 
the ladders, without bemg discovered ; for, to divert 
attention from them, Muley Aben Hassan made a 
false attack upon the town in another quarter. 

The scaling party mounted with difficulty, and in 
small numbers ; the sentinel was killed at his post, 
and seventy of the Moors made their way into the 
streets before an alarm was given. The guards 
rushed to the walls, to stop the hostile throng that 
was still pouring in. A sharp conflict, hand to hand 
and man to man, took place on the battlements, and 
many on both sides fell. The Moors, whether 
wounded or slain, were thrown headlong without 
the walls ; the scaling-ladders were overturned, and 
those who were mounting were dashed upon the 
rocks, and from thence tumbled upon the plain. 
Thus, in a little while, the ramparts were cleared 
by christian prowess, led on by that valiant knight 
Don Alonzo Ponce, the uncle, and that brave es- 
quire Pedro Pineda, nephew of the marques of 
Cadiz. 

The walls being cleared, these two kindred cava- 
liers now hastened with their forces in pursuit of 
the seventy Moors who had gained an entrance into 
the town. The main party of the garrison being en- 
gaged at a distance resisting the feigned attack of 
the Moorish king, this fierce band of infidels had 
ranged the streets almost without opposition, and 
were making their way to the gates to throw them 
open to the army.* They were chosen men from 
among the Moorish forces, several of them gallant 
knights of the proudest families of Granada. Their 
footsteps through the city were in a manner printed 
in blood, and they were tracked by the bodies of 
those they had killed and wounded. They had 
attained the gate ; most of the guard had fallen be- 
neath their scimitars : a moment more, and Alhama 
would have been thrown open to the enemy. 

Just at this juncture, Don Alonzo Ponce and Pedro 
de Pineda reached the spot with their forces. The 



• Zurita, lib. 20. c. 43. 



Moors had the enemy in front and rear ; they placeil 
themselves back to back, with their banner in the 
centre. In this way they fought with desperate and 
deadly determination, making a rampart around 
them with the slain. More christian troops arrived, 
and hemmed them in ; but still they fought without 
asking for quarter. As their numbers decreased, 
they serried their circle still closer, defending their 
banner from assault ; and the last Moor died at his 
post, grasping the standard of the Prophet. This 
standard was displayed from the walls, and the tur- 
baned heads of the Moors were thrown down to the 
besiegers.* 

Muley Aben Hassan tore his beard with rage at 
the failure of this attempt, and at the death of so 
many of his chosen cavaliers. He saw that all further 
effort was in vain ; his scouts brought word that they 
had seen from the heights, the long columns and 
flaunting banners of the christian army approaching 
through the mountains. To linger would be to place 
himself between two bodies of the enemy. Break- 
ing up his camp, therefore, in all haste, he gave up 
the siege of Alhama, and hastened back to Granada ; 
and the last clash of his cymbals scarce died upon 
the ear from the distant hills, before the standard of 
the duke of Sidonia was seen emerging in another 
direction from the defiles of the mountains. 

When the christians in Alhama beheld their ene- 
mies retreating on one side and their friends advanc- 
ing on the other, they uttered shouts of joy and 
hymns of thanksgiving, for it was as a sudden relief 
from present death. Harassed by several weeks 
of incessant vigil and fighting, suffering from scarcity 
of provisions and almost continual thirst, they re- 
sembled skeletons rather than living men. It was a 
noble and gracious sight to behold the meeting of 
those two ancient foes, the duke of Medina Sidonia 
and the marques of Cadiz. When the marques be- 
held his magnanimous deliverer approaching, he 
melted into tears ; all past animosities only gave the 
greater poignancy to present feelings of gratitude 
and admiration ; they clasped each other in their 
arms, and from that time forward were true and 
cordial friends. 

While this generous scene took place between the 
commanders, a sordid contest arose among their 
troops. The soldiers who had come to the rescue 
claimed a portion of the spoils o( Alhama ; and so 
violent was the dispute, that both parties seized their 
arms. The duke of Medina Sidonia interfered, and 
settled the question with his characteristic magnan- 
imity. He declared that the spoil belonged to those 
who had captured the city. " We have taken the 
field," said he, "only for honor, for religion, and for 
the rescue of our countrymen and fellow-christians ; 
and the success of our enterprise is a suthcient and 
a glorious reward. If we desire booty, there are 
sufficient Moorish cities yet to be taken, to enrich 
us all." The soldiers were convinced by the frank 
and chivalrous reasoning of the duke ; they replied 
to his speech by acclamations, and the transient 
broil was happily appeased. 

The marchioness of Cadiz, with the forethought 
of a loving wife, had dispatched her major domo 
with the army with a large supply of provisions. 
Tables were immediately spread beneath the tents, 
where the marques gave a banquet to the duke and 
the cavaliers who had accompanied him, and noth- 
ing but hilarity prevailed in this late scene of suffer- 
ing and death. 

A garrison of fresh troops was left in Alhama ; 



* Pedro de Pineda received the honor of knighlhood from the 
hand of king Ferdinand, for his valor on this occasion ; (Alonzo 
Ponce was already knight). — See Znfiiga, Annales of Seville, lib. 
12. an. 14S2. 



184 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and the veterans who had so valianlly captured and 
maintained it, returned to their homes, burthened 
with precious booty. The marques and duke, with 
their confederate cavaliers, repaired to Antiquera, 
where they were received with great distinction by 
the king, who honored the marques of Cadiz with 
signal marks of favor. The duke then accompanied 
his late enemy, but now most zealous and gratel'ul 
friend, the marques of Cadiz, to his town of March- 
ena, where he received the reward of his generous 
conduct, in the thanks and blessings of the mar- 
chioness. The marques celebrated a sumptuous 
feast, in honor of his guest ; for a day and night, his 
palace was thrown open, and was the scene ot con- 
tinual revel and festivity. When the duke departed 
for his estates at St. Lucar, the marques attended 
him for some distance on his journey ; and when 
they separated, it was as the parting scene of 
brothers. Such was the noble spectacle exhibited 
to the chivalry of Spain, by these two illustrious 
rivals. Each reaped universal renown from the part 
he had performed in the campaign ; the marques, 
from having surprised and captured one of the most 
important and formidable fortresses of the kingdom 
of Granada ; and the duke, from having subdued 
his deadliest foe, by a great act of magnanimity. 



CHAPTER IX. 



EVENTS AT GRANADA, AND RISE OF THE MOORISH 
KING BOABDIL EL CHICO. 

The Moorish king, Aben Hassan, returned, 
baffled antl disappointed, from before the walls of 
Alhama, and was received with groans and smother- 
ed execrations by the people of Granada. The pre- 
diction of the santon was in every mouth, and 
appeared to be rapidly fulfilling ; for the enemy was 
already strongly fortified in Alhama, in the very 
heart of the kingdom. The disaffection, which 
broke out in murmurs among the common people, 
fermented more secretly and dangerously among the 
nobles. Muley Aben Hassan was of a fierce and 
cruel nature ; his reign had been marked with tyr- 
anny and bloodshed, and many chiefs of the family 
of the Abencerrages, the noblest lineage among the 
Moors, had fallen victims to his policy or vengeance. 
A deep plot was now formed, to put an end to his 
oppressions, and dispossess him of the throne. The 
situation of the royal household favored the con- 
spiracy. 

Muley Aben Hassan, though cruel, was uxorious ; 
that is to say, he had many wives, and was prone to 
be managed by them by turns. He had two queens 
in particular, whom he had chosen from affection. 
One, named Ayxa, was a Moorish female ; she was 
likewise termed in Arabic, La Horra, or the chaste, 
from the spotless purity of her character. While 
yet in the prime of her beauty, she bore a son to 
Aben Hassan, the expected heir to his throne. The 
name of this prince was Mahomet Abdalla, or, as he 
has more generally been termed among historians,. 
Boabdil. At his Ijirth, the astrologers, according to 
custom, cast his horoscope : they were seized with 
fear and trembling, when they beheld the fatal por- 
tents revealed to their science. " Alia Achbar ! God 
is great I " exclaimed they; " he alone controls the 
fate of empires. It is written in the heavens that 
Ihis prince shall sit upon the throne of Granada, but 
that the downfall of the kingdom shall be accom- 
plished during his reign." From this time, the prince 
was ever regarded with aversion by his father ; and 
ithe series of persecutions which he suffered, and the 



dark prediction which hung over him from his in- 
fancy, procured him the surname of El Zogoybi, or 
" the unfortunate." He is more commonly known 
by the appellation of El Chico (the younger,) to dis- 
tinguish him from an usurping uncle. 

' The other favorite queen of Aben Hassan was 
named Fatima, to which the Moors added the appel- 
lation of La Zoraya, or the light of dawn, from ner 
effulgent beauty. She was a christian by birth, the 
daughter of the coinmander Sancho Ximenes de 
Soils, and had been taken captive in her tender 
youth.* The king, who was well stricken in years 
at the time, became enamored of the blooming 
christian maid ; he made her his sultana, and, like 
most old men who marry in their dotage, resigned 
himself to her management. Zoraya became the 
mother of two princes, and her anxiety for their ad- 
vancement seemed to extinguish every other natural 
feeling in her breast. She was as ambitious as she 
was beautiful, and her ruling desire became to see 
one of her sons seated upon the throne of Granada. 
For this purpose, she made use of all her arts, and 
of the complete ascendancy she had over the mind 
of her cruel husband, to undermine his other chil- 
dren in his affections, and to fill him with jealousies 
of theirdesigns. Muley Aben Hassan was so wrought 
upon by her machinations, that he publicly put 
several of his sons to death, at the celebrated foun- 
tain of Lions, in the court of the Alhambra, — a 
place signalized in Moorish history as the scene of 
many sanguinary deeds. 

The next measure of Zoraya, was against her rival 
sultana, the virtuous Ayxa. She was past the bloom 
of her beauty, and had ceased to be attractive in the 
eyes of her husband. He was easily persiuided to 
repudiate her, and to confine her and her son in the 
tower of Cimares, one of the principal towers of the 
Alhambra. As Boabdil increased in years, Zoraya 
beheld in him a formidable obstacle to the pretensions 
of her sons ; for he was universally considered heir- 
apparent to the throne. The jealousies, suspicions, 
and alarms of his tiger-hearted father, were again 
excited ; he was reminded, too, of the prediction that 
fixed the ruin of the kingdom during the reign of 
this prince. Muley Aben Hassan impiously set the 
stars at defiance : " The sword of the executioner," 
said he, "shall prove- the falsehood of these lying 
horoscopes, and shall silence the ambition of Boab- 
dil, as it has the presumption of his brothers." 

The sultana Ayxa was secretly apprized of the 
cruel design of the old monarch. She was a woman 
of talents and courage, and, by means of her female 
attendants, concerted a plan for the escape of her 
son. A faithful servant was instructed to wait below 
the Alhambra, in the dead of the night, on the banks 
of the river Darro, with a fleet Arabian courser. 
The sultana, when the castle was in a state of deep 
repose, tied together the shawls and scarfs of herself 
and her female attendants, and lowered the youthful 
prince from the tower of Cimares.t He made his 
way in safety down the steep rocky hill to the banks 
of the Darro, and, throwing himself on the Arabian 
courser, was thus spirited off to the city of Guadix 
in the Alpuxarres. Here he lay for some time con- 
cealed, until, gaining adherents, he fortified himself 
in the place, and set the machinations of his tyrant 
father at defiance. Such was the state of affairs in the 
royal household of Granada, when Muley Aben H.is- 
san returned foiled from his expedition against Al- 
hama. The faction, which had secretly formed 
among the nobles, determined to depose the old king 
Aben Hassan, and to elevate his son Boabdil to the 



* Cronica del Gran Cardinal, cap. 71. Salazar. 
t Salazar. Cronica del Gran Cardinal, cap. 71. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



185 



throne. They concerted their measures with the 
latter, and an opportunity soon presented to put them 
in practice. Muley Aben Hassan had a royal country 
palace called Alixares, in the vicinity of Granada, to 
which he resorted occasionally to recreate his mind, 
during- this time of perplexity. He hail been passing- 
one day among its bowers, when, on returning to the 
capital, he found the gates closed against him, and 
his son Mohammed Abdalla, otherwise called Boab- 
dil, proclaimed king. " Allah Achbar ! God is 
great ! " exclaimed old Muley Aben Hassan ; " it is 
m vain to contend against what is written in the 
book of fate. It was predestined, that my son should 
sit upon the throne — Allah forefend the rest of the 
prediction ! " The old monarch knew the inflam- 
mable nature of the Moors, and that it was useless 
to attempt to check any sudden blaze of popular pas- 
sion. " A little while," said he, " and this rash flame 
will burn itself out, and the people when cool will 
listen to reason." So he turned his steed from the 
gate, and repaired to the city of Baza, where he was 
pceived with great demonstrations of loyalty. He 
was not a man to give up his throne without a strug- 
gle. A large part of the kingdom still remained 
faithful to him ; he trusted that the conspiracy in the 
capital was but transient and partial, and that by 
suddenly making his appearance in its streets, at the 
head of a moderate force, he should awe the people 
again into allegiance. He took his measures with 
that combination of dexterity and daring which 
formed his character, and arrived one night under 
the walls of (jranada, with five hundred chosen fol- 
lowers. Scaling the walls of the Alhambra, he threw 
himself with sanguinary fury into its silent courts. 
The sleeping inmates were roused from their repose 
only to fall by the exterminating scimitar. The rage 
of Aben Hassan spared neither age, nor rank, nor 
c^x ; the halls resounded with shrieks and yells, and 
the fountains ran red with blood. The alcayde, 
Aben Cimixer, retreated to a strong tower, with a 
few of the garrison and inhabitants. The furious 
Aben Hassan did not lose time in pursuing him ; he 
was anxious to secure the city, and to wreak his ven- 
geance on its rebellious inhabitants. Descending 
with his bloody band into the streets, he cut down 
the defenceless inhabitants, as, startled from their 
sleep, they rushed forth to learn the cause of the 
alarm. The city was soon completely roused ; the 
people flew to arms ; lights blazed in every street, 
revealing the scanty numbers of this band, that had 
been dealing such fatal vengeance in the dark. 
Muley Aben Hassan had been mistaken in his con- 
jectures ; the great mass of the people, incensed by 
his tyranny, were zealous in favor of his son. A 
violent, but transient conflict took place in the streets 
and squares ; many of the followers of Aben Hassan 
were slain ; the rest driven out of the city ; and the 
old monarch, with the remnant of his band, retreat- 
ed to his loyal city of Malaga. 

Such was the commencement of those great inter- 
nal feuds and divisions, which hastened the downfall 
of Granada. The Moors became separated into two 
hostile factions, headed by the father and the son, 
and several bloody encounters took place between 
them : yet they never failed to act with all their 
separate force against the christians, as a common 
enemy, whenever an opportunity occurred. 



CHAPTER X. 

ROYAL EXPEDITION AGAINST LOXA. 

King Ferdinand held a council of war at Cor- 
dova, where it was deliberated what was to be done 



with Alhama. Most of the council advised that it 
should be demolished, inasmuch as being in the 
centre of the Moorish kingdom, it would be at all 
times liable to attack, and could only be maintained 
by a powerful garrison and at a vast expense. Queen 
Isabella arrived at Cordova in the midst of these de- 
liberations, and listened to them with surprise and 
impatience. " What ! " said she, " shall we destroy 
the first fruits of our victories ? shall we abandon 
the first place we have wrested from the Moors? 
Never let us suffer such an idea to occupy our minds. 
It would give new courage to the enemy, arguing 
fear or feebleness in our councils. You talk of the 
coil and expense of maintaining Alhama. Did we 
doubt, on undertaking this war, that it was to be a 
war of infinite cost, labor, and bloodshed .' And 
shall we shrink from the cost, the moment a victory 
is obtained, and the question is merely to guard or 
abandon its glorious trophy.' Let us hear no more 
about the destruction of Alhama ; let us maintain its 
walls sacred, as a strong-hold granted us by heaven, 
in the centre of this hostile land ; and let our only 
consideration be how to extend our conquest, and 
capture the surrounding cities." 

The language of the queen infused a more lofty 
and chivalrous spirit into the royal council. Prepa- 
rations were immediately made to maintain Alhama 
at all risk and expense ; and king Ferdinand ap- 
pointed as alcayde Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, 
Senior of the house of Palma, supported by Diego 
Lopez de Ayola, Pero Ruiz de Alarcon, and Alonzo 
Ortis, captains of four hundred lances, and a body 
of one thousand foot ; supplied with provisions for 
three months. 

Ferdinand resolved also to lay siege to Loxa, a 
city of great strength, at no great distance from Al- 
bania. For this purpose, he called upon all the 
cities and towns of Andalusia and Estraniadura, and 
the domains of the orders of Santiago, Calatrava, 
and Alcantara, and of the priory of St. Juan, and the 
kingdom of Toledo, and beyond to the cities of Sala- 
manca, Tero, and Valladolid, to furnish, according 
to their repartimientos or allotments, a certain 
ciuantity of bread, wine, and cattle, to be delivered 
at the royal camp before Loxa, one-half at the end 
of June, and one-half in July. These lands, also, to- 
gether with Biscay and Guipiscoa, were ordered to 
send reinforcements of horse and foot, each town 
furnishing its quota ; and great diligence was used 
in providing bombards, powder, and other warlike 
munitions. 

The Moors were no less active in their prepara- 
tions, and sent missives into Africa, entreating sup- 
plies, and calling upon the Barbary princes to aid 
them in this war of the faith. To intercept all suc- 
cor, the Castilian sovereigns stationed an armada of 
ships and galleys in the Straits of Gibraltar, under 
the command of Martin Diaz de Mina and Carlos de 
Valera, with orders to scour the Barbary coast, and 
sweep every Moorish sail from the sea. 

While these preparations were making, Ferdinand 
made an incursion, at the head of his army, into the 
kingdom of Granada, and laid waste the vega, de- 
stroying its hamlets and villages, ravaging the fields 
of grain, and driving away the cattle. 

It was about the end of June, that king Ferdinand 
departed from Cordova, to sit down before the walls 
of Loxa. So confident was he of success, that he 
left a great part of the army at Ecija, and advanced 
with but five thousand cavaliy and eight thousand 
infantry. The marques of Cadiz, a warrior as wise 
as he was valiant, remonstrated against employing 
so small a force, and indeed was opposed to the 
measure altogether, as being undertaken precipitate- 
ly and without sufficient preparation. King Ferdi- 



1S6 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



nand, however, was influenced by the counsel of 
Don Diego de Mei"lo, and was eager to stritce a 
brilliant and decided blow. A vain-glorious confi- 
dence prevailed, about this time, among the Spanish 
cavaliers ; they overrated their own prowess, or 
rather they undervalued and despised their enemy. 
Many of them believed that the Moors would 
scarcely remain in their city, when they saw the 
christian troops advancing to assail it. The Spanish 
chivalry, therefore, marched gallantly and fearlessly, 
and almost carelessly, over the border, scantily sup- 
plied with the things needful for a besieging army, 
in the heart of an enemy's country. In the same 
negligent and confident spirit, they took up their 
station before Loxa. 

The country around was broken and hilly, so that 
it was extremely difficult to form a combined camp. 
The river Xenil, which runs by the town, was com- 
pressed between high banks, and so deep as to be 
fordable with extreme difficulty ; and the Moors had 
])OSsession of the bridge. The king pitched his tents 
in a plantation of olives, on the banks of the river; 
the troops were distributed in different encampments 
on the heights, but separated from each other by 
deep rocky ravines, so as to be incapable of yielding 
each other prompt assistance. There was no room 
for the operation of the cavahy. The artillery, also, 
was so injudiciously placed, as to be almost entirely 
useless. Alonzo of Arragon, duke of Villahermosa, 
and illegitimate brother of the king, was present at 
the siege, and disapproved of the whole arrange- 
ment. He was one of the most able generals of his 
time, and especially renowned for his skill in batter- 
ing fortified places. He recommended that the 
whole disposition of the camp should be changed, 
and that several bridges should be thrown across 
the river. His advice was adopted, but slowly and 
negligently followed, so that it was rendered of no 
avail. Among other oversights in this hasty and 
negligent expedition, the army had no supply of 
baked bread ; and, in the hurry of encampment, there 
was no lime to erect furnaces. Cakes were therefore 
hastily made, and baked on the coais, and for two 
days the troops were supplied in this irregular way. 

King Ferdinand felt, too late, the insecurity of his 
position, and endeavored to provide a temporary 
remedy. There was a height near the city, called 
by the Moors Santo Albohacen, which was in front 
of the bridge. He ordered several of his most valiant 
cavaliers to take possession of this height, and to 
hold it as a check upon the enemy and a protection 
to the camp. The cavaliers chosen for this distin- 
guished and perilous post, were, the marques of Ca- 
diz, the marques of Villena, Don Roderigo Tellez 
Giron, Master of Calatrava, his brother the count of 
Urena, and Don Alonzo de Aguilar. These valiant 
warriors, and tried comp.anions in arms, led their 
troops with alacrity to the height, which soon glitter- 
ed with the array of arms, and was graced by several 
of the most redoubtable pennons of warlike Spain. 

Loxa was commanded at this time by an old Moor- 
ish alcayde, whose daughter was the favorite wife of 
Boabdil el Chico. The name of this Moor was 
Ibrahim All Atar, but he was generally known 
among the Spaniards as Alatar. He had grown 
gray in border warfare, was an implacable enemy 
of the christians, and his name had long been the 
terror of the frontier. He was in the ninetieth year 
of his age, yet indomitable in spirit, fiery in his pas- 
sions, sinewy and powerful in frame, deeply versed 
in warlike stratagem, and accounted the best lance 
in all Mauritania. He had three thousand horsemen 
under his command, veter.an troops, with whom he 
had often scoured the borders ; and he daily expected 
the old Moorish king, with reinforcements. 



Old Ali Atar had watched from his fortress every 
movement of the christian army, and had exulted in 
all the errors of its commanders : when he beheld 
the flower of Spanish chivalr/, glittering about the 
height of Albohacen, his eye flashed with exultation. 
" By the aid of Allah," said he, " I will give those 
pranking cavaliers a rouse." 

Ali Atar, privately, and by night, sent forth a large 
body of his chosen troops, to lie In ambush near one 
of the skirts of Albohacen. On the fourth day of the 
siege, he sallied across the bridge, and made a feint 
attack upon the height. The cavaliers rushed im- 
petuously forth to meet him, leaving their encamp- 
ment almost unprotected. Ali Atar wheeled and 
fled, and was hotly pursued. When the christian 
cavaliers had been drawn a considerable distance 
from their encampment, they heard a vast shout be- 
hind them, and, looking round, beheld their encamp- 
ment assailed by the Moorish force which had been 
placed in ambush, and which had ascended a differ- 
ent side of the hill. The cavaliers desisted from the 
pursuit, and hastened to prevent the plunder of their 
tents. .A-li Atar, in his turn, wheeled and pursued 
them ; and they were attacked in front and rear, on 
the summit of the hill. The contest lasted for an 
hour ; the height of Albohacen was red with blood ; 
many brave cavaliers fell, expiring among heaps of 
the enemy. The fierce Ali Atar fought with the fury 
of a demon, until the arrival of more christian forces 
compelled him to retreat into the city. The severest 
loss to the christians, in this skirmish, was that of 
Roderigo Tellez (jiron. Master of Calatrava. As he 
was raising his arin to make a blow, an arrow pierced 
him, just beneath the shoulder, at the open part of 
the corselet. He fell instantly from his horse, but 
was caught by Pedro Gasca, a cavalier of Avila, who 
conveyed him to his tent, where he died. The king 
and queen, and the whole kingdom, mourned his 
death, for he was in the freshness of his youth, being 
but twenty-four years of age, and had proved himself 
a gallant and high-minded cavalier. A melancholy 
group collected about his corse, on the bloody height 
of Albohacen : the knights of Calatrava mourned him 
as a commander ; the cavaliers who were encamped 
on the height, lamented him as their companion in 
arms, in a service of peril ; while the count de Ureiia 
grieved over him with the tender affection of a 
brother. 

King Ferdinand now perceived the wisdom of the 
opinion of the marques of Cadiz, and that his force 
was quite insufiicient for the enterprise. To continue 
his camp in its present unfortunate position, would 
cost him the lives of his bravest cavaliers, if not a 
total defeat, in case of reinforcements to the enemy. 
He called a council of war, late in the evening of 
Saturday ; and it was determined to withdraw the 
army, early the next morning, to Rio Frio, a short 
distance from the city, and there wait for additional 
troops from Cordova. 

The next morning, early, the cavaliers on the 
height of Albohacen began to strike their tents. No 
sooner did Ali Atar behold this, than he sallied forth 
to attack them. Many of the christian troops, who 
had not heard of the intention to change the camp, 
seeing the tents struck and the Moors sallying forth, 
supposed that the enemy had been reinforced in the 
night, and that the army was on the point of retreat- 
ing. Without stopping to ascertain the truth, or to 
receive orders, they fled in dismay, spreading confu- 
sion through the camp ; nor did they halt until they 
had reached the Rock of the Lovers, about seven 
leagues from Loxa.* 

The king and his commanders saw the imminent 



* Pulgar. Cronica. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



187 



peril of the moment, and made face to the Moors, 
each commander guarding his quarter and repelling 
all assaults, while the tents were struck and the ar- 
tillery and ammunition conveyed away. The king, 
with a handful of cavaliers, galloped to a rising 
ground, exposed to the fire of the enemy, calling 
upon the flying troops and endeavoring in vain to 
rally them. Setting upon the Moors, he and his 
cavaliers charged them so vigorously, that they put 
a squadron to flight, slaying many with their swords 
and lances, and driving others into the river, where 
they were drowned. The Moors, however, were 
soon reinforced, and returned in great numbers. 
The king was in danger of being surrounded, and 
twice owed his safety to the valor of Don Juan de 
Ribera, Senior of Montemayor. 

The marques of Cadiz beheld, from a distance, the 
peril of his sovereign. Summoning about seventy 
horsemen to follow him, he galloped to the spot, 
threw himself between the king and the enemy, and, 
hurling his lance, transpierced one of the most daring 
of the Moors. For some time, he remained with no 
other weapon than his sword ; his horse was wound- 
ed by an arrow, and many of his followers slain ; 
but he succeeded in beating off the Moors, and rescu- 
ing the king from imminent jeopardy, whom he then 
prevailed upon to retire to less dangerous ground. 

The marques continued, throughout the day, to 
expose himself to the repeated assaults of the enemy ; 
he was ever found in the place of the greatest dan- 
ger, and through his bravery a great part of the 
army and camp was preserved from destruction.* 

It was a perilous day for the commanders ; for in 
a retreat of the kind, it is the noblest cavaliers who 
most expose themselves to save their people. The 
duke of Medina Cell was struck to the ground, but 
rescued by his troops. The count de Tendilla, 
whose tents were nearest to the city, received several 
wounds, and various other cavaliers of the most dis- 
tinguished note were exposed to fearful jeopardy. 
The whole day was passed in bloody skirmishings, 
in which the hidalgos and cavaliers of the royal 
household distinguished themselves by their bravery ; 
at length, the encampments being all broken up, and 
most of the artillery and baggage removed, the bloody 
height of Albohacen was abandoned, and the neigh- 
borhood of Loxa evacuated. Several tents, a quan- 
tity of provisions, and a few pieces of artillery, were 
left upon the spot, from the want of horses and mules 
to carry them off. 

All Atar hung upon the rear of the retiring army, 
and harassed it until it reached Rio Frio ; from 
thence Ferdinand returned to Cordova, deeply morti- 
fied, though greatly benefited, by the severe lesson 
he had received, which served to render him more 
cautious m his campaigns and more diffident of for- 
tune. He sent letters to all parts, excusing his re- 
treat, imputing it to the small number of his forces, 
and the circumstance that many of them were 
quotas sent from various cities, and not in royal 
pay ; in the mean time, to console his troops for 
their disappointment, and to keep up their spirits, 
he led them upon another inroad to lay waste the 
vega of Granada. 



CHAPTER XI. 



HOW MULEY ABEN HAS.SAN MADE A FORAY INTO 
THE LANDS OF MEDINA SlbONIA, AND HOW HE 
WAS RECEIVED. 

Old Muley Aben Hassan had mustered an army, 
and marched to the relief of Loxa ; but arrived too 



* Cura de los Palacios, c. 58^ 



late — the last squadron of Ferdinand had already 
passed over the border. " They have come and 
gone," said he, " like a summer cloud, and all their 
vaunting has been mere empty thunder." He turned 
to make another attempt upon Alhama, the garrison 
of which was in the utmost consternation at the 
retreat of Ferdinand, and would have deserted the 
place, h.ad it not been for the courage and persever- 
ance of the alcayde Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero. 
That brave and loyal commander cheered up the 
spirits of his men, and kept the old Moorish king at 
bay, until the approach of Ferdinand, on his second 
incursion into the vega, obliged him to make an un- 
willing retreat to Malaga. 

Muley Aben Hassan felt that it would be in vain, 
with his inferior force, to oppose the powerful army 
of the christian monarch ; but to remain idle and see 
his territories laid waste, would ruin him in the esti- 
mation of his people. " If we cannot parry," said 
he, " we can strike ; if we cannot keep our own lands 
from being ravaged, we can ravage the lands of the 
enemy." He inquired and learnt that most of the 
chivalry of Andalusia, in their eagerness for a foray, 
had marched off with the king, and left their own 
country almost defenceless. The territories of the 
duke of Medina Sidonia were particularly unguarded : 
here were vast plains of pasturage, covered with 
flocks and herds — the very country for a hasty in- 
road. The old monarch had a bitter grudge against 
the duke, for having foiled him at Albania. " I'll 
give this cavalier a lesson," said he, exultingly, " that 
will cure him of his love of campaigning." So he 
prepared in all haste for a foray into the country 
about Medina Sidonia. 

Muley Aben Hassan sallied out of Malaga with 
fifteen hundred horse and six thousand foot, and took 
the way by the sea-coast, marching through Esti- 
ponia, and entering the christian country l)etvveen 
Gibraltar and Castellan The only person that was 
likely to molest him on this route, was one Pedro de 
Vargas ; a shrewd, hardy, and vigilant soldier, 
alcayde of Gibraltar, and who lay ensconced in his old 
warrior rock as in a citadel. Muley Aben Hassan 
knew the watchful and daring character of the man, 
but had ascertained that his garrison w-as too small 
to enable him to make a sally, or at least to insure 
him any success. Still he pursued his march, with 
great silence and caution ; sent parties in advance, 
to explore every pass where a foe might lie in am- 
bush ; cast many an anxious eye towards the old 
rock of Gibraltar, as its cloud-capped summit was 
seen towering in the distance on his left ; nor did he 
feel entirely at ease, until he had passed through the 
broken and mountainous country of Castellar, and 
descended into the plains. Here he encamped on 
the banks of the Celemin. From hence he sent 
four hundred corredors, or fleet horsemen, armed 
with lances, who were to station themselves near 
Algeziras, and to keep a strict watch across the bay, 
upon the opposite fortress of Gibraltar. If the al- 
cayde attempted to sally forth, they were to way- 
lay and attack him, being almost four times his sup- 
posed force ; and were to send swift tidings to the 
camp. In the mean time, two hundred corredors 
were sent to scour that vast plain called the Cam- 
pina de Tarifa, abounding with flocks and herds ; 
and two hundred more were to ravage the lands 
about Medina Sidonia. Muley Aben Hassan re- 
mained with the main body of the army, as a rally- 
ing point, on the banks of the Celemin. 

The foraging parties scoured the country to such 
effect, that they came driving vast flocks and herds 
before them, enough to supply the place of all that 
had been swept from the vega of Granada. The 
troops which had kept watch upon the rock of Gib- 



188 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



raltar, returned with word that they had not seen a 
christian hehnet stirring. The old king congratu- 
lated himself upon the secrecy and promptness with 
which he had conducted his foray, and upon having 
baffled the vigilance of Pedro de Vargas. 

Muley Aben Hassan had not been so secret as he 
imagined ; the watchful Pedro de Vargas had re- 
ceived notice of his movements. His garrison was 
barely sufficient for the defence of the place, and he 
feared to take the field and leave his fortress un- 
guarded. Luckily, at this juncture, there arrived in 
the harbor of Gibraltar a squadron of the armed 
galleys stationed in the Strait, and commanded hy 
Carlos de Valera. The alcayde immediately pre- 
vailed upon him to guard the place during his ab- 
sence, and sallied forth at midnight with seventy horse. 
He made for the town of Castellar, which is strongly 
posted on a steep height, knowing that the Moorish 
king would have to return by this place. He or- 
dered alarm-fires to be lighted upon the mountains, 
to give notice that the Moors were on the ravage, 
that the peasants might drive their flocks and herds 
to places of refuge ; and he sent couriers, riding like 
mad, in every direction, summoning the fighting 
men of the neighborhood to meet him at Castellar. 

Muley Aben Hassan saw, by the fires blazing 
about the mountains, that the country was rising. 
He struck his tents, and pushed forward as rapidly 
as possible for the border ; but he was incumbered 
with booty, and with the vast cavalgada swept from 
the pastures of the Campiiia de Tarifa. His scouts 
brought him word that there were troops in the field, 
but he made light of the intelligence, knowing that 
they could only be those of the alcayde of Gibraltar, 
and that he had not more than a hundred horsemen 
in his garrison. He threw in advance two hundred 
and fifty of his bravest troops, and with them the 
alcaydes of Marabella and Casares. Behind this 
vanguard was a great cavalgada of cattle ; and in 
the rear marched the king, with the main force of 
his little army. 

It was near the middle of a sultry summer day, 
that they approached Castellar. De Vargas was on 
the watch, and beheld, by an immense cloud of dust, 
that they were descending one of the heights of that 
wild and broken country. The vanguard and rear 
guard were above half a league asunder, with the 
cavalgada between them ; and a long and close for- 
est hid them from each other. De Vargas saw that 
they could render but little assistance to each other 
in case of a sudden attack, and might be easily 
thrown in confusion. He chose fiftv of his bravest 
horsemen, and, making a circuit, took his post se- 
cretly in a narrow glen opening into a defile between 
two rocky heights, through which the Moors had to 
pass. It was his intention to suffer the vanguard 
and the cavalgada to pass, and to fall upon the rear. 

While thus lying perdue, six Moorish scouts, well 
mounted and well armed, entered the glen, examin- 
ing every place that might conceal an enemy. .Some 
of the christians advised that they should slay these 
six men, and retreat to Gibraltar. " No," said De 
Vargas, " I have come out for higher game than 
these ; and I hope, by the aid of God and Santiago; 
to do good work this day. I know these Moors well, 
and doubt not but that they may readily be thrown 
into confusion." 

By this time, the six horsemen approached so near 
that they were on the point of discovering the chris- 
tian ambush. De Vargas gave the word, and ten 
horsemen rushed forth upon them : in an instant, 
four of the Moors rolled in the dust ; the other two 
put spurs to their steeds, and fled towards their 
army, pursued by the ten christians. About eighty 
of the Moorish vanguard came galloping to the re- 



lief of their companions ; the christians turned, and 
fled towards their ambush. De Vargas kept his 
men concealed, until the fugitives and their pursuers 
came clattering pell-mell into the glen. At a signal 
trumpet, his men sallied forth with great heat and 
in close array. The Moors almost rushed upon their 
weapons, before they perceived them ; forty of the 
infidels were overthrown, the rest turned their backs. 
"Forward!" cried De Vargas; "let us give the 
vanguard a brush, before it can be joined by the 
rear." So saying, he pursued the flying Moors down 
hill, and came with such force and fury upon the ad- 
vance guard as to overturn many of them at the first 
encounter. As he wheeled off with his men, the 
Moors discharged their lances ; upon which he re- 
turned to the charge, and made great slaughter. 
The Moors fought valiantly for a short time, until 
the alcaydes of Marabella and Casares were slain, 
when they gave way and fled for the rear guard. In 
their flight, they passed through the cavalgada of 
cattle, threw the whole in confusion, and raised such 
a cloud of dust that the christians could no longer 
distinguish objects. Feanng that the king and the 
main body might be at hand, and finding that De 
Vargas was badly wounded, they contented them- 
selves with despoiling the slain and taking above 
twenty-eight horses, and then retreated to Castellar. 

When the routed Moors came flying back upon 
the rear guard, Muley Aben Hassan feared that the 
people of Xeres were in arms. Several of his fol- 
lowers advised him to abandon the cavalgada. and 
retreat by another road. " No," said the old king, 
" he is no true soldier who gives up his booty with- 
out fighting." Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped 
forward through the centre of the cavalgada, driving 
the cattle to the right and left. When he reached 
the field of battle, he found it strewed with the 
bodies of upwards of one hundred Moors, among 
which were those of the two alcaydes. Enraged at 
the sight, he summoned all his cross-bowmen and 
cavalry, pushed on to the very gates of Castellar, 
and set fire to two houses close to the walls. Pedro 
de Vargas was too severely wounded to sally forth 
in person ; but he ordered out his troops and there 
was brisk skirmishing under the walls, until the king 
drew off and returned to the scene ol the recent en- 
counter. Here he had the bodies of the pincipal 
warriors laid across mules, to be interred honorably 
at Malaga ; the rest of the slain were buried on the 
field of battle. Then, gathering together the scat- 
tered cavalgada, he paraded it slowly, in an immense 
line, past the walls of Castellar, by way of taunting 
his foe. 

With all his fierceness, old Muley Aben Hassan 
had a gleam of warlike courtesy, and admired the 
hardy and soldierlike character of Pedro de Vargas. 
He summoned two christian captives, and demanded 
what were the revenues of the alcayde of Gibraltar. 
They told him that, among other things, he was en- 
titled to one out of every drove of cattle that passed 
his boundaries. "Allah forbid," cried the old mon- 
arch, " that so brave a cavalier should be defrauded 
of his dues." 

He immediately chose twelve of the finest cattle, 
from the twelve droves which formed the cavalgada. 
These he gave in charge to an alfaqui, to deliver to 
Pedro de Vargas. " Tell him," said he, " that I 
crave his pardon for not having sent these cattle 
sooner ; but I have this moment learnt the nature of 
his rights, and I hasten to satisfy them, wilh the 
punctuality due to so worthy a cavalier. Tell him, 
at the same time, that I had no idea the alcayde of 
Gibraltar was so active and vigilant in collecting his 
tolls." 

The brave alcayde relished the stern, soldierlike 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



189 



pleasantrj' of the old Moorish monarch. He ordered 
a rich silken vest, and a scarlet mantle, to be given 
to the alfaqui, and dismissed him with great courtesy. 
" Tell his majesty," said he, " that I kiss his hands 
for the honor he has done me, and regret that my 
scanty force has not permitted me to give him a 
more signal reception, on his coming into these 
parts. Had three hundred horsemen, whom I have 
been promised from Xeres, arrived in time, I might 
have served up an entertainment more befitting such 
a monarch. I trust, however, they will arrive in the 
course of the night, in which case his majesty may 
be sure of a royal regale at the dawning." 

Muley Aben Hassan shook his head, when he re- 
ceived the reply of De Vargas. " Allah preserve us," 
said he, " from any visitation of these hard riders of 
Xeres ! a handful of troops, acquainted with the 
wild passes of these mountains, may destroy an 
army encumbered as ours is with booty." 

It was some relief to the king, however, to learn 
that the hardy alcayde of Gibraltar was too severely 
wounded to take the held in person. He immediately 
beat a retreat, with all speed, before the close of 
day, hurrying with such precipitation, that the cav- 
algada was frequently broken, and scattered among 
the rugged defiles of the mountains ; and above five 
thousand of the cattle turned back, and were re- 
gained by the christians. Muley Aben Hassan 
returned triumphantly witli the residue to Malaga, 
glorying in the spoils of the duke of Medina Sidonia. 

King Ferdinand was mortified at finding his in- 
cursion into the vega of Granada, counterbalanced 
by this inroad into his dominions, and saw that there 
were two sides to the game of war, as to all other 
j'ames. The only one who reaped real glory in this 
series of inroads and skirmishings, was Pedro de 
\'argas, the stout alcayde of Gibraltar.* 



CHAPTER XII. 



FORAY OF SPANISH CAVALIERS AMONG THE 
MOUNTAINS OF MALAGA. 

The foray of old Muley Aben Hassan had touched 
the pride of the Andalusian chivalry, and thev de- 
termined on retaliation. For this purpose, a num- 
ber of the most distinguished cavaliers assembled at 
Antiquera, in the month of March, 1483. The lead- 
ers of the enterprise were, the gallant marques of 
Cadiz ; Don Pedro Henriquez, adelantado of Anda- 
lusia; Don Juan de Silva, count of Cifuentes, and 
bearer of the royal standard, who commanded in 
Seville ; Don Alonzo de Cardevas, Master of the re- 
ligious and military order of Santiago ; and Don 
Alonzo de Aguilar. Several other cavaliers of note 
hastened to take part in the enterprise ; and in a 
little while, about twenty-seven hundred horse, and 
several companies of foot, were assembled within 
the old warlike city of Antiquera, comprising the 
very flower of Andalusian chivalry. 

A council of war was held by the chiefs, to de- 
termine in what quarter they should strike a blow. 
The rival Moorish kings were waging civil war with 
each other, in the vicinity of Granada ; and the 
whole country lay open to inroads. Various plans 
were proposed by the different cavaliers. The mar- 
ques of Cadiz was desirous of scaling the walls of 
Zahara, and regaining possession of that important 
fortress. The Master of Santiago, however, sug- 
gested a wider range and a still more important ob- 
ject He had received information from his ada- 

* Alonzo dc Paleneca, 1. 28. c. 3. 



lides, who were apostate Moors, that an incursion 
might be safely made into a mountainous region 
near Malaga, called the Axarquia. Here were val- 
leys of pasture land, well stocked with flocks and 
herds ; and there were numerous villages and ham- 
lets, w-hich would be an easy prey. The city of 
Malaga was too weakly garrisoned, and had too few 
cavalry, to send forth any force in opposition ; nay, 
he added, they might even extend their ravages to 
its very gates, and peradventure carry that wealthy 
place by sudden assault. 

The adventurous spirits of the cavaliers were in- 
flamed by this suggestion ; in their sanguine confi- 
dence, they already beheld Malaga in their power, 
and they were eager for the enterprise. The mar- 
ques of Cadiz endeavored to interpose a little cool 
caution. He likewise had apostate adalides, the 
most intelligent and experienced on the borders ; 
among these, he placed especial reliance on one 
named Luis Amar, who knew all the mountains and 
valleys of the country. He had received from him 
a particular account of these mountains of the Ax- 
arquia.* Their savage and broken nature was a 
sufficient defence for the fierce people who inhab- 
ited them, who, manning their rocks, and their tre- 
mendous passes, which were often nothing more 
than the deep dry beds of torrents, might set whole 
armies at defiance. Even if vanquished, they af- 
forded no spoil to the victor. Their houses were 
little better than bare walls, and they would drive 
off their scanty flocks and herds to the fastnesses 
of the mountains. 

The sober counsel of the marques, however, was 
overruled. The cavaliers, accustomed to mountain 
warfare, considered themselves and their horses 
equal to any wild and rugged expedition, and were 
flushed with the idea of terminating their foray by a 
brilliant assault upon Malaga. 

Leaving all heavy baggage at Antiquera, and all 
such as had horses too weak for this mountain 
scramble, they set forth, full of spirit and confi- 
dence. Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and the adelantado 
of Andalusia, led the squadron of advance. The 
count of Cifuentes followed, with certain of the 
chivalry of Seville. Then came the battalion of the 
most valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of 
Cadiz : he was accompanied by severaf of his 
brothers and nephews, and many cavaliers, who 
sought distinction under his banner ; and this fam- 
ily band attracted universal attention and applause, 
as they paraded in martial state through the streets 
of Antiquera. The rear guard was led by Don 
Alonzo Cardenas, Master of Santiago, and was com- 
posed of the knights of his order, and the cavaliers 
of Ecija, with certain men-at-arms of the Holy 
Brotherhood, whom the king had placed under his 
command. The army was attended by a great train 
of mules, laden with provisions for a few days' sup- 
ply, until they should be able to forage among the 
Moorish villages. Never did a more gallant and 
self-confident little army tread the earth. It was 
composed of men full of health and vigor, to whom 
war was a pastime and delight. They had spared 
no expense in their equipments, for never was the 
pomp of war carried to a higher pitch than among 
the proud chivalry of Spain. Cased in armor richly 
inlaid and embossed, decked with rich surcoats and 
waving plumes, and superbly mounted on Andalusian 
steeds, they pranced out of Antiquera with banners 
flying, and their various devices and armorial bear- 



* Pulgar, in his Chronicle, reverses the case, and makes the 
marques of Cadiz recommend the expedition to the Axarquia ; but 
Fray Antonio Agapida is supported in his statement by that most 
veracious and contemporary ciironicler, Andreas Bernaldes, curate 
of Los Palacios. 



190 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ings ostentatiously displayed ; and in the confidence 
of their hopes, promised the inhabitants to enrich 
them with the spoils of Malaga. 

In the rear of this warlike pageant, followed a 
peaceful band, intent upon profiting by the antici- 
pated victories. They were not the customary 
wretches that hover about armies to plunder and 
strip the dead, but goodly and substantial traders 
from Seville, Cordova, and other cities of traffic. 
They rode sleek mules, and were clad in goodly rai- 
ment, with long leathern purses at their girdles, well 
filled with pistoles and other golden coin. They had 
heard of the spoils wasted by the soldiery at the cap- 
ture of Albania, and were provided with moneys to 
buy up the jewels and precious stones, the vessels 
of gold and silver, and the rich silks and cloths, that 
should form the plunder of Malaga. The proud 
cavaliers eyed these sons of traffic with great dis- 
dain, but permitted them to follow for the conven- 
ience of the troops, who might otherwise be over- 
burthened with booty. 

It had been intended to conduct this expedition 
with great celerity and secrecy ; but the noise of 
their preparations had already reached the city of 
Malag.i. The garrison, it is true, was weak ; but it 
possessed a commander who was himself a host. 
This was Muley Abdallah, commonly called El Za- 
gal, or the valiant. He was younger brother of 
Muley Aben Hassan, and general of the few forces 
which remained faithful to the old monarch. He 
possessed equal fierceness of spirit with his brother, 
and surpassed him in craft and vigilance His very 
name was a war-cry among his soldiery, who had 
the most extravagant opinion of his prowess. 

El Zagal suspected that Malaga was the object of 
this noisy expedition. He consulted with old Bexir, 
a veteran Moor, who governed the city. " If this 
army of marauders should reach Malaga," said he, 
" we should hardly be able to keep them without 
its walls. I will throw myself, with a small force, 
into the mountains ; rouse the peasantry, take pos- 
session of the passes, and endeavor to give these 
Spanish cavaliers sufficient entertainment upon the 
road." 

It was on a Wednesday, that the pranking army 
of high-mettled warriors issued forth from the an- 
cient gates of Antiquera. They marched all day 
and night, making their way, secretly as they sup- 
posed, through the passes of the mountains. As 
the tract of country they intended to maraud was 
far in the Moorish territories, near the coast of the 
Mediterranean, they did not arrive there until late in 
the following day. In passing through these stern 
and lofty mountains, their path was often along 
the bottom of a barranco, or deep rocky valley, with 
a scanty stream dashing along it, among the loose 
rocks and stones, which it had broken and rolled 
down, in the time of its autumnal violence. Some- 
times their road was a mere rambla, or dry bed of 
a torrent, cut deep into the mountains, and filled 
with their shattered fragments. These barrancos 
and ramblas were overhung by immense cliffs and 
precipices ; forming the lurking-places of ambus- 
cades, during the wars between the Moors and 
Spaniards, as in after times they have become the 
favorite haunts of robbers to waylay the unfortunate 
traveller. 

As the sun went down, the cavaliers came to a 
lofty part of the mountains, commanding to the right 
a distant glimpse of a part of the fair vega of Mala- 
ga, with the blue Mediterranean beyond; and they 
hailed it with exultation, as a glimpse of the promised 
land. As the night closed in, they reached the chain 
of little valleys and hamlets, locked up among these 
rocky heights, and known among the Moors by the 



name of the Axarquia. Here their vaunting hopes 
were destined to meet with the first disappointment. 
The inhabitants had heard of their approach ; they 
had conveyed away their cattle and effects, and, 
with their wives and children, had taken refuge in 
the towers and fastnesses of the mountains. 

Enraged at their disappointment, the troops set 
fire to the deserted houses, and pressed forward, 
hoping for better fortune as they advanced. Don 
Alonzo de Aguilar, and the other cavaliers in the 
vanguard, spread out their forces to lay waste the 
country ; capturing a few lingering herds of cattle, 
with the Moorish peasants who were driving them 
to some place of safety. 

While this marauding party carried fire and sword 
in the advance, and lit up the mountain cliffs with 
the flames of the hamlets, the Master of Santiago, 
who brought up the rear guard, maintained strict 
order, keeping his knights together in martial array, 
ready for attack or defence, should an enemy appear. 
The men-at-arms of the Holy Brotherhood attempt- 
ed to roam in quest of booty ; but he called them 
back, and rebuked them severely. 

At length they came to a part of the mountain 
completely broken up by barrancos and ramblas, of 
vast depth, and shagged with rocks and precipices. 
It was impossible to maintain the order of march ; 
the horses had no room for action, and were scarcely 
manageable, having to scramble from rock to rock, 
and up and down frightful declivities, where there 
was scarce footing for a mountain goat. Passing by 
a burning village, the light of the flames revealed 
their perplexed situation. The Moors, who had 
taken refuge in a watch-tower on an impending 
height, shouted with exultation, when they looked 
down upon these glistening cavaliers struggling and 
stumbling among the rocks. Sallying forth from their 
tower, they took possession of the cliffs which over- 
hung the ravine, and hurled darts and stones upon 
the enemy. It was with the utmost grief of heart 
that the good Master of Santiago beheld his brave 
men falling like helpless victims around him, without 
the means of resistance or revenge. The confusion 
of his followers was increased by the shouts of the 
Moors, multiplied by the echoes of every crag and 
cliff, as if they were surrounded by innumerable 
foes. Being entirely ignorant of the country, in their 
struggles to extricate themselves they plunged into 
other glens and defiles, where they were still more 
exposed to danger. In this extremity, the master ol 
Santiago dispatched messengers in search of succor. 
The marques of Cadiz, like a loyal companion in 
arms, hastened to his aid with his cavalry ; his ap- 
proach checked the assaults of the enemy, and the 
Master was at length enabled to extricate his troops 
from the defile. 

In the mean time, Don Alonzo de Aguilar and his 
companions, in their eager advance, had likewise got 
entangled in deep glens, and the dry beds of torrents, 
where they had been severely galled by the insulting 
attacks of a handful of Moorish peasants, posted on 
the impending precipices. The proud spirit of De 
Aguilar was incensed at having the game of war thus 
turned upon him, and his gallant forces domineered 
over by mountain boors, whom he had thought to 
drive, like their own cattle, to Antiquera. Hearing, 
however, that his friend the marques of Cadiz, and 
the Master of Santiago, were engaged with the 
enemy, he disregarded his own danger, and, calling 
together his troops, returned to assist them, or rather 
to partake their perils. Being once more assembled 
together, the cavaliers held a hasty council, amidst 
the hurling of stones and the whistling of arrows ; 
and their resolves were quickened by the sight, from 
time to time, of some gallant companion in arms laid 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



191 



low. They determined that there was no spoil in 
this part of the country, to repay for the extraordi- 
nary peril ; and that it was l^etter to abandon the 
herds they had already taken, which only embar- 
rassed their march, and to retreat with all speed to 
less dangerous ground. 

The adalides, or guides, were ordered to lead the 
way out of this place of carnage. These, thinking 
to conduct them by the most secure route, led them 
by a steep and rocky pass, difficult for the foot-sol- 
diers, but almost impracticable to the cavalry. It 
was overhung with precipices, from whence showers 
of stones and arrows were poured upon them, ac- 
companied by savage yells, which appalled the stout- 
est heart. In some places, they could pass but one 
at a time, and were often transpierced, horse and 
rider, by the Moorish darts, impeding the progress 
of their comrades by their dying struggles. The 
surrounding precipices were lit up by a thousand 
alarm-fires; every crag and cliff had its flame, by 
the light of which they beheld their foes, bounding 
from rock to rock, and looking more like fiends than 
mortal men. 

Either through terror and confusion, or through 
real ignorance of the country, their guides, instead 
of conductmg them out of the mountains, led them 
deeper into their fatal recesses. The morning dawned 
upon them in a narrow rambla, its bottom formed of 
broken rocks, where once had raved along the moun- 
tain torrent ; while above, there beetled great arid 
cliffs, over the brows of which they beheld the tur- 
baned heads of their fierce and exulting foes. What 
a different appearance did the unfortunate cavaliers 
present, from that of the gallant band that marched 
so vauntingly out of Antiquera ! Covered with dust, 
and blood, and wounds, and haggard with fatigue and 
horror, they looked like victims rather than like war- 
riors. Many of their banners were lost, and not a 
trumpet was heard to rally up their sinking spirits. 
The men turned with imploring eyes to their com- 
manders ; while the hearts of the cavaliers were 
ready to burst with rage and grief, at the merciless 
havoc made among their I'aithful followers. 

All day, they made ineffectual attempts to extri- 
cate themselves from the mountains. Columns of 
smoke rose from the heights, where, in the preceding 
night, had blazed the alarm-fire. The mountaineers 
assembled from every direction ; they swarmed at 
every pass, getting in the advance of the christians, 
and garrisoning the cliffs like so many towers and 
battlements. 

Night closed again upon the christians, when they 
were shut up in a narrow valley traversed by a deep 
stream, and surrounded by precipices which seemed 
to reach the skies, and on which blazed and flared 
the alarm-fires. Suddenly a new cry was heard re- 
sounding along the valley : " El Zagal ! El Zagal ! " 
echoed from cliff to cliff. " What cry is that ? " said 
the Master of Santiago. "It is the war-cry of El 
Zagal, the Moorish general," said an old Castilian 
soldier: "he must be coming in person, with the 
troops of Malaga." 

The worthy Master turned to his knights : " Let 
us die," said he, " making a road with our hearts, 
since we cannot with our swords. Let us scale the 
mountain, and sell our lives dearly, instead of stay- 
ing here to be tamely butchered." 

So saying, he turned his steed against the moun- 
tain, and spurred him up its flinty side. Horse and 
foot followed his example, eager, if they could not 
escape, to have at least a dying blow at the enemy. 
As they struggled up the height, a tremendous storm 
ot darts and stones was showered upon them by the 
Moors. Sometimes a fragment of rock came bound- 
ing and thundering down, plowing its way through 



the centre of their host. The foot-soldiers, faint 
with weariness and hunger, or crippled by wounds, 
held bv the tails and manes of the horses to aid 
them in their ascent ; while the horses, losing their 
foothold among the loose stones, or receiving some 
sudden wound, tumbled down the steep declivity, 
steed, rider, and soldier, rolling from crag to crag, 
until they were dashed to pieces in the valley. In 
this desperate struggle, the alferez or standard-bear- 
er of the Master, with his standard, was lost ; as 
were many of his relations and his dearest friends. 
At length he succeeded in attaining the crest of the 
mountain ; but it was only to be plunged in new 
difficulties. A wilderness of rocks and rugged dells 
lay before him, beset by cruel foes. Having neither 
banner nor trumpet by which to rally his troops, 
they wandered apart, each intent upon .saving him- 
self from the precipices of the mountains, and the 
darts of the enemy. When the pious master of 
Santiago beheld the scattered fragments of his late 
gallant force, he could not restrain his grief. " Oh 
God ! " exclaimed he, "great is thine anger this day 
against thy servants. Thou hast converted the cow- 
ardice of these infidels into desperate valor, and 
hast made peasants and boors victorious over armed 
men of battle." 

He would fain have kept with his foot-soldiers, 
and, gathering them together, have made head 
against the enemy ; but those around him entreated 
him to think only of his personal safety. To remain 
was to perish, without striking a blow ; to escape 
was to preserve a life that might be devoted to ven- 
geance on the Moors. The Master reluctantly yield- 
ed to the advice. " Oh Lord of hosts ! " exclaimed 
he again, " from thy wrath do I fly ; not from these 
infidels : they are but instruments in thy hands, to 
chastise us for our sins." So saying, he sent the 
guides in the advance, and, putting spurs to his 
horse, dashed through a defile of the mountains, 
before the Moors could intercept him. The moment 
the master put his horse to speed, his troops scat- 
tered in all directions. Some endeavored to follow 
his traces, but were confounded among the intrica- 
cies of the mountain. They fled hither and thither, 
many perishing among the precipices, others being 
slain by the Moors, and others taken prisoners. 

The gallant marques of Cadiz, guided by his 
trusty adalid, Luis Aniar, had ascended a different 
part of the mountain. He was followed by his friend, 
Don Alonzo de Aguilar, the adelantado, and the 
count of Cifuentes ; but, in the darkness and confu- 
sion, the bands of these commanders became sepa- 
rated from each other. When the marques attained 
the summit, he looked around for his companions in 
arms ; but they were no longer following him, and 
there was no trumpet to summon them. It was a 
consolation to the marques, however, that his broth- 
ers, and several of his relations, with a number of 
his retainers, were still with him : he called his 
brothers by name, and their replies gave comfort to 
his heart. 

His guide now led the way into another valley, 
where he would be less exposed to danger : when 
he had reached the bottom of it, the marques paused 
to collect his scattered followers, and to give time 
for his fellow-commanders to rejoin him. Here he 
was suddenly assailed by the troops of El Zagal, 
aided by the mountaineers from the cliffs. The 
christians, exhausted and terrified, lost all presence 
of mind : most of them fled, and were either slain 
or taken captive. The marques and his valiant 
brothers, with a few tried friends, made a stout re- 
sistance. His horse was killed under him ; his 
brothers, Don Diego and Don Lope, with his two 
nephews, Don Lorenzo and Don Manuel, were one 



192 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



by one swept from his side, either transfixed with 
darts and lances by the soldiers of El Zagal, or 
crushed by stones from the heights. The marques 
was a veteran warrior, and had been in many a 
bloody battle ; but never before had death fallen so 
thick and close around him. When he saw his re- 
maining brother, Don Beltram, struck out of his sad- 
dle by a fragment of a rock, and his horse running 
wildly about without his rider, he gave a cry of an- 
guish, and stood bewildered and aghast. A few 
faithful followers surrounded him, and entreated him 
to fly for his life. He w'ould still have remained, to 
have shared the fortunes of his friend Don Alonzo 
de Aguilar, and his other companions in arms ; but 
the forces of El Zagal were between him and them, 
and death was whistling by on every wind. Reluc- 
tantly, therefore, he consented to fly. Another horse 
was brought him : his faithful adalid guided him by 
one of the steepest paths, which lasted for four 
leagues ; the enemy still hanging on his traces, and 
thinning the scanty ranks of his followers. At length 
the marques reached the extremity of the mountain 
defiles, and, with a haggard remnant of his men, 
escaped by dint of hoof to Antiquera. 

The count of Cifuentes, with a few of his retain- 
ers, in attempting to follow the marques of Cadiz, 
wandered into a narrow pass, where they were com- 
pletely surrounded by the band of El Zagal. Find- 
ing all attempts at escape impossible, and resistance 
vain, the worthy count surrendered himself prisoner, 
as did also his brother Don Pedro de Silva, and the 
few of his retainers who survived. 

The dawn of day found Don Alonzo de Aguilar, 
with a handful of his followers, still among the 
mountains. They had attempted to follow the mar- 
ques of Cadiz, but had been obliged to pause and 
defend themselves against the thickening forces of 
the enemy. '1 hey at length traversed the mountain, 
and reached the same v.alley where the marques had 
made his last disastrous stand. Wearied and per- 
plexed, they sheltered themselves in a natural grotto, 
under an overhanging rock, which kept off the darts 
of the enemy ; while a bubbling fountain gave them 
the means of slaking their raging thirst, and refresh- 
ing their exhausted steeds. As day broke, the scene 
of slaughter unfolded its horrors. There lay the 
noble brothers and nephews of the gallant marques, 
transfixed with darts, or gashed and bruised with un- 
seemly wounds ; while many other gallant cavaliers 
lay stretched out dead and dying around, some of 
them partly stripped and plundered by the Moors. 
De Aguilar was a pious knight, but his piety was not 
humble and resigned, like that of the worthy Master 
of Santi.igo. He imprecated holy curses upon the 
infidels, for having thus laid low 'the flower of Chris- 
tian chivalry ; and he vowed in his heart bitter 
vengeance upon the surrounding country. 

By degrees, the little force of De Aguilar was 
augmented by numbers of fugitives, who issued from 
caves and chasms, where they had taken refuge in the 
night. A little band of mounted knights was gradually 
formed ; and the Moors having abandoned the heights 
to collect the spoils of the slain, this gallant but for- 
lorn squadron was enabled to retreat to Antiquera. ■ 
This disastrous affair lasted from Thursday even- 
ing, throughout Friday, the twenty-first of March, 
the festival of St. Benedict. It is stdl recorded in 
.Spanish calendars, as the defeat of the mountains of 
Malaga ; and the spot where the greatest slaughter 
took place, is pointed out to the present day, and is 
called la Cuata de la Mafanza, or The Hill of the 
Massacre. The principal leaders who survived, re- 
turned to Antiquera. Many of the knights took 
refuge in Alhama, and other towns ; many wandered 
about the mountains for eight days, Uving on roots 



and herbs, hiding themselves during the day, and 
sallying forth at night. So enfeebled and dishearten- 
ed were they, that they offered no resistance if at- 
tacked. Three or four soldiers would surrender to 
a Moorish peasant ; and even the women of Malaga 
sallied forth and made prisoners. Some were thrown 
into the dungeons of frontier towns, others led cap- 
tive to Granada ; but by far the greater number were 
conducted to Malaga, the city they had threatened to 
attack. Two hundred and fifty principal cavaliers, 
alcaydes, commanders, and hidalgos, of generous 
blood, were confined in the Alcazaba, or citadel of 
Malaga, to await tiieir ransom ; and five hundred and 
seventy of the common soldiery were crowded in an 
enclosure or court-yard of the Alcazaba, to be sold 
as slaves,* 

Great spoils were collected of splendid armor and 
weapons taken from the slain, or thrown away by the 
cavaliers in their flight ; and many horses, magnifi- 
cently caparisoned, together with numerous stand- 
ards — all which were paraded in triumph into the 
Moorish towns. 

The merchants also, who had come with the army, 
intending to traffic in the spoils of the Moors, were 
themselves made objects of traffic. Several of them 
were driven like cattle, before the Moorish viragos, 
to the market of Malaga; and in spite of all their 
adroitness in trade, and their attempts to buy them- 
selves off at a cheap ransom, they were unable to 
purchase their freedom without such draughts upon 
their money-bags at home, as drained them to the 
veiy bottom. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



EFFECTS OF THE DISASTERS AMONG THE 
MOUNTAINS OF MALAGA. 

The people of Antiquera had scarcely recovered 
from the tumult of excitement and admiration, 
caused by the departure of the gallant band of 
cavaliers upon their foray, when they beheld the 
scattered wrecks flying for refuge to their walls. 
Day after day, and hour after hour, brought some 
wretched fugitive, in whose battered plight, and 
haggard, wobegone demeanor, it was almost im- 
possible to recognise the w-arrior whom they had 
lately seen to issue so gaily and gloriously from 
their gates. 

The arrival of the marques of Cadiz, almost alone, 
covered with dust and blood, his armor shattered 
and defaced, his countenance the picture of despair, 
filled every heart with sorrow, for he was greatly 
beloved by the people. The multitude asked where 
was the band of brothers which had rallied round 
him as he went forth to the field ; and when they 
heard that they had, one by one, been slaughtered at 
his side, they hushed their voices, or spake to each 
other only in whispers as he passed, gazing at him 
in silent sympathy. No one attempted to console 
him in so great an affliction, nor did the good mar- 
cjues speak ever a word, but, shutting himself up, 
brooded in lonely anguish over his misfortune. It 
was only the arrival of Don Alonzo de Aguilar that 
gave him a gleam of consolation, for, amidst the 
shafts of death that had fallen so thickly among his 
family, he rejoiced to find that his chosen friend and 
brother in arms had escaped uninjured. 

For several days every eye was turned, in an agony 
of suspense, towards the Moorish border, anxiously 
looking, in every fugitive from the mountains, for the 



* Cura de los Falacio:>. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



193 



lineaments of some friend or relation, whose fate was 
yet a mystery. At length every hope and doubt sub- 
sided into certainty; the whole extent of this great 
calamity was known, spreading grief and consterna- 
tion throughout the land, and laying desolate the 
pride and hopes of palaces. It was a sorrow that 
visited the marble hall and silken pillow. Stately 
dames mourned over the loss of their sons, the joy 
and glory of their age ; and many a fair cheek was 
blanched -with wo, that had lately mantled with 
secret admiration. "All Andalusia," says a his- 
torian of the time, " was overwhelmed by a great 
affliction ; there was no drying of the eyes which 
wept in her." * 

Fear and trembling reigned, for a time, along the 
frontier. Their spear seemed broken, their buckler 
cleft in twain : every border town dreaded an attack, 
and the mother caught her infant to her bosom when 
the watch-dog howled in the night, fancying it the 
ivar-cry of the Moor. All, for a lime, seemed lost ; 
ind despondency even found its way to the royal 
jreasts of Ferdinand and Isabella, amidst the splen- 
dors of their court. 

Great, on the other hand, was the joy of the Moors, 
,vhen they saw whole legions of christian warriors 
wrought captive into their towns, by rude mountain 
jeasantry. They thought it the work of Allah in 
avor of the faithful. But when they recognized, 
imong the captives thus dejected and broken down, 
.ome of the proudest of christian chivalry; when 
hey saw several of the banners and devices of the 
loblest houses of Spain, which they had been accus- 
omed to behold in the foremost of the battle, now 
railed ignominiously through their streets ; when, in 
ihort, they witnessed the arrival of the count of Ci- 
'uentes, the royal standard-bearer of Spain, with his 
jallant brother Don Pedro de Silva, brought prison- 
.Ts into the gates of Granada, there were no bounds 
o their exultation. They thought that the days of 
heir ancient glory were about to return, and' that 
hey were to renew their career of triumph over the 
jnbelievers. 

The christian historians of the time are sorely per- 
plexed to account for this misfortune ; and why so 
nany christian knights, fighting in the cause of the 
loly faith, should thus miraculouslv, as it were, be 
jiven captive to a handful of intidel boors ; for we 
ire assured, that all this rout and destruction was 
effected by five hundred foot and fifty horse, and 
;hose mere mountaineers, without science or disci- 
)line.t " It was intended," obsen-es one historiog- 
■apher, "as a lesson to their confidence and vain- 
glory ; overrating their own prowess, and thinking 
hat so chosen a band of chivalry had but to appear 
n the land of the enemy, and conquer. It was to 
each them that the race is not to the swift, nor the 
Mttle to the strong, but that God alone giveth the 
dctory." 

The worthy father Fray Antonio Agapida, how- 
;ver, asserts it to be a punishment for the avarice of 
:he Spanish warriors. They did not enter the king- 
lom of the infidels with the pure spirit of christian 
<nights, zealous only for the glory of the faith, but 
ather as greedy men of traffic, to enrich themselves 
jy vending the spoils of the infidels. Instead of pre- 
paring themselves by confession and communion, and 
xecuting their testaments, and making donations 
ind bequests to churches and convents, they thought 
)nly of arranging bargains and sales of their antici- 
pated booty. Instead of taking with them holy 
nonks to aid them with their prayers, they were 
"ollowed by a train of trading men, to keep alive 
:heir worldly and sordid ideas, and to turn what 



* Cura de los Palacios. 



t Cura de los Palacios. 



ought to be holy triumphs into scenes of brawling 
traffic. Such is the opinion of the excellent Agapida, 
in which he is joined by that most worthy and up- 
right of chroniclers, the curate of Los Palacios. 
Agapida comforts himself, however, with the reflec- 
tion, that this visitation was meant in mercy, to try 
the Castilian heart, and to extract, from its present 
humiliation, the elements of future success, as gold 
is extracted from amidst the impurities of earth ; and 
in this reflection he is supported by the venerable 
historian Pedro Abarca, of the society of Jesuits.* 



CHAPTER XIV. 



HOW KING BO-\BDIL EL CHICO MARCHED OVER 
THE BORDER. 

The defeat of the christian cavaliers among the 
mountains of Malaga, and the successful inroad of 
Muley Aben Hassan into the lands of Medina Sidonia, 
had produced a favorable effect on the fortunes of 
the old monarch. The inconstant populace began 
to shout forth his name in the streets, and to sneer 
at the inactivity of his son Boabdil el Chico. The 
latter, though in the flower of his age, and distin- 
guished for vigor and dexterity in jousts and tourna- 
ments, had never yet fleshed his w'eapon in the field 
of battle ; and it was murmured that he preferred 
the silken repose of the cool halls of the Alhambra, 
to the fatigue and danger of the foray, and the hard 
encampments of the mountains. 

The popularity of these rival kings depended upon 
their success against the christians, and Boabdil el 
Chico found it necessary to strike some signal blow 
to counterbalance the late triumph of his father. He 
was further incited by the fierce old Moor, his father- 
in-law, Ali Atar, alcayde of Loxa, with whom the 
coals of wrath against the christians still burned 
among the ashes of age, and had lately been blown 
into a flame by the attack made by Ferdinand on 
the city under his command. 

Ali Atar informed Boabdil that the late discomfit- 
ure of the christian knights had stripped Andalusia 
of the prime of her chivalry, and broken the spirit 
of the country. All the frontier of Cordova and 
Ecija now lay open to inroad ; but he especially 
pointed out the city of Lucena as an object of attack, 
being feebly garrisoned, and lying in a country rich 
in pasturage, abounding in cattle and grain, in oil 
and wine. The fiery old Moor spoke from thorough 
information ; for he had made many an incursion into 
these parts, and his very name was a terror through- 
out the country. It had become a by-word in the 
garrison of Lo.\a to call Lucena the garden of Ali 
Atar, for he was accustomed to forage its fertile ter- 
ritories for all his supplies. 

Boabdil el Chico listened to the persuasions of this 
veteran of the borders. He assembled a force of 
nine thousand foot and seven hundred horse, most 
of them his own adherents, but many the partisans 
of his father ; for both factions, however they might 
fight among themselves, were ready to unite in any 
expedition against the christians. iVIanyol the most 
illustrious and valiant of the Moorish nobility assem- 
bled round his standard, magnificently arrayed in 
sumptuous armor and rich embroidery, as though 
they were going to a festival or a tilt of canes, rather 
than an enterprise of iron war. Boabdil's mother, 
the sultana Ayxa la Horra, armed him for the field, 



13 



* Abarca. Annales de Aragon, Rey 30. cap. 2. § 7. 



194 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and gave him her benediction as she girded his 
scimitar to his side. His favorite wile Morayma 
wept, as she thought of the evils that might befall 
him. " Why dost thou weep, daughter of Ali Atar ? " 
said the high-minded Ayxa : "these tears become 
not the daughter of a warrior, nor the wife of a 
king. Believe me, there lurks more danger for a 
monarch within the strong walls of a palace, than 
within the frail curtains of a tent. It is by perils in 
the field, tliat thy husband must purchase security 
on his throne." 

But Morayma still hung upon his neck, with tears 
and sad forebodings ; and when he departed from 
the Alhambra, she betook herself to her mirador, 
which looks out over the vega. From thence she 
watched the aniiy, as it went, in shining order, along 
the road which leads to Loxa ; and every burst of 
warlike melody that came swelling on the breeze, 
was answered by a gush of sorrow. 

As the royal cavalcade issued from the palace and 
descended through the streets of Granada, the popu- 
lace greeted their youthful sovereign with shouts, 
and anticipated success that should wither the laurels 
of his father. In passing through the gate of Elvira, 
however, the king accidentally broke his lance against 
the arch. At this, certain of his nobles turned pale, 
and entreated him to turn back, for they regarded it 
as an evil omen. Boabdil scoffed at their fears, for 
he considered them mere idle fancies ; or rather, 
(says Fray Antonio Agapida,) he was an incredulous 
pagan, puffed up with confidence and vain-glory. 
He refused to take another spear, but drew forth his 
scimitar, and led the way (adds Agapida) in an arro- 
gant and haughty style, as though he would set both 
heaven and earth at defiance. Another evil omen 
w.as sent, to deter him from his enterprise ; arriving 
at the rambla, or dry ravine of Beyro, which is 
scarcely a bow-shot from the city, a fox ran through 
the whole army, and close by the person of the king ; 
and, though a thousand bolts were discharged at it, 
escaped uninjured to the mountains. The principal 
courtiers about Boabdil now reiterated their remon- 
strances against proceeding ; for they considered 
these occurrences as mysterious portents of disasters 
to their army; the king, however, was not to be dis- 
mayed, but continued to march forward.* 

At Loxa, the royal army was reinforced by old Ali 
Atar, with the chosen horsemen of his garrison, and 
many of the bravest warriors of the border towns. 
The people of Loxa shouted with exultation, when 
they beheld Ali Atar, armed at all points, and once 
more mounted on his Barbary steed, which had often 
borne him over the borders. The veteran warrior, 
with nearly a century of years upon his head, had all 
the fire and animation of youth, at the prospect of a 
foray, and careered from rank to rank with the veloc- 
ity of an Arab of the desert. The populace watched 
the army, as it paraded over the bridge, and wound 
into the passes of the mountains ; and still their eyes 
were fixed upon the pennon of Ali Atar, as if it bore 
with it an assurance of victory. 

The iVIoorish army entered the christian frontier 
by forced marches, hastily ravaging the country, 
driving off the flocks and herds, and making captives 
of the inhabitants. They pressed on furiously, and 
made the latter part of their march in the night, that 
they might elude observation, and come upon Lucena 
by surprise. Boabdil was inexperienced in the art 
of war, but he had a veteran counsellor in his old 
father-in-law ; for Ali Atar knew every secret of the 
country, and, as he prowled through it, his eye 
ranged over the land, uniting, in its glare, the craft 
of the fox with the sanguinary ferocity of the wolf. 



He had flattered himself that their march had been 
so rapid as to outstrip intelligence, and that Lucena 
would be an easy capture ; when suddenly he beheld 
alarm-fires blazing upon the mountains. " We are 
discovered," said he to Boabdil el Chico ; " the 
country will be up in arms ; we have nothing left 
but to strike boldly for Lucena ; it is but slightly 
garrisoned, and we may carry it by assault before 
it can receive assistance." The king approved 
of his counsel, and they marched rapidly for the 
gate of Lucena. 



CHAPTER XV. 



* Marmol. Rebel, de los Moros, lib. i, c. xii. fol. 14. 



HOW THE COUNT DE CABRA SALLIED FORTH FROM 
HIS CASTLE, IN QUEST OF KING BOABDIL. 

Don Diego de Cordova, count of Cabra, was in 
the castle of Vaena, which, with the town of the 
same name, is situated on a lofty sun-burnt hill on 
the frontier of the kingdom of Cordova, and but a 
few leagues from Lucena. The range of mountains 
of Horquera he between them. The castle of Vaena 
was strong, and well furnished with arms, and the 
count had a numerous band of vassals and retain- 
ers ; for it behoved the noblemen of the frontiers, in 
those times, to be well prepared with man and 
horse, with lance and buckler, to resist the sudden 
incursions of the Moors. The count of Cabra was a 
hardy and experienced warrior, shrewd in council, 
prompt in action, rapid and fearless in the field. 
He was one of the bravest cavaliers for an inroad, 
and had been quickened and sharpened, in thought 
and action, by living on the borders. 

On the night of the 20th of April, 1483, the count 
was about to retire to rest, when the watchman from 
the turret brought him word that there were alarm- 
fires on the mountains of Horquera, and that they 
were made on the signal-tower overhanging the 
defile through which the road passes to Cabra and 
Lucena. 

The count ascended the battlement, and beheld 
five lights blazing on the tower,— a sign that there 
was a Moorish army attacking some place on the 
frontier. The count instantly ordered the alarm-bells 
to be sounded, and dispatched couriers to rouse the 
commanders of the neighboring towns. He ordered 
all his retainers to prepare for action, and sent a 
trumpet through the town, summoning the men to 
assemble at the castle-gate at daybreak, armed and 
equipped for the field. 

Throughout the remainder of the night, the castle 
resounded with the din of preparation. Every house 
in the town was in equal bustle ; for in these frontier 
towns, every house had its warrior, and the lance 
and buckler were ever hanging against the wall, 
ready to be snatched down for instant service. Noth- 
ing was heard but the din of armorers, the shoeing 
of studs, and furbishing up of weapons ; and, all 
night long, the alarm -fires kept blazing on the 
mountains. 

When the morning dawned, the count of Cabra 
sallied forth, at the head of two hundred and fifty 
cavaliers, of the best families of Vaena, all well ap- 
pointed, exercised in arms, and experienced in the 
warfare of the borders. There were, besides, twelve 
hundred foot-soldiers, all brave and well seasoned 
men of the same town. The count ordered them to 
hasten forward, whoever could make most speed, 
taking the road to Cabra, which was three leagues 
distant. That they might not loiter on the road, he 
allowed none of them to break their fast until they 
arrived at that place. The provident count dispatch- 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



195 



ed couriers in advance, and the little army, on reach- 
ing Cabra, found tables spread with food and refresh- 
ments, at the gates of the town. Here they were 
joined by Don Alonzo de Cordova, Senior of Zu- 
heros. 

Having made a hearty repast, they were on the 
point of resuming their march, when the count dis- 
covered, that, in the hurry of his departure from 
home, he had forgotten to bring the standard of 
Vaena, which for upwards of eighty years had always 
been borne to battle by his family. It was now noon, 
and there was not time to return ; he took, therefore, 
the standard of Cabra, the device of which is a goat, 
and which had not been seen in the wars for the 
last half century. When about to depart, a courier 
came galloping at full speed, bringing missives to the 
count from his nephew, Don Diego Hernandez de 
Cordova, Senior of Lucena and alcayde de los Don- 
zeles, entreating him to hasten to his aid, as his town 
was beset by the Moorish king Boabdil el Chico, 
with a powerful army, who were actually setting fire 
to the gates. 

The count put his little army instantly in move- 
ment for Lucena, which is only one league from 
Cabra ; he was tired with the idea o( having the 
Moorish king in person to contend with. By the 
time he reached Lucena, the Moors had desisted 
from the attack, and were ravaging the surrounding 
country. He entered the town with a few of his 
cavaliers, and was received with joy by his nephew, 
whose whole force consisted but of eighty horse and 
three hundred foot. Don Diego Hernandez de Cor- 
dova was a young man, yet he was a prudent, care- 
ful, and ca'])able ofticer. Having learnt, the evening 
betbre, that the Moors had passed the frontiers, he 
had gathered within his walls all the women and 
children from the environs ; had armed the men, 
sent couriers in all directions for succor, and had 
lighted alarm-fires on the mountains. 

Boabdil had arrived with his army at daybreak, 
and had sent in a message threatening to put the 
garrison to the sword, if the place were not instantly 
surrendered. The messenger was a Moor of Gra- 
nada, named Hamet, whom Don Diego had formerly 
known : he contrived to amuse him with negotiation, 
to gain time for succor to arrive. The fierce old 
Ali Atar, losing all patience, had made an assault 
upon the town, and stormed like a fury at the gate ; 
but had been repulsed. Another and more serious 
attack was expected, in the course of the night. 

When the count de Cabra had heard this account 
of the situation of affairs, he turned to his nephew 
with his usual alacrity of manner, and proposed that 
they should immediately sally forth in quest of the 
enemy. The prudent Don Diego remonstrated at 
the rashness of attacking so great a force with a mere 
handful of men. " Nephew," said the count, " I 
came from Vaena with a determination to fight this 
Moorish king, and I will not be disappointed." 

"At any rate," replied Don Diego, " let us wait 
but two hours, and we shall have reinforcements 
which have been promised me from Rambla, Santa- 
ella, Montilla, and other places in the neighborhood." 
" If we await these," said the hardy count, " the 
Moors will be off, and all our trouble will have been 
in vain. You may await them, if you please ; I am 
resolved on fighting." 

The count paused for no reply ; but, in his prompt 
and rapid manner, sallied forth to his men. The 
young alcayde de los Donzeles, though more prudent 
than his ardent uncle, was equally brave ; he deter- 
mined to stand by him in his rash enterprise, and, 
summoning his little force, marched forth to join the 
count, who was already on the move. They then 
proceeded together in quest of the enemy. 



The Moorish army had ceased ravaging the coun- 
try, and were not to be seen, — the neighborhood 
being hilly, and broken with deep ravines. The 
count dispatched six scouts on horseback to recon- 
noitre, ordering them to return with all speed when 
they should have discovered the enemy, and by no 
means to engage in skirmishing with stragglers. 
The scouts, ascending a high hill, beheld the Moor- 
ish army in a valley behind it, the cavalry ranged in 
five battalions keeping guard, while the foot-soldiers 
were seated on the grass making a repast. They 
returned immediately with the intelligence. 

The count now ordered the troops to march in the 
direction of the enemy. He and his nephew as- 
cended the hill, and saw that the five battalions of 
Moorish cavalry had been formed into two, one of 
about nine hundred lances, the other of about six 
hundred. The whole force seemed prepared to 
march for the frontier. The foot-soldiers were al- 
ready under way, with many prisoners, and a great 
train of mules and beasts of burden, laden with 
booty. At a distance was Boabdil el Chico: they 
could not distinguish his person, but they knew him 
by his superb white charger, magnificently capari- 
soned, and by his being surrounded by a numerous 
guard, sumptuouslv armed and attired. Old Ali 
Atar was careering about the valley with his usual 
impatience, hurrying the march of the loitering 
troops. 

The eyes of the count de Cabra glistened with 
eager joy, as he beheld the royal prize within his 
reach. The immense disparity of their forces never 
entered into his mind. " By .Santiago ! " said he to 
his nephew, as they hastened down the hill, " had 
we waited for more forces, the Moorish king and his 
army would have escaped us ! " 

The count now harangued his men, to inspirit 
them to this hazardous encounter. He told them 
not to be dismayed at the number of Moors, for 
God often permitted the few to conquer the many ; 
and he had great confidence, that, through the di- 
vine aid, they were that day to achieve a signal vic- 
tory, which should win them both riches and renown. 
He commanded that no man should hurl his lance 
at the enemy, but should keep it in his hands, and 
strike as many blows with it as he could. He warned 
them, also, never to shout except when the Moors 
did ; for, when both armies shouted together, there 
was no perceiving which made the most noise and 
was the strongest. He desired his uncle Lope de 
Mendoza, and Diego Cabrera, alcayde of Menica, to 
alight and enter on foot in the battalion of infantry, 
to animate them to the combat. He appointed, also, 
the alcayde of Vaena and Diego de Clavijo, a cava- 
lier of his household, to remain in the rear, and not 
to permit any one to lag behind, either to despoil the 
dead, or for any other purpose. 

Such were the orders given by this most adroit, 
active, and intrepid cavalier, to his little army, sup- 
plying, by admirable sagacity and subtle manage- 
ment, the want of a more numerous force. His 
orders being given, and all arrangements made, he 
threw aside his lance, drew his sword, and com- 
manded his standard to be advanced against the 
enemy. 



CHAPTER XVL 

THE BATTLE OF LUCENA. 

The Moorish king had descried the Spanish forces 
at a distance, although a slight fog prevented his 
seeing them distinctly, and ascertaining their num- 
bers. His old father-in-law, Ali Atar, was by his 



196 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



side, who, being a veteran marauder, was well ac- 
quainted with all the standards and armorial bear- 
ings of the frontiers. When the king beheld the 
ancient and long-disused banner of Cabra emerging 
from the mist, he turned to Ali Atar, and demanded 
whose ensign it was. The old borderer was for 
once at a loss, for the banner had not been dis- 
played in battle in his time. "Sire," replied he, 
after a pause, " I have been considering that stand- 
ard, but do not know it. It appears to be a dog, 
which device is borne by the towns of Baeza and 
Ubeda. If it be so, all Andalusia is in movement 
against you; for it is not probable that any single 
commander or community would venture to attack 
you. I would advise you, therefore, to retire." 

The count de Cabra, in winding down the hill to- 
wards the Moors, found himself on much lower 
ground than the enemy : he ordered in all haste 
that his standard should be taken back, so as to 
gain the vantage ground. The Moors, mistakmg 
this for a retreat, rushed impetuously towards the 
christians. The latter, having gained the height 
proposed, charged down upon them at thesame 
moment, with the battle-cry of " Santiago ! " and, 
dealing the first blows, laid many of the Moorish 
cavaliers in the dust. 

The Moors, thus checked in their tumultuous 
assault, were thrown into confusion, and began to 
give way, the christians following hard upon them. 
Boabdil el Chico endeavored to rally them. " Hold ! 
hold! for shame!" cried he; "let us not fly, at 
least until we know our enemy." The Moorish 
chivalry were stung by this reproof, and turned to 
make front, with the valor of men who feel that 
they are lighting under their monarch's eye. 

At this moment, Lorenzo de Porres. alcayde of 
Luque, arrived with fifty horse and one hundred 
foot, sounding an Italian trumpet from among a 
copse of oak trees, which concealed his Ibrce. The 
quick ear of old Ali Atar caught the note. " That 
is an Italian trumpet," said he to the king ; " the 
whole worid seems in arms against your majesty ! " 

The trumpet of Lorenzo de Porres was answered 
by that of the count de Cabra, in another direction, 
and it seemed to the Moors as if they were between 
two armies. Don Lorenzo, sallying from among 
the oaks, now charged upon the enemy: the latter 
did not wait to ascertain the force of this new 
foe ; the confusion, the variety of alarums, the at- 
tacks from opposite quarters, the obscurity of the 
fog, all conspired to deceive them as to the number 
of their adversaries. Broken and dismayed, they 
retreated fighting ; and nothing but the presence 
and remonstrance of the king prevented their retreat 
from becoming a headlong flight. 

This skirmishing retreat lasted for about three 
leagues. Many were the acts of individual prowess 
between christian and Moorish knights, and the way 
was strewed with the flower of the king's guards 
and of his royal household. At length they came to 
the rivulet of Mingonzales, the verdant banks of 
which were covered with willows and tamarisks. 
It was swoln by recent rain, and was now a deep 
and turbid torrent. 

Here the king made a courageous stand with a small 
body of cavalry, while his baggage crossed the stream. 
None but the'choicest and most loyal of his guards 
stood by their monarch, in this hour of extremity. 
The foot-soldiers took to flight, the moment they 
passed the ford ; many of the horsemen, partaking 
of the general panic, gave reins to their steeds and 
scoured for the frontier. The little host of devoted 
cavaliers now serried their forces in front ot their 
monarch, to protect his retreat. They fought hand 
to hand with the christian warriors, disdaining to 



yield or to ask for quarter. The ground was covered 
with the dead and dying. The king, having retreated 
along the river banks, and gained some dis'ance from 
the scene of combat, looked back, and saw the loyal 
band at length give way. They crossed the ford, 
followed pell-mell by the enemy, and several of them 
were struck down into the stream. 

The king now dismounted from his white charger, 
whose color and rich caparison made him too con- 
spicuous, and endeavored to conceal himself among 
the thickets which fringed the river. A soldier ot 
Lucena, named Martin Hurtado, discovered him, and 
attacked him with a pike. The king defended him- 
self with scimitar and target, until another soldier 
assailed him, and he saw a third approaching. Per- 
ceiving that further resistance would be vam, he 
drew back and called upon them to desist, offering 
them a noble ransom. One of the soldiers rushed 
forward to seize him, but the king struck him to the 
e.arth with a blow of his scimitar. 

Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova coming up at 
this moment, the men said to him, " Seaor, here is a 
Moor that we have taken, who seems to be a man 
of rank, and offers a large ransom." 

" Slaves ! " exclaimed king Boabdil, " you have not 
taken me. I surrender to this cavnlier." 

Don Diego received him with knightly courtesy. 
He perceived him to be a person of high rank ; but 
the king concealed his quality, and gave himsell out 
as the son of Aben Aleyzar, a nobleman of the royal 
household.* Don Diego gave him in charge ot five 
soldiers, to conduct him to the castle ol Lucena ; 
then, putting spurs to his horse, he hastened to rejoin 
the count de Cabra, who was in hot pursuit ot the 
enemy. He overtook him at a stream called Ria- 
naul : and they continued to press on the skirts of 
the flying army, during the remainder of the day. 
The pursuit was almost as hazardous as the battle ; 
for, had the enemy at any time recovered from their 
panic, they might, by a sudden reaction, have over- 
whelmed the small force of their pursuers. To guard 
against this peril, the w.irv count kept his battalion 
afways in close 6rder, and had a body ot a hundred 
chosen lancers in the advance. The Moors kept up 
a Parthian retreat; several times they turned to 
make battle ; but, seeing this solid body of steeled 
warriors pressing upon them, they again took to 

The main retreat of the army was along the valley 
watered by the Xenel, and opening through the 
mountains of Algaringo to the city of Loxa. The 
alarm-fires of the preceding night had roused the 
country; every man snatched sword and buckler 
from the wall, and the towns and villages poured 
forth their warriors to harass the retreating foe. Ah 
Atar kept the main force of the army together, and 
turned fiercely from time to time upon his pursuers ; 
he was like a wolf, hunted through the country he 
had often made desolate by his maraudings. 

The alarm of this invasion had reached the city 
of Aiitiquera, where were several of the cavaliers 
who had escaped from the carnage in the mountains 
of Malaga. Their proud minds were festering with 
their la^e disgrace, and their only prayer was for 
vengeance on the infidels. No sooner did they hear 
of the Moor being over the border, than they 
were armed and mounted for action. Don Alonzo 
de Aguilar led them forth ;— a small body ol but 
forty horsemen, but all cavaliers ot prowess, and 
thirstino- for revenge. They came upon the loe on 
the banks of the Xenel, where it winds through the 
valleys of Cordova. The river, swelled by the late 
rains, was deep and turbulent, and only fordable at 



* Garibay, lib. 40, c. 31. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



197 



certain places. The main body of tlie army was 
gathered in confusion on the banks, endeavoring to 
ford the stream, protected by the cavalry of Ali Alar. 

No sooner did the Httle band of Alonzo de Aguilar 
come in sight of the Moors, than fury flashed from 
their eyes. " Remember the mountains of Malaga ! " 
they cried to each other, as they rushed to combat. 
Their charge was desperate, but was gallantly re- 
sisted. A scrambling and bloody fight ensued, hand 
to hand and sword to sword, sometimes on land, 
sometimes in the water. Many were lanced on the 
banks ; others, throwing themselves into the river, 
sunk with the weight of their armor, and were 
drowned ; some, grappling together, fell from their 
horses, but continued th(Mr struggle in the waves, 
and helm and turban rolled together down the 
stream. The Moors were far greater in number, and 
among them were many warriors of rank ; but they 
were disheartened by defeat, while the christians 
were excited even to desperation. 

Ali Atar alone preserved all his fire and energy 
amid his reverses. He had been enraged at the de- 
feat of the army, the loss of the king, and the igno- 
minious flight he had been obliged to make through 
a country which had so often been the scene of his 
exploits : but to be thus impeded in his flight, and 
harassed and insulted by a mere handful of warriors, 
roused the violent passions of the old Moor to per- 
fect frenzy. He had marked Don Alonzo de Aguilar 
dealing his blows (says Agapida,) with the pious 
vehemence of a righteous knight, who knows that in 
every wound inflicted upon the infidels, he is doing 
God service. Ali Atar spurred his steed along the 
bank of the river, to come upon Don Alonzo by 
surprise. The back of the warrior was towards him ; 
and, collecting all his force, the Moor hurled his 
lance to transfix him on the spot. The lance was 
not thrown with the usual accuracy of Ali Atar; it 
tore away a part of the cuirass of Don Alonzo, but 
failed to inflict a wound. The Moor rushed upon 
Don Alonzo with his scimitar ; but the latter was on 
the alert, and parried his blow. Thev fought desper- 
ately upon the borders of the river, alternately press- 
ing each other into the stream, and fighting their way 
again up the bank. Ali Atar was repeatedly wound- 
ed ; and Don Alonzo, having pity on his age, would 
have spared his life ; he called upon him to surrender. 
" Never," cried Ali Alar, " to a christian dog ! " The 
words were scarce out of his mouth, when the sword 
of Don Alonzo clove his turbaned head, and sank 
deep into the brain. He fell dead, without a groan ; 
his body rolled into the Xenel, nor was it ever found 
and recognised.* Thus fell Ali Atar. who had long 
been the terror of Andalusia. As he had hated and 
warred upon the christians all his life, so he died in 
the very act of bitter hostility. 

The fall of Ali Atar put an end to the transient 
stand of the cavalry. Horse and foot mingled to- 
gether, in the desperate struggle across the Xenel ; 
and many were trampled down, and perished be- 
neath the waves. Don Alonzo and his band con- 
tinued to harass them until they crossed the frontier ; 
and every blow, struck home to the Moors, seemed 
to lighten the load of humiliation and sorrow which 
had weighed heavy on their hearts. 

In this disastrous rout, the Moors lost upwards of 
five thousand killed and made prisoners ; many of 
whom were of the most noble lineages of Granada : 
numbers fled to rocks and mountains, where they 
were subsequently taken. 

This battle was called, by some, the battle of 
Lucena ; by others, the battle of the Moorish king, 
because of the capture of Boabdil. Twenty-two 

*Cura de los Palacios. 



banners fell into the hands of the christians, and 
were carried to Vaena, and hung up in the church J 
where (says a historian of after times,) they remain 
to this day. Once a year, on the day of St. George, 
they are borne about in procession, by the inhab- 
itants, who at the same time give thanks to God for 
this signal victory granted to their forefathers. 

Great was the triumph of the count de Cabra, 
when, on returning from the pursuit of the enemy, 
he found that the Moorish king had fallen into his 
hands. When the unfortunate Boabdil was brought 
before him, however, and he beheld him a dejected 
captive, whom but shortly before he had seen in 
royal splendor, surrounded by his army, the generous 
heart of the count was touched by sympathy. He 
said every thing that became a courteous and chris- 
tian knight, to comfort him ; observing that the 
same mutability of things which had suddenly de- 
stroyed his recent prosperity, might cause his pres- 
ent misfortunes as rapidly to pass away ; since in 
this world nothing is stable, and even sorrow has 
its allotted term. 



CHAPTER XVn. 



LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS FOR THE BATTLE 
OF LUCENA. 

The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers 
of Loxa, along the valley of the Xenel, which passes 
through the mountains of Algaringo. They looked 
to behold the king returning in triumph, at the 
head of his shining host, laden with the spoil of the 
unbeliever. They looked to behold the standard 
of their warlike idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne by 
the chivalry of Loxa, ever foremost in the wars of 
the border. 

In the evening of the 21st of April, they descried 
a single horseman urging his faltering steed along 
the banks of the Xenel. As he drew near, they per- 
ceived by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior, 
and on nearer approach, by the richness of his armor 
and the caparison of his steed, they knew him to 
be a warrior of rank. 

He reached Loxa, faint and aghast ; his Arabian 
courser covered with foam, and dust, and blood, 
panting and staggering with fatigue, and gashed with 
wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he 
sunk down and died before the gate of the city. The 
soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier, as 
he stood mute and melancholy by his expiring steed ; 
they k-new him to be the gallant Cidi Caleb, nephew 
of the chief alfaqui of the Albaycin of Granada. When 
the people of Loxa beheld this noble cavalier, thus 
alone, haggard and dejected, their hearts were filled 
with fearful forebodings. 

"Cavalier," said they, "how fares it with the 
king and army?" 

He cast his hand mournfully towaids the land of 
the christians. "There they lie!" exclaimed he. 
" The heavens have fallen upon them. All are lost ! 
all dead I "* 

Upon this, there was a great cry of consterna- 
tion among the people, and loud wailings of women : 
for the flower of the youth of Loxa were with the 
army." 

An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border 
battle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. 
" Where is Ali Atar ? " demanded he eagerly. " If 
he lives, the army cannot be lost." 

" I saw his turban cleaved by the christian 



* Cura de los Palacios. 



198 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sword," replied Cidi Caleb. " His body is floating 
in the Xenel." 

When the soldier heard these words, he smote his 
breast and threw dust upon his head ; for he was an 
old follower of All Atar. 

The noble Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but 
mounting another steed, hastened to carry the dis- 
astrous tidings to Granada. As he passed through 
the villages and hamlets, he spread sorrow around ; 
for their chosen men had followed the king to the 
wars. 

When he entered the gates of Granada, and an- 
nounced the loss of the king and army, a voice of 
horror went throughout the city. Everyone thought 
but of his own share in the general calamity, and 
crowded round the bearer of ill tidings. One asked 
after a father, another after a brother, some after a 
lover, and many a mother after her son. His replies 
were still of wounds and death. To one he replied, 
" I saw thy father pierced with a lance, as he de- 
fended the person of the king." To another, " Thy 
brother fell wounded under the Iioofs of the horses ; 
but there was no time to aid him, for the christian 
cavalry were upon us." To another, " I saw the 
horse of thy lover, covered with blood and gallop- 
ing without his rider." To another, "Thy son 
fought by my side, on the banks of the Xenel : we 
were surrounded by the enemy, and driven into the 
stream. 1 heard him cry upon Allah, in the midst 
of the waters : when I reached the other bank, he 
was no longer by my side." 

The noble Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving all Gra- 
nada in lamentation ; he urged his steed up the steep 
avenue of trees and fountains that leads to the Al- 
hambra, nor stopped until he arrived before the gate 
of Justice, .^yxa, the mother of Boabdil, and Moray- 
ma, his beloved and tender wife, had daily watched 
from the tower of the Gomeres, to behold his tri- 
umphant return. Who shall describe their affliction, 
when they heard the tidings of Cidi Caleb ? The sul- 
tana Ayxa spake not much, but sate as one entranced 
in wo. Evei7 now and then, a deep sigh burst forth, 
but she raised her eyes to heaven : " It is the will of 
Allah ! " said she, and with these words endeavored 
to repress the agonies of a mother's sorrow. The 
tender Morayma threw herself on the earth, and gave 
way to the full turbulence of her feelings, bewailing 
her husband and her father. The high-minded Ayxa 
rebuked the violence of her grief; " Moderate these 
transports, my daughter," said she; "remember 
magnanimity should be the attribute of princes ; it be- 
comes not them to give way to clamorous sorrow, 
like common and vulgar minds." But Morayma 
could only deplore her loss, with the anguish of a 
tender woman. She shut herself up in her mirador, 
and gazed all day, with streaming eyes, upon the vega. 
Every object before her recalled the causes of her af- 
fliction. The river Xenel, which ran shining amidst 
the groves and gardens, was the same on whose 
banks had perished her lather, Ali Atar ; before her 
lay the road to Loxa, by which Boabdil had departed, 
in martial state, surrounded by the chivalry of Gra- 
nada. Ever and anon she would burst into an 
agony of grief " .'\Llas ! my father ! " she would ex- 
claim ; " the river runs smiling before me, that covers 
thy mangled remains; who will gather them to an 
honored tomb, in the land of the unbeliever ? And 
thou, oh Boabdil, light of my eyes ! joy of my heart ! 
life of my life ! wo the day, and wo the hour, that I 
saw thee depart from these walls. The road by 
which thou hast departed is solitary ; never will it be 
gladdened by thy return ! the mountain thou hast 
traversed lies like a cloud in the distance, and all 
beyond it is darkness." 

The royal minstrels were summoned to assuage 



the sorrows of the queen : they attuned their instru- 
ments to cheerful strains ; but in a little while the 
anguish of their hearts prevailed, and turned their 
songs to lamentations. 

" Beautiful Granada ! " they exclaimed, " how is 
thy glory faded ! The Vivarrambla no longer echoes 
to the tramp of steed and sound of trumpet ; no 
longer is it crowded with thy youthful nobles, eager 
to display their prowess in the tourney and the festive 
tilt of reeds. Alas 1 the flower of thy chivalry lies 
low in a foreign land ! the soft note of the lute is no 
longer heard in thy moonlight streets ; the lively 
Castanet is silent upon thy hills ; and the graceful 
dance of the Zambra is no more seen beneath thy 
bowers. Behold, the Alhambra is forlorn and 
desolate ! in vain do the orange and myrtle breathe 
their perfumes into its silken chambers ; in vain does 
the nightingale sing within its groves ; in vain are its 
marble halls refreshed by the sound of fountains and 
the gush of limpid rills. Alas ! the countenance of 
the king no longer shines within those halls : the 
light of the Alhambra is set for ever ! " 

Thus all Granada, say the .Arabian chroniclers, 
gave itself up to lamentation : there was nothing but 
the voice of wailing, from the palace to the cottage. 
All joined to deplore their youthful monarch, cut 
down in the freshness and promise of his youth ; 
many feared that the prediction of the astrologers 
was about to be fulfilled, and that the downfall of the 
kingdom would follow the death of Boabdil ; while 
all declared, that had he survived, he was the very 
sovereign calculated to restore the realm to its an- 
cient prosperity and glory. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



HOW MULEY ABEN HASSAN PROFITED BY THE 
MISFORTUNES OF HIS SON BOABDIL. 

An unfortunate death atones, with the world, for 
a multitude of errors. While the populace thought 
their youthful monarch had perished in the field, 
nothing could exceed their grief for his loss, and 
their adoration of his memory ; when, however, they 
learnt that he was still alive, and had surrendered 
himself captive to the christians, their feelings under- 
went an instant change. They decried his talents 
as a commander, his courage as a soldier ; they railed 
at his expedition, as rash and ill conducted ; and they 
reviled him for not having dared to die on the field 
of battle, rather than surrender to the enemy. 

The alfaquis, as usual, mingled with the populace, 
and artfully guided their discontents. "Behold," 
exclaimed they, " the prediction is accomplished, 
which was pronounced at the birth of Boabdil. He 
has been seated on the throne, and the kingdom has 
suffered downfall and disgrace by his defeat and cap- 
tivity. Comfort yourselves, O Moslems 1 The evil 
day has passed by ; the fates are satisfied ; the sceptre 
which has been broken in the feeble hand of Boabdil, 
is destined to resume its former power and sway in 
the vigorous grasp of Aben Hassan." 

The people were struck with the wisdom of these 
words : they rejoiced that the baleful prediction, 
which had so long hung over them, was at an enil ; 
and declared, that none but Muley Aben Hassan had 
the valor and capacity necessary for the protection 
of the kingdom, in this time of trouble. 

The longer the captivity of Boabdil continued, the 
greater grew the popularity of his father. One city 
after another renewed allegiance to him ; for power 
attracts power, and fortune creates fortune. At 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



199 



leng-th he was enabled to return to Granada, and 
establish himself once more in the Alhambra. At 
his approach, his repudiated spouse, the sultana Ayxa, 
gathered togetlier the family and treasures of her 
captive son, and retired, with a handful of the nobles, 
into the Albaycin, the rival quarter of the city, the 
inhabitants of which still retained feelings of loyalty 
to Boabdil. Here she fortified herself, and held the 
semblance of a court in the name of her son. The 
tierce Muley Aben Hassan would have wilUngly car- 
ried fire and sword into this factious quarter of the 
capital ; but he dared not confide in his new and un- 
certain popularity. Many of the nobles detested him 
for his past cruelty ; and a large portion of the 
soldiery, beside many of the people of his own party, 
respected the virtue; of Ayxa la Horra, and pitied 
the misfortunes of Boabdil. 

Granada therefore presented the singular spectacle 
of two sovereignties within the same city. The old 
king fortified himself in the lofty towers of the Al- 
hambra, as much against his own subjects as against 
the christians; while Ayxa, with the zeal of a moth- 
er's affection, which waxes warmer and warmer 
towards her offspring when in adversity, still main- 
tained the standard of Boabdil on the rival fortress 
of the Alcazaba, and kept his powerful faction alive 
within the walls of the Albaycin. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

CAPTIVITY OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. 

The unfortunate Boabdil remained a prisoner, 
closely guarded, in the castle of Vaena. From the 
towers of his prison, he beheld the town below filled 
with armed men ; and the lofty hill on which it was 
built, girdled by massive walls and ramparts, on 
which a vigilant watch was maintained night and 
day. The mountains around were studded with 
watch-towers, overlooking the lonely roads which 
led to Granada, so that a turban could not stir over 
the border without the alarm being given, and the 
whole country put on the alert. Boabdil saw that 
there was no hope of escape from such a fortress, 
and that any attempt to rescue him would be equally 
in vain. His heart was filled with anxiety, as he 
thought on the confusion and ruin wdiich his captiv- 
ity must cause in his affairs; while sorrows of a 
softer kind overcame his fortitude, as he thought on 
the evils it might bring upon his family. 

The count de Cabra, though he maintained the 
most vigilant guard over his royal prisoner, yet treat- 
ed him with profound deference ; he had appointed 
the noblest apartments in the castle for his abode, 
and sought in every way to cheer him during his 
captivitv. A few days only had passed away, when 
missives arrived from the Castilian sovereigns. Fer- 
dinand had been transported with joy at hearing of 
the capture of the Moorish monarch, seeing the 
deep and politic uses that might be made of such an 
event ; but the magnanimous spirit of Isabella was 
filled with compassion for the unfortunate captive. 
Their messages to Boabdil were full of sympathy 
and consolation, breathing that high and gentle cour- 
tesy which dwells in noble minds. 

This magnanimity in his foe cheered the dejected 
spirit of the captive monarch. " Tell my sovereigns, 
the king and queen," said he to the messenger, 
" that I cannot be unhappy, being in the power of 
such high and mighty princes, especially since they 
partake so largely of that grace and goodness which 
Allah bestows upon the monarchs whom he greatly 
loves. Tell them further, that I had long thought of 



submitting myself to their sway, to receive the king- 
dom of Granada from their hands, in the same man- 
ner that my ancestor received it from king John 11., 
father to the gracious queen. My greatest sorrow, 
in this my captivity, is, that I must appear to do that 
from force, which I would fain have done from in- 
clination." 

In the mean time, Muley Aben Hassan, finding 
the faction of his son still formidable in Granada, 
was anxious to consolidate his power, by gaining 
possession of the person of Boabdil. For this pur- 
pose, he sent an embassy to the Catholic monarchs, 
offering large terms for the ransom, or rather the 
purchase, of his son ; proposing, among other con- 
ditions, to release the count of Cifuentes and nine 
other of his most distinguished captives, and to enter 
into a treaty of confederacy with the sovereigns. 
Neither did the implacable father make any scruple 
of testifying his indifference whether his son were 
delivered up alive or dead, so that his person were 
placed assuredly within his power. 

The humane heart of Isabella revolted at the idea 
of giving up the unfortunate prince into the hands 
of his most unnatural and inveterate enemy : a dis- 
dainful refusal was therefore returned to the old 
monarch, whose message had been couched in a 
vaunting spirit. He was informed that the Castilian 
sovereigns would listen to no proposals of peace from 
Muley Aben Hassan, until he should lay down his 
arms, and offer them in all humility. 

Overtures in a different spirit were made by the 
mother of Boabdil, the Sultana Ayxa la Horra, with 
the concurrence of the party which still remained 
faithful to him. It was thereby proposed, that Ma- 
homet Abdalla, otherwise called Boabdil, should 
hold his crown as vassal to the Castilian sovereigns, 
paying an annual tribute, and releasing seventy 
christian captives annually, for five years : that he 
should, moreover, pay a large sum, upon the spot, 
for his ransom, and at the same time give freedom 
to four hundred christians to be chosen by the king : 
that he should also engage to be always ready to 
render military aid, and should come to the Cortes, 
or assemblage of nobles and distinguished vassals 
of the crown, whenever summoned. His only son, 
and the sons of twelve distinguished Moorish houses, 
were to be delivered as hostages. 

King Ferdinand was at Cordova when he received 
this proposition. Queen Isabella was absent at the 
time. He was anxious to consult her in so moment- 
ous an affair ; or rather, he was fearful of proceeding 
too precipitately, and not drawing from this fortu- 
nate event all the advantage of which it was sus- 
ceptible. Without returning any reply, therefore, to 
the mission, he sent missives to the castle of Vaena, 
where Boabdil remained in courteous durance of the 
brave count de Cabra, ordering that the captive 
monarch should be brought to Cordova. 

The count de Cabra set out, with his illustrious 
prisoner ; but when he arrived at Cordova, king 
Ferdinand declined seeing the Moorish monarch. 
He was still undetermined what course to pursue, — 
whether to retain him prisoner, set him at liberty on 
ransom, or treat him with politic magnanimity ; and 
each course would require a different kind of recep- 
tion. Until this point should be resolved, therefore, 
he gave him in charge to Martin de Alarcon, alcayde 
of the ancient fortress of Porcuna, with orders to 
guard him strictly, but to treat him with the distinc- 
tion and deference due unto a prince. These com- 
mands were strictly obeyed ; and, with the exception 
of being restrained in his liberty, the monarch was 
as nobly entertained as he could have been in his 
regal palace at Granada. 

In the mean time, Ferdinand availed himself of 



200 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



this critical moment, while Granada was distracted 
with factions and dissensions, and before he had 
concluded any treaty with Boabdil, to make a puis- 
sant and ostentatious inroad into the very heart of 
the kingdom, at the head of his most illustrious 
nobles. He sacked and destroyed several towns and 
castles, and extended his ravages to the very gates 
of Granada. Old Muley Aben Hassan did not ven- 
ture to oppose him. His city was filled with troops, 
but he was uncertain of their affection. He dread- 
ed, that should he sally forth, the gates of Granada 
might be closed against him by the faction of the 
Albaycin. 

The old Moor stood on the lofty tower of the Al- 
hambra, (says Antonio Agapida,J grinding his teeth, 
and foaming like a tiger shut up in his cage, as he 
beheld the glittering battalions of the christians 
wheeling about the vega, and the standard of the 
cross shining forth from among the smoke of infidel 
villages and hamlets. The most Catholic king (con- 
tinues Agapida,) would gladly have continued this 
righteous ravage, but his munitions began to fail. 
Satisfied, therefore, with having laid waste the coun- 
try of the enemy, and insulted old Muley Aben Has- 
san in his very capital, he returned to Cordova 
covered with laurels, and liis army laden with spoils ; 
and now bethought himself of coming to an imme- 
diate decision, in regard to his royal prisoner. 



CHAPTER XX. 



OF THE TRE.'VTMENT OF BOABDIL BY THE CAS- 
TILIAN SOVEREIGNS. 

A STATELY convention was held by king Ferdi- 
nand in the ancient city of Cordova, composed of 
several of the most reverend prelates and renowned 
cavaliers of the kingdom, to determine upon the fate 
of the unfortunate Boabdil. 

Don Alonzo de Cordena, the worthy Master of 
Santiago, was one of the first who gave his counsel. 
He was a pious and zealous knight, rigid in his de- 
votion to the faith ; and his holy zeal had been in- 
flamed to peculiar vehemence, since his disastrous 
crusade among the mountains of Malaga. He in- 
veighed with ardor against any compromise or com- 
pact with the infidels : the object of this war, he ob- 
served, was not the subjection of the Moors, but 
their utter expulsion from the land ; so that there 
might no longer remain a single stain of Mahomet- 
anism throughout christian Spain. He gave it as 
his opinion, therefore, that the captive king ought 
not to be set at liberty. 

Roderigo Ponce de Leon, the valiant marques of 
Cadiz, on the contrary, spoke warmly for the release 
of Boabdil. He pronounced it a measure of sound 
policy, even if done without conditions. It would 
tend to keep up the civil war in Granada, which 
was as a fire consuming the entrails of the enemy, 
and effecting more for the interests of Spain, without 
expense, than all the conquests of its arms. 

The grand cardinal of Spain, Don Pedro Gonzalez' 
de Mendoza, coincided in opinion with the marques 
of Cadiz. Nay, (added that pious prelate and politic 
statesman,) it would be sound wisdom to furnish the 
Moor wiih men and money, and all other necessaries, 
to promote the civil war in Granada: by this means 
would be produced great benefit to the service of 
God, since we are assured by his infallible word, 
that "a kingdom divided against itself cannot 
stand."* 



* Salazar. Cronica del Gran Cardinal, p. i58. 



Ferdinand weighed these counsels in his mind, 
but was slow in coming to a decision ; he was re- 
ligiously attentive to his own interests, (observes 
Fray Antonio Agapida,) knowing himself to be but 
an instrument of Providence in this holy war, and 
that, therefore, in consulting his own advantage he 
was promoting the interests of the faith. The opin- 
ion of queen Isabella relieved him from his perplex- 
ity. That high-minded princess was zealous for the 
promotion of the faith, but not for the extermination 
of the infidels. The Moorish kings had held their 
thrones as vassals to her progenitors ; she was con- 
tent at present to accord the same privilege, and 
that the royal prisoner should be liberated on con- 
dition of becoming a vassal to the crown. By 
this means might be effected the deliverance of many 
christian captives, who were languishing in Moorish 
chains. 

King Ferdinand adopted the magnanimous meas- 
ure recommended by the queen ; but he accompanied 
it with several shrewd conditions ; exacting tribute, 
military services, and safe passage and maintenance 
for christian troops, throughout the places which 
should adhere to Boabdil. The captive king readily 
submitted to these stipulations, and swore, after the 
manner of his faith, to observe them with exactitude. 
A truce was arranged for two years, during which 
the Castilian sovereigns engaged to maintain him on 
his throne, and to assist him in recovering all places 
which he had lost during his captivity. 

When Boabdil el Chico had solemnly agreed to 
this arrangement, in the castle of Porcuna, prepara- 
tions were made to receive him in Cordova in regal 
style. Superb steeds richly caparisoned, and rai- 
ment of brocade, and silk, and the most costly cloths, 
with all other articles of sumptuous array, were fur- 
nished to him and fifty Moorish cavaliers, who had 
come to treat for his ransom, that he might appear 
in state befitting the monarch of Granada, and the 
most distinguished vassal of the Castilian sovereigns. 
Money also was advanced to maintain him in suit- 
able grandeur, during his residence at the Castilian 
court, and his return to his dominions. Finally, it 
was ordered by the sovereigns, that when he came 
to Cordova, all the nobles and dignitaries of the 
court should go forth to receive him. 

A question now arose among certain of those an- 
cient and experienced men, who grow gray about a 
court in the profound study of forms and ceremonials, 
with whom a point of punctilio is as a vast political 
right, and who contract a sublime and awful idea of 
the external dignity of the throne. Certain of these 
court sages propounded the momentous question, 
whether the Moorish monarch, coming to do homage 
as a vassal, ought not to kneel and kiss the hand 
of the king. This was immediately decided in the 
affirmative, by a large number of ancient cavaliers 
accustomed (says Antonio Agapida,) to the lofty 
punctilio of our most dignified court and transcend- 
ent sovereigns. The king, therefore, was informed 
by those who arranged the ceremonies, that when 
the Moorish monarch appeared in his presence, he 
was expected to e.xtend his royal hand to receive the 
kiss of homage. 

" I should certainly do so," replied king Ferdinand, 
" were he at liberty, and in his own kingdom ; but I 
certainly shall not do so, seeing that he is a prisoner 
and in mine." 

The courtiers loudly applauded the magnanimity 
of this reply ; though many condemned it in secret, 
as savoring of too much generosity towards an infi- 
del ; and the worthy Jesuit, Fray Antonio Agapida, 
fully concurs in their opinion. 

The Moorish king entered Cordova with his little 
train of faithful knights, and escorted by all the 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



201 



nobility and chivalry of the CastiHan court. He 
was conducted, with great state and ceremony,' to 
the royal palace. When he came in presence of 
Ferdinand, he knelt and offered to kiss his hand, 
not merely in homage as his subject, but in grati- 
tude for his liberty. Ferdinand declined the token 
of vassalage, and raised him graciously from the 
earth. An interpreter began, in the name of Boab- 
dil, to laud the magnanimity of the Castilian mon- 
arch, and to promise the most implicit submission. 
" Enough," said king Ferdinand, interrupting the 
interpreter in the midst of his harangue ; " there is 
no need of these compliments. I trust in his in- 
tegrity, that he will do every thing becoming a good 
man and a good king." With these words, he re- 
ceived Boabdil el Chico into his royal friendship 
and protection. 



CHAPTER X.XI. 
RETURN OF BOABDIL FROM CAPTIVITY. 

In the month of August, a noble Moor, of the race 
of the Abencerrages, arrived with a splendid retinue 
at the citv of Cordova, bringing with him the son of 
Boabdil el Chico, and other of the noble youth of 
Granada, as hostages for the fulfilment of the terms 
of ransom. When the Moorish king beheld his son, 
his only child, who was to remain in his stead, a sort 
of captive in a hostile land, he folded him in his arms 
and wept over him. " Wo the day that I was born ! " 
exclaimed he, " and evil the stars that presided at my 
birth ! Well was I called El Zogoybi, or the un- 
lucky ; for sorrow is heaped upon me by my father, 
and sorrow do I transmit to my son ! " The afflict- 
ed heart of Boabdil, however, was soothed by the 
kindness of the christian sovereigns, who received 
the hostage prince with a tenderness suited to his 
age, and a distinction worthy of his rank. They 
delivered him in charge to the worthy alcayde Mar- 
tin de Alarcon, who had treated his father with such 
courtesy during his confinement in the castle of Por- 
cuna, giving orders, that, after the departure of the 
latter, his son should be entertained with great honor 
and princely attention, in the same fortress. 

On the 2d of September, a guard of honor assem- 
bled at the gate of the mansion of Boabdil, to escort 
him to the frontiers of his kingdom. He pressed his 
child to his heart at parting, but he uttered not a 
word ; for there were many christian eyes to behold 
his emotion. He mounted his steed, and never turn- 
ed his heatl to look again upon the youth ; but those 
who were near him observed the vehement struggle 
that shook his frame, wherein the anguish of the 
father had well nigh subdued the studied equanim- 
ity of the king. 

Boabdil el Chico and king Ferdinand sallied forth, 
side by side, from Cordova, amidst the acclamations 
of a prodigious multitude. When they were a short 
distance from the city, they separated, with many 
gracious expressions on the part of the Castilian 
monarch, and many thankful acknowledgments from 
his late captive, whose heart had been humbled by 
adversity. Ferdinand departed for Guadalupe, and 
Boabdil for Granada. The latter was accompanied 
by a guard of honor ; and the viceroys of Andalusia, 
and the generals on the frontier, were ordered to 
furnish him with escorts, and to show him all possible 
honor on his journey. In this way he was conducted 
in royal state through the country he had entered to 
ravage, and was placed in safety in his own do- 
minions. 

He was met on the frontier by the principal nobles 



and cavaliers of his court, who had been secretly sent 
by his mother, the sultana ."Vyxa, to escort him to the 
capital. The heart of Boabdil was lifted up for a 
moment, when he found himself on his own territo- 
ries, surrounded by Moslem knights, with his own 
standards waving over his head ; and he began to 
doubt the predictions of the astrologers : he soon 
found cause, however, to moderate his exultation. 
The loyal train which had come to welcome him, 
was but scanty in number, and he missed many of 
his most zealous and obsequious courtiers. He had 
returned, indeed, to his kingdom, but it was no longer 
the devoted kingdom he had left. The story of his 
vassalage to the christian sovereigns had been made 
use of by his father to ruin him with the people. He 
had been represented as a traitor to his country', a 
renegado to his faith, and as leagued with the ene- 
mies of both, to subdue the Moslems of Spain to the 
yoke of christian bondage. In this way, the mind 
of the public had been turned from him ; the greater 
part of the nobility had thronged round the throne 
of his father in the Alhambra ; and his mother, the 
resolute sultana Ay.xa, with difficulty maintained her 
faction in the opposite towers of the Alcazaba. 

Such was the melancholy picture of affairs given 
to Boabdil by the courtiers who had come forth to 
meet him. They even informed him that it would 
be an enterprise of difficulty and danger to make his 
way back to the capital, and regain the little court 
which still remained faithful to him in the heart of 
the city. The old tiger, Muley Aben Hassan, lay 
couched within the Alhambra, and the walls and 
gates of the city were strongly guarded by his troops. 
Boabdil shook his head at these tidmgs. He called 
to mind the ill omen of his breaking his lance against 
the gate of Elvira, when issuing forth so vain-glorious- 
ly with his army, which he now saw clearly had fore- 
boded the destruction of that army on which he had 
so confidently relied. " Henceforth," said he, " let 
no man have the impiety to scoff at omens." 

Boabdil approached his capital by stealth, and in 
the night, prowling about its walls, like an enemy 
seeking to destroy, rather than a monarch returning 
to his throne. .A.t length he seized upon a postern- 
gate of the Albaycin, — that part of the city which 
had always been in his favor ; he passed rapidly 
through the streets before the populace were aroused 
from their sleep, and reached in safety the fortress 
of the Alcazaba. Here he was received into the 
embraces of his intrepid mother, and his favorite wife 
Morayma. The transports of the latter, on the safe 
return of her husband, were mingled with tears ; for 
she thought of her father, AH Atar, who had fallen in 
his cause, and of her only son, who was left a hostage 
in the hands of the christians. 

The heart of Boabdil, softened by his misfortunes, 
was moved by the changes in every thing round him ; 
but his motfier called up his spirit. " This," said 
she, " is no time for tears and fondness. A king must 
think of his sceptre and his throne, and not yield to 
softness like common men. Thou hast done well, 
my son, in throwing thyself resolutely into Granada : 
it must depend upon thyself, whether thou remain 
here a king or a captive." 

The old king Muley Aben Hassan had retired to 
his couch that night, in one of the strongest towers 
of the Alhambra ; but his restless anxiety kept him 
from repose. In the first watch of the night, he 
heard a shout faintly rising from the quarter of the 
Albaycin, which is on the opposite side of the deep 
valley of the Darro. Shortly afterwards, horsemen 
came galloping up the hill that leads to the main gate 
of the Alhambra, spreading the alarm that Boabdil 
had entered the city and possessed himself of the 
Alcazaba. 



202 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Ill the first transports of his rage, the old king 
would have struck the messenger to earth. He 
hastily summoned his counsellors and commanders, 
exhorting them to stand by him in this critical mo- 
ment ; and, during the night, made every preparation 
to enter the Albaycin sword in hand in the morning. 

In the mean time, the sultana Ayxa had taken 
prompt and vigorous measures to strengthen her 
party. The Albaycin was the part ot the city tilled 
by the lower orders. The return of Boabchl was 
proclaimed throughout the streets, and large sums 
of money were distributed among the populace. The 
nobles, assembled in the Alcazaba, were promised 
honors and rewards by Boabdil, as soon as he should 
be firmly seated on the throne. These well-timed 
measures had the customary effect ; and, by day- 
break, all the motley populace of the Albaycin were 
in arms. 

A doleful day succeeded. All Granada was a scene 
of tumult and horror. Drums and trumpets resounded 
in every part ; all business was interrupted ; the shops 
were shut, the doors barricadoed. Armed bands 
paraded the streets, some shouting for Boabdil, and 
some for Muley Aben 'Hassan. When they encoun- 
tered each other, they fought furiously and without 
mercy ; every public square became a scene of bat- 
tle. The great mass of the lower orders was in favor 
of Boabdil, but it was a multitude without discipline 
or lofty spirit ; part of the people was regularly armed, 
but the greater number had sallied forth with the 
implements of their trade. The troops of the old 
king, among whom were many cavaliers of pride and 
valor, soon drove the populace from the squares. 
They fortified themselves, however, in the streets 
and lanes, which they barricadoed. They made 
fortresses of their houses, and fought desperately 
from the windows and the roofs, and many a war- 
rior of the highest blood of Granada was laid low by 
plebeian hands and plebeian weapons, in this civic 
brawl. 

It was impossible that such violent convulsions 
should last long, in the heart of a city. The people 
soon longed for repose, and a return to their peace- 
ful occupations ; and the cavaliers detested these 
conflicts with the multitude, in which there were all 
the horrors of war without its laurels. By the inter- 
ference of the alfaquis, an armistice was at length 
effected. Boabdil was persuaded that there was no 
dependence upon the inconstant f:\vor of the multi- 
tude, and was prevailed upon to quit a capital where 
he could only maintain a precarious seat upon his 
throne by a perpetual and bloody struggle. He 
fixed his court at the city of Almeria, which was 
entirely devoted to him, and which, at that time, 
vied with, Granada in splendor and importance. 
This compromise of grandeur for tranquillity, how- 
ever, Wcis sorely against the counsels of his proud- 
spirited mother, the sultana Ayxa. Granada ap- 
peared, in her eyes, the only' legitimate seat of 
dominion ; and she observed, with a smile of 
disdain, that he was not worthy of being called a 
monarch, who was not master of his capital. 



CHAPTER XXn. 



FORAY OF THE MOORISH ALCAVDES, AND BAT- 
TLE OF LOPERA. 

Though Muley Aben Hassan had regained un- 
divided sway over the city of Granada, and the al- 
faquis, by his command, had denounced his son 
Boabdil as an apostate, and as one doomed by 



Heaven to misfortune, still the latter had many ad- 
herents among the common people. Whenever, 
therefore, any act of the old monarch was displeas- 
ing to the turbulent multitude, they were prone to 
give him a hint of the slippery nature of his stand- 
ing, by shouting out the name of Boabdil el Chico. 
Long experience had instructed Muley Aben Has- 
san in the character of the inconstant people over 
whom he ruled. "Alia Achbar ! " exclaimed he, 
" God is great ; but a successful inroad into the 
country of the unbelievers will make more converts 
to my cause than a thousand texts of the Koran, 
expounded by ten thousand alfaquis." 

At this time king Ferdinand was absent from 
Andalusia on a distant expedition, with many of his 
troops. The moment was favorable for a foray, and 
Muley Aben Hassan cast about his thoughts for a 
leader to conduct it. Ali Atar, the terror of the 
border, the scourge of Andalusia, was dead ; but 
there was another veteran general, scarce inferior to 
him for predatory warfare. This was old Bexir, the 
gray and crafty alcayde of Malaga ; and the people 
under his command were ripe for an expedition of 
the kind. The signal defeat and slaughter of the 
Spanish knights in the neighboring mountains had 
filled the people of Malaga with vanity and self- 
conceit. They had attributed to their own valor the 
defeat which had been caused by the nature of the 
country. Many of them wore the armor and pa- 
raded in public with the horses of the unfortunate 
cavaliers slain on that occasion, v,'hich they vaunt- 
ingly displayed as the trophies of their boasted vic- 
tory. They had talked themselves into a contempt 
for the chivalry of Andalusia, and were impatient 
for an opportunity to overrun a country defended by 
such troops. This, Muley Aben Hassan considered 
a favorable state of mind to insure a daring inroad, 
and he sent orders to old Bexir to gather together 
his people and the choicest warriors of the borders, 
and to carry fire and sword into the very heart of 
Andalusia. The wary old Bexir immediately dis- 
patched his emissaries among the alcaydes of the 
border towns, calling upon them to assemble with 
their troops at the city of Ronda, close upon the 
christian frontier. 

Ronda was the most virulent nest of Moorish dep- 
redators in the whole border country. It was situ- 
ated in the midst of the wild Serrania, or chain of 
mountains of the same name, which are uncom- 
monly lofty, broken, and precipitous. It stood on 
an almost isolated rock, nearly encircled by a deep 
valley, or rather chasm, through which ran the beau- 
tiful river called Rio Verde. The Moors of this city 
were the most active, robust, and warlike of all the 
mountaineers, and their very children discharged the 
cross-bow with unerring aim. They were inces- 
santly harassing the rich plains of Andalusia; their 
city abounded with christian spoils, and their deep 
dungeons were crowded with christian captives, who 
might sigh in vain for deliverance from this impreg- 
nable fortress. Such was Ronda in the time of the 
Moors ; and it has ever retained something of the 
same character, even to the present day. Its in- 
habitants continue to be among the boldest, fiercest, 
and most adventurous of the Andalusian moun- 
taineers ; and the Serrania de Ronda is lamous as 
the most dangerous resort of the bandit and the 
contrabandista. 

Hamet Zeli, surnamed El Zegri, was the com- 
mander of this belligerent city and its fierce inhab- 
itants. He was of the tribe of the Zegries, and one 
of the most proud and daring of that warlike ra^ r. 
Beside the inhabitants of Ronda, he had a legion i>{ 
African Moors in his immediate service. They were 
of the tribe of the Gomeres, mercenary troops, whose 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



203 



hot African blood had not yet been tempered by the 
softer hving of Spain, and whose whole business was 
to tight. These he kept always well armed and well 
appointed. The rich pasturage of the valley of Ronda 
produced a breed of horses famous for strength and 
speed ; no cavalry, therefore, was better mounted 

than the band of Gomercs. Rapid on the march, and the pennons of the commanders, 
fierce in the attack, it would sweep down upon the*' *^""' '♦ "" ''= ""•-,-li cl-,.iL-;r,fT tv, 
Andalusian plains like a sudden blast from the moun- 
tains, and pass away as suddenly, before there was 
time for pursuit. 

There was nothing that stirred up the spirit of the 
Moors of the frontiers more thoroughly than the idea 
of a foray. The summons of Bexir was gladly 
obeyed by the alcaydes of the border towns, and in 
a little while there was a force of fifteen hundred 
horse and four thousand foot, the very pith and mar- 
row of the surrounding country, assembled within 
the walls of Ronda. The people of the place antic- 
ipated with eagerness the rich spoils of Andalusia 
that were soon to crowd their gates; throughout 
the day, the city resounded with the noisu of 
kettle-drum and trumpet ; the high-mettled steeds 
stamped and neighed in their stalls, as if they 
shared the impatience for the foray ; while the 
christian captives sighed, as the varied din of prep- 
aration reached to their rocky dungeons, denoting 
that a fresh ravage was preparing against their coun- 
trymen. 

The infidel host sallied forth full of spirits, antici- 
pating an easy ravage and abundant booty. They 
encouraged each other in a contempt for the prowess 
of the loe. Many of the warriors of Malaga, and 
of some of the mountain towns, had insultingly 
arrayed themselves in the splendid armor of the 
christian knights slain or taken prisoners in the 
famous massacre, and some of them rode the An- 
dalusian steeds which had been captured on that 
occasion. 

The wary Bexir had concerted his plans so se- 
cretly and expeditiously, that the christian towns of 

Andalusia had not the least suspicion of the storm 

that had gathered beyond the mountains. The vast 

and rocky range of the Serrania de Ronda extended 

like a screen, covering all their movements from 

observation. 

The army made its way as rapidly as the rugged 

nature of the mountains would permit, guided by 

Hamet el Zegri, the bold alcayde of Ronda, who 

knew every pass and defile ; not a drum, nor the 

clash of a cymbal, nor the blast of a trumpet, was 

permitted to be heard. The mass of war rolled 

quietly on as the gathering cloud to the brow of the 

mountains, intending to burst down like the thunder- 
bolt upon the plain. 

Never let the most wary commander fancy himself 

secure from discovery ; for rocks have eyes, and trees 

have ears, and the birds of the air have tongues, to 

betray the most secret enterprise. There chanced 

at this time to be six christian scouts, prowling about 

the savage heights of the Serrania de Ronda. They 

were of that kind of lawless ruffians who infest the 

borders of belligerent countries, ready at any time to 

fight for pay, or prowl for plunder. The wild 

mountain passes of Spain have ever abounded with 

loose rambling vagabonds of the kind, — soldiers in 

war, robbers in peace ; guides, guards, smugglers, 

or cut-throats, according to the circumstances of 

the case. 

These six marauders (says Fray Antonio Agapida) 

were on this occasion chosen instruments, sanctified 

by the righteousness of their cause. They were 

lurking among the mountains, to entrap Moorish 

cattle or Moorish prisoners, both of which were 

equally saleable in the christian market. They had 



ascended one of the loftiest cliffs, and were looking 
out like birds of prey, ready to pounce upon any 
thing that might offer in the valley, when they des- 
cried the Moorish army emerging from a mountain 
glen. They watched it in silence as it wound belo\^ 
them, remarking the standards of the various towns 

They hovered 
'about it on its march, skulking from cliff to cliff, 
until they saw the route by which it intended to 
enter the christian country. They then dispersed, 
each making his way by the secret passes of the 
mountains to some different alcayde, that they 
might spread the alarm far and wide, and each get 
a separate reward. 

One hastened to Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, 
the same valiant alcayde who had repulsed Muley 
Aben Hassan from the walls of Alhama, and who 
now commanded at Ecija, in the absence of the 
Master of Santiago. Others roused the town of 
Utrera, and the places of that neighborhood, putting 
them all on the alert. 

Puerto Carrero was a cavalier of consummate 
vigor and activity. He immediately sent couriers to 
the alcaydes of the neighboring fortresses ; to Her- 
man Carrello, captain of a body of the Holy Brother- 
hood, and to certain knightsof the order of Alcantara. 
Puerto Carrero was the first to take the field. Know- 
ing the hard and hungry service of these border 
scampers, he made every man take a hearty repast, 
and see that his horse was well shod and perfectly 
appointed. Then all being refreshed and in valiant 
heart, he sallied forth to seek the Moors. He had 
but a handful of men, the retainers of his household 
and troops of his captaincy ; but they were well 
armed and mounted, and accustomed to the sudden 
rouses of the border ; men whom the cry of " Arm 
and out ! to horse and to the field ! " was sufficient 
at any time to put in a fever of animation. 

While the northern part of Andalusia was thus on 
the alert, one of the scouts had hastened southward 
to the city of Xeres, and given the alarm to the 
valiant marques of Cadiz. When the marques heard 
that the Moor was over the border, and that the 
standard of Malaga was in the advance, his heart 
bounded with a momentary joy ; for he remembered 
the massacre in the mountains, where his valiant 
brothers had been mangled before Ins eyes. The 
very authors of his calamity were now at h.and, and 
he flattered himself that the day of vengeance had 
arrived. He made a hasty levy of his retainers and 
of the fighting men of Xeres, and hurried off with 
three hundred horse and two hundred foot, all reso- 
lute men and panting for revenge. 

In the mean time, the veteran Bexir had accom- 
plished his inarch, as he imagined, undiscovered. 
From the openings of the craggy defiles, he pointed 
out the fertile plains of Andalusia, and regaled the 
eyes of his soldiery with the rich country they were 
about to ravage. The fierce Gomeres of Ronda 
were flushed with joy at the sight ; and even their 
steeds seemed to prick up their ears and snuff the 
breeze, as they beheld the scenes of their frequent 
forays. 

When they came to where the mountain defile 
opened into the low land, Bexir divided his force 
into three parts : one, composed of foot-soldiers and 
of such as were weakly mounted, he left to guard 
the pass, being too experienced a veteran not to know 
the importance of securing a retreat : a second body 
he placed in ambush, among the groves and thickets 
on the banks of the river Lopera : the third, consist- 
ing of light cavalry, he sent forth to ravage the Cam- 
pifia, or great plain of Utrera. Most of this latter 
force was composed of the fiery Gomeres of Ronda, 
mounted on the fleet steeds bred among the mount- 



204 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ains. It was led by the bold alcayde Harriet el 
Zegri, who was ever eager to be foremost in the 
forage. Little suspecting that the country on both 
sides was on the alarm, and rushing from all direc- 
tions to close upon them in rear, this fieiy troop 
dashed forward until they came within two leagues 
of Utrera. Here they scattered themselves about^ 
the plain, careering round the great herds of cattle 
and flocks of sheep, and sweeping them into droves, 
to be hurried to the mountains. 

While they were thus dispersed in every direction, 
a troop of horse and body of foot from Utrera came 
suddenly upon them. The Moors rallied together in 
small parties, and endeavored to defend themselves ; 
but they were without a leader, for Hamet el Zegri 
was at a distance, having, like a hawk, made a wide 
circuit in pursuit of prey. The marauders soon 
gave way and fled towards the ambush on the banks 
of the Lopera, being hotly pursued by the men of 
Utrera. 

When they reached the Lopera, the Moors in am- 
bush rushed forth with furious cries ; and the fugi- 
tives, recovering courage from this reinforcement, 
rallied and turned upon their pursuers. The chris- 
tians stood their ground, though greatly inferior in 
number. Their lances were soon broken, and they 
came to sharp work with sword and scimitar. The 
christians fought valiantly, but were in danger of 
being overwhelmed. The bold Hamet had collected 
a handful of his scattered Gomeres, and, leaving his 
prey, had galloped towards the scene of action. His 
little troop of horsemen had reached the crest of a 
rising ground at no great distance, when trumpets 
were heard in another direction, and Luis Fernandez 
Puerto Carrero and his followers came galloping into 
the field, and charged upon the infidels in flank. 

The Moors were astounded at finding war thus 
breaking upon them, from various quarters of what 
they had expected to find an unguarded country. 
They fought for a short time with desperation, and 
resisted a vehement assault from the knights of Al- 
cantara, and the men-at-arms of the Holy Brother- 
hood. At length the veteran Bexir was struck from 
his horse by Puerto Carrero, and taken prisoner, and 
the whole force gave way and fled. In their flight, 
they separated, and took two roads to the mount- 
ains, thinking, by dividing their forces, to distract 
the enemy. The christians were too few to separate. 
Puerto Carrero kept them together, pursuing one 
division of the enemy with great slaughter. This 
battle took place at the fountain of the fig-tree, near 
to the Lopera. Six hundred Moorish cavaliers were 
slain, and many taken prisoners. Much spoil was 
collected on the field, with which the christians re- 
turned in triumph to their homes. 

The larger body of the enemy had retreated along 
a road leading more to the south, by the banks of 
the Guadalete. When they reached that river, the 
sound of pursuit had died away, and they rallied to 
breathe and refresh themselves on the margin of the 
stream. Their force was reduced to about a thou- 
sand horse, and a confused multitude of foot. While 
they were scattered and partly dismounted on the 
banks of the Guadalete, a fresh storm of war burst 
upon them from an opposite direction. It was the 
marques of Cadiz, leading on his household troops 
and the fighting men of Xeres. When the christian 
warriors came in sight of the Moors, they were 
roused to fury at beholding many of them arrayed 
in the armor of the cavaliers who had been slain 
among the mountains of Malaga. Nay, some who 
had been in that defeat beheld their own armor, 
which they had cast away in their flight, to enable 
themselves to climb the mountains. Exasperated 
at the sight, they rushed upon the foe with the fe- 



rocity of tigers, rather than the temperate courage 
of cavaliers. Each man felt as if he were avenging 
the death of a relative, or wiping out his own dis- 
grace. The good marques, himself, beheld a pow- 
erful Moor bestriding the horse of his brother Bcl- 
tran : giving a cry of rage and anguish at the sight, 
he rushed through the thickest of the enemy, at- 
tacked the Moor with resistless fury, and after a 
short combat, hurled him breathless to the earth. 

The Moors, already vanquished in spirit, could not 
withstand the assault of men thus madly excited. 
They soon gave way, and fled for the defile of the 
Serrania de Ronda, where the body of troops had 
been stationed to secure a retreat. These, seeing 
them come galloping wildly up the defile, with chris- 
tian banners in pursuit, and the flash of weapons at 
their deadly work, thought all Andalusia was upon 
them, and fled without awaiting an attack. The 
pursuit continued among glens and defiles ; for the 
christian warriors, eager for revenge, had no com- 
passion on the foe. 

When the pursuit was over, the marques of Cadiz 
and his followers reposed themselves upon the banks 
of the Guadalete, where they divided the spoil. 
Among this were found many rich corselets, hel- 
mets, and weapons, — the Moorish trophies of the 
defeat in the mountains of Malaga. Several were 
claimed by their owners ; others were known to have 
belonged to noble cavaliers, who had been slain or 
taken prisoners. There were several horses also, 
richly caparisoned, which had pranced proudly with 
the unfortunate warriors, as they sallied out of 
Antiquera upon that fatal expedition. Thus the ex- 
ultation of the victors was dashed with melancholy, 
and many a knight was seen lamenting over the hel- 
met or corselet of some loved companion in arms. 

The good marques of Cadiz was resting under a 
tree on the banks of the Guadalete, when the horse 
which had belonged to his slaughtered brother Bel- 
tran was brought to him. He laid his hand upon 
the mane, and looked wistfully at the empty saddle. 
His bosom heaved with violent agitation, and his lip 
quivered and was pale. " Ay de mi ! mi hermano ! " 
(wo is me ! my brother !) was all that he said ; for 
the grief of a warrior has not many words. He 
looked round on the field strewn with the bodies of 
the enemy, and in the bitterness of his wo he felt 
consoled by the idea that his brother had not been 
unreveng-ed. 



Note — " En el despojo de la Batalla se ireron muchas ricas co- 
razas e capacetes, i barberas de las que se habian perdido en el Ax- 
arquia, e otras muchas armas, e algunes fueron conocid.as de sus 
Duenos que las havian dejado por fuir, e otras fueron conocidas, 
que eran mui seflaladas de liombres principales que havian quedado 
muertos e cautivos. i fueron tornados muchos de los mlsmos Caval- 
los con sus ricas sillas, de los que quedaron en la Axarquia, e fueron 
conocidos cuios eran." 

Citra de Palacios^ cap. 67. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



RETREAT OF HAMET EL ZEGRI, ALCAYDE OF 
RONDA. 

The bold alcayde of Ronda, Hamet el Zegri, had 
careered wide over the Campiiia of Utrera, encom- 
passing the flocks and herds, when he heard the 
hurst of war at a distance. There were with him 
but a handful of his Gomeres. He saw the scamper 
and pursuit afar off, and beheld the christian horse- 
men spurring madly on towards the ambuscade on 
the banks of the Lopera. Hamet tossed his hand 
triumphantly aloft, for his men to follow him. " The 
christian dogs are ours ! " said he, as he put spurs to 
his horse, to take the enemy in rear. 



A CHRONICLE OF TtlE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



205 



The little band, which followed Hamet, scarcely 
amounted to thirty horsemen. They spurred across 
the i)lain, and reached a rising ground, just as the 
force of Puerto Carrero had charged, with sound of 
trumpet, upon the flank of the party in ambush. 
Hamet beheld the headlong rout of the army, with 
rage and consternation. He foimd the country was 
pouring forth its legions from every quarter, and 
lerceived that there was no safety but in precipitate 
light. 

But which way to fly .' An army was between 
lim and the mountain pass ; all the forces of the 
leighborhood were rushing to the borders ; the 
,vhole route by which he had come, w-as by this time 
jccupied by the foe. He checked his steed, rose in 
he stirrups, and rolled a stern and thoughtful eye 
)ver the country ; then sinking into his saddle, he 
ieemed to commune a moment with himself Turn- 
ng quickly to his troop, he singled out a renegade 
;hri5tian, a traitor to his religion and his king. 
' Come hither," said Hamet. " Thou knowest all 
he secret passes of the country." " I do," replied 
he renegado. " Dost thou know any circuitous 
•Qute, solitary and untravelled, by which we can 
jass wide within these troops, and reach the Ser- 
•ania .'' " The renegado paused : " Such a route I 
enow, but it is full of peril, for it leads through the 
leart of the christian land." " 'Tis well," said 
-lamet ; " the more dangerous in appearance, the 
ess it will be suspected. Now hearken to me. Ride 
jy my side. Thou seest this purse of gold, and this 
cimitar. Take us, by the route thou hast men- 
ioned, safe to the pass of the Serrania, and this 
)urse shall be thy reward ; betray us, and this 
.cimitar shall cleave thee to the saddle-bow." * 

The renegado obeyed, trembling. They turned off 
rom the direct road to the mountains, and struck 
southward towards Lebri.xa, passing by the most 
iolitary roads, and along those deep ramblas and 
■avines by which the country is intersected. It was 
ndeed a daring course. Every now and then they 
leard the distant sound of trumpets, and the alarm- 
jells of towns and villages, and found that the war 
.vas still hurrying to the borders. They hid them- 
selves in thickets, and in the dry beds of rivers, until 
-he danger had passed by, and then resumed their 
;ourse. Hamet el Zegri rode on in silence, his hand 
jpon his scimitar and his eye upon the renegado 
juide, prepared to sacrifice him on the least sign of 
treachery ; while his band followed, gnawing their 
lips with rage, at having thus to skulk through a 
country they had come to ravage. 

When night fell, they struck into more practicable 
roads, always keeping wide of the villages and ham- 
lets, lest the watch-dogs should betray them. In 
this way, they passed m deep midnight by Areos, 
crossed the Guadalete, and effected their retreat to 
the mountains. The day dawned, as they made 
their way up the savage defiles. Their comrades 
had been hunted up these very glens by the enemy. 
Every now and then, they came to where there had 
been a partial fight, or a slaughter of the fugitives ; 
and the rocks were red with blood, and strewed with 
mangled bodies. The alcayde of Ronda was almost 
frantic with rage, at seeing many of his bravest war- 
riors lying stiff and stark, a prey to the hawks and vul- 
tures of the mountains. Now and then some wretch- 
ed Moor would crawl out of a cave or glen, whither 
he had fled for refuge ; for in the retreat, many of 
the horsemen had abandoned their steeds, thrown 
away their armor, and clambered up the cliffs, 
where they could not be pursued by the christian 
cavalry. 



* Cura de los Palacios. Ubi sup. 



The Moorish army had sallied forth from Ronda, 
amidst shouts and acclamations ; but wailings were 
heard within its walls, as the alcayde and his broken 
band returned without banner or trumpet, and hag- 
gard with famine and fatigue. The tidings of their 
disaster had preceded them, borne by the fugitives 
of the army. No one ventured to speak to the stern 
Hamet el Zegri, as he entered the city ; for they saw 
a dark cloud gathered upon his brow. 

It seemed (says the pious Antonio Agapida) as if 
heaven meted out this defeat in exact retribution for 
the ills inflicted upon the christian warriors in the 
heights of Malaga. It was equally signal and dis- 
astrous. Of the brilliant array of Moorish chivalry, 
which had descended so confidently into Andalusia, 
not more than two hundred escaped. The choicest 
troops of the frontier were either taken or destroyed ; 
the Moorish garrisons enfeebled ; and many alcaydes 
and cavaliers of noble lineage carried into captivity, 
v\ho were afterwards obliged to redeem themselves 
with heavy ransoms. 

This was called the battle of Lopera, and was 
fought on the 17th of September, 1483. Ferdinand 
and Isabella were at Vittoria in old Castile, when 
they received news of the victory, and the standards 
taken from the enemy. They celebrated the event 
with processions, illuminations, and other festivities. 
Ferdinand sent to the marques of Cadiz the royal 
raiment which he had worn on that day, and con- 
ferred on him, and on all those who should inherit 
his title, the privilege of wearing royal robes on our 
Lady's day, in September, in commemoration of this 
victory.* 

Queen Isabella was equally mindful of the great 
services of Don Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero. 
Besides many encomiums and favors, she sent to his 
wife the royal vestments and robe of brocade which 
she had worn on the same day, to be worn by her, 
during her life, on the anniversary of that battle.* 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



OF THE RECEPTION AT COURT OF THE COUNT DE 
C.iMBRA AND THE ALCAYDE DE LOS DONZELES. 

In the midst of the bustle of warlike affairs, the 
worthy chronicler Fray Antonio Agapida pauses 
to note, with curious accuracy, the distinguished 
reception given to the count de Cabra and his 
nephew, the alcayde de los Donzeles, at the stately 
and ceremonious court of the Castilian sovereigns, 
in reward for the capture of the Moorish king Bo- 
abdil. The court (he observes) was held at the time 
in the ancient Moorish palace of the city of Cordova, 
and the ceremonials were arranged l)y that vener- 
able prelate Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, bishop 
of Toledo and grand cardinal of Spain. 

It was on Wednesday, the 14th of October, (con- 
tinues the precise Antonio Agapida,) that the good 
count de Cabra, according to arrangement, appeared 
at the gate of Cordova. Here he was met by the 
grand cardinal, and the duke of Villahermosa, illegiti- 
mate brother of the king, together with many of the 
first grandees and prelates of the kingdom. By this 
august train was he attended to the palace, amidst 
triumphant strains of martial music, and the shouts 
of a prodigious multitude. 

When the count arrived in the presence of the 
sovereigns, who were seated in state on a dais or 
raised part of the hall of audience, they both arose. 
The king advanced exactly five steps toward the 



* Mariana, Abarca, Zurita, Pulgar, &c. 



206 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



count, who knelt and kissed his majesty's hand ; but 
the king- would not receive him as a mere vassal, but 
embraced him with affectionate cordiality. The 
queen also advanced two steps, and received the 
count with a countenance full of sweetness and be- 
nignity : after he had kissed her hand, the king and 
queen returned to their thrones, and, cushions being 
brought, they ordered the count de Cabra to be 
seated in their presence. This last circumstance is 
written in large letters, and followed by several 
notes of admiration, in the manuscript of the worthy 
Fray Antonio Agapida, who considers the extraor- 
dinary privilege of sitting in presence of the Catholic 
sovereigns an honor well worth fighting for. 

The good count took his seat at a short distance 
from the king, and near him was seated the duke of 
Najera, then the bishop of Palencia, then the count 
of Aguilar, the count Luna, and Don Gutierre de 
Cardonas, senior commander of Leon. 

On the side of the queen were seated the grand 
cardinal of Spain, the duke of Villahermosa, the 
count of Monte Rey, and the bishops of Jaen and 
Cuenca, each in the order in which they are named. 
The Infanta Isabella was prevented, by indisposition, 
from attending the ceremony. 

And now festive music resounded through the hall, 
and twenty ladies of the queen's retinue entered 
magnificently attired ; upon which twenty youthful 
cavaliers, very gay and galliard in their array, step- 
ped forth, and, each seeking his fair partner, they 
commenced a stately dance. The court in the mean 
time, (observes Fray Antonio Agapida,) looked on 
with lofty and becoming gravity. 

When the dance was concluded, the king and 
queen rose to retire to supper, and dismissed the 
count with many gracious expressions. He was then 
attended by all the grandees present to the palace 
of the grand cardinal, where they partook of a sump- 
tuous banquet. 

On the following Saturday, the alcayde de los 
Donzeles was received, likewise, with great honors ; 
but the ceremonies were so arranged, as to be a de- 
gree less in dignity than those shown to his uncle ; 
the latter being considered the principal actor in this 
great achievement. Thus the grand cardinal and 
the duke of Villahermosa did not meet him at the 
gate of the city, but received him in the palace, and 
entertained him in conversation until summoned to 
the sovereigns. 

When the alcayde de los Donzeles entered the 
presence chamber, the king and queen rose from their 
chairs, but without advancing. They greeted him 
graciously, and commanded him to be seated next 
to the count de Cabra. 

The Infanta Isabella came forth to this reception, 
and took her seat beside the queen. When the court 
were all seated, the music again sounded through the 
hall, and the twenty ladies came forth as on the pre- 
ceding occasion, richly attired, but in different rai- 
ment. They danced, as before ; and the Infanta 
Isabella, taking a young Portuguese damsel for a 
partner, joined in the dance. When this was con- 
cluded, the king and queen dismissed the alcayde 
de los Donzeles with great courtesy and the coui-t 
broke up. 

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida here indulges 
in a long eulogy on the scrupulous discrimination of 
the Castilian court, in the distribution of its honors 
and rewards, by which means every smile, and gest- 
ure, and word of the sovereigns, had its certain 
value, and conveyed its equivalent of joy to the heart 
of the subject ; — a matter well worthy the study 
(says he) of all monarchs, who are too apt to dis- 
tribute honors with a heedless caprice that renders 
them of no avail. 



On the following Sunday, both the count de Cabra 
and the alcayde de los Donzeles were invited to sup 
with the sovereigns. The court that evening was 
attended by the highest nobility, arrayed with that 
cost and splendor for which the Spanish nobility of 
those days were renowned. 

Before supper, there was a stately and ceremoni- 
ous dance, befitting the dignity of so august a court. 
The king led forth the queen, in grave and graceful 
measure ; the count de Cabra was honored with the 
hand of the Infanta Isabella ; and the alcayde de los 
Donzeles danced with a daughter of the marques de 
Astorga. 

The dance being concluded, the royal party re- 
paired to the supper-table, which was placed on an 
elevated part of the saloon. Here, in full view of 
the court, the count de Cabra and the alcayde de los 
Donzeles supped at the same table with the king, 
the queen, and the Infanta. The royal family were 
served by the marques of Villena. The cupbearer 
to the king was his nephew Fadrigue de Toledo, son 
to the duke of Alva. Don Alexis de Estafliga had 
the honor of fulfilling that office for the queen, and 
Tello de Aguilar for the Infanta. Other cavahers of 
rank and distinction waited on the count and the 
alcayde de los Donzeles. At one o'clock, the two 
distinguished guests were dismissed with many cour- 
teous expressions by the sovereigns. 

Such (says Fray Antonio Agapida) were the great 
honors paid at our most exalted and ceremonious 
court, to these renowned cavaliers : but the gratitude 
of the sovereigns did not end here. A few days 
afterwards, they bestowed upon them large revenues 
for life, and others to descend to their heirs, with the 
privilege for them and their descendants to prefix the 
title of Don to their names. They gave them, more- 
over, as armorial bearings, a Moor's head crowned, 
with a golden chain round the neck, in a sanguine 
field, and twenty-two banners round the margin of 
the escutcheon. Their descendants, of the houses 
of Cabra and Cordova, continue to bear these arms 
at the present day, in memorial of the victory of 
Lucena and the capture of Boabdil el Chico.* 



CHAPTER XXV. 



HOW THE M.iVRQUES OF CADIZ CONCERTED TO 
SURPIUSE ZAHAR.\, AND THE RESULT OF HIS 
ENTERPRISE. 

The valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques 
of Cadiz, was one of the most vigilant of command- 
ers. He kept in his pay a number of converted 
Moors, to serve as adalides, or armed guides. These 
mongrel christians were of great service, in procuring 
information. Availing themselves of their Moorish 
character and tongue, they penetrated into the 
enemy's country, prowled about the castles and for- 
tresses, noticed the state of the walls, the gates and 
towers, the strength of their garrison, and the vigi- 
lance or negligence of their commanders. All this 
they reported minutely to the marques, who thus 
knew the state of every fortress upon the frontier, 
and when it might be attacked with advantage. Be- 
side the various towns and cities over which he held 
a feudal sway, he had always an armed force about 
him, ready for the field. A host of retainers fed in 



* The account given by Fray Antonio Agapida of this ceremo- 
nial, so characteristic of the old Spanish court, agrees in almost 
every particular with an ancient manuscript, made lip from the 
chronicles of the curate of los Palacios and other old Spanish 
writers. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



207 



his hall, who were ready to follow him to danger and 
death itself, without inquiring who or why they 
fought. The armories of his castles were supplied 
with helms and cuirasses and weapons of all kinds, 
ready burnished for use ; and his stables were tilled 
with hardy steeds, that could stand a mountain 
scamper. 

The marques was aware that the late defeat of the 
Moors on the banks of the Lopera, had weakened 
their whole frontier ; for many of the castles and for- 
tresses had lost their alcaydes, and their choicest 
troops. He sent out his war-hounds, therefore, upon 
the range to ascertain where a successful blow might 
be struck ; and they soon returned, with word that 
Zahara was weakly garrisoned and short of pro- 
visions. 

This was the very fortress, which, about two years 
before, had been stormed by Muley Aben Hassan; 
and its capture had been the first blow of this event- 
ful war. It had ever since remained a thorn in the 
side of Andalusia. All the christians had been car- 
ried away captive, and no civil population had been 
introduced in their stead. There were no women 
or children in the place. It was kept up as a mere 
military post, commanding one of the most important 
passes of the mountains, and was a strong-hold of 
Moorish marauders. The marques was animated 
by the idea of regaining this fortress for his sov- 
ereigns, and wresting from the old Moorish king 
this boasted trophy of his prowess. He sent missives 
therefore to the brave Luis Fernandez Puerto Car- 
rero, who had distinguished himself in the late vic- 
tory, and to Juan Almaraz, captain of the men-at- 
arms of the Holy Brotherhood, informing them of 
his designs, and inviting them to meet him with their 
iorces on the banks of the Gaudalete. 

It was on the day (says Fray Antonio Agapida) of 
the glorious apostles St. Simon and Judas, the twen- 
ty-eighth of October, in the year of grace one thou- 
sand four hundred and eighty-three, that this chosen 
band of christian soldiers assembled suddenly and 
secretly at the appointed place. Their forces, when 
united, amounted to six hundred horse and fifteen 
hundred foot. Their gathering place was at the en- 
trance of the defile leading to Zahara. That ancient 
town, renowned in Moorish warfare, is situated in 
one of the roughest passes of the Serrania de Ronda. 
It is built round the craggy cone of a hill, on the lofty 
summit of which is a strong castle. The country 
around is broken into deep barrancas or ravines, 
some of which approach its very walls. The place 
had until recently lieen considered impregnable ; but 
(as the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida observes) the 
walls of impregnable fortresses, like the virtue of 
self-confident saints, have their weak points of attack. 

The marques of Cadiz advanced with his little 
army in the dead of the night, marching silently into 
the deep and dark defiles of the mountains, and 
stealing up the ravines which extended to the walls 
of the town. Their approach was so noiseless, that 
the Moorish sentinels upon the walls heard not a 
voice or a footfall. The marques was accompanied 
by his old escalador, Ortega de Prado, who had dis- 
tinguished himself at the scaling of Alhama. This 
hardy veteran was stationed, with ten men, furnished 
with scaling-ladders, in a cavity among the rocks, 
close to the walls. At a little distance, seventy men 
were hid in a ravine, to be at hand to second him. 
when he should have fixed his ladders. The rest of 
the troops were concealed in another ravine, com- 
manding a fair approach to the gate of the fortress. 
A shrewd and wary adalid, well acquainted with the 
place, was appointed to give signals ; and was so 
stationed, that he could be seen by the various par- 
ties in ambush, but was hidden from the garrison. 



The remainder of the night passed away in pro- 
found quiet. The Moorish sentinels could be heard 
tranquilly patrolling the walls, in perfect security. 
j The day dawned, and the rising sun began to shine 
against the lofty peaks of the Serrania de Ronda. 
The sentinels looked from their battlements over a 
savage but quiet mountain country, where not a hu- 
man being was stirring; they little dreamt of the 
mischief that lay lurking in every ravine and chasm 
of the rocks around them. Apprehending no dan- 
ger of surprise in broad day, the greater part of the 
soldiers abandoned the walls and towers, and de- 
scended into the city. 

By orders of the marques, a small body of light 
cavalry passed along the glen, and, turning round a 
point of rock, showed themselves before the town : 
they skirred the fields almost to the gates, as if by 
way of bravado, and to defy the garrison to a skir- 
mish. The Moors were not slow in replying to it. 
About seventy horse, and a number of foot who had 
guarded the walls, sallied forth impetuously, think- 
ing to make easy prey of these insolent marauders. 
The christian horsemen fled for the ravine ; the 
Moors pursued them down the hill, until they heard 
a great shouting and tuniult behind them. Looking 
round, they beheld their town assailed, and a scaling 
party mounting the walls sword in hand. Wheeling 
about, they galloped furiously for the gate ; the mar- 
ques of Cadiz and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero 
rushed forth at the same time with their ambuscade, 
and endeavored to cut them off; but the Moors suc- 
ceeded in throwing themselves within the walls. 

While Puerto Carrero stormed at the gate, the 
marques put spurs to his horse and galloped to the 
support of Ortega de Prado and his scaling party. 
He arrived at a moment of imminent peril, when the 
party was assailed by fifty Moors, armed with cui- 
rasses and lances, who were on the point of thrusting 
them from the walls. The marques sprang from his 
horse, mounted a ladder, sword in hand, followed 
by a number of his troops, and made a vigorous at- 
tack upon the enemy.* They were soon driven 
from the walls, and the gates and towers remained 
in possession of the christians. The Moors de- 
fended themselves for a short time in the streets, 
but at length took refuge in the castle, the walls of 
which were strong, and capable of holding out until 
relief should arrive. The marques had no desire to 
carry on a siege, and he had not provisions sufficient 
for many prisoners; he granted them, therefore, 
favorable terms. They were permitted, on leaving 
their arms behind them, to march out with as much 
of their effects as they could carry ; and it was 
stipulated that they should pass over to Barbary. 
The marques remained in the place until both town 
and castle were put in a perfect state of defence, 
and strongly garrisoned. 

Thus did Zahara return once more into possession 
of the christians, to the great confusion of old Muley 
Aben Hassan, who, having paid the penalty of his 
ill-timed violence, was now deprived of its vaunted 
fruits. The Castilian sovereigns were so gratified 
by this achievement of the valiant Ponce de Leon, 
that they authorized him thenceforth to entitle him- 
self duke of Cadiz and marques of Zahara. The 
warrior, however, was so proud of the original title, 
under which he had so often signalized himself, that 
he gave it the precedence, and always signed him- 
self, m.arques, duke of Cadiz. As the reader may 
have acquired the same predilection, we shall con- 
tinue to call him by his ancient title. 



* Cura de los Palacios, c. 68. 



208 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

OF THE FORTRESS OF ALH.\MA, AND HOW WISE- 
LY IT WAS GOVERNED BV THE COUNT DE 
TENDILLA. 

In this part of his chronicle, the worthy father 
Fray Antonio Agapida indulges in triumphant exul- 
tation over the downfall of Zahara : Heaven some- 
times speaks (says he) through the mouths of false 
prophets for the confusion of the wicked. By the 
fall of this fortress was the prediction of the santon 
of Granada in some measure fulfilled, that " the 
ruins of Zahara should fell upon the heads of the 
infidels." 

Our zealous chronicler scoffs at the Moorish al- 
cayde, who lost his fortress by surprise in broad day- 
light ; and contrasts the vigilance of the christian 
governor of Alhaina, the town taken in retaliation 
for the storming of Zahara. 

The important post of Alhama was at this time 
confided by king Ferdinand to Don Inigo Lopez de 
Mendoza, count of Tendilla, a cavalier of noble 
blood, brother to the grand cardinal of Spain. He 
had been instructed by the king, not merely to main- 
tain his post, but also to make sallies and lay waste 
the surrounding country. His fortress was critically 
situated. It was within seven leagues of Granada, 
and at no great distance from the warlike city of 
Loxa. It was nestled in the lap of the mountains, 
commanding the high-road to Malaga and a view 
over the extensive vega. Thus situated, in the heart 
of the enemy's countiy, surrounded by foes ready to 
assail him. and a rich country for him to ravage, it 
behoved this cavalier to be for ever on the alert. 
He was in fact an experienced veteran, a shrewd 
and wary officer, and a commander amazingly 
prompt and fertile in expedients. 

On assuming the command, he found that the gar- 
rison consisted but of one thousand men, horse and 
foot. They were hardy troops, seasoned in rough 
mountain campaigning, but reckless and dissolute, 
as soldiers are apt to be when accustomed to preda- 
tory warfare. They would fight hard for booty, and 
then gamble it heedlessly away, or squander it in 
licentious revelling. Alhama abounded with hawk- 
ing, sharping, idle hangers-on, eager to profit by 
the vices and follies of the garrison. The soldiers 
were oftener gambling and dancing beneath the 
walls, than keeping watch upon the battlements ; 
and nothing was heard, from morning till night, 
but the noisy contest of cards and dice, mingled 
with the sound of the bolero or fandango, the 
drowsy strumming of the guitar, and the rattling 
of the castanets ; while often the whole was inter- 
rupted by the loud brawl, and fierce and bloody 
contest. 

The count of Tendilla set himself vigorously to 
reform these excesses ; he knew that laxity of morals 
is generally attended by neglect of duty, and that 
the least breach of discipline in the exposed situa- 
tion of his fortress might be fatal. " Here is but a 
handful of men," said he ; " it is necessary that each 
man should be a hero." 

He endeavored to awaken a proper ambition in 
the minds of his soldiers, and to instil into them the 
high principles of chivalry. " A just war," he ob- 
served, " is often rendered wicked ana disastrous by 
the manner in which it is conducted ; for the right- 
eousness of the cause is not sufficient to sanction the 
profligacy of the means, and the want of order and 
subordination among the troops may bring ruin and 
disgrace upon the best concerted plans." But we 
cannot describe the character and conduct of this 
renowned commander in more forcible language than 



that of Fray Antonio Agapida, excepting that the 
pious father places in the foreground of his virtues 
his hatred of the Moors. " The count de Tendilla," 
says he, " was a mirror of christian knighthood — 
watchful, abstemious, chaste, devout, and thoroughly 
filled with the spirit of the cause. He labored in- 
cessantly and strenuously for the glory of the faith, 
and the prosperity of their most catholic majesties ; 
and, above all, he hated the infidels with a pure and 
holy hatred. This worthy cavalier discountenanced 
all idleness, rioting, chambering, and wantonness 
among his soldiery. He kept them constantly to the 
exercise of amis, making them adroit in the use of 
their weapons and management of their steeds, and 
prompt for the field at a moment's notice. He per- 
mitted no sound of lute or harp, or song, or other 
loose minstrelsy, to be heard in his fortress, debauch- 
ing the ear and softening the valor of the soldier ; no 
other music was allowed but the wholesome rolling 
of the drum and braying of the trumpet, and such 
like spirit-stirring instruments as fill the mind with 
thoughts of iron war. All wandering minstrels, 
sharping pedlars, sturdy trulls, and other camp 
trumpei-y, were ordered to pack up their baggage, and 
were drummed out of the gates of Alhama. In place 
of such lewd rabble, he introduced a train of holy 
friars to inspirit his people by exhortation, and prayer, 
and choral chanting, and to spur them on to fight the 
good fight of faith. All games of chance were pro- 
hibited, except the game of war ; and this he labored, 
by vigilance and vigor, to reduce to a game of cer- 
tainty. Heaven smiled upon the efforts of this right- 
eous cavalier. His men became soldiers at all points, 
and terrors to the Moors. The good count never set 
forth on a ravage, without observing the rites of con- 
fession, absolution, and communion, and obliging his 
followers to do the same. Their banners were blessed 
by the holy friars whom he maintained in Alhama ; 
and in this way success was secured to his arms, and 
he was enabled to lay waste the land of the heathen. 
The fortress of Alhama (continues Fray Antonio 
Agapida) overlooked from its lofty site a great part 
of the fertile vega, watered by the Cazin and the 
Xenel : from this he made frequent sallies, sweeping 
away the flocks and herds from the pasture, the la- 
borer from the field, and the convoy from the road ; 
so that it was said by the Moors, that a beetle could 
not crawl across the vega without being seen by 
count Tendilla. The peasantry, therefore, were fain 
to betake themselves to watch-towers and fortified 
hamlets, where they shut up their cattle, garnered 
their corn, and sheltered their wives and children. 
Even there they were not safe ; the count would 
storm these rustic fortresses with fire and sword ; 
make captives of their inhabitants ; carry off the corn, 
the oil, the silks, and cattle ; and leave the ruins 
blazing and smoking, within the very sight of Granada. 
" It was a pleasing and refreshing sight," contin- 
ues the good father, " to behold this pious knight and 
his followers returning from one of these crusades, 
leaving the rich land of the infidel in smoking deso- 
lation behind the.Ti ; to behold the long line of mules 
and asses, laden with the plunder of the Gentiles — 
the hosts of captive Moors, men, women, and chil- 
dren—droves of sturdy beeves, lowing kine, and 
bleating sheep ; all winding up the steep acclivity 
to the gates of Alhama, pricked on by the Catholic 
soldiery. His garrison thus thrived on the fat of the 
land and the spoil of the infidel ; nor was he unmind- 
ful of the pious fathers, whose blessings crowned his 
enterprises with success. A large portion of the 
spoil was always dedicated to the church ; and the 
good friars were ever ready at the gate to hail him 
on his return, and receive the share allotted them. 
Beside these allotments, he made many votive offer- 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



209 



ngs, either in time of peril or on the eve of a foray ; 
mcl the chapels of Alhama were resplendent with 
:halices, crosses, and other pn^cious gifts made by 
his Catholic cavalier." 

Thus eloquently does the venerable Fray Antonio 
\gapicla dilate in praise of the good count de Ten- 
lilla ; and other historians of equal veracity, but less 
mction, agree in pronouncing him one of the ablest 
if Spanish generals. So terrible in fact did he be- 
ome in the land, that the Moorish peasantry could 
lot \enture a league from Granada or Loxa to labor 
n the fields, without peril of being carried into cap- 
ivity. The people of Granada clamored against 
(luley Aben Hassan, for suffering his lands to be 
hus outraged and insulted, and demanded to have 
his bold marauder shut up in his fortress. The old 
lonarch was roused by their remonstrances. He 
ent forth powerful troops of horse, to protect the 
ountry, during the season that the husbandmen 
;ere abroad in the fields. These troops patrolled 
1 formidable squadrons in the neighborhood of Al- 
ama, keeping strict watch upon its gates ; so that it 
■as impossible for the christians to make a sally, 
ithout being seen and intercepted. 
While Alhama was thus blockaded by a roving 
irce of Moorish cavalry, the inhabitants were awak- 
aed one night by a tremendous crash, that shook 
le fortress to its foundations. The garrison flew to 
rms, supposing it some assault of the enemy. The 
larm pro\ed to have been caused by the rupture of 
portion of the wall, which, undermined by heavy 
lins, had suddenly given way, leaving a large chasm 
iwning towards the plain. 

The count de Tendilla was for a time in great 
nxiety. Should this breach be discovered by the 
lockading horsemen, they would arouse the cjuntry, 
iranada and Loxa would pour out an overwhelming 
irce, and they would find his walls ready sapped for 
n assault. In this fearful emergency, the count dis- 
layed his noted talent for expedients. He ordered 
quantity of linen cloth to be stretched in front of 
le breach, painted in imitation of stone, and indent- 
i with bnttlements, so as at a distance to resemble 
ie other parts of the wall : behind this screen he 
mployed workmen, day and night, in repairing the 
acture. No one w^as permitted to lea\'e the fortress, 
!St information of its defenceless plight should be 
arried to the Moor. Light squadrons of the enemy 
'ere seen hovering about the plain, but never ap- 
roached near enough to discover the deception ; 
nd thus, in the course of a few days, the wall was 
;built stronger than before. 

There was another expedient of this shrewd vet- 
ran, which greatly excites the marvel of Agapida. 
It happened," he observes, " that this Catholic 
avalier at one time was destitute of gold and silver, 
'herewith to pay the wages of his troops ; and the 
Dldiers murmured greatly, seeing that they had not 
le means uf purchasing necessaries from the people 
f the town. In this dilemma, what does this most 
igacious commander? He takes me a number of 
ttle morsels of paper, on the which he inscribes 
arious sums, large and small, according to the 
ature of the case, and signs me them with his own 
and and name. These did he give to the soldiery, 
1 earnest of their pay. • How ! ' you will say, ' are 
jldiers to be paid with scraps of paper ? ' Even so, 
answer, and well paid too, as I will presently make 
lanifest: lor the good count issued a proclamation, 
rdering the inhabitants of Alhama to take these 
lorsels of paper for the full amount thereon inscribed, 
remising to redeem them at a future time with 
iver and gold, and threatening severe punishment 
) all who should refuse. The people, having full 
onfidence in his word, and trusting that he would 
14 



be as willing to perform the one promise as he cer- 
tainly was able to perform the other, took those 
curious morsels of paper without hesitation or demur. 
Thus, by a subtle and most miraculous kind of al- 
chymy, did this Catholic cavalier turn worthless 
paper into precious gold, and make his late im- 
poverished garrison abound in money ! " 

It is but just to add, that the count de Tendilla 
redeemed his promises, like a loyal knight ; and this 
miracle, as it appeared in the eyes of Fray Antonio 
Agapida, is the first instance on record of paper 
money, which has since inundated the civilized world 
with unbounded opulence. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



FORAY OF CHRISTI.\N KN'IGHT.S INTO THE 
TERRITORY OF THE MOORS. 

The Spanish cavaliers who had survived the mem- 
orable massacre among the mountains of Malaga, 
although they had repeatedly avenged the death of 
their companions, yet could not forget the horror and 
humiliation of their defeat. Nothing would satisfy 
them but to undertake a second expedition of the 
kind, to carry fire and sword throughout a wide part 
of the Moorish territories, and to leave all those re- 
gions which had triumphed in their disaster a black 
and burning monument of their vengeance. Their 
wishes accorded with the policy of the king, who 
desired to lay waste the country and destroy the re- 
sources of the enemy ; every assistance was there- 
fore given to promote and accomplish their enter- 
prise. 

In the spring of 1484, the ancient city of Antiquera 
again resounded with arms ; numbers of the same 
cavaliers who had assembled there so gaily the pre- 
ceding year, again came wheeling into the gates 
with their steeled and shining warriors, btrt with a 
more dark and solemn brow than on that disastrous 
occasion, for they had the recollection of their 
slaughtered friends present to their minds, whose 
deaths they were to avenge. 

In a little while there was a chosen force of six 
thousand horse and twelve thousand foot assembled 
in Antiquera, many of them the very flower of Span- 
ish chivalr)', troops of the established military and 
religious orders, and of the Holy Brotherhood. 

Every precaution had been taken to furnish this 
army with all things needful for its extensive and 
jierilous inroad. Numerous surgeons accompanied 
it, who were to attend upon all the sick and wound- 
ed, without charge, being paid for their services by 
the queen. Isabella, also, in her considerate hu- 
manity, provided six spacious tents furnished with 
beds and all things needful for the wounded and in- 
firm. These continued to be used in all great 
expeditions throughout the war, and were called 
the Queen's Hospital. The worthy father. Fray 
Antonio Agapida, vaunts this benignant provision 
of the queen, as the first introduction of a regular 
camp hospital in campaigning service. 

Thus thoroughly prepared, the cavaliers issued 
forth from Antiquera in splendid and terrible array, 
but with less exulting confidence and vaunting os- 
tentation than on their former foray ; and this was 
the order of the aririy. Don Alonzo de .i^guilar led 
the advance guard, accompanied by Don Diego 
Fernandez de Cordova, the alcayde de los Donzeles, 
and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, count of Palma, 
with their household troops. They were followed 
by Juan de Merlo, Juan de Almara, and Carlos do 



210 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Biezman, of the Holy Brotherhood, with the men-at- 
arms of their captaincies. 

The second battalion was commanded by the 
marques of Cadiz and the Master of Santiago, with 
the cavaliers of Santiago and the troops of the house 
of Ponce Leon : with these also went the senior 
commander of Calatrava and the knights of that 
ordar, and various other cavaliers and their re- 
tainers. 

The right wing of this second battalion was led 
by Gonsalvo de Cordova, afterwards renowned as 
grand captain of Spain ; the left wing, by Diego Lo- 
pez de Avila. They were accompanied by several 
distinguished cavaliers, and certain captains of the 
Holy Brotherhood, with their men-at-arms. 

The duke of Medina Sidonia and the count de 
Cabra commanded the third battalion, with the 
troops of their respective houses. They were ac- 
companied by other commanders of note, with their 
forces. 

The rear guard was brought up by the senior 
commander and knights of Alcantara, followed by 
the Andalusian chivaliy from Xerez, Ecija, and Car- 
mona. 

Such was the army that issued forth from the gates 
of Antiquera, on one of the most extensive talas, or 
devastating inroads, that ever laid waste the king- 
dom of Granada. 

The army entered the Moorish territory by the 
way of Alora, destroying all the cornfields, vineyards, 
and orchards, and plantations of olives, round that 
city. It then proceeded through the rich valleys and 
fertile uplands of Coin, Cazarabonela, Almexia, and 
Cartama ; and in ten days, all those fertile regions 
were a smoking and frightful desert. From hence 
it pursued its slow and destructive course, like the 
stream of lava of a volcano, through the regions of 
Papiana and Alhendin, and so on to the vega of 
Malaga, laying waste the groves of olives and al- 
monds, and the fields of grain, and destroying every 
green thing. The Moors of some of these places 
interceded in vain for their groves and fields, offering 
to deliver up their cliristian captives. One part of 
the army blockaded the towns, while the other rav- 
aged the surrounding country. Sometimes the 
Moors sallied forth desperately to defend their prop- 
erty, but were driven back to their gates with slaugh- 
ter, and their suburbs pillaged and burnt. It was 
an awful spectacle at night to behold the volumes 
of black smoke mingled with lurid flames that rose 
from the burning suburbs, and the women on the 
walls of the town wringing their hands and shrieking 
at the desolation of their dwellings. 

The destroying army, on arriving at the sea-coast, 
found vessels Iving off shore laden with all kinds of 
provisions and munitions for its use, which had been 
sent from Seville and Xerez : it was thus enabled to 
continue its desolating career. Advancing to the 
neighborhood of Malaga, it was bravely assailed by 
the Moors of that city, and there was severe skir- 
mishing for a whole day ; but while the main part 
of the army encountered the enemy, the rest rav- 
aged the whole vega and destroyed all the mills. 
As the object of the expedition was not to capture 
places, but merely to burn, ravage, and destroy, the 
host, satisfied with the mischief they had done in 
the vega, turned their backs upon Malaga, and again 
entered the mountains. They passed by Coin, and 
through the regions of Allazayna, and Gatero, and 
Alhaurin ; all which were likewise desolated. In 
this way did they make the circuit of that chain of 
rich and verdant valleys, the glory of those mount- 
ains and the pride and delight of the Moors. For 
forty days did they continue on like a consuming 
fire, leaving a smoking and howling waste to mark 



their course, until, weai-y with the work of destruc- 
tion, and having fully sated their revenge for the 
massacre of the Axarquia, they returned in triumph 
to the meadows of Antiquera. 

In the month of June, king Ferdinand took com- 
mand in person of this destructive army ; he in- 
creased its force, and added to its means of mischief 
several lombards and other heavy artillery, intended 
for the battering of towns, and managed by engi- 
neers from France and Germany. With these, the 
marques of Cadiz assured the king, he would soon 
be able to reduce the Moorish fortresses. They were 
only calculated for defence against the engines an- 
ciently used in warfare. Their walls and towers 
were high and thin, depending for security on their 
rough and rocky situations. Tlie stone and iron 
balls thundered from the lombards would soon tum- 
ble them in ruins upon the heads of their defenders. 

The fate of Alora speedily proved the truth of this 
opinion. It was strongly posted on a rock washed 
by a river. The artillery soon battered down two 
of the towers and a part of the wall. The Moors 
were thrown into consternation at the vehemence 
of the assault, and the effect of those tremendous en- 
gines upon their vaunted bulwarks. The roaring of 
the artillery and the tumbling of the walls terrifiec 
the women, who beset the alcayde with vociferous 
supplications to surrender. The place was given up 
on the 2oth of June, on condition that the inhabit- 
ants might depart with their effects. The people 
of Malaga, as yet unacquainted with the power of 
this battering ordnance, were so incensed at those 
of Alora for what they considered a tame surrender 
that they would not admit them into their city. 

A similar fate attended the town of Setenil, bui 
on a lofty rock and esteemed impregnable. Manj 
times had it been besieged under former christiar 
kings, but never had it been taken. Even now, foi 
several d.ays the artillery was directed against i 
without effect, and many of the cavaliers murmurec 
at the marques of Cadiz for having counselled thi 
king to attack this unconquerable place.* 

On the same night that these reproaches were ut- 
tered, the marques directed the artillery himself: h( 
levelled the lombards at the bottom of the walls, ant 
at the gates. In a little while, the gates were bat- 
tered to pieces, a great breach was effected in thi 
walls, and the Moors were fain to capitulate. Twenty- 
four christian captives, who had been taken in th( 
defeat of the mountains of Malaga, were rescuet 
from the dungeons of this fortress, and hailed th( 
marques of Cadiz as their deliverer. 

Needless is it to mention the capture of variou: 
other places, which surrendered without waiting t( 
be attacked. The Moors had always shown grea 
bravery and perseverance in defending their towns 
they were formidable in their sallies and skirmishes 
and patient in enduring hunger and thirst when be 
sieged ; but this terrible ordnance, which demolishet 
their walls with such ease and rapidity, overwhelmei 
them with confusion and dismay, and rendered vaii 
all resistance. King Ferdinand was so struck witl 
the effect of this artillery, that he ordered the num 
ber of lombards to be increased ; and these poten 
engines had henceforth a great influence on the for 
tunes of this war. 

The last operation of this year, so disastrous t( 
the Moors, was an inroad by king Ferdinand, in th 
latter part of summer, into the vega, in which h 
ravaged the country, burnt two villages near to Gra 
nada, and destroyed the mills near the very gates o 
the city. 

Old Muley Aben Hassan was overwhelmed witl 

* Cura de los Palaeios. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



211 



dismay at this desolation, wiiich, during the whole 
year, had been raging throughout his territories, and 
IkkI now reached to the walls of his capital. His 
tierce spirit was brol-;en by misfortunes and infirmity ; 
: offered to purchase a peace, and to hold his 
crown as a tributary vassal. Ferdinand would listen 
to no propositions ; the absolute conquest of Gra- 
nada was the great object of this war, and he was 
resolved never to rest content without its complete 
fulfilment. Having supplied and strengthened the 
garrisons of the places he had taken in the heart of 
the Moorish territories, he enjoined their commanders 
to render every assistance to the younger Moorish 
king, in the civil war against his father. He then 
returned with his army to Cordova, in great triumph, 
closing a series of ravaging campaigns, that had 
filled the kingdom of Granada with grief and con- 
sternation. 



CHAPTER XXVnil. 



ATTEMPT OF EL ZAGAL TO SURPRISE BOABDIL 
IN ALMERIA. 

During this year of sorrow and disaster to the 
Moors, the younger king Boabdil, most truly called 
the unfortunate, held a diminished and feeble court 
in the maritime city of Ahiieria. He retained little 
more than the name of king, and was supported in 
even this shadow of royalty, by the countenance and 
treasures of the Castilian sovereigns. Still he trust- 
ed, that, in the fluctuation of events, the inconstant 
nation might once more return to his standard, and 
replace him on the throne of the Alhambra. 

His mother, the high-spirited sultana Ayxa la 
Horra, endeavored to rouse him from this passive 
state. " It is a feeble mind," said she, "that waits 
for the turn of fortune's wheel ; the brave mind 
seizes upon it, and turns it to its purpose. Take the 
field, and you may drive danger before you ; remain 
cowering at home, and it besieges you in your dwell- 
ing. By a bold enterprise you may regain your 
splendid throne in Granada ; by passive forbearance, 
you will forfeit even this miserable throne in Al- 
meria." 

Boabdil had not the force of soul to follow these 
courageous counsels, and in a little time the evils his 
mother had predicted fell upon him. 

Old Muley Aben Hassan was almost extinguished 
by age and infirmity. He had nearly lost his sight, 
and was completely bedridden. His brother Abdal- 
lah, surnamed El Zagal, or the valiant, the same 
who had assisted in the massacre of the Spanish 
chivalry among the mountains of Malaga, was com- 
mander-in-chief of the Moorish armies, and gradually 
took upon himself most of the cares of sovereignty. 
Among othir things, he was particularly zealous in 
espousing his brother's quarrel with his son ; and he 
prosecuted it with such vehemence, that many af- 
firmed there was something more than mere fra- 
ternal sympathy at the bottom of his zeal. 

The disasters and disgraces inflicted on the coun- 
try by the christians during this year, had wounded 
the national feelings of the people of Almeria ; and 
many had felt indignant that Boabdil should remain 
passive at such a time, or rather, should appear to 
make a common cause with the enemy. His uncle 
Abdallah diligently fomented this feeling, by his 
agents. The same arts were made use of, that had 
been successful in Granada. Boabdil was secretly 
but actively denounced by the alfaquis as an apos- 
tate, leagued with the christians against his country 
and his early faith ; the affections of the populace 



and soldiery were gradually alienated from him, and 
a deep conspiracy concerted for his destruction. 

In the month of February, 1485, El Zagal sud- 
denly appeared before Almeria, at the head of a 
troop of horse. The alfaquis were prepared for his 
arrival, and the gates were thrown open to him. He 
entered with his band, and galloped to the citadel. 
The alcayde would have made resistance ; but the 
garrison put him to death, and received El Zagal 
with acclamations. El Zagal rushed through the 
apartments of the Alcazar, but he sought in vain for 
Boabdil. He found the sultana Ayxa la Horra in 
one of the saloons, with Ben Ahagete, a younger 
brother of the monarch, a valiant Abencerrage, and 
several attendants, who rallied round them to pro- 
tect them. " Where is the traitor Boabdil ? " ex- 
claimed El Zagal. " I know no traitor more per- 
fidious than thyself," exclaimed the intrepid sultana ; 
" and I trust my son is in safety, to take vengeance 
on thy treason." The rage of El Zagal was without 
bounds, when he learnt that his intended victim had 
escaped. In his fury he slew the prince Ben Aha- 
gete, and his followers fell upon and massacred the 
Abencerrage and attendants. As to the proud sultana, 
she was borne away prisoner, and loaded with revil- 
ings, as having upheld her son in his rebellion, and 
fomented a civil war. 

The unfortunate Boabdil had been apprized of his 
danger by a faithful soldier, just in time to make his 
escape. Throwing himself on one of the fleetest 
horses in his stables, and followed by a handful of 
adherents, he had galloped in the confusion out ol 
the gates of Almeria. Several of the cavalry of El 
Zagal, who were stationed without the walls, per- 
ceived his flight, and attempted to pursue him ; their 
horses were jaded with travel, and he soon left them 
far behind. But, whither was he to fly? Every 
fortress and castle in the kingdom of Granada was 
closed against him ; he knew not whom among the 
Moors to trust, for they had been taught to detest 
him as a traitor and an apostate. He had no al- 
ternative but to seek refuge among the christians, 
his hereditary enemies. With a heavy heart, he 
turned his horse's head towards Cordova. He had 
to lurk, like a fugitive, through a part of his own do- 
minions ; nor did he feel himself secure, until he had 
passed the frontier, and beheld the mountain barrier 
of his country towering behind hiin. Then it was 
that he became conscious of his humiliating state — 
a fugitive from his throne, an outcast from his nation, 
a king without a kingdom. He smote his breast, in 
an agony of grief: "Evil indeed," exclaimed he, 
" was the day of my birth, and truly was I named 
El Zogoybi, the unlucky." 

He entered the gates of Cordova with downcast 
countenance, and with a train of but forty followers. 
The sovereigns were absent ; but the cavaliers of 
Andalusia manifested that sympathy in the misfor- 
tunes of the monarch, that becomes men of lofty and 
chivalrous souls. They received him with great dis- 
tinction, attended him with the utmost courtesy, and 
he was honorably entertained by the civil and mili- 
tary commanders of that ancient city. 

In the mean time. El Zagal put a new alcayde 
over Almeria, to govern in the name of his brother ; 
and, having strongly garrisoned the place, he repair- 
ed to Malaga, where an attack of the christians was 
apprehended. The young monarch being driven 
out of the land, and the old monarch blind and bed- 
ridden. El Zagal, at the head of the armies, was 
virtually the sovereign of Granada. The people * 
were pleased with having a new idol to look up to, 
and a new name to shout forth ; and El Zagal was 
hailed with acclamations, as the main hope of the 
nation. 



212 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

HOW KING FERDINAND COMMENCED ANOTHER 
CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE MOORS, AND HOW HE 
LAID SIEGE TO COIN AND CARTAMA. 

The great effect of the battering ordnance in 
demolishing the Moorish fortresses in the preceding 
year, induced Icing Ferdinand to procure a powerlul 
train for the campaign of 1485, in the course of 
which he resoh'ed to assault some of the most 
formidable holds of the enemy. An army of nine 
thousand cavalry and twenty thousand infantry 
assembled at Cordova, early in the spring; and the 
king took the field on the 5th of April. It had been 
determined in secret council, to attack the city of 
Malaga, that ancient and important sea-port, on 
which Granada depended for foreign aid and sup- 
plies. It was thought proper previously, however, 
to get possession of various towns and fortresses 
in the valleys of Santa Maria and Cartama, through 
which pass the roads to Malaga. 

The first place assailed was the town of Benama- 
quex. It had submitted to the Catholic sovereigns 
in the preceding year, but had since renounced its 
allegiance. King Ferdinand was enr.aged at the re- 
bellion of the inhabitants. " I will make their pun- 
ishment," said he, " a terror to others : they shall be 
loyal through force, if not through faith." The 
place was carried by storm : one hundred and eight 
of the principal inhabitants were either put to the 
sword or hanged on the battlements ; the rest were 
carried into captivity.* 

The towns of Coin and Cartama were besieged 
on the same day; the first by a division of the army 
led on by the marques of Cadiz, the second by an- 
other division commanded by Don Alonzo de .4gui- 
lar and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, the brave 
Senior of Palma. The king, with the rest of the 
army, remained posted between the two places, to 
render assistance to either division. The batteries 
opened upon both places at the same time, and the 
tliunder of the lombards was mutually heard from 
one camp to the other. The Moors made frequent 
sallies, and a valiant defence ; but they were con- 
founded by the tremendous uproar of the batteries, 
and the destruction of their walls. In the mean 
time, the alarm-fires gathered together the Moorish 
mountaineers of all the Serrania, who assembled in 
great numbers in the city of Monda, about a league 
n-om Coin. They made several attempts to enter 
the besieged town, but in vain ; they were each time 
intercepted and driven back by the christians, and 
were reduced to gaze at a distance in despair on the 
destruction of the place. While thus situated, there 
rode one day into Monda a fierce and haughty 
Moorish chieftain, at the head of a band of swarthy 
African horsemen : it was Hamet el Zegri, the fiery- 
spirited alcayde of Ronda, at the head of his band 
of Gomeres. He had not yet recovered from the 
rage and mortification of his defeat on the banks 
of the Lopera, m the disastrous foray of old Be.xir, 
when he had been obliged to steal back furtivelv to 
his mountains, with the loss of the bravest of his 
followers. He had ever since panted for revenge. 
He now rode among the host of warriors assembled 
at Monda. " Who .among you," cried he, " feels 
pity for the women and children of Coin, exposed to 
captivity and death ? Whoever he is, let him follow 
me, who am ready to die as a Moslem for tlie relief 
' of Moslems." So saying, he seized a white banner, 
and, waving it over his head, rode fortn from the 
town, followed by the Gomeres. Many of the war- 



riors, roused by his words and his example, spurred 
resolutely after his banner. The people of Coin, be- 
ing prepared for this attempt, sallied forth as they 
saw the white banner, and made an attack upon the 
christian camp ; and in the confusion of the mo- 
ment, Hamet and his followers galloped into the gates. 
This reinforcement animated the besieged, and 
Hamet exhorted them to hold out obstinately in de- 
fence of life and town. As the Gomeres were vet- 
eran warriors, the more they were attacked the 
harder they fought. 

At length, a great breach was made in the walls, 
and Ferdinand, who was impatient of the resistance 
of the place, ordered the duke of Naxera and the 
count of Benavente to enter with their troops ; and 
as their forces were not sufficient, he sent word to 
Luis de Cerda, duke of Medina Cell, to send a part 
of his people to their assistance. 

The feudal pride of the duke was roused at this 
demand. " Tell my lord the king," said the haughty 
grandee, " that I have come to succor him with my 
household troops: if my people are ordered to any 
place, 1 am to go with them ; but if I am to remain 
in the camp, my people must remain with me. For 
the troops cannot serve without their commander, 
nor their commander without his troops." 

The reply of the high-spirited grandee perplexed 
the cautious Ferdinand, who knew the jealous pride 
of his powerful nobles. In the mean time, the peo- 
ple of the camp, having made all preparations for 
the assault, were impatient to be led for%vard. Upon 
this, Pero Ruyz de Alarcon put himself at tlieir 
head, and, seizing their mantas, or portable bul- 
warks, and their other defences, they made a gallant 
assault, and fought their way in at the breach. The 
Moors were so overcome by the fury of their assault, 
that they retreated fighting to the square of the 
town. Pero Ruyz de Alarcon thought the place 
was carried, when suddenly Hamet and his Gomeres 
came scouring through the streets with wild war- 
cries, and fell furiously upon the christians. The 
latter were in their turn beaten back, and, while 
attacked in front by the Gomeres, were assailed by 
the inhabitants with all kinds of missiles from their 
roofs and windows. They at length gave way, and 
retreated through the breach. Pero Ruyz de Alar- 
con still maintained his ground in one of the prin- 
cipal streets — the few cavaliers that stood by him 
urged him to fly : " No," said he ; "I came here to 
fight, and not to fly." He was presently surrounded 
by the Gomeres ; his companions fled for their lives ; 
the last they saw of him, he was covered with 
wounds, but still fighting desperately for the fame 
of a good cavalier.* 

The resistance of the inhabitants, though aided 
by the valor of the Gomeres, was of no avail. The 
battering artillery of the christians demolished their 
walls; combustibles were thrown into their town, 
which set it on fire in various places ; and they were 
at length compelled to capitulate. They were per- 
mitted to depart with their effects, and the Gomeres 
with their arms. Hamet el Zegri and his African 
band sallied forth, and rode proudly through the 
christian camp; nor could the Spanish cavaliers 
refrain from regarding with admiration that 
haughty warrior and his devoted and dauntless 
followers. 

The capture of Coin was accompanied by that 
of Cartama : the fortifications of the latter were 
repaired and garrisoned ; but Coin, being too ex- 
tensive to be defended by a moderate force, its 
walls were demolished. The siege of these [jlaces 
struck such terror into the surrounding country. 



' Pulsar, Ganbay, Cura dc los Palacios. 



♦ Pulgar, part 3, cap. 42. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



213 



that the Moors of many of the neighboring towns 
abandoned their homes, and fied with such of 
their effects as they could carry away ; upon which 
the Idng gave orders to demolish their walls and 
towers. 

King Ferdinand now left his camp and his heavy 
artillery near Cartama, and proceeded with his 
lighter troops to reconnoitre Malaga. Uy this time, 
the secret plan of attack, arranged in the council of 
war at Cordova, was known to all the world. The 
vigilant warrior El Zagal had thrown himself into 
the place ; he h.ad put all the fortifications, which 
were of vast strength, into a state of defence ; and 
had sent orders to the alcaydes of the mountain 
town, to hasten with their forces to his assistance. 

The very day that Ferdinar.d appeared before the 
place, El Zagal sallied forth to receive him, at the 
head of a thousand cavalry, the choicest warriors of 
Granada. A hot skirmish took place among the gar- 
c'ens and olive-trees near the city. Many were killed 
on both sides ; and this gave the christians a sharp 
foretaste of what they might expect, if they attempt- 
ed to besiege the place. 

When the skirmish was over, the marques of Ca- 
diz had a private conference with the king. He rep- 
resented the difficulty of besieging Malaga with their 
present force, especially as their plans had been dis- 
covered and anticipated, and the whole country was 
marching over the mountains to oppose them. The 
marc|ues, who had secret intelligence irom all quar- 
ters, had received a letter from Juceph Xerife, a 
Moor of Ronda, of christian lineage, apprizing him 
of the situation of that important place and its gar- 
rison, which at that moment laid it open to attack ; 
and the marques was urgent with the king to seize 
upon this critical moment, and secure a jilace which 
was one of the most powerful Moorish fortresses on 
the frontiers, and in the hands of Hamet el Zegri 
had been the scourge of Andalusia. The good mar- 
ques had another motive for his advice, becoming of 
a true and loyal knight. In the deep dungeons •f 
Ronda languished several of his companions in arms, 
who had been captured in the defeat in the Axarquia. 
To break their chains, and restore thein to liberty 
and light, he felt to be his peculiar duty, as one of 
those who had most promoted that disastrous en- 
terprise. 

King Ferdinand listened to the advice of the mar- 
ques. He knew the importance of Ronda, which 
was considered one of the keys to the kingdom of 
Granada ; and he was disposed to punish the inhab- 
itants, for the aid they had rendered to the garrison 
of Coin. The siege of Malaga, therefore, was aban- 
doned for the present, and preparations made for a 
rapid and secret move against the city of Ronda. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



SIEGE OF RONDA. 



The bold Hamet el Zegri, the alcayde of Ronda, 
had returned sullenly to his strong-hold, after the 
surrender of Coin. He had fleshed his sword in 
battle with the christians, but his thirst for vengeance 
was still unsatisfied. Hamet gloried in the strength 
of his fortress, and the valor of his people. A fierce 
and warlike populace was at his command ; his sig- 
nal-fires couUl summon all the warriors of the Ser- 
rania ; his Gomeres almost subsisted on the spoils of 
Andalusia ; and in the rock on which his fortress was 
built, were hopeless dungeons, filled with christian 
captives, who had been carried off by these war- 
havi'ks of the mountains. 



Ronda was considered as impregnable. It was 
situated in the heart of wild and rugged mountains, 
and perched upon an isolated rock, crested by a 
strong citadel, with triple walls and towers. A deep 
ravine, or rather a perpendicular chasm of the rocks, 
of frightful depth, surrounded three parts of the city ; 
through this flowed the Rio Verde, or Green river. 
There were two suburbs to the city, fortified by 
walls and towers, and ahnost inaccessible, from the 
natural asperity of the rocks. Around this rugged 
city were deep rich valleys, sheltered by the mount- 
ains, refreshed by constant streams, abounding with 
grain and the most delicious fruits, and yielding ver- 
dant meadows, in which was reared a renownetl 
breed of horses, the best in the whole kingdom for a 
foray. 

Hamet el Zegri had scarcely returned to Ronda, 
when he received intelligence that the christian army 
was marching to the siege of Malaga, and orders 
from El Zagal to send troops to his assistance. 
Hamet sent a part of his garrison for that purpose ; 
in the mean time, he meditated an expedition to 
which he was stiinulated by pride and revenge. All 
Andalusia was now drained of its troops ; there was 
an opportunity therefore for an inroad, by which he 
might wipe out the disgrace of his defeat at the 
battle of Lopera. Apprehending no danger to his 
mountain city, now that the storm of war had passed 
down into the vega of Malaga, he left but a remnant 
of his garrison to man its walls, and putting himselt 
at the head of his band of Gomeres, swept down 
suddenly into the plains of ."Vndalusia. He careered, 
almost without resistance, over those vast campinas 
or pasture lands, which formed a part of the domains 
of the duke of Medina Sidonia. In vain the bells 
were rung, and the alarm-fires kindled — the band of 
Hamet had passed by, before any force could be as- 
sembled, and was only to be traced, like a hurricane, 
by the devastation it had made. 

Hamet regained in safety the Serrania de Ronda, 
exulting in his successful inroad. The mountain 
glens were filled with long droves of cattle and flocks 
of sheep, from the campinas of Medina Sidonia. 
There were mules, too, laden with the plunder of 
the villages ; and every warrior had some costly 
spoil of jewels, for his favorite mistress. 

As the Zegri drew near to Ronda, he was roused 
from his dream of triumph by the sound of heavy 
ordnance bellowing through the mountain defiles. 
His heart misgave him— he put spurs to his horse, 
and galloped in advance of his lagging cavalgada. 
As he proceeded, the noise of the ordnance in- 
creased, echoing from clift" to cliff. Spurring his 
horse up a craggy height which commanded an 
extensive view, he beheld, to his consternation, the 
country about Ronda white with the tents of a 
besieging army. The royal standard, displayed be- 
fore a proud encampment, showed that Ferdinand 
himself was present ; while the incessant blaze and 
thunder of artillery, and the \'oluines of overhang- 
ing smoke told the work of destruction that was 
going on. 

The royal army had succeeded in coming upon 
Ronda by surprise, during the absence of its alcayde 
and most of its garrison ; but its inhabitants were 
warlike, and defended themselves bravely, trusting 
that Hamet and his Gomeres would soon return to 
their assistance. 

The fancied strength of their bulwarks had been 
of little avail against the batteries of the besiegers. 
In the space of four days, three towers, and great 
masses of the walls which defended the suburbs, 
were battered down, and the suburbs taken and 
plundered. Lombards and other heavy ordnance 
were now levelled at the walls of the city, and 



214 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



stones and missiles of all kinds hurled into the 
streets. The very rock on which the city stood 
shook with the thunder of the artillery; and the 
christian captives, deep within its dungeons, hailed 
the sound as the promise of deliverance. 

When Hamet el Zegri beheld his city thus sur- 
rounded and assailed, he called upon his men to fol- 
low him, and make a desperate attempt to cut their 
way through to its relief. They proceeded stealthily 
through the mountains, until they came to the nearest 
heights above the christian camp. When night fell, 
and part of the army was sunk in sleep, they de- 
scended the rocks, and rushing suddenly upon the 
weakest part of tlie camp, endeavored to break their 
way through and gain the city. The camp was too 
strong to be forced ; they were driven back to the 
crags of the mountains, from whence they defended 
themselves by showering down darts and stones 
upon their pursuers. 

Hamet now lit alarm-fires about the heights : his 
standard was joined by the neighboring mountain- 
eers, and by troops from Malaga. Thus reinforced, 
he made repeated assaults upon the christians, cut- 
ting off all stragglers from the camp. All his at- 
tempts, however, to force his way into the city, were 
fruitless ; many of his bravest men were slain, and 
he was obliged to retreat into the fastnesses of the 
mountains. 

In the meanwhile, the distress of Ronda was 
hourly increasing. The marques of Cadiz, having 
possession of the suburos, was enabled to approach 
to the very foot of the perpendicular precipice rising 
from the river, on the summit of which the city is 
built. At the foot of this rock is a living fountain of 
limpid water, gushing into a great natural basin. A 
secret mine led down from within the city to this 
fountain by several hundred steps cut in the solid 
rock. From hence the city obtained its chief supply 
of water ; and these steps were deeply worn by the 
weary feet of Christian captives, employed in this 
painful labor. The marques of Cadiz discovered 
this subterranean passage, and directed his pioneers 
to countermine in the side of the rock : they pierced 
to the shaft, and, stopping it up, deprived the city 
of the benefit cf this precious fountain. 

While the brave marques of Cadiz was thus press- 
ing the siege with zeal, and glowing with the gener- 
ous thoughts of soon delivering his companions in 
arms from the Moorish dungeons, far other were the 
feelings of the alcayde Hamet el Zegri. He smote 
his breast and gnashed his teeth in impotent fury, as 
he beheld from the mountain cliffs the destruction of 
the city. Every thunder of the christian ordnance 
seemed to batter against his heart. He saw tower 
after tower tumbling by day, and at night the city 
blazed like a volcano. " They fired not merely 
stones from their ordnance," says a chronicler of 
the times, "but likewise great balls of iron, cast in 
moulds, which demolished every thing they struck." 
They threw also balls of tow, steeped in pitch and 
oil and gunpowder, which, when once on fire, were 
not to be extinguished, and which set the houses in 
flames. Great was the horror of the inhabitants :. 
they knew not where to fly for refuge : their houses 
were in a blaze, or shattered by the ordnance ; the 
streets were perilous from the falling ruins and the 
bounding balls, which dashed to pieces every thing 
they encountered. At night, the city looked like a 
fiery furnace ; the cries and wailings of the women 
were heard between the thunders of the ordnance, 
and reached even to the Moors on the opposite 
mountains, who answered them by yells of fury and 
despair. 

All hope of external succor being at an end, the 
inhabitants of Ronda were compelled to c;.pitulate. 



Ferdinand was easily prevailed upon to grant them 
favorable terms. The place was capable of longer 
resistance ; and he feared for the safety of his camp, 
as the forces were daily augmenting on the mount- 
ains, and making frequent assaults. The inhabitants 
were permitted to depart with their effects, either 
to Barbary or elsewhere ; and those who chose to 
reside in Spain, had lands assigned them, and were 
indulged in the practice of their religion. 

No sooner did the place surrender, than detach- 
ments were sent to attack the Moors who hovered 
about the neighboring mountains. Hamet el Zegri, 
however, did not remain to make a fruitless battle. 
He gave up the game as lost, and retreated with his 
Gomeres, filled with grief and rage, but trusting to 
fortune to give him future vengeance. 

The first care of the good marques of Cadiz, on 
entering Ronda, was to deliver his unfortunate com- 
panions in arms from the dungeons of the fortress. 
What a difference in their looks from the time when, 
flushed with health and hope, and arrayed in military 
pomp, they had sallied forth upon the mountain 
foray ! Many of them were almost naked, with irons 
at their ankles, and beards reaching to their waists. 
Their meeting with the marques was joyful ; yet it 
had the look of grief, for their joy was mingled with 
many bitter recollections. There was an immense 
number of other captives, among whom were sever- 
al young men of noble families, who, with filial 
piety, had surrendered themselves prisoners in place 
of their fathers. 

The captives were all provided with mules, and sent 
to the queen at Cordova. The humane heart of Isa- 
bella melted at the sight of the piteous cavalcade. 
They were all supplied by her vvith food and rai- 
ment, and money to pay their expenses to their 
homes. Their chains were hung as pious trophies 
against the exterior of the church of St. Juan de los 
Reyes, in Toledo, where the christian traveller may 
regale his eyes with the sight of them at this very 
day. 

Among the Moorish captives was a young infidel 
maiden, of great beauty, who desired to become a 
christian and to remain in Spain. She had been in- 
spired with the light of the true faith, through the 
ministry of a young man who had been a captive in 
Ronda. fie was anxious to complete his good work 
by marrying her. The queen consented to their 
pious wishes, having first taken care that the young 
maiden should be properly purified by the holy 
sacrament of baptism. 

" Thus this pestilent nest of warfare and infidelity, 
the city of Ronda," s.ays the worthy Fray Antonio 
Agapida, "was converted to the true faith by the 
thunder of our artillery — an example which was 
soon followed by Casanbonela, Alarbella, and other 
towns in these parts, insomuch that in the course of 
this expedition no less than seventy-two places were 
rescued from the vile sect of Mahomet, and placed 
under the benignant domination of the cross." 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



HOW THE PEOPLE OF GR.\NADA INVITED EL ZA- 
GAL TO THE THRONE, AND HOW HE MARCHED 
TO THE CAPITAL. 

The people of Gran.ada were a versatile, unsteady 
race, and exceedingly given to make and unmake 
kings. They had, for a long time, vacillated between 
old Muley Aben Hassan and his son Boabdil el Chico ; 
sometimes setting up the one, sometimes the other, 
and sometimes both at once, according to the pinch 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



215 



and pressure of external evils. They found, how- 
ever, that the evils still went on increasing, in defi- 
ance of every change, and were at their wits' end to 
devise some new combination or arrangement, by 
which an efficient government might be wrought out 
of two bad kings. When the tidings arrived of the 
fall of Ronda, and the consequent ruin of the fron- 
tier, a tumultuous assemblage took place in one of 
the public squares. As usual, the people attributed 
the misfortunes of the country to the faults of their 
rulers ; for the populace never imagine that any part 
of their miseries can originate with themselves. A 
crafty alfaqui, named Alyme Mazer, who had watched 
the current of their discontents, rose and harangued 
them : " You have been choosing and changing," 
said he, " between two monarchs — and who and 
what are they? JNIuley Aben Hassan, for one; a 
man worn out by age and infirmities, unable to sally 
forth against the foe, even \shen ravaging to the very 
gates of the city: — and Boabdil el Chico, for the 
other ; an apostate, a traitor, a deserter from his 
throne, a fugitive among the enemies of his nation, a 
man fated to misfortune, and proverbially named 
'the unlucky.' In a time of overwhelming war, 
like the present, he only is fit to sway a sceptre who 
can wield a sword. Would you seek such a man ? 
You need not look far. Allah has sent such a one, 
in this time of distress, to retrieve the fortunes of 
Granada. You already know whom I mean. You 
know that it can be no other than your general, the 
invincible Abdalla, whose surname of El Zagal has 
become a watch-word in battle, rousing the courage 
of the faithful, and striking terror into the unbe- 
lievers." 

The multitude received the words of the alfaqui 
with acclamations ; they were delighted with the 
idea of a third king over Granada ; and Abdalla el 
Zagal being of the royal family, and already in the 
virtual exercise of royal power, the measure had 
nothing in it that appeared either rash or violent. A 
deputation was therefore sent to El Zagal at Malaga, 
inviting him to repair to Granada to receive the 
crown. 

El Zagal expressed great surprise and repugnance, 
when the mission was announced to him ; and noth- 
ing but his patriotic zeal for the public safety, and 
his fraternal eagerness to relieve the aged Aben 
Hassan from the cares of government, prevailed upon 
him to accept the offer. Leaving, therefore, Rodovan 
Vanegas, one of the bravest Moorish generals, in 
command of Malaga, he departed for Granada, at- 
tended by three hundred trusty cavaliers. 

Old Muley Aben Hassan did not wait for the ar- 
rival of his brother. Unable any longer to buffet 
with the storms of the times, his only solicitude was 
to seek some safe and quiet harbor of repose. In 
one of the deep valleys which indent tlie Mediter- 
ranean coast, and which are shut up on the land 
side by stupendous mountains, stood the little city 
of Almunecar. The valley was watered by the 
limpid river Frio, and abounded with fruits, with 
gram and pasturage. The city was strongly forti- 
fied, and the garrison and alcayde were devoted to 
the old monarch. This was the place chosen by 
Muley Aben flassan for his asylum. 'His first care 
was to send ihither all his treasures ; his next care 
was to take refuge there himself; his third, that his 
sultana Zorayna, and their two sons, should follow 
him. 

In the mean time, Muley Abdalla el Zagal pursued 
his journey towards the capital, attended by his 
three hundred cavaliers. The road from Malaga to 
Granada winds close by Albania, and is dominated 
by that lofty fortress. This had been a most peril- 
ous pass for the Moors, during the time th.at Albania 



was commanded by the count de Tendilla : not a 
traveller could escape his eagle eye, and his garrison 
was ever ready for a sally. The count de Tendilla, 
however, had been relieved from this arduous post, 
and it had been given in charge to Don Guliere de 
Padilla, clavero, or treasurer of the order of Cala- 
trava ; an easy, indulgent man, who had with him 
three hundred gallant knights of his order, besides 
other mercenary troops. The garrison had fallen 
off in discipline ; the cavaliers were hardy in fight 
and daring in foray, but confident in themselves and 
negligent of proper precautions. Just belbre the 
journey of El Zagal, a number of these cavaliers, 
with several soldiers of fortune of the garrison, in all 
about one hundred and seventy men, had sallied 
forth to harass the Moorish country during its pres- 
ent distracted state, and, having ravaged the val- 
leys of the Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Mountains, 
were returning to Alhama in gay spirits and laden 
with booty. 

As El Zagal passed through the neighborhood of 
Alhama, he recollected the ancient perils of the 
road, and sent light cerradors in advance, to inspect 
each rock and ravine where a foe might lurk in am- 
bush. One of these scouts, overlooking a narrow 
valley which opened upon the road, descried a troop 
of horsemen on the banks of a little stream. They 
were dismounted, and had taken the bridles from 
their steeds, that they might crop the fresh grass on 
the banks of the river. The horsemen were scat- 
tered about, some reposing in the shades of rocks 
and trees, others gambling for the spoil they had 
taken : not a sentinel was posted to keep guard ; 
every thing showed the perfect security of men 
who consider themselves beyond the reach of dan- 
ger. 

These careless cavaliers were in fact the knights 
of Calatrava, with a part of their companions in 
arms, returning from their foray. A part of their 
force had passed on with the cavalgada ; ninety of 
the principal cavaliers had halted to refresh them- 
selves in this valley. El Zagal smiled with ferocious 
joy, when he heard of their negligent security. 
" Here will be trophies," said he, "to grace our en- 
trance into Granada." 

Approaching the valley with cautious silence, he 
wheeled into it at full speed at the head of his troop, 
and attacked the christians so suddenly and furiously, 
that they had not time to put the bridles upon their 
horses, or even to leap into the saddles. They made 
a confused but valiant defence, fighting among the 
rocks, and in the rugged bed of the river. Their 
defence was useless ; seventy-nine were slain, and 
the remaining eleven were taken prisoners. 

A party ot the Moors galloped in pursuit of the 
cavalgada : they soon overtook it, winding slowly up 
a hill. The horsemen who conveyed it, perceiving 
the enemy at a distance, made their escape, and left 
the spoil to be retaken by the Moors. El Zagal 
gathered together his captives and his booty, and 
proceeded, elate with success, to Granada. 

He paused before the gate of Elvira, for as yet he 
had not been proclaimed king. This ceremony was 
immediately performed ; for the fame of his recent 
exploit had preceded him, and had intoxicated the 
minds of the giddy populace. He entered Granada 
in a sort of triumph. The eleven captive knights of 
Calatrava walked in front : next were paraded the 
ninety captured ste.eds, bearing the armor and weap- 
ons of their late owners, and led by as many 
mounted Moors : then came seventy Moorish horse- 
men, with as many christian heads hanging at their 
saddle-bows : Muley Abdalla el Zagal followed, sur- 
rounded by a number of distinguished cavaliers 
splendidly attired ; and the pageant was closed by a 



216 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



long cavalg-ada of the flocks and herds, and other 
booty, recovered from the christians.* 

The populace gazed with almost savage triumph 
at these captive cavaliers and the gory heads of their 
companions, knowing them to have been part of the 
formidable garrison of Alhama, so long the scourge 
of Granada and the terror of the vega. They hailed 
this petty triumph as an auspicious opening of the 
reign of their new monarch ; for several days, the 
names of Muley Aben Hassan and Boabdil el Chico 
were never mentioned but with contempt, and the 
whole city resounded with the praises of El Zagal, 
or the valiant. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



HOW THE COUNT DE CABRA ATTEMPTED TO CAP- 
TURE ANOTHER KING, AND HOW HE FARED 
IN HIS ATTEMPT. 

The elevation of a bold and active veteran to the 
throne of Granada, in place of its late bedridden 
king, made an important difference in the aspect of 
the war, and called for some blow that should dash 
the confidence of the Moors in their new monarch, 
and animate the christians to fresh exertions. 

Don Diego de Cordova, the brave count de Cabra, 
was at this time in his castle of Vaena, where he 
kept a wary eye upon the frontier. It was now the 
latter part of August, and he grieved that the sum- 
mer should pass away without an inroad into the 
countr}' of the foe. He sent out his scouts on the 
prowl, and they brought him word that the impor- 
tant post of Aloclin was but weakly garrisoned. This 
was a castellated town, strongly situated upon a high 
mountain, partly surrounded by thick forests, and 
partly girdled by a river. It defended one of the 
rugged and solitary passes, by which the christians 
were wont to make their inroads ; insomuch that the 
Moors, in their figurative way, denominated it the 
shield of Granada. 

The count de Cabra sent word to the monarchs 
of the feeble state of the garrison, and gave it as his 
opinion, that, by a secret and rapicf expedition, the 
])lace might be surprised. King Ferdinand asked 
the advice of his counsellors. Some cautioned him 
against the .sanguine temperament of the count, and 
his heedlessness of danger ; Moclin, they observed, 
was near to Granada, and might be promptly rein- 
forced. The opinion of the count, however, pre- 
vailed ; the king considering him .almost infallible, in 
matters of border warfare, since his capture of Boab- 
dil el Chico. 

The king departed, therefore, from Cordova, and 
took post at Alcala la Real, for the purpose of being 
near to Moclin. The queen, also, proceeded to 
Vaena, accompanied by her children, prince Juan 
and the princess Isabella, and her great counsellor 
in all matters, public and private, spiritual and tem- 
poral, the venerable grand cardinal of Spain. 

Nothing could exceed the pride and satisfaction 
of the loyal count de Cabra, when he saw this stately 
train winding along the dreaiy mountain roads, and 
entering the gates of Vaena. He received his royal 
guests with all due ceremony, and lodged them in 
the best apartments that the warrior castle afforded, 
being the same that had formerly been occupied by 
the royal captive Boabdil. 

King Ferdinand had concerted a wary plan, to in- 
sure the success of the enterprise. The count de 



* Zurita, lib. 20. c. 62. Mariana, Hist, de Espafia. Abarca, 
Anales de Aragon. 



Cabra and Don Martin Alonzo de Montemayor were 
to set forth with their troops, so as to reach Moclin 
by a certain hour, and to intercept all who should 
attempt to enter, or should sally from the town. The 
Master of Calatrava, the troops of the grand cardinal, 
commanded by the count of Buendia, and the forces 
of the bishop of Jaen, led by that belligerent prelate, 
amounting in all to four thousand horse and six thou- 
sand foot, were to set off in time to co-operate with 
the count de Cabra, so as to surround the town. 
The king was to follow with his whole force, and 
encamp before the place. 

And here the worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida 
breaks forth into a triumphant eulogy of the pious 
prelates, who thus mingled personally in these scenes 
of warfare. As this was a holy crusade (says he) 
undertaken for the advancement of the faith and the 
glory of the church, so was it always countenanced 
and upheld by saintly men : for the victories of their 
most Catholic majesties were not followed, like those 
of mere worldly sovereigns, by erecting castles and 
towers, and appointing alcaydes and garrisons; but 
by the founding of convents and cathedrals, and the 
establishment of wealthy bishoprics. Wherefore their 
majesties were always surrounded, in court or camp, 
in the cabinet or in the field, by a crowd of ghostly 
advisers, inspiriting them to the prosecution of this 
most righteous war. Nay, the holy men of the 
church did not scruple, at times, to buckle on the 
cuirass over the cassock, to exchange the crosier 
for the lance, and thus, with corporal hands and 
temporal weapons, to fight the good fight of the 
faith. 

But to return from this rhapsody of the worthy 
friar. The count de Cabra, being instructed in the 
complicated arrangements of the king, marched 
forth at midnight to execute them punctually. He 
led his troops by the little river that winds below 
Vaena, and so up the wild defiles of the mountains, 
marching all night, and stopping only in the heat 
of the following day, to repose under the shadowy 
cliffs of a deep barranca, calculating to arrive at 
Moclin exactly in time to co-operate with the other 
forces. 

The troops had scarcely stretched themselves on 
the earth to take repose, when a scout arrived, 
bringing word that El Zagal had suddenly sallied 
out of Granada with a strong force, and had en- 
camped in the vicinity of Moclin. It was plain that 
the wary Moor had received information of the in- 
tended attack. This, however, was not the idea 
that presented itself to the mind of the count de 
Cabra. He had captured one king — here was a fair 
opportunity to secure another. VVhat a triumph, to 
lodge another captive monarch in his castle of 
Vaena ! —what a prisoner to deliver into the hands 
of his royal mistress ! Fired with the thoughts, the 
good count forgot all the arrangements of the king ; 
or rather, blinded by former success, he trusted 
every thing to courage and fortune, and thought 
that, by one bold swoop, he might again bear off the 
royal prize, and wear his laurels without competi- 
tion.* His only fear was that the Master of Cala- 
trava, and the belligerent bishop, might come up in 
time to share the glory of the victory ; so, ordering 
every one to horse, this hot-spirited cavalier pushed 
on for Moclin, without allowing his troojjs the 
necessary time for repose. 

The evening closed, as the count arrived in the 
neighborhood of Moclin. It was the full of the 
moon, and a bright and cloudless night. The Count 
was marching through one of those deep valleys or 
ravines, worn in the Spanish mountains Isy the brief 



* Mariana, lib. 25. c. 17. Abarca, Zurita, &c. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



217 



but tremendous torrents which prevail during the 
autumnal rains. It was wailed on each side by lofty 
and ahnost perpendicular cliffs, but great masses of 
moonlight were thrown into the bottom of the glen, 
glittering on the armor of the shining squadrons, as 
they silently passed through it. Suddenly the war- 
cry of the Moors rose in various parts of the valley; 
" El Zagal ! El Zagal ! " was shouted from every 
cliff, accompanied by showers of missiles, that struck 
down several of the christian warriors. '1 he count 
lifted up his eyes, and beheld, by the light of the 
moon, every cliff glistening with Moorisli soldiery. 
The deadly shower fell thickly round him, and the 
shining armor of his followers made them fair ob- 
jects for the aim of the enemy. The count saw his 
brother Gonzalo struck dead by his side ; his own 
horse sunk under him, pierced by four Moorish 
lances ; and he received a wound in the hand from 
an arquebuss. He remembered the horrible massa- 
cre of the mountains of Malaga, and feared a similar 
catastrophe. There was no time to pause. His 
brother's horse, freed from his slaughtered rider, 
was running at large ; seizing the reins, he sprang 
into the saddle, called upon his men to follow him, 
and, wheeling round, retreated out of the fatal 
valley. 

The Moors, rushing down from the heights, pur- 
sued the retreating christians. The chase endured 
for a league, but it was a league of rough and broken 
road, wliere the christians had to turn and fight at 
almost every step. In these short but fierce com- 
bats, the enemy lost many cavaliers of note ; but the 
loss of the christians was infinitely more grievous, 
comprising numbers of the noblest warriors of Vaena 
and Us vicinity. Many of the christians, disabled by 
wounds or exhausted by fatigue, turned aside and 
endeavored to conceal themselves among rocks and 
thickets, but never more rejoined their companions, 
being slain or captured by the Moors, or perishing 
in their wretched retreats. 

The arrival of the troops led by the Master of 
Calatrava and the bishop of Jaen, put an end to the 
rout. El Zagal contented himself with the laurels 
he had gained, and, ordering the trumpets to call off 
his men from the pursuit, returned in great triumph 
to Moclin.* 

Queen Isabella was at Vaena, awaiting with great 
anxiety the result of the expedition. She w-as in a 
stately apartment of the castle, looking towards the 
road that winds through the mountains from Moclin, 
and regarding the watch-towers that crowned the 
neighboring heights, in hopes of favorable signals. 
The prince and princess, her children, were with 
her, and her venerable counsellor, the grand cardinal. 
All shared in the an.xiety of the moment. At length 
couriers were seen riding towards the town. They 
entered its gates, but before they reached the castle, 
the nature of their tidings was known to the queen, 
by the shrieks and vvailings that rose from the streets 
below. The messengers were soon followed by 
wounded fugitives, hastening home to be relieved, or 
to die among their friends and families. The whole 
town resounded with lamentations ; for it had lost 
the flower of its youth, and its bravest warriors. 
Isabella was a woman of courageous soul, but her 
feelings were overpowered by the spectacle of wo 
which presented itself on every side ; her maternal 
heart mourned over the death of so many loyal sub- 
jects, who so shortly before had rallied round her 
with devoted afiection ; and, losing her usual sclf- 
comma-nd, she sunk into deep despondency. 

In this gloomy state of mind, a thousand appre- 
hensions crowded upon her. She dreaded the confi- 



♦ Zurita, lib. 20, c. 4. Pulgar, Cronica. 



dence which this success would impart to the Moors: 
she feared also for the important Ibrtress of Albania, 
the garrison of which had not been reinforced, since 
its foraging party had been cut off by this same El 
Zagal. On every sitle the queen saw danger and 
disaster, and feared that a general reverse was about 
to attend the Castilian arms. 

The grand cardinal comforted her with both 
spiritual and worldly counsel. He told her to recol- 
lect that no country was ever conquered without oc- 
casional reverses to the conquerors ; that the Moors 
were a warlike people, fortified in a rough and 
mountainous country, where they never could be 
conquered by her ancestors, — and that in fact her 
armies had already, in three years, taken more cities 
than those of any of her predecessors had been able 
to do in twelve. He concluded by offering himself 
to take the field, with three thousand cavalry, his 
own retainers, paid and maintained by himself, and 
either hasten to the relief of Alhama, or undertake 
any other expedition her majesty might command. 
The discreet words of the cardinal soothed the spirit 
of the queen, who always looked to him for consola- 
tion ; and she soon recovered her usual equanimity. 

Some of the counsellors of Isabella, of that politic 
class who seek to rise by the laults of others, were 
loud in their censures of the rashness of the count. 
The queen defended him, with prompt generosity. 
" The enterprise," said she, " was rash, but not more 
rash than that of Lucena, which was crowned with 
success, and which we have all applauded as the 
height of heroism. Had the count de Cabra suc- 
ceeded in capturing the uncle, as he did the nephew, 
who is there that would not have praised him to the 
skies ? " 

The magnanimous words of the queen put a stop 
to all invidious remarks in her presence ; but certain 
of the courtiers, who had envied the count the glory 
gained by his former achievements, continued to 
magnify, among themselves, his present imprudence, 
and we are told by Fray Antonio Agapida, that they 
sneeringly gave the worthy cavalier the appellation 
of count de Cabra, the king-catcher. 

Ferdinand had reached the place on the frontier 
called the Fountain of the King, within three leagues 
of Moclin, when he heard of the late disaster. He 
greatly lamented the precipitation of the count, but 
forbore to express himself with severity, for he knew 
the value of that loyal and valiant cavalier.* He 
held a council of war, to determine what course was 
to be pursued. Some of his cavaliers advised him 
to abandon the attempt upon Moclin, the place be- 
ing strongly reinforced, and the enemy inspirited by 
his recent victory. Certain old Spanish hidalgos 
reminded him that he had but few Castilian troops 
in his army, without which staunch soldiery his pre- 
decessors never presumed to enter the Moorish terri- 
tory ; while others remonstrated that it would be 
beneath the dignity of a king to retire from an enter- 
prise, on account of the defeat of a single cavalier 
and his retainers. In this way the king was dis- 
tracted by a multitude of counsellors, when fortu- 
nately a letter from the queen put an end to his per- 
plexities. Proceed we, in the next chapter, to relate 
what was the purport of that letter. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



EXPEDITION AGAINST TUE CASTLES OF CAMBIL 
AND ALBAHAU. 

" Happy are those princes," exclaims the worthy 
padre Fray Antonio Agapida, " who have women 

♦ Abarca, Anales de Aragon. 



218 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and priests to advise tliem, for in these dwclleth the 
spirit of counsel. While Ferdinand and his captains 
were confounding; each other in their deliberations 
at the Fountain of the Kinjj, a quiet but deep little 
council of war was held in the state apartment of 
the old castle of V^aena, between queen Isabella, the 
venerable Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, grand car- 
dinal of Spain, and Don Garcia Osorio, the belliger- 
ent bishop of Jaen. This last worthy prelate, who 
had exchanged his mitre for a helm, no sooner beheld 
the defeat of the enterprise against Moclin, than he 
turned the reins of his sleek, stall-fed steed, and 
hastened back to Vaena, full of a project for the em- 
ployment of the army, the advancement of the faith, 
and the benefit of his own diocese. He knew that 
the actions of the king were influenced by the opin- 
ions of the queen, and that the queen always inclined 
a listening ear to the counsels of saintly men : he laid 
his plans, therefore, with the customary wisdom of 
his cloth, to turn the ideas of the queen into the 
proper channel ; and this was the purport of the 
worthy bishop's suggestions. 

The bishopric of Jaen had for a long time been 
harassed by two Moorish castles, the scourge and 
terror of all that part of the country. They were 
situated on the frontiers of the kingdom of Granada, 
about four leagues from Jaen, in a deep, narrow, 
and rugged valley, surrounded by lofty mountains. 
Through this valley rwns the Rio Frio, (or Cold 
river,) in a deep channel, worn between high ])re- 
cipitous banks. On each side of the stream rise two 
vast rocks, nearly perpendicular, within a stone's- 
throw of each other ; blocking up the gorge of the 
valley. On the summits of these rocks stood the two 
formidable castles, Cambil and Albahar, fortified with 
battlements and towers of great height and thickness. 
They were connected together by a bridge thrown 
from rock to rock across the river. The road, which 
passed through the valley, traversed this bridge, and 
was completely commanded by these castles. They 
stood like two giants of romance, guarding the pass, 
and dominating the valley. 

The kings of Granada, knowing the importance 
of these castles, kept them always well garrisoned, 
and victualled to stand a siege, with fleet steeds and 
hard riders, to forage the country of the christians. 
The warlike race of the Abencerrages, the troops 
of the royal household, and others of the choicest 
chivalry of Granada, made them their strong-holds, 
or posts of arms, from whence to sally forth on those 
predatory and roving enterprises which were the 
delight of the Moorish cavaliers. As the wealthy 
bishopric of Jaen lay immediately at hand, it suffered 
more peculiarly from these marauders. They drove 
off the fat beeves and the flocks of sheep from the 
pastures, and swept the laborers from the field ; they 
scoured the country to the very gates of Jaen, so 
that the citizens could not venture from their walls, 
without the risk of being borne off captive to the 
dungeons of these castles. 

The worthy bishop, like a good pastor, beheld with 
grief of heart his fat bishopric daily waxing leaner 
and leaner, and poorer and poorer ; and his holy ire 
was kindled at the thoughts that the possessions of' 
the church should thus be at the mercy of a crew of 
infidels. It was the urgent counsel of the bishop, 
thereft)re, that the military force, thus providentially 
assembled in the neighborhood, since it was appar- 
ently foiled in its attempt upon Moclin, should be 
turned against these insolent castles, and the country 
delivered from their domination. The grand cardinal 
supported the suggestion of the bishop, and declared 
that he had long meditated the policy of a measure 
of the kind. Their united opinions found favor with 
the queen, and she dispatched a letter on the subject 



to the king. It came just in time to relieve him 
from the distraction of a multitude of counsellors, 
and he immediately undertook the reduction of those 
castles. 

The marques of Cadiz was accordingly sent in ad- 
vance, with two thousand horse, to keep a watch 
upon the garrisons, and prevent all entrance or exit, 
until the king should arrive with the main army and 
the battering artillery. The queen, to be near at 
hand in case of need, moved her quarters to the city 
of Jaen, where she was received with martial honors 
by the belligerent bishop, who had buckled on his 
cuirass and girded on his sword, to flght in the cause 
of his diocese. 

In the mean time, the marques of Cadiz arrived in 
the valley, and completely shut up the Moors within 
their walls. The castles were under the command 
of Mahomet Lentin Ben Usef, an Abencerrage, and 
one of the bravest cavaliers of Granada. In his gar- 
risons were many troops of the fierce African tribe 
of Gomeres. Mahomet Lentin, confident in the 
strength of his fortresses, smiled as he looked down 
from his battlements upon the christian cavalry, per- 
plexed in the rough and narrow valley. He sent 
forth skirmishing parties to harass them, and there 
were many sharp combats between small parties and 
single knights ; but the Moors were driven back to 
their castles, and all attempts to send intelligence of 
their situation to Granada, were frustrated by the 
vigilance of the marques of Cadiz. 

At length the legions of the royal army came pour- 
ing, with vaunting trumpet and fluttering banner, 
along the defiles of the mountains. They halted be- 
fore the castles, but the king could not find room in 
the narrow and rugged valley to form his camp : he 
had to divide it into three parts, which were posted 
on different heights ; and his tents whitened the sides 
of the neighboring hills. When the encampment was 
formed, the army remained gazing idly at the castles. 
The artillery was upwards of four leagues in the rear, 
and without artillery aU attack would be in vain. 

The alcayde Mahomet Lentin knew the nature of 
the road by which the artillery had to be brought. 
It was merely a narrow and rugged path, at times 
scaling almost perpendicular crags and precipices, 
up which it was utterly impossible for wheel car- 
riages to pass ; neither was it in the power of man or 
beast to draw up the lombards, and other ponderous 
ordnance. He felt assured, therefore, that they never 
could be brought to the camp ; and, without their 
aid, what could the christians eftcct against his rock- 
built castles? He scoffed at them, therefore, as he saw 
their tents by day and their fires by night covering 
the surrounding heights. " Let^them linger here a 
little while longer," said he, "and the autumnal tor- 
rents will wash them from the mountains." 

While the alcayde was thus closely mewed up 
within his walls, and the christians remained inactive 
in their camp, he noticed, one calm autumnal day, 
the sound of implements of labor echoing among the 
mountains, and now and then the crash of a falling 
tree, or a thundering report, as if some rock had 
been heaved from its bed and hurled into the valley. 
The alcayde was on the battlements of his castle, 
surrounded by his knights. " Methinks," said he, 
" these christians are making war upon the rocks 
and trees of the mountains, since they find our castles 
unassailable." 

The sounds did not cease even during the night: 
eveiy now and then, the Moorish sentinel, as he 
paced the battlements, heard some crash echoing 
among the heights. The return of day explained the 
mystery. Scarcely did the sun shine against the 
summits of the mountains, than shouts burst from the 
cliffs opposite to the castles, and were answered 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



219 



from the camp, with joyful sound of kettle-drums 
and trumpets. 

The astonished Moors lifted up their eyes, and 
beheld, as it were, a torrent of war breaking out of 
a narrow defile. There was a multitude of men, 
with pickaxes, spades, and bars of iron, clearing 
away every obstacle ; while behind them slowly 
moved along great teams of oxen, dragging heavy 
ordnance, and all the munitions of battering artillery. 

" What cannot women and priests effect, when 
they unite in council ? " exclaims again the worthy 
Antonio Agapida. The queen had held another con- 
sultation with the grand cardinal and the belligerent 
bishop of Jaen. It was clear that the heavy ordnance 
could never be conveyed to the camp by the regular 
road of the countr)' ; and without battering artillery, 
nothing could be effected. It was suggested, how- 
ever, by the zealous bishop, that another road might 
be opened, through a more practicable part of the 
mountains. It would be an undertaking extravagant 
and chimerical, with ordinary means ; and, therefore, 
unlocked for by the enemy ; but what could not 
kings effect, who had treasures and armies at com- 
mand } 

The project struck the enterprising spirit of the 
queen. Six thousand men, with pickaxes, crowbars, 
and every other necessary implement, were set to 
work day and night, to break a road through the 
very centre of the mountains. No time was to be 
lost, for it was rumored that El Zagal was about to 
march with a mighty host to the relief of the castles. 
The bustling bishop of Jaen acted as pioneer, to 
mark the route and superintend the laborers ; and 
the grand cardinal took care that the work should 
never languish through lack of means.* 

" When kings' treasures," says Fray Antonio Aga- 
pida, "are dispensed by priestly hands, there is no 
stint, as the glorious annals of Spain bear witness." 
Under the guidance of these ghostly men, it seemed 
as if miracles were effected. Almost an entire mount- 
ain was levelled, valleys filled up, trees hewn down, 
rocks broken and overturned ; in short, all the ob- 
stacles which nature had heaped around, entirely 
and promptly vanished. In little more than twelve 
days, this gigantic work was effected, and the ord- 
nance dragged to the camp, to the great triumph of 
the christians and confusion of the Moors.t 

No sooner was the heavy artillery arrived, than it 
was mounted, in all haste, upon the neighboring 
heights ; Francisco Ramirez de i\Iadrid, the first en- 
gineer in Spain, superintended the batteries, and soon 
opened a destructive fire upon the castles. 

When the valiant alcayde, Mahomet Lentin, found 
his towers tumbling about him, and his bravest men 
dashed from the walls, without the power of inl^ict- 
ing a wound upon the foe, his haughty spirit was 
greatly exasperated. " Of what avail," said he, bit- 
terly, " is all the prowess of knighthood against these 
cowardly engines, that murder from afar." 

For a whole day, a tremendous fire kept thunder- 
ing upon the castle of Albahar. The lombards dis- 
charged large stones, which flemolished two of the 
towers, and all the battlements which guarded^the 
porlal. If any Moors attempted to defend the walls 
or repair the breaches, they were shot down by ri- 
badoquines, and other sm.all pieces of artillery. The 
christian soldiery issued forth from the camp, under 
cover of this fire ; and, approaching the castles, 
discharged fiights of arrows and stones through the 
openings made by the ordnance. 

At length, to bring the siege to a conclusion, Fran- 
cisco Ramirez elevated some of the heaviest artillery 



* Zurita, Anales de Aragon, lib. 20, c. 64. Pulgar, part 3, cap. 51. 
+ Idem. 



on a mount that rose in form of a cone or pyramid, 
on the side of the river near to Albahar, and com- 
manded both castles. This was an operation of great 
skill and excessive labor, but it was repaid by com- 
plete success ; for the Moors did not dare to wait 
until this terrible battery should discharge its fury. 
Satisfied that all further resistance was vain, the 
valiant alcayde made signal for a parley. The 
articles of capitulation were soon arranged. The 
alcayde and his garrisons were permitted to return 
in safety to the city of Granada, and the castles were 
deli\'ered into the possession of king Ferdinand, on 
the day of the festival of St. Matthew, in the month 
of September. They were immediately repaired, 
strongly garrisoned, and delivered in charge to the 
city of Jaen. 

The effects of this triumph were immediately ap- 
parent. Quiet and security once more settled upon 
the bishopric. The husbandmen tilled their fields in 
peace, the herds and flocks fattened unmolested in 
the pastures, and the vineyards yielded corpulent 
skinsful of rosy wine. The good bishop enjoyed, in 
the gtatitude of his people, the approbation of his 
conscience, the increase of his revenues, and the 
abundance of his table, a reward for all his toils and 
perils. "This glorious victory," exclaims Fray An- 
tonio Agapida, " achieved by such extraordinary 
management and infinite labor, is a shining example 
of what a bishop can effect, for the promotion of the 
faith and the good of his diocese." 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



ENTERPRISE OF THE KNIGHTS OF CALATRAVA 
AGAINST ZALEA. 

While these events were taking place on the 
northern frontier of the kingdom of Granada, the 
important fortress of Alhama was neglected, and 
its commander, Don Gutiere de Padilla, clavero of 
Calatrava, reduced to great perplexity. The rem- 
nant of the foraging party, which had been sur- 
prised and massacred by the fierce El Zagal when 
on his way to Granada to receive the crown, had 
returned in confusion and dismay to the fortress. 
They could only speak of their own disgrace, being 
obliged to abandon their cavalgada, and to fly, pur- 
sued by a superior force : of the flower of their 
party, the gallant knights of Calatrava, who had 
remained behind in the valley, they knew nothing. 
A few days cleared up all the mystery of then- fate : 
tidings were brought that their bloody heads had 
been borne in triumph into Granada by the ferocious 
El Zagal. The surviving knights of Calatrava, who 
formed a part of the garrison, burned to revenge 
the death of their comrades, and to wipe out the 
stigma of this defeat ; but the clavero had been 
rendered cautious by disaster, — he resisted all their 
entreaties for a foray. His garrison was weakened 
by the loss of so many of its bravest men ; the vega 
was patrolled by numerous and powerful squadrons, 
sent forth by the warlike El Zagal ; above all, the 
movements of the garrison were watched by the 
warriors of Zalea, a strong town, only two leagues 
distant, on the road towards Loxa. This place was 
a continual check upon Alhama when in its most 
powerful state, placing ambuscades to entrap the 
christian cavaliers in the course of their sallies. 
Frequent and bloody skirmishes had taken place, in 
consequence ; and the troops of Alhama, when re- 
turning from their forays, had often to fight their 
way back through the squadrons of Zalea. Thus 
surrounded by dangers, Don Gutiere de Padilla re- 



220 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



strained the eagerness of his troops for a sally, 
knowing that any additional disaster might be fol- 
lowed by the loss of Albania. 

In the meanwhile, provisions began to grow 
scarce ; they were unable to forage the country as 
usual for supplies, and depended tor relief upon the 
Castilian so\creigns. The defeat of the count de 
Cabra hlled the measure of their perplexities, as it 
interrupted the intended reinforcements and sup- 
plies. To such extremity were they reduced, that 
they were compelled to kill some of their horses for 
provisions. 

The worthy clavero, Don Gutiere de Padilla, was 
pondering one day on this gloomy state of affairs, 
when a Moor was brought before him who had sur- 
rendered himself at the gate of Alhama, and claimed 
an audience. Don Gutiere was accustomed to visits 
of tlie kind from renegado Moors, who roamed the 
country as spies and adalides ; but the countenance 
of this man was quite unknown to him. He had a 
box strapped to his shoulders, containing divers arti- 
cles of traffic, and appeared to be one of those 
itinerant traders, who often resorted to Alhama and 
the other garrison towns, under pretext of vending 
trivial merchandise, such as amulets, perfumes, 
and trinkets, but who often produced rich shawls, 
golden chains and necklaces, and valuable gems and 
jewels. 

The Moor requested a private conference with 
the clavero : " I have a precious jewel," said he, 
" to dispose of." 

" I want no jewels," replied Don Gutiere. 

" For the sake of him who died on the cross, the 
great prophet of your faith," said the Moor, sol- 
emnly, " refuse not my request ; the jewel I speak 
of you alone can purchase, but I can only treat 
about it in secret." 

Don Gutiere perceived there was something hid- 
den under these mystic and figurative terms, in 
which the Moors were often accustomed to talk. 
He motioned to his attendants to retire. When 
they were alone, the Moor looked cautiously round 
the apartment, and then, approaching close to the 
knight, demanded in a low voice, " What will you 
give me, if I deliver the fortress of Zalea into your 
hands ? " 

Don Gutiere looked with surprise at the humble 
individual that made such a suggestion. 

"What means have you," said he, " of effecting 
such a proposition .' " 

" I have a brother in the garrison of Zalea," 
replied the Moor, " who, for a proper compensation, 
would admit a body of troops into the citadel." 

Don Gutiere turned a scrutinizing eye upon the 
Moor. " What right have I to believe," said he, 
" that thou wilt be truer to me, than to those of thy 
blood and thy religion }" 

" I renounce all ties to them, either of blood or 
religion," replied the Moor; "my mother was a 
christian captive ; her country shall henceforth be 
my country, and her faith my iaith."* 

The doubts of Don Gutiere were not dispelled by 
this profession of mongrel Christianity. " Granting 
the sincerity of thy conversion," said he, " art thou 
under no obligations of gratitude or duty to the al- 
cayde of the fortress thou wouldst betray .' " 

The eyes of the Moor flashed fire at the words ; 
he gnashed his teeth with fury. "The alcayde," 
cried he, " is a dog ! He has deprived my brother 
of his just share of booty ; he has robbed me of my 
merchandise, treated me worse than a Jew when I 
murmured at his injustice, and ordered me to be 
thrust forth ignominiously from his walls. May the 

* Cura de los Palaclos. 



curse of God fall upon my head, if I rest content 
until I have full revenge ! " 

"Enough," said Don Gutiere: "I trust more to 
thy revenge than thy religion." 

The good clavero called a council of his officers. 
The knights of Calatrava were unanimous for the 
enterprise — zealous to appease the manes of their 
slaughtered comrades. Don Gutiere reminded them 
of the state of the garrison, enfeebled by their late 
loss, and scarcely sufficient for the defence of the 
walls. The cavaliers replied that there was no 
achievement without risk, and that there would have 
been no great actions recorded in history, had there 
not been daring spirits ready to peril life to gain 
renown. 

Don Gutiere yielded to the wishes of his knights, 
for to have resisted any further might have drawn 
on him the imputation of timidity : he ascertained 
by trusty spies that every thing in Zalea remained in 
the usual state, and he made all the requisite arrange- 
ments for the attack. 

When the appointed night arrived, all the cava- 
liers were anxious to engage in the enterprise ; but 
the individuals were decided by lot. They set out, 
under the guidance of the Moor ; and when they 
h.ad arrived in the vicinity of Zalea, they bound his 
hands behind his back, and their leader pledged 
his knightly word to strike him dead on the first 
sign of treachery. He then bade him to lead the way. 

It was near midnight, when they reached the 
walls of the fortress. They passed silently along 
until they found themselves below the citadel. Here 
their guide made a low and preconcerted signal : it 
was answered from above, and a cord let down from 
the wall. The knights attached to it a ladder, which 
was drawn up and fastened. Gutiere Muiioz was 
the first that mounted, followed by Pedro de Al- 
vanado, both brave and hardy soldiers. A handful 
succeeded ; they were attacked by a party of guards, 
but held them at bay until more of their comrades 
ascended ; with their assistance, they gained posses- 
sion of a tower and part of the wall. The garrison, 
by this time, was aroused ; but before they could 
reach the scene of action, most of the cavaliers 
were within the battlements. A bloody contest 
raged for about an hour — several of the christians 
were slain, but many of the Moors ; at length the 
whole citadel was carried, and the town submitted 
without resistance. 

Thus did the gallant knights of Calatrava gain 
the strong town of Zalea with scarcely any loss, and 
atone for the inglorious defeat of their companions 
by El Zagal. They found the magazines of the 
place well stored with provisions, and were enabled 
to carry a seasonable supply to their own famishing 
garrison. 

The tidings of this event reached the sovereigns, 
just after the surrender of Cambil and Albahar. 
They were greatly rejoiced at this additional success 
of their arms, and immediately sent strong reinforce- 
ments and ample supplies for both Alhama and Za- 
lea. They then dismissed the army for the winter. 
Ferdinand and Isabella retired to Alcalade Henares, 
where the queen, on the l6th of December, 1485, 
gave birth to the princess Catharine, afterwards wife 
of Henry VIII. of England. Thus prosperously 
terminated the checkered campaign of this impor- 
tant year. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

DEATH OF MULEY ABEN HASSAN. 

MuLEY Abdalla El Zagal had been received 
with great acclamations at Granada, on his return 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



221 



from defeating the count de Cabra. He had en- 
deavored to turn his victory to the .greatest advantage, 
with his subjects; giving tiUs and tournaments, and 
other pubHc festivities, in which the Moors de- 
lighted. The loss of the castles of Cambil and .'\1- 
bahar, and of the fortress of Zalea, however, checked 
this sudden tide of popularity ; and some of the 
tickle populace began to doubt whether they had not 
been rather precipitate in deposing his brother, 
Muley Aben Hassan. 

That superannuated monarch remained in his 
faithful town of Almunecar, on the border of the 
Mediterranean, surrounded by a few adherents, to- 
gether with his wife Zorayna and his children ; and 
he had all his treasures safe in his possession. The 
fiery heart of the old king was almost burnt out, and 
all his powers of doing either harm or good seemed 
at an end. 

While in this passive and helpless state, his brother 
F.I Zagal manifested a sudden anxiety for his health. 
He had him removed, with all tenderness and care, 
to Salobrena, another fortress on the Mediterranean 
coast, famous for its pure and salubrious air; and 
the aicayde, who was a devoted adherent to El Zagal, 
was charged to have especial care that nothing was 
wanting to the comfort and solace of his brother. 

Salobrena was a small town, situated on a lofty 
and rocky hill, in the midst of a beautiful and fer- 
tile vega, shut up on three sides by mountains, and 
opening on the fourth to the Mediterranean. It was 
protected by strong walls ami a powerful castle, and, 
being deemed impregnable, was often used by the 
Moorish kings as a place of deposit for their treas- 
ures. They were accustomed also to assign it as a 
residence for such of their sons and brothers as 
might endanger the security of their reign. Here 
tlie princes lived, in luxurious repose : thev had de- 
licious gardens, perfumed baths, a harem of beauties 
at their command — nothing was denied them but the 
liberty to depart ; that alone was wanting to render 
this abode an earthly paradise. 

Such was the delightful place appointed by El 
Zagal for the residence of his brother ; but, notwith- 
standing its wonderful salubrity, the old monarch 
had not been removed thither many days before he 
expired. There was nothing extraordinary in his 
death: life with him had long been glimmering in 
the socket, and for some time past he might rather 
have been numbered with the dead than with the 
living. The public, however, are fond of seeing 
things in a sinister and mysterious point of view, 
and there were many dark surmises as to the cause 
of this event. El Zagal acted in a manner to heighten 
these suspicions ; he caused the treasures of his de- 
ceased brother to be packed on mules and brought 
to Granada, where he took possession of them, to 
the exclusion of the children of Aben Hassan. The 
sultana Zorayna and her two sons were lodged in the 
Alhambra, in the tower of the Cimares. This was a 
residence in a palace — but it had proved a royal 
prison to the sultana Ayxa la Horra, and her youthful 
son Boabdil. There the unhappy Zorayna had time 
to meditate upon the disappointment of all those 
ambitious schemes for herself and children, for which 
sheTiad stained her conscience with so many crimes, 
and induced her cruel husband to imbrue his hands 
in the blood of his other offspring. 

The coq^se of old Muley Aben Hassan was also 
brought to Granada, not m a state becoming the re- 
mains of a once-powerful sovereign, but transported 
on a mule, like the corpse of the poorest peasant. It 
received no honor or ceremonial from El Zagal, and 
appears to have been interred obscurely, to prevent 
any popular sensation ; and it is recorded by an an- 
cient and faithful chronicler of the time, that the 



body of the old monarch was deposited by two 
christian captives in his osario, or charnel-house.* 
Such was the end of the turbulent JVIuley Aben 
Hassan, who, after passing his life in constant con- 
tests for empire, could scarce gain quiet admission 
into the corner of .a sepulchre 

No sooner were the populace well assured that 
old Muley Aben Hassan was dead, and beyond re- 
covery, than they all began to extol his memory and 
deplore his loss. They admitted th;it he had been 
fierce and cruel, but then he had been brave ; he 
had, to be sure, pulled this war upon their lieads, 
but he had likewise been crushed by it. In a word, 
he ivas dead ; and his death atoned for every fault ; 
for a king, recently dead, is generally either a hero 
or a saint. 

In proportion as they ceased to hate old Muley 
Aben Hassan, they began to hate his brother El Za- 
gal. The circumstances of the old king's death, the 
eagerness to appropriate his treasures, the scandal- 
ous neglect of his corpse, and the imprisonment of 
his sultana and children, all filled the public mind 
with gloomy suspicions ; and the epithet of Fratra- 
cide ! was sometimes substituted for that of El Zagal, 
in the low murmurings of the people. 

As the public must always have some object to 
like as well as to hale, there began once more to be 
an inquiry after their fugitive king, Boabdil el Chico. 
That unfortunate monarch was still at Cordova, ex- 
isting on the cool courtesy and meagre friendship of 
Ferdinand ; which had waned exceedingly, ever 
since Boabdil had ceased to have any influence in 
his late dominions. The reviving interest expressed 
in his fate by the Moorish public, and certain secret 
overtures made to him.^once more aroused the sym- 
pathy of Ferdinand : he immediately advised Boabdil 
again to set up his standard within ihe frontiers of 
Granada, and furnished him with money and means 
for the purpose. Boabdil advanced but a little way 
into his late territories ; he took up his post at Velez 
el Blanco, a strong town on the confines of Murcia ; 
there he established the shadow of a court, and 
stood, as it were, with one foot over the border, and 
ready to draw that back upon the least alarm. His 
presence in the kingdom, however, and his assump- 
tion of royal state, gave life to his faction in Granada. 
The inhabitants of the Albaycin, the poorest but 
most warlike part of the populace, were generally 
in his favor : the more rich, courtly, and aristocrati- 
cal inhabitants of the quarter ot the Alhambra, ral- 
lied round what appeared to be the most stable 
authority, and supported the throne of El Zagal. So 
it is, in the admirable order of sublunary affairs: 
every thing seeks its kind ; the rich befriend the rich, 
the powerful stand by the powerful, the poor enjoy 
the patronage of the poor — and thus a universal 
harmony prevails. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 



OF THE CHRISTIAN ARMY WHICH ASSEMBLED 
AT THE CITY OF CORDOVA. 

Great and glorious was the style with which the 
Catholic sovereigns opened another year's campaign 
of this eventful war. It was like commencing an- 
other act of a stately and heroic drama, wdiere the 
curtain rises to the inspiring sound of martial mel- 
ody, and the whole stage glitters with the array of 
warriors and the pomp of arms. The ancient city 
of Cordova was the place appointed by the sover- 
eigns for the assemblage of the troops ; and early in 



• Cxira de los PaUcios, c. 77. 



222 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the spring of 1486, the fair valley of the Guadalquivir 
resounded with the shrill blast of trumpet, and the 
impatient neighing of the war-horse. In this splen- 
did era of Spanish chivalry, there was a rivalship 
among the nobles who most should distinguish him- 
self by the splendor of his appearance, and the num- 
ber and equipments of his feudal followers. Every 
day beheld some cavalier of note, the representative 
of some proud and powerful house, entering the gates 
of Cordova with sound of trumpet, and displaying 
his banner and device, renowned in many a contest. 
He would appear in sumptuous array, surrounded by 
pages and lackeys no less gorgeously attired, and 
followed by a host of vassals and retainers, horse and 
foot, all admirably equipped in burnished armor. 

Such was the state of Don Inigo Lopez de Men- 
doza, duke of Infantado ; who may be cited as a pic- 
ture of a warlike noble of those times. He brought 
with him five hundred men-at-arms of his house- 
hold, armed antl mounted a la gineta and a la gtiisa. 
The cavaliers who attended him were magnificently 
armed and dressed. The housings of fifty of his 
horses were of rich cloth, embroidered with gold ; 
and others were of brocade. The sumpter mules 
had housings of the same, with halters of silk ; while 
the bridles, head-pieces, and all the harnessing, glit- 
tered with silver. 

The camp equipage of these noble and luxurious 
warriors was equally magnificent. Their tents were 
gay pavilions, of various colors, fitted up with silken 
hangings and decorated with fluttering pennons. 
They had \essels of gold and silver for the service 
of their tables, as if they were about to engage in a 
course of stately feasts and courtly revels, instead of 
the stern encounters of rugged and mountainous 
warfare. Sometimes they passed through the streets 
of Cordova at night, in splendid cavalcade, with great 
numbers of lighted torches, the rays of which falling 
upon polished armor and nodding plumes, and silken 
scarfs, and trappings of golden embroidery, filled all 
beholders with admiration.* 

But it was not the chivalry of Spain alone which 
thronged the streets of Cordova. The lame of this 
war had spread throughout Christendom: it was 
considered a kind of crusade ; and Catholic knights 
trom all parts hastened to signalize themselves in so 
holy a cause. There were several valiant chevaliers 
from France, among whom the most distinguished 
was Gaston du Leon, Seneschal of Toulouse. With 
him came a gallant train, well armed and mounted, 
and decorated with rich surcoats and panaches of 
feathers. These cavaliers, it is said, eclipsed all 
others in the light festivities of the court: they were 
devoted to the fair, but not after the solemn and 
passionate manner of the .Spanish lovers ; they were 
gay, gallant and joyous in their amours, and capti- 
vated by the vivacity of their attacks. They were at 
first held in light estimation by the grave and stately 
Spanish knights, until they made themselves to be 
respected by their wonderlul prowess in the field. 

The most conspicuous of the volunteers, however, 
who appeared in Cordova on this occasion, was an 
English knight of royal connexion. This was the 
lord Scales, earl of Rivers, brother to the queen of 
England, wife ofHenry VIL He had distinguished 
himself in the preceding year, at the battle of Bos- 
worth field, where Henry Tudor, then earl of Rich- 
mond, overcame Richard HI. That decisive battle 
having left the country at peace, the earl of Rivers, 
having conceived a passion for warlike scenes, re- 
paired to the Castilian court, to keep his arms in 
exercise, in a campaign against the Moors. He 
brought with him a hundred archers, all dexter- 



* Pulgar, part 3. cap. 41. 56. 



ous with the long-bow and the cloth-yard arrow ; 
also two hundred yeomen, armed cap-a-pie, who 
fought with pike and battle-axe, — men robust of 
frame, and of prodigious strength. The worthy 
padre Fray Antonio Agapida describes this stranger 
knight and his followers, with his accustomed accu- 
racy and minuteness. 

" This cavalier," he observes, " was from the far 
island of England, and brought with him a train of 
his vassals ; men who had been hardened in certain 
civil wars which raged in their country. They were 
a comely race of men, but too fair and Iresh for war- 
riors, not having the sun-burnt warlike hue of our 
old Castilian soldiery. They were huge feeders also, 
and deep carousers, and could not accommoda.te 
themselves to the sober diet of our troops, but must 
fain eat and drink after the manner of their own 
country. They were often noisy and unruly, also, in 
their wassail ; and their quarter of the camp was 
prone to be a scene of loud revel and sudden brawl. 
They were, withal, of great pride, yet it was not like 
our inflammable Spanish pride ; they stood not much 
upon the ptindonor, the high punctilio, and rarely 
drew the stiletto in their disputes ; but their pride 
was silent and contumelious. Though from a re- 
mote and somewhat barbarous island, they believed 
themselves the most perfect men upon earth, and 
magnified their chieftain, the lord Scales, beyond the 
greatest of their grandees. With all this, it must be 
said of them that they were marvellous good men in 
the field, dexterous archers, and powerlul with the 
battle-axe. In their great pride and self-will, they 
always sought to press in the advance and take the 
post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish chivalry. 
They did not rush on fiercely to the fight, nor make 
a brilliant onset like the Moorish and Spanish troops, 
but they went into the fight deliberately and persisted 
obstinately, and were slow to find out when they 
were beaten. Withal they were much esteemed, yet 
little liked by our soldiery, who considered them 
staunch companions in the field, yet coveted but 
little fellowship with them in the camp. 

"Their commander, the lord Scales, was an ac- 
complished cavalier, of gracious and noble presence 
and fair speech ; it was a marvel to see so much 
courtesy in a knight brought up so far from our Cas- 
tilian court. He was much honored by the king and 
queen, and found great favor with the fair dames 
about the court, who indeed are rather prone to be 
pleased with foreign cavaliers. He went always in 
costly state, attended by pages an;l esquires, and ac- 
companied by noble young cavaliers of his country, 
who had enrolled themselves under his banner, to 
learn the gentle e.xercise of arms. In all pageants 
and festivals, l^ie eyes of the populace were attracted 
by the singular bearing and rich array of the English 
earl and his train, who prided themselves in always 
appearing in the garb and manner of their country — 
and were indeed something very magnificent, de- 
lectable, and strange to behold." 

The worthy chronicler is no less elaborate in his 
description of the Masters of Santiago, Calatrava, 
and Alcantara, and their valiant knights, armed at 
all points, and decorated with the badges of their 
orders. These, he affirms, were the flower of chris- 
tian chivalry : being constantly in service, they be- 
came more stedfast and accomplished in discipline, 
than the irregular and temporary levies of the feudal 
nobles. Calm, solemn, and stately, they sat like 
towers upon their powerful chargers. On parades, 
they manifested none of the show and ostentation of 
the other troops : neither, in battle, did they endeavor 
to signalize themselves by any fiery vivacity,^ or 
desperate and vain-glorious exploit — every thing, 
with them, was measured and sedate ; yet it was 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



223 



observed, that none were more warlike in their ap- 
pearance in the camp, or more terrible for their 
achievements in the field. 

The gorgeous magnificence of the Spanish nobles 
found but little favor in the eyes of the sovereigns. 
They saw that it caused a competition in expense, 
ruinous to cavaliers of moderate fortune ; and they 
feared that a softness and efteminacy might thus be 
introduced, incompatible with the stern nature of the 
war. They signified their disapprobation to several 
of the principal noblemen, and recommended a more 
sober and soldierlike display while in actual service. 

" These are rare troops for a tourney, my lord," 
said Ferdinand to the duke of Infantado, as he be- 
held his retainers glittering in gold and embroidery ; 
"but gold, though gorgeous, is soft and yielding: 
iron is the metal for the field." 

"Sire," replied the duke, " if my men parade in 
gold, your majesty will find they fight with steel." 
The king smiled, but shook his head, and the duke 
treasured up his speech in his heart. 

It remains now to reveal the immediate object of 
this mighty and chivalrous preparation ; which had, 
in fact, the gratification of a royal pique at bottom. 
The severe lesson which Ferdinand had received 
from the veteran Ali Atar, before the walls of Loxa, i 
though it had been of great service in rendering him i 
wary in his attacks upon fortified places, 3-et rankled j 
sorely in his mind ; and he had ever since held Loxa [ 
in peculiar odium. It was, in truth, one of the most ! 
belligerent and troublesome cities on the borders : 
incessantly harassing Andalusia by its incursions. It 
also intervened between the christian territories and 
Albania, and other important places gained in the 
kingdom of Granada. For all these reasons, king 
Ferdinand had determined to make another grand 
attempt upon this warrior city; and for this purpose, he 
had summoned to the field his most powerful chivalry. 

It was in the month of May, that the king sallied 
from Cordova, at the head of his armv. He had 
twelve thousand cavalry and forty thousand foot- 
soldiers, armed with cross-bows, lances, and arque- 
busses. There were six thousand pioneers, with 
hatchets, pickaxes, and crowbars, for levelling roads. 
He took with him, also, a great train of lombards 
and other heavy artillery, with a body of Germans 
skilled in the service of ordnance and the art of bat- 
tering walls. 

It was a glorious spectacle (says Fray Antonio 
Agapida) to behold this pompous pageant issuing 
forth from Cordova, the pennons and devices of the 
proudest houses of Spain, with those of gallant 
stranger knights, fluttering above a sea of crests 
and Illumes ; to see it slowly moving, with flash of 
helm, and cuirass, and buckler, across the ancient 
bridge, and reflected in the waters of the Guadal- 
quivir, while the neigh of steed and blast of trumpet 
vibrated in the air, and resounded to the distant 
mountains. "But, above all," concludes the good 
father, with his accustomed zeal, " it was triumphant 
to behold the standard of the faith every where dis- 
played, and to reflect that this was no worldly- 
minded army, intent upon some temporal scheme 
of ambition or revenge; but a christian host, bound 
on a crusade to extirpate the vile seed of Mahomet 
from the land, and to extend the pure dominion of 
the church." 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



HOW FRESH COMMOTIONS BROKE OUT IN GRA- 
NADA, AND HOW THE PEOPLE UNDERTOOK TO 
ALLAY THEM. 

While perfect unity of object and harmony of 
operation gave power to the christian arms, the de- 



voted kingdom of Granada continued a prey to in- 
ternal feuds. The transient popularity of El Zagal 
had declined ever since the death of his brother, and 
the party of Boabdil el Chico was daily gaining 
strength : the Albaycin and the Alhainbra were 
again arrayed against each other in deadly strife, 
and the streets of unhappy Granada were daily dyed 
in the blood of her children. In the midst of these 
dissensions, tidings arrived of the formidable army 
assembling at Cordova. The rival tactions paused 
in their infatuated brawls, and were roused to a 
temporary sense of the common danger. They forth- 
with resorted to their old expedient of new-model- 
ling their government, or rather of making and un- 
making kings. The elevation of El Zagal to the 
throne had not produced the desired effect — what 
then was to be done .' Recall Boabdil el Chico, and 
acknowledge him again as sovereign ? While they 
were in a popular tumult of deliberation, Hamet 
Aben Zarrax, surnamed El Santo, arose among 
them. This was the same wild, melancholy man, 
who had predicted the woes of Granada. He issued 
from one of the caverns of the adjacent height w hich 
overhangs the Darro, and has since been called the 
Holy Mountain. His appearance was more haggard 
than ever ; for the unheeded spirit of prophecy 
seemed to have turned inwardly, and preyed upon 
his vitals. " Beware, oh Moslems," exclaimed he, 
" of men who are eager to govern, yet are unable to 
protect. Why slaughter each other for El Chico or El 
Zagal ? Let your kings renounce their contests, unite 
for the salvation of Granada, or let them be deposed." 

Hamet Aben Zarrax had long been revered as a 
saint — he was now considered an oracle. The old 
men and the nobles immediately consulted together, 
how the two rival kings might be brought to accord. 
They had tried most expedients : it was now deter- 
mined to divide the kingdom between them ; giving 
Granada, Malaga, Velez Malaga, Almeria, Almune- 
car, and their dependencies, to El Zagal — and the 
residue to Boabdil el Chico. Among the cities 
granted to the latter, Loxa was particularly specified, 
with a condition that he should immediately take 
command of it in person ; for the council thought 
the favor he enjoyed with the Castilian monarchs 
might avert the threatened attack. 

El Zagal readily accorded to this arrangement ; he 
had been hastily elevated to the throne by an ebul- 
lition of the people, and might be as hastily cast 
down again. It secured him one-half of a kingdom 
to which he had no hereditary right, and he trusted 
to force or fraud to gain the other half hereafter. 
The wily old monarch even sent a deputation to his 
nephew, making a merit of offering him cheerfully 
the half which he had thus been compelled to relin- 
quish, and inviting him to enter into an amicable 
coalition for the good of the country. 

The heart of Boabdil shrunk from all connexion 
with a man who had sought his lile, and whom he 
regarded as the murderer of his kindred. He ac- 
cepted one-half of the kingdom as an offer from the 
nation, not to be rejected by a prince who scarcely 
held possession of the ground he stood on. He as- 
serted, nevertheless, his absolute right to the whole, 
and only submitted to the partition out of anxiety for 
the present good of his peo]ile. He assembled his 
handful of adherents, and prepared to hasten to 
Loxa. As he mounted his horse to depart, Hamet 
Aben Zarrax stood suddenly before him. " Be true 
to thy country and thy faith," cried he : " hold no 
further communication with these christian dogs. 
Trust not the hollow-hearted friendship of the Cas- 
tilian king; he is mining the earth beneath thy feet. 
Choose one of two things ; be a sovereign or a slave 
— thou canst not be boili." 



224 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Boabdil ruminated on these words ; he made many 
wise resolutions, but he was prone always to act 
from the impulse of the moment, and was unfortu- 
nately given to temporize in his policy. He wrote 
to Ferdinand, informing him that Loxa and certain 
other cities had returned to their allegiance, and 
that he held them as vassal to the Castilian crown, 
according to their convention. He conjured him, 
therefore, to refrain from any meditated attack, of- 
fering free passage to the Spanish army to Malaga, 
or any other place under the dominion of his uncle.* 

Ferdinand turned a deaf ear to the entreaty, and 
to all professions of friendship and vassalage. Boab- 
dil was nothing to him, but as an instrument for 
stirring up the flames of civil war. He now insisted 
that he had entered into a hostile league with his 
uncle, and had consequently forfeited all claims to 
his indulgence ; and he prosecuted, with the greater 
earnestness, his campaign against the city of Loxa. 

" Thus," observes the worthy Fray Antonio Agap- 
ida, " thus did this most sagacious sovereign act 
upon the text in the eleventh chapter of the Evan- 
gelist St. Luke, that ' a kingdom divided against it- 
self cannot stand.' He had induced these infidels 
to waste and destroy themselves by internal dissen- 
sions, and finally cast forth the survivor ; while the 
Moorish monarchs, by their ruinous contests, made 
good the old Castilian proverb in cases of civil war, 
' El vencido vencido, y el vencidor perdido,' (the 
conquered conquered, and the conqueror undone.)"! 



CHAPTER XXXVHL 



HOW KING FERDINAND HELD A COUNCIL OF WAR, 
AT THE ROCK OF THE LOVERS. 

The royal army, on its march against Loxa, lay 
encamped, one pleasant evening in May, in a meadow 
on the banks of the river Yeguas, around the foot of 
a lofty cliff called the Rock of the Lovers. The 
quarters of each nobleman formed as it were a 
separate little encampment ; his stately pavilion, sur- 
mounted by his fluttering pennon, rising above the 
surrounding tents of his vassals and retainers. A 
little apart from the others, as it were in proud re- 
serve, was the encampment of the English earl. It 
was sumptuous in its furniture, and complete in all 
its munitions. Archers, and soldiers armed with 
battle-axes, kept guard around it; while above, the 
standard of England rolled out its ample folds, and 
flapped in the evening breeze. 

The mingled sounds of various tongues and na- 
tions were heard from the soldiery, as they watered 
their horses in the stream, or busied themselves 
round the fires which began to glow, here and there, 
in the twilight : the gay chanson of the Frenchman, 
singing of his amours on the pleasant banks of the 
Loire, or the sunny regions of the Garonne ; the 
broad guttural tones of the German, chanting some 
doughty krieger lied, or extolling the vintage of the 
Rhine ; the wild romance of the Spaniard, reciting 
the achievements of the Cid, and many a famous 
passage of the Moorish wars ; and the long and 
melancholy ditty of the Englishman, treating of 
some feudal hero or redoubtable outlaw of his dis- 
tant island. 

On a rising ground, commanding a view of the 
whole encampment, stood the ample and magnificent 
pavilion of the king, with the banner of Castile and 
Arragon, and the holy standard of the cross, erected 



* Zurita, lib. 20. c. 6S. 



t Garib.'\y, lib. 40, c. 33. 



before it. In this tent were assembled the principal 
commanders of the army, having been summoned by 
Ferdinand to a council of war, on receiving tidings 
that Boabdil had thrown himself into Loxa with a 
considerable reinforcement. After some consulta- 
tion, it was determined to invest Lo.xa on both sides : 
one part of the army should seize upon the dangerous 
but com\nanding height of Santo Albohacen, in front 
of the city ; while the remainder, making a circuit, 
should encamp on the opposite side. 

No sooner was this resolved upon, than the mar- 
ques of Cadiz stood forth and claimed the post of 
danger in behalf of himself and those cavaliers, his 
companions in arms, who had been compelled to re- 
linquish it by the general retreat of the army on the 
former siege. The enemy had exulted over them, 
as if driven from it in disgrace. To regain that 
perilous height, to pitch their tents upon it, and to 
avenge the blood of their valiant compeer, the Master 
of Calatrava, who had fallen upon it, was due to their 
fame ; the marques demanded therefore that they 
might lead the advance and secure that height, en- 
gaging to hold the enemy employed until the main 
army should take its position on the opposite side of 
the city. 

King Ferdinand readily granted his permission ; 
upon which the count de Cabra entreated to be ad- 
mitted to a share of the enterprise. He had always 
been accustomed to serve in the advance ; and now 
that Boabdd was in the field, and a king was to be 
taken, he could not content himself with remaining 
in the rear. Ferdinand yielded his consent, for he 
was disposed to give the good count every oppor- 
tunity to retrieve his late disaster. 

The English earl, when he heard there was an en- 
terprise of danger in question, was hot to be admitted 
to the party ; but the king restrained his ardor. 
" These cavaliers," said he, " conceive that they 
have an account to settle with their pride ; let them 
have the enterprise to themselves, my lord ; if you 
follow these Moorish wars long, you will find no lack 
of perilous service." 

The marques of Cadiz, and his companions in 
arms, struck their tents before daybreak ; they were 
five thousand horse and twelve thousand foot, and 
marched rapidly along the defiles of the mountains ; 
the cavaliers being an>fious to strike the blow, and 
get possession of the height of Albohacen, before the 
king with the main army should arrive to their as- 
sistance. 

The city of Loxa stands on a high hill, between 
two mountains, on the banks of the Xenel. To at- 
tain the height of Albohacen, the troops had to pass 
over a tract of rugged and broken country, and a 
deep valley, intersected by those canals and water- 
courses with which the Moors irrigated their lands : 
they were extremely embarrassed in this part of their 
march, and in imminent risk of being cut up in detail 
before they could reach the height. 

The count de Cabra, with his usual eagerness, en- 
deavored to push across this valley, in defiance of 
every obstacle ; he, in consequence, soon became 
entangled with his cavalry among the canals ; but his 
impatience would not permit him to retrace his steps, 
and choose a more practicable but circuitous route. 
Others slowly crossed another part of the valley, by 
the aid of pontoons ; while the marques of Cadiz, 
Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and the count de Urena, 
being more experienced in the ground from their 
former campaign, made a circuit round the bottom 
of the height, and, winding up it, began to display 
their squadrons and elevate their banners on the re- 
doubtable post, which, in the former siege, they ha.l 
been compelled so reluctantly to abandon. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



225 



i 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 

HOW THE ROYAL ARMY APPEARED BEFORE THE 
CITY OF LOXA, AND HOW IT WAS RECEIVED ; 
AND OF THE DOUGHTY ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE 
ENGLISH EARL. 

The advance of the christian army upon Loxa, 
threw the wavering Boabdil el Chico into one of his 
usual dilemmas ; and he was greatly perplexed be- 
tween his oath of allegiance to the Spanish sover- 
eigns, and his sense of duty to his subjects. His 
doubts were determined by the sight of the enemy 
glittering upon the height of Albohacen, and by the 
clamors of the people to be led forth to battle. "Al- 
lah ! " exclaimed he, " thou knowest my heart : thou 
knowest I have been true in my faith to this chris- 
tian monarch. I have offered to hold Loxa as his 
vassal, but he has preferred to approach it as an ene- 
my — on his head be the infraction of our treaty ! " 

Boabdil was not wanting in courage ; he only 
needed decision. When he had once made up his 
mind, he acted vigorously ; the misfortune was, he 
either did not make it up at all, or he made it up too 
late. -He who decides tardily generally acts rashly, 
endeavoring xo make up by hurry of action for slow- 
ness of deliberation. Boabdil hastily buckled on his 
armor, and sallied forth, surrounded by his guards, 
and at the head of live hundred horse and four thou- 
sand foot, the flower of his army. Some he detached 
to skirmish with the christians who were scattered 
and perplexed in the valley, and to prevent their 
concentrating their forces ; while, with his main 
body, he pressed forward to drive the enemy from 
the height of Albohacen, before they had time to col- 
lect there in any number, or to fortify themselves in 
that important position. 

The worthy count de Cabra was yet entangled 
with his cavalry among the water-courses of the 
valley, when he heard the war-cries of the Moors, 
and saw their army rushing over the bridge. He 
recognized Boabdil himself, by his splendid armor, 
the magnificent caparison of his steed, and the bril- 
liant guard which surrounded him. The royal host 
swept on toward the height of Albohacen : an inter- 
vening hill hid it from his sight ; but loud shouts and 
cries, the din of drums and trumpets, and the reports 
of arquebusses, gave note that the battle had begun. 

Here was a royal prize in the field, and the count 
de Cabra unable to get into the action ! The good 
cavalier was in an agony of impatience ; every at- 
tempt to force his way across the valley, only plunged 
him into new difficulties. At length, after many eager 
but inefiectual efforts, he was obliged to order his 
troops to dismount, and slowly and carefully to lead 
their horses back, along slippery paths, and amid 
plashes of mire and water, where often there was 
scarce a foothold. The good count groaned in spirit, 
and sweat with mere impatience as he went, fearing 
the battle might be fought, and the prize won or lost, 
before he could reach the field. Having at length 
toilfuUy unraveled the mazes of the valley, and ar- 
rived at tinner ground, he ordered his troops to 
mount, and led them full gallop to the height. Part 
of the good count's wishes were satisfied, but the 
dearest were disappointed : he came in season to 
partake of the very hottest of the fight, but the royal 
prize was no longer in the field. 

Boabdil had led on his men svith impetuous valor, 
or rather with hurried rashness. Heedlessly exposing 
himself in the front of the battle, he received two 
wounds in the very first encounter. His guards ral- 
lied round him, defended him with matchless valor, 
and bore him, bleeding, out of the action. The count 
de Cabra arrived just in time to see the loyal squadron 
15 



crossing the bridge, and slowly conveying their dis- 
abled monarch towards the gate of the city. 

The departure of Boabdil made no difference in 
the fury of the battle. A Moorish warrior, dark and 
terrible in aspect, mounted on a black charger and 
followed by a band of savage Gomeres, rushed for- 
ward to take the lead. It was Hamet el Zegri, the 
fierce alcayde of Ronda, with the remnant of his 
once redoubtable garrison. Animated by his exam- 
ple, the Moors renewed their assaults upon the 
height. It was bravely defended, on one side by the 
marques of Cadiz, on another by Don Alonzo de 
Aguilar ; and as fast as the Moors ascended, they 
were driven back and dashed down the declivities. 
The count de Ureiia took his stand upon the fatal 
spot where his brother had fallen ; his followers en- 
tered with zeal into the feelings of their commander, 
and heaps of the enemy sunk beneath their weapons 
— sacrifices to the manes of the lamented Master of 
Calatrava. 

The battle continued with incredible obstinacy. 
The Moors knew the importance of the height to the 
safety of the city ; the cavaliers felt their honors 
staked to maintain it. Fresh supplies of troops were 
poured out of the city ; some battled on the height, 
while some attacked the christians who were still in 
the valley and among the orchards and gardens, to 
prevent their uniting their forces. The troops in the 
valley were gradually driven back, and the whole 
host of the Moors swept around the height of Albo- 
hacen. The situation of the marques de Cadiz and 
his companions was perilous in the extreme : they 
were a mere handful"; and, while they were fighting 
hand to hand with the Moors who assailed the 
height, they were galled from a distance by the 
cross-bows and arquebusses of a host that augment- 
ed each moment in number. At this critical juncture, 
king Ferdinand emerged from the mountains with 
the main body of the army, and advanced to an emi- 
nence commanding a full view of the field of action. 
By his side was the noble English cavalier, the earl 
of Rivers. This was the first time he had witnessed 
a scene of Moorish warfare. He looked with eager 
interest at the chance medley fight before him, where 
there was the wild career of cavalry, the irregular 
and tumultuous rush of infantry, and where christian 
helm and Moorish turban were intermingled in dead- 
ly struggle. The high blood of the English knight 
mounted at the sight, and his soul was stirred within 
him, by the confused war-cries, the clangor of drums 
and trumpets, and the reports of arquebusses, that 
came echoing up the mountains. Seeing that the 
king was sending a reinforcement to the field, he en- 
treated permission to mingle in the affray, and fight 
according to the fashion of his country. His request 
being granted, he alighted from his steed : he was 
merely armed t'« bianco, that is to say, with morion, 
back-piece, and breast-plate ; his sword was girded 
by his side, and in his hand he wielded a powerful 
battle-axe. He was followed by a body of his yeo- 
men, armed in like manner, and by a band of archers 
with bows made of the tough English yew-tree. The 
earl turned to his troops, and addressed them briefly 
and bluntly, according to the manner of his country. 
" Remember, my merry men all," said he, " the eyes 
of strangers are upon you ; you are in a foreign land, 
fighting for the glory of God, and the honor of merry 
oid England I " A loud shout was the reply. The 
earl waved his battle-axe over his head : " St. George 
for England ! " cried he ; and to the inspiring sound 
of this old English war-cry, he and his followers 
rushed down to the battle with manly and courage- 
ous heart.* They soon made their way into the 



* Cura de los Palacios. 



226 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING 



midst of the enemy ; but when engaged in the hottest 
of the fight, they made no shouts or outcries. They 
pressed steadily forward, dealing their blows to right 
and left, hewing down the Moors, and cutting their 
way, with their battle-axes, like woodmen in a torest ; 
while the archers, pressing into the opening they 
made, plied their bows vigorously, and spread death 
on every side. 

When the Castilian mountaineers beheld the valor 
of the English yeomanry, they would not be outdone 
in hardihood. They could not vie with them in 
weight or bulk, but for vigor and activity they were 
surpassed by none. They kept pace with them, 
therefore, with equal heart and rival prowess, and 
gave a brave support to the stout Englishmen. 

The Moors were confounded by the fury of these 
assaults, and disheartened by the loss of Hamet e! 
Zegri, who was carried wounded from the field. 
They gradually fell back upon the bridge ; the chris- 
tians followed up their advantage, and drove them 
over it tumultuously. The Moors retreated into the 
suburb ; and lord Rivers and his troops entered with 
them pell-mell, fighting in the streets and in the 
houses. King Ferdinand came up to the scene of 
action with his royal guard, and the infidels were 
driven vvithin the city walls. Thus were the suburbs 
gained by the hardihood of the English lord, without 
such an event having been premeditated.* 

The earl of Rivers, notwithstanding he had re- 
ceived a wound, still urged forward in the attack. 
He penetrated almost to the city gate, in defiance of 
a shower of missiles that slew many of his followers. 
A stone, hurled from the battlements, checked his 
impetuous career : it struck him in the face, dashed 
out two of his front teeth, and laid him senseless on 
the earth. He was removed to a short distance by 
his men ; but, recovering his senses, refused to per- 
mit himself to be taken from the suburb. 

When the contest was over, the streets presented 
a piteous spectacle — so many of their inhabitants 
had died in the defence of their thresholds, or been 
slaughtered without resistance. Among the victims 
was a poor weaver, who had been at work in his 
dwelling at this turbulent moment. His wife urged 
him to ify into the city. " Why should I fly.' " said 
the Moor — " to be reserved for hunger and slavery.' 
1 tell you, wife, I will await the foe here ; for better 
is it to die quickly by the steel, than to perish piece- 
meal in chains and dungeons." He said no more, 
but resumed his occupation of weaving ; and in the 
indiscriminate fury of the assault, w-as slaughtered at 
his loom.t 

The christians remained masters of the field, and 
proceeded to pitch three encampments for the prose- 
cution of the siege. The king, with the great body 
of the army, took a position on the side of the city 
next to Granada : the marques of Cadiz and his 
brave companions once more pitched their tents 
upon the height of Sancto Albohacen : but the En- 
glish earl planted his standard sturdily within the 
suburb he had taken. 



CHAPTER XL. 

CONCLUSION OF THE SIEGE OF LOXA. 

Having possession of the heights of Albohacen 
and the suburb of the city, the christians were en- 
abled to choose the most favorable situations for 
their batteries. They immediately destroyed the 
stone bridge, by which the garrison had made its 

* Cura de ios Palacios. MS. 
+ Pulgar, part 3. >c. 58. 



sallies ; and they threw two wooden bridges across 
the river, and others over the canals and stream.s, so 
as to establish an easy communication between the 
different camps. 

When all was arranged, a heavy fire was opened 
upon the city from various points. They threw, not 
only balls of stone and iron, but great carcasses of 
fire, which burst like meteors on the houses, wrap- 
ping them instantly in a blaze. The walls were 
shattered, and the towers toppled down, by tremen- 
dous discharges from the lombards. Through the 
openings thus made, they could behold the interior 
of the city — houses tumbling or in flames — men, 
women, and children, flying in terror through the 
streets, and slaughtered by the shower of missiles, 
sent through the openings from smaller artillery, and 
from cross-bows and arquebusses. 

The Moors attempted to repair the breaches, but 
fresh discharges from the lombards buried them be- 
neath the ruins of the walls they were mending. In 
their despair, many of the inhabitants rushed forth 
into the narrow streets of the suburbs, and assailed 
tlie christians with darts, scimitars, and poniards, 
seeking to destroy rather than defend, and heedless 
of death, in the confidence that to die fighting with 
an unbeliever, was to be translated at once to para- 
dise. 

For two nights and a day this awful scene con- 
tinued ; when certain of the principal inhabitants be- 
gan to reflect upon the hopelessness of the conflict : 
their king was disabled, their principal captains were 
either killed or wounded, their fortifications little 
better than heaps of ruins. They had urged the un- 
fortunate Boabdil to the conflict ; they now clamored 
for a capitulation. A parley was procured from the 
christian monarch, and the terms of surrender were 
soon adjusted. They were to yield up the city im- 
mediately, with all their christian captives, and to 
sally forth with as much of their property as they 
could take with them. The marques of Cadiz, on 
whose honor and humanity they had great reliance, 
was to escort them to Granada, to protect them from 
assault or robbery : such as chose to remain in Spain 
were to be permitted to reside in Castile, Arragon, 
or Valencia. As to Boabdil el Chico, he was to do 
homage as vassal to king Ferdinand, but no charge 
was to be urged against him of having violated his 
former pledge. If he should yield up all pretensions 
to Granada, the title of duke of Guadix was to be 
assigned to him, and the territory thereto annexed, 
provided it should be recovered from El Zagal with- 
in six months. 

The capitulation being arranged, they gave as 
hostages the alcayde of the city, and the principal 
officers, together with the sons of their late chieftain, 
the veteran Ali Atar. The warriors of Loxa then 
issued forth, humbled and dejected at having to sur- 
render those walls which they had so long maintained 
with valor and renown ; and the women and children 
filled the air with lamentations, at being exiled from 
their native homes. 

Last came forth Boabdil, most truly called El 
Zogoybi, the unlucky. Accustomed, as he was, to 
be crowned and uncrowned, to be ransomed and 
treated as a matter of bargain, he had acceded of 
course to the capitulation. He was enfeebled by 
his wounds, and had an air of dejection ; yet it is 
said, his conscience acquitted him of a breach of 
faith towards the Castilian sovereigns, and the per- 
sonal valor he had displayed had caused a sympathy 
for him among many of the christian cavaliers. He 
knelt to Ferdinand according to the forms of vas- 
salage, and then departed, in melancholy mood, for 
Priego, a town about three leagues distant. 

Ferdinand immediately ordered Loxa to be re- 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



227 



c 



paired, and strong^ly garrisoned. He was greatly 
elated at the capture of this place, in consequence 
of his former defeat before its walls. He passed 
great encomiums upon the commanders who had dis- 
tinguished themselves ; and historians dwell particu- 
larly upon his visit to the tent of the English earl. 
His majesty consoled him for the loss of his teeth, by 
the consideration that he might otherwise have lost 
them by natural decay; whereas the lack of them 
would now be esteemed a beauty, rather than a de- 
fect, serving as a trophy of the glorious cause in 
which he had been engaged. 

The earl replied, that ne gave th.anks to God and 
to the holy virgin, for being thus honored by a visit 
from the most potent king in Christendom ; that he 
accepted with all gratitude his gracious consolation 
for the loss of his teeth, though he held it little to 
lose two teeth in the service of God, who had given 
him all : — " A speech," says Fray Antonio Agapida, 
" full of most courtly wit and christian piety ; and 
one only marvels that it should have been made by 
a native of an island so far distant from Castile." 



CHAPTER XLI. 



CAPTURE OF ILLORA. 



King Ferdinand followed up his victory at Loxa, 
by laying siege to the strong town of lllora. This 
redoubtable fortress was perched upon a high rock, 
in the midst of a spacious valley. It was within four 
leagues of the Moorish capital ; and its lofty castle, 
keeping vigilant watch over a wide circuit of coun- 
try, w^s termed the right eye of Granada. 

The alcayde of lllora was one of the bravest of the 
Moorish commanders, and made every preparation 
to defend his fortress to the last extremity. He 
sent the women and children, the aged and infirm, 
to the metropolis. He placed barricades in the 
suburbs, opened doors of communication from house 
to house, and pierced their walls with loop-holes 
for the discharge of cross-bows, arquebusses, and 
other missiles. 

King Ferdinand arrived before the place, with all 
his forces; he stationed himself upon the hill of 
Encinilla, and distributed the other encampments 
in various situations, so as to invest the fortress. 
Knowing the valiant character of the alcayde, 
and the desperate courage of the Moors, he ordered 
the encampments to be fortified with trenches and 
pallisadoes. the guards to be doubled, and sentinels 
to be placed in all the watch-towers of the adjacent 
heights. 

When all was ready, the duke del Infantado de- 
manded the attack ; it was his first campaign, and 
he was anxious to disprove the royal msinuation 
made against the hardihood of his embroidered chiv- 
alry. King Ferdinand granted his demand, with a 
becoming compliment to his spirit ; he ordered the 
count de Cabra to make a simultaneous attack upon 
a different quarter. Both chiefs led forth their 
troops ; — those of the duke in fresh and brilliant 
armor, richly ornamented, and as yet uninjured by 
the service of the field ; those of the count were 
weat^erbeaten veterans, whose armor was dented 
and hacked in many a hard-fought battle. The 
youthful duke blushed at the contrast. " Cavaliers," 
cried he, " we have been reproached with the finery 
of our array : let us prove that a trenchant blade 
may rest in a gilded sheath. Forward ! to the foe ! 
and I trust in God, that as we enter this affray 
knights well accoutred, so we shall leave it cava- 
liers well proved." His men responded by eager 



acclamations, and the duke led them forward to the 
assault. He advanced under a tremendous shower 
of stones, darts, balls, and arrows ; but nothing could 
check his career ; he entered the suburb sword in 
hand ; his men fought furiously, though with great 
loss, for every dwelling had been turned into a for- 
tress. After a severe conflict, they succeeded in 
driving the Moors into the town, about the same 
time that the other suburb was carried by the count 
de Cabra and his veterans. The troops of the duke 
del Infantado came out of the contest thinned in 
number, and covered with blood, and dust, and 
wounds : they received the highest encomiums of 
the king, and there was never afterwards any sneer 
at their embroidery. 

The suburbs being taken, three batteries, each fur- 
nished with eight huge lombards, were opened upon 
the fortress. The damage and havoc were tremen- 
dous, for the fortifications had not been constructed 
to withstand such engines. The towers were over- 
thrown, the walls battered to pieces ; the interior of 
the place was all exposed, houses demolished, and 
many people slain. The Moors were terrified by the 
tumbling ruins, and the tremendous din. The al- 
cayde had resolved to defend the place until the last 
extremity ; he beheld it a heap of rubbish ; there 
was no prospect of aid from Granada; his people 
had lost all spirit to fight, and were vociferous for a 
surrender ; with a reluctant heart, he capitulated. 
The inhabitants were permitted to depart with all 
their effects, excepting their arms ; and were escorted 
in safety by the duke del Infantado and the count de 
Cabra, to the bridge of Pinos, within two leagues of 
Granada. 

King Ferdinand gave directions to repair the forti- 
fications of lllora, and to place it in a strong state of 
defence. He left, as alcayde of the town and for- 
tress, Gonsalvo de Cordova, younger brother of Don 
Alonzo de Aguilar. This gallant cavalier was cap- 
tain of the royal guards of Ferdinand and Isabella, 
and gave already proofs of that prowess which after- 
wards rendered him so renowned. 



CHAPTER XLII. 



OF THE ARRIVAL OF QUEEN ISABELLA AT THE 
CAMP BEFORE MOCLIN ; AND OF THE PLEAS- 
ANT SAYINGS OF THE ENGLISH EARL. 

The war of Granada, however poets may em- 
broider it with the flowers of their fancy, was cer- 
tainly one of the sternest of those iron conflicts 
which have been celebrated under the name of holy 
wars. The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida dwells 
with unsated delight upon the succession of rugged 
mountain enterprises, bloody battles, and merciless 
sackings and ravages which characterized it ; yet we 
find him on one occasion pausing in the full career 
of victory over the infidels, to detail a stately pageant 
of the Catholic sovereigns. 

Immediately on the capture of Loxa, Ferdinand 
had written to Isabella, soliciting her presence at the 
camp, that he might consult with her as to the dis- 
position of their newly acquired territories. 

It was in the early part of June that the queen 
departed from Cordova, with the princess Isabella 
and numerous ladies of her court. .She had a glori- 
ous attendance of cavaliers and pages, with many 
guards and domestics. There were forty mules, for 
the use of the queen, the princess, and their train. 

As this courtly cavalcade approached the Rock of 
the Lovers, on the banks of the river Yeguas, they 
beheld a splendid train of knights advancing to meet 



228 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



them. It was headed by that accomplished cavalier 
the marques duke de Cadiz, accompanied by the 
adelantado of Andalusia. He had left the camp the 
day after the capture of Illora. and advanced thus 
far to receive the queen and escort her over the bor- 
ders. The queen received the marques with distin- 
guished honor ; for he was esteemed the mirror of 
chivalry. His actions in this war had become the 
theme of every tongue, and many hesitated not to 
compare him in prowess to the immortal Cid.* 

Thus gallantly attended, the queen entered the 
vanquished frontier of Granada ; journeying securely 
along the pleasant banks of the Xenel, so lately sub- 
ject to the scourings of the Moors. She stopped at 
Loxa, where she administered aid and consolation to 
the wounded, distributing money among them for 
their support, according to their rank. 

The king, after the capture of Illora, had removed 
his camp before the fortress of Moclin, with an in- 
tention of besieging it. Thither the queen proceeded, 
still escorted through the mountain roads by the 
marques of Cadiz. As Isabella drew near to the 
camp, the duke del Infantado issued forth a league 
and a half to receive her, magnificently arrayed, and 
followed by all his chivalry in glorious attire. With 
him came the standard of Seville, borne by the men- 
at-arms of that renowned city ; and the Prior of St. 
Juan, with his followers. They arrayed themselves 
in order of battle, on the let't of the road by which 
the queen was to pass. 

The worthy Agapida is loyally minute, in his de- 
scription of the state and grandeur of the Catholic 
sovereigns. The queen rode a chestnut mule, seated 
in a magnificent saddle-chair decorated with silver 
gilt. The housings of the mule were of fine crimson 
cloth ; the borders embroidered with gold ; the reins 
and head-piece were of satin, curiously embossed 
with needlework of silk, and wrought with golden 
letters. The queen wore a brial, or regal skirt of 
velvet, under which were others of brocade ; a scar- 
let mantle, ornainented in the Moresco fashion ; and 
a black hat, embroidered round the crown and brim. 

The Infanta was likewise mounted on a chestnut 
mule, richly caparisoned : she wore a brial or skirt 
of black brocade, and a black mantle ornamented 
like that of the queen. 

When the royal cavalcade passed by the chivalry 
of the duke del Infantado, which was drawn out in 
battle array, the queen made a reverence to the stand- 
ard of Seville, and ordered it to pass to the right 
hand. When she approached the camp, the multi- 
tude ran forth to meet her, with great demonstra- 
tions of joy ; for she was universally beloved by her 
subjects. All the battalions sallied forth in military 
arriy, bearing the various standards and banners of 
the camp, which were lowered in salutation as she 
passed. 

The king now came forth in royal state, mounted 
on a superb chestnut horse, and attended by many 
grandees of Castile. He wore a jubon or close vest 
of crimson cloth, with cuisses or short skirts of yel- 
low satin, a loose cassock of brocade, a rich Moorish 
scimitar, and a hat with plumes. The grandees who 
attended him were arrayed with wonderful magnifi- 
cence, each according to his taste and mvention. 

These high and mighty princes (says Antonio 
Agapida) regard each other with great deference, 
as allied sovereigns, rather than with connubial fa- 
miliarity as mere husband and wife. When they 
approached each other, therefore, before embracing, 
they made three profound reverences ; the queen 
taking off her hat, and remaining in a silk net or 
cawl, with her face uncovered. The king then ap- 

* Cura de los Palacios. 



proached and embraced her, and kissed her respect- 
fully on the cheek. He also embraced his daughter 
the princess ; and, making the sign of the cross, he 
blessed her, and kissed her on the lips.* 

The good Agapida seems scarcely to have been 
more struck with the appearance of the sovereigns, 
than with that of the English earl. He followed 
(says he) immediately after the king, with great 
pomp, and, in an extraordinary manner, taking pre- 
cedence of all the rest. He was mounted "a la 
gtiisa," or with long stirrups, on a superb chestnut 
horse, with trappings of azure silk which reached to 
the ground. The housings were of mulberry, pow- 
dered with stars of gold. He was armed in proof, 
and wore over his armor a short French mantle of 
black brocade ; he had a white French hat with 
plumes, and carried on his left arm a small round 
buckler, banded with gold. Five pages attended 
him, apparelled in silk and brocade, and mounted 
on horses sumptuously caparisoned ; he had also a 
train of followers, bravely attired after the fashion 
of his country. 

He advanced in a chivalrous and courteous man- 
ner, making his reverences first to the queen and In- 
fanta, and afterwards to the king. Queen Isabella 
received him graciously, comphmenting him on his 
courageous conduct at Loxa, and condoling with 
him on the loss of his teeth. The earl, however, 
made light of his disfiguring wound ; saying, that 
"our blessed Lord, who had built all that house, 
had opened a window there, that he might see more 
readily what passed within :"t whereupon the 
worthy Fray Antonio Agapida is more than ever 
astonished at the pregnant wit of this island cavalier. 
The earl continued some little distance by the side 
of the royal family, complimenting them all with 
courteous speeches, his horse curvetting and cara- 
coling, but being managed with great grace and 
dexterity; leaving the grandees and the people at 
large, not more filled with admiration at the strange- 
ness and magnificence of his state, than at the ex- 
cellence of his horsemanship. J 

To testify her sense of the gallantry and services 
of this noble English knight, who had come from so 
far to assist in their wars, the queen sent him the 
next day presents of twelve horses, with stately 
tents, fine linen, two beds with coverings of gold 
brocade, and many other articles of great value. 

Having, refreshed himself, as it were, with the 
description of this progress of queen Isabella to the 
camp, and the glorious pomp of the Catholic sover- 
eigns, the worthy Antonio Agapida returns with 
renewed relish to his pious work of discomfiting the 
Moors. 

The description of this royal pageant, and the par- 
ticulars concerning the English earl, thus given from 
the manuscript of Fray Antonio Agapida, agree pre- 
cisely with the chronicle of Andres Bernaldes, the 
curate of los Palacios. The English earl makes no 
further figure in this war. It appears from various 
histories, that he returned in the course of the year 
to England. In the following year, his passion for 
fighting took him to the continent at the head of 
four hundred adventurers, in aid of Francis, duke of 
Brittany, against Louis XI. of France. He was 
killed in the same year [148SJ in the battle of St. 
Alban's, between the Bretons and the French. 



* Cura dc los Palacios. + Pietro Martyr, Epist. 6l. 

X Cura de los Palacios. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



229 



CHAPTER XLIII. 

HOW KING FERDINAND ATTACKED MOCLIN, AND 
OF THE STRANGE EVENTS THAT ATTENDED 
ITS CAPTURE. 

" The Catholic sovereigns," says Fray Antonio 
Agapida, "had by this time closely clipped the right 
wing of the Moorish vulture." In other words, most 
of the strong fortresses along the western frontier of 
Granada had fallen beneath the christian artillery. 
The army now lay encamped before the town of 
Moclin, on the frontier of Jaen, one of the most 
stubborn fortresses of the border. It stood on a 
high rocky hill, the base of which was nearly girdled 
by a river : a thick forest protected the back part 
of the town, towards the mountain. Thus strongly 
situated, it domineered, with its frowning battle- 
ments and massive towers, all the mountain passes 
into that part of the country, and was called " the 
shield of Granada." It had a double arrear of blood 
to settle with the christians ; two hundred years be- 
fore, a Master of Santiago and all his cavaliers had 
been lanced by the Moors before its gates. It had 
recently made terrible slaughter among the troops 
of the good count de Cabra, in his precipitate attempt 
to entrap the old Moorish monarch. The pride of 
Ferdinand had been piqued by being obliged on that 
occasion to recede from his plan, and abandon his 
concerted attack on the place ; he was now prepared 
to take a full revenge. 

El Zagal, the old warrior king of Granada, antici- 
pating a second attempt, had provided the place 
with ample ammunitions and provisions ; had ordered 
trenches to be digged, and additional bulwarks thrown 
up ; and caused all the old men, the women, and the 
children, to be removed to the capital. 

Such was the strength of the fortress, and the 
difficulties of its position, that Ferdinand anticipated 
much trouble in reducing it, and made every prepara- 
tion lor a regular siege. In the centre of his camp 
were two great mounds, one of sacks of flour, the 
other of grain, which were called the royal granary. 
Three batteries of heavy ordnance were opened 
against the citadel and principal towers, while small- 
er artillerj-, engines for the discharge of missiles, ar- 
cjuebusses and cross-bows, were distributed in various 
places, to keep up a fire into any breaches that might 
be made, and upon those of the garrison who should 
appear on the battlements. 

The lombards soon made an impression on the 
works, demolishing a part of the wall, and tumbling 
down several of those haughty towers, which from 
their height had been impregnable before the inven- 
tion of gunpowder. The Moors repaired their walls 
as well as they were able, and, still confiding in the 
strength of their situation, kept up a resolute defence, 
firing down from their lofty battlements and towers 
upon the christian camp. For two nights and a day 
an incessant fire was kept up, so that there was not 
a moment in which the roaring of ordnance was not 
heard, or some damage sustained by the christians or 
the Moors. It was a conflict, however, more of 
engineers and artillerists than of gallant cavaliers ; 
there was no sally of troops, or shock of armed men, 
or rush and charge of cavalry. The knights stood 
looking on with idle weapons, waiting until they 
should have an opportunity of signalizing their prow- 
ess by scahng the walls, or storming the breaches. 
As the place, however, was assailable only in one 
part, there was every prospect of a long and obsti- 
nate resistance. 

The engineers, as usual, discharged not merely 
balls of stone and iron, to demolish the walls, but 
flamincr balls of inextintruishable combustibles, de- 



signed to set fire to the houses. One of these, which 
passed high through the air like a meteor, sending 
out sparks and crackling as it went, entered the win- 
dow of a tower which was used as a magazine of 
gunpowder. The tower blew up, with a tremendous 
explosion ; the Moors who were upon its battlements 
were hurled into the air, and fell mangled in various 
parts of the town ; and the houses in its vicinity 
were rent and overthrown as with an earthquake. 

The Moors, who had never witnessed an explosion 
of the kind, ascribed the destruction of the tower to a 
miracle. Some who had seen the descent of the flam- 
ing ball, imagined that fire had fallen from heaven to 
punish them for their pertinacity. The pious Agap- 
ida, himself, believes that this fierj- missive was con- 
ducted by divine agency to confound the infidels ; an 
opinion in which he is supported by other Catholic 
historians.* 

Seeing heaven and earth as it were combined 
against them, the Moors lost all heart : they capitu- 
lated, and were permitted to depart with their effects, 
leaving behind all arms and munitions of war. 

The Catholic army (says Antonio Agapida) entered 
Moclin in solemn state, not as a licentious host, in- 
tent upon plunder and desolation, but as a band of 
christian warriors, coming to purify and regenerate 
the land. The standard of the cross, that ensign of 
this holy crusade, was borne in the advance, followed 
by the other banners of the army. Then came the 
king and queen, at the head of a vast number of 
armed cavaliers. They were accompanied by a 
band of priests and friars, with the choir of the royal 
chapel, chanting the canticle " Te dciiin laudamus." 
As they were moving through the streets in this sol- 
emn manner, every sound hushed excepting the an- 
them of the choir, they suddenly heard, issuing as it 
were from under ground, a chorus of voices chant- 
ing the solemn response, " Bcncdictum qui Vc)iit in 
nomine domini."\ The procession paused in wonder. 
The sounds arose from christian captives, and among 
them several priests, who were confined in subterra- 
neous dungeons. 

The heart of Isabella was greatly touched. She 
ordered the captives to be drawn forth from their 
cells, and was still more moved at beholding, by their 
wan, discolored, and emaciated appearance, how 
much they had suffered. Their hair and beards 
were overgrown and shagged ; they were wasted by 
hunger, half naked, and in chains. She ordered that 
they should be clothed and cherished, and money 
furnished them to bear them to their homes.J 

Several of the captives were brave cavaliers, who 
had been wounded and made prisoners, in the defeat 
of the count de Cabra by El Zagal, in the preceding 
year. There were also found other melancholy 
traces of that disastrous affair. On visiting the narrow 
pass where the defeat had taken place, the remains 
of several christian warriors were found in thickets, 
or hidden behind rocks, or in the clefts of the mount- 
ains. These were some who had been struck from 
their horses, and wounded too severely to fly. They 
had crawled away from the scene of action, and 
concealed themselves to avoid falling into the hands 
of the enemy, and had thus perished miserably and 
alone. The remains of those of note were known 
by their armor and devices, and were mourned over 
by their companions who had shared the disasters 
of that day.§ 

The queen had these remains piously collected, 
as the relics of so many martyrs who had fallen in 



* PuUar. Garibay. Lucio Marino Siculo, Cosas Memoral. de 
Hispan, lib. 20. 
t Marino Siculo. X Illescas, Hist. Pontif. lib. 6. c. 20. § i. 

§ Pulgar, part 3. cap. 61. 



2'60 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the cause of the faith. They were interred with 
great solemnity in the mosques of Mochn, which had 
been purilied and consecrated to christian worship. 
" There," says Antonio Agapida, "rest the bones of 
those truly Catholic knights, in the holy ground 
which in a manner had been sanctified by their blood ; 
and all pilgrims passing through those mountains 
offer up prayers and masses for the repose of their 
souls." 

The queen remained for some time at Moclin, 
administering comfort to the wounded and the pris- 
oners, bringing the newly acquired territory into 
order, and founding churches and monasteries and 
other pious institutions. " While the king marched 
in front, laying waste the land of the Philistines," 
says the figurative Antonio Agapida, " queen Isabella 
followed his traces as the binder follows the reaper, 
gathering and garnering the rich harvest that has 
fallen beneath his sickle. In this she was greatly 
assisted by the counsels of that cloud of bishops, 
friars, and other saintly men, which continually sur- 
rounded her, garnering the first fruits of this infidel 
land into the granaries of the church." Leaving her 
thus piously employed, the king pursued his career 
of conquest, determined to lay waste the vega, and 
carry fire and sword to the very gates of Granada. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 

HOW KING FERDINAND FORAGED THE VEGA ; 
AND OF THE BATTLE OF THE BRIDGE OF 
PINGS, AND THE FATE OF THE TWO MOORISH 
BROTHERS. 

MULEY Abdalla el Zagal had been under a 
spell of ill fortune, ever since the suspicious death 
of the old king, his brother. Success had deserted 
his standard ; and, with his fickle subjects, want of 
success was one of the greatest crimes in a sovereign. 
He found his popularity declining, and he lost all con- 
fidence in his people. The christian army marched 
in open defiance through his territories, and sat down 
deliberately before his fortresses ; yet he dared not 
lead forth his legions to oppose them, lest the inhab- 
itants of the Albaycin, ever ripe for a revolt, should 
rise and shut the gates of Granada against liis return. 

Every few days, some melancholy train entered 
the metropolis, the inhabitants of some captured 
town, bearing the few effects that had been spared 
them, and weeping and bewailing the desolation of 
their homes. When the tidings arrived that Illora 
and Moclin had fallen, the people were seized with 
cqnsternation. •' The right eye of Granada is extin- 
guished," exclaimed they; "the shield of Granada is 
broken : what shall protect us from the inroad of the 
foe?" When the survivors of the garrisons of those 
towns arrived, with downcast looks, bearing the 
marks of battle, and destitute of arms and standards, 
the populace reviled them in their wrath ; but they 
answered, " we fought as long as we had force to 
fight, or walls to shelter us ; but the christians laid 
our towns and battlements in ruins, and we looked 
in vain for aid from Granada." 

The alcaydes of Illora and Moclin were brothers; 
they were alike in prowess, and the bravest among 
the Moorish chevaliers. They had been the most 
distinguished in all tilts and tourneys which graced 
the happier days of Granada, and had distinguished 
themselves in the sterner conflicts of the field. Ac- 
clamation had always followed their banners, and 
they had long been the delight of the people. Yet 
now, when they returned after the capture of their 
lortresses, they were followed by the unsteady popu- 



lace with execrations. The hearts of the alcaydes 
swelled with indignation ; they found the ingratitude 
of their countrymen still more intolerable than the 
hostility of the christians. 

Tidings came, that the enemy was advancing with 
his triumphant legions to lay waste the country about 
Granada. Still El Zagal did not dare to take the 
field. The two alcaydes of Illora and Moclin stood 
before him : " We have defended your fortresses," 
said they, " until we were almost buried under their 
ruins, and for our reward we receive scoffings and 
revilings ; give us, oh king, an opportunity where 
knightly valor may signalize itself, not shut up behind 
stone walls, but in the open conflict of the field. 
The enemy approaches to lay our country desolate : 
give us men to meet him in the advance, and let 
shame light upon our heads if we be found wanting 
in the battle ! " 

The two brothers were sent forth, with a large 
force of horse and foot ; El Zagal intended, should 
they be successful, to issue forth with his whole 
force, and by a decisive victory, repair the losses he 
had suffered. When the people saw the well-known 
standards of the brothers going forth to battle, there 
was a feeble shout ; but the alcaydes passed on with 
stern countenances, for they knew the same voices 
would curse them were they to return unfortunate. 
They cast a farewell look upon fair Granada, and 
upon the beautiful fields of their infancy, as if for 
these they were willing to lay down their lives, but 
not for an ungrateful people. 

The army of Ferdinand had arrived within two 
leagues of Granada, at the Bridge of Pines, a pass 
famous in the wars of the Moors and christians for 
many a bloody conflict. It was the pass by which 
the Castilian monarchs generally made their inroads, 
and was capable of great defence, from the rugged- 
ness of the country and the difficulty of the bridge. 
The king, with the main body of the army, had at- 
tained the brow of a hill, when they beheld the ad- 
vance guard, under the marques of Cadiz and the 
Master of Santiago, furiously attacked by the enemy, 
in the vicinity of the bridge. The Moors rushed to 
the assault with their usual shouts, but with more 
than usual ferocity. There was a hard struggle at 
the bridge ; both parties knew the importance of 
that pass. 

The king particularly noted the prowess of two 
Moorish cavaliers, alike in arms and devices, and 
whom by their bearing and attendance he perceived 
to be commanders of the enemy. They were the 
two brothers, the alcaydes of Illora and Moclin. 
Wherever they turned, they carried confusion and 
death into the ranks of the christians ; but they 
fought with desperation, rather than valor. The 
count de Cabra, and his brother Don Martin de Cor- 
dova, pressed forward with eagerness against them ; 
but having advanced too precipitately, were sur- 
rounded by the foe, and in imminent danger. A 
young christian knight, seeing their peril, hastened 
with his followers to their relief. The king recog- 
nized him for Don Juan de Arragon, count of Ribar- 
goza, his own nephew ; for he was illegitimate son 
of the duke of Villahermosa, illegitimate brother of 
king Ferdinand. The splendid armor of Don Juan, 
and the sumptuous caparison of his steed, rendered 
him a brilliant object of attack. He was assailed on 
all sides, and his superb steed slain under him ; yet 
still he fought valiantly, bearing for a time the brunt 
of the fight, and giving the exhausted forces of the 
count de Cabra time to recover breath. 

Seeing the peril of these troops and the general 
obstinacy of the fight, the king ordered the royal 
standard to be advanced, and hastened, with all his 
forces, to the relief of the count de Cabra. At his 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



231 



approach, the enemy gave way, and retreated to- 
wards the bridge. The two Moorish commanders 
endeavored to rally their troops, and animate them 
to defend this pass to the utmost : they used prayers, 
remonstrances, menaces — but almost in vain. They 
could only collect a scanty handful of cavaliers ; with 
these they planted themselves at the head of the 
bridge, and disputed it inch by inch. The fight was 
hot and obstinate, for but few could contend hand to 
hand, yet many discharged cross-bows and arque- 
busses from the 6anks. The river was covered with 
the floating bodies of the slain. The Moorish band 
of cavaliers was almost entirely cut to pieces ; the 
two brothers fell, covered with wounds, upon the 
bridge they had so resolutely defended. They had 
given up the battle for lost, but had determined not 
to return alive to ungrateful Granada. 

When the people of the capital heard how de- 
votedly they had fallen, they lamented greatly their 
deaths, and e.xtoUed their memory ; a column was 
erected to their honor in the vicinity of the bridge, 
which long went by the name of " the Tomb of the 
Brothers." 

The army of Ferdinand now marched on, and es- 
tablished its camp in the vicinity of Granada. The 
worthy Agapida gives many triumphant details of the 
ravages committed in the vega, which was again laid 
waste ; the grain, fruits, and other productions of the ' 
earth, destroyed — and that earthly paradise render- 
ed a dreary desert. He narrates several fierce but 
ineffectual sallies and skirmishes of the Moors, in 
defence of their favorite plain ; among which, one 
deserves to be mentioned, as it records the achieve- 
ments of one of the saintly heroes of this war. 

During one of the movements of the christian 
army, near the walls of Granada, a battalion of fif- 
teen hundred cavalrj-, and a large force of foot, had 
sallied from the city, and posted themselves near 
some gardens, which were surrounded by a canal, 
and traversed by ditches, for the purpose of irriga- 
tion. 

The Moors beheld the duke del Infantado pass by, 
with his two splendid battalions ; one of men-at-arms, 
the other of light cavalry, armed a !a giiieta. In com- 
pany with him, but following as a rear-guard, was 
Don Garcia Osorio, the belligerent bishop of Jaen, 
attended by Francisco Bovadillo, the corregidor of 
his city, and followed by two squadrons of men-at- 
arms, from Jaen, Anduxar, Ubeda, and Baeza.* The 
success of last year's campaign had given the good 
bishop an inclination for warlike affairs, and he had 
once more buckled on his cuirass. 

The Moors were much given to stratagem in war- 
fare. They looked wistfully at the magnificent 
squadrons of the duke del Infantado ; but their mar- 
tial discipline precluded all attack : the good bishop 
promised to be a more easy prey. Suffering the 
duke and his troops to pass unmolested, they ap- 
proached the squadrons of the bishop, and, making 
a pretended attack, skirmished slightly, and fied in 
apparent confusion. The bishop considered the day 
his own, and, seconded by his corregidor Bovadillo, 
followed with valorous precipitation. The Moors 
fled into the Htierta del Rey, or orchard of the king ; 
the troops of the bishop followed holly after them. 

When the Moors perceived their pursuers fairly 
embarrassed among the intricacies of the garden, 
they turned fiercely upon them, while some of their 
number threw open the sluices of the Xenel. In an 
instant, the canal which encircled and the ditches 
which traversed the garden, were filled with water, 
and the valiant bishop and his followers found them- 
selves overwhelmed by a deluge.f A scene of great 



confusion succeeded. Some of the men of Jaen, 
stoutest of heart and hand, fought with the Moors in 
the garden, while others struggled with the water, 
endeavoring to escape across the canal, in which at- 
tempt many horses were drowned. 

Fortunately, the duke del Infantado perceived the 
snare into which his companions had fallen, and dis- 
patched his light cavalry to their assistance. The 
Moors were compelled to flight, and driven along the 
road of Elvira up to the gates of Granada.* Several 
christian cavaliers perished in this affray ; the bishop 
himself escaped with difficulty, having slipped from 
his saddle in crossing the canal, but saving himself 
by holding on to the tail of his charger. This peril- 
ous achievement seems to have satisfied the good 
bishop's belligerent propensities. He retired on his 
laurels, (says Agapida,) to his city of Jaen ; where, 
in the fruition of all good things, he gradually waxed 
too corpulent for his corselet, which was hung up in 
the hall of his episcopal palace ; and we hear no 
more of his military deeds, throughout the residue 
of the holy war of Granada.t 

King Ferdinand, having completed his ravage ol 
the vega, and kept El Zagal shut up in his capital, 
conducted his army back through the pass of Lope 
to rejoin queen Isabella at Moclin. The fortresses 
lately taken being well garrisoned and supplied, he 
ga\'e the command of the frontier to his cousin, 
Don Fadrique de Toledo, afterwards so famous in 
the Netherlands as the duke of Alva. The cam- 
paign being thus completely crowned with success, 
the sovereigns returned in triumph to the city of 
Cordova. 



CHAPTER XLV. 



* Pulgar, part 3, cap. 62. 



t Pulgar. 



ATTEMPT OF EL ZAG.4L UPON THE LIFE OF 
BOABDIL, AND HOW THE LATTER WAS 
ROUSED TO ACTION. 

No sooner did the last squadron of christian cav- 
alry disappear behind the mountain of Elvira, and 
the note of its trumpets die away upon the ear, 
than the long-suppressed wrath of old Muley El 
Zagal burst forth. He determined no longer to be 
half a king, reigning over a divided kingdom, in a 
divided capital ; but to exterminate, by any means, 
fair or foul, his nephew Boabdil and his faction. He 
turned furiously upon those whose factious conduct 
had deterred him from sallying upon the foe ; some 
he punished by confiscations, others by banishment, 
others by death. Once undisputed monarch of the 
entire kingdom, he trusted to his military skill to re- 
trieve his fortunes, and drive the christians over the 
frontier. 

Boabdil, however, had again retired to Velez el 
Blanco, on the confines of Murcia, where he could 
avail himself, in case of emergency, of any assist- 
ance or protection afforded him by the policy of 
Ferdinand. His defeat had blighted his reviving 
fortunes, for the people considered him as inevitably 
doomed to misfortune. Still, while he lived. El Za- 
gal knew he would be a rallying point for faction, 
and liable at any moment to be elevated into power 
by the capricious multitude. He had recourse, 
therefore, to the most perfidious means to compass 
his destruction. He sent embassadors to him, rep- 
resenting the necessity of concord for the salvation 
of the kingdom, and even offering to resign the title 

* Pulgar. 

t " Don Luis Osorio fue obispo de Jaen desde cl aflo de 1483, y 
presidio in esta Iglesia hasta el dc 1496 in que murio en Flandes, a 
dondc fue acompai^ando a la priucesa Dona Juana, csposa del 
archidnque Don Felipe." — Espaha Sagrada^ por Fr. M. RiiCO, toni. 
41, trat. 77, cap. 4. 



232 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of king-, and to become subject to his sway, on re- 
ceiving some estate on which he could live in tran- 
quil retirement. But while the embassadors bore 
these words of peace, they were furnished with poi- 
soned herbs, which they were to administer secretly 
to Boabdil ; and if they failed in this attempt, they 
had pledged themselves to dispatch him openly, 
while engaged in conversation. They were instiga- 
ted to this treason by promises of great reward, and 
by assurances from the alfaquis that Boabdil was 
an apostate, whose death would be acceptable to 
Heaven. 

The young monarch was secretly apprized of the 
concerted treason, and refused an audience to the 
embassadors. He denounced his uncle as the mur- 
derer of his father and his kindred, and the usurper 
of his throne ; and vowed never to relent in hostility 
to him, until he should place his head on the walls 
of the Alhambra. 

Open war again broke out between the two mon- 
archs, though feebly carried on, in consequence of 
their mutual embarrassments. Ferdinand again 
extended his assistance to Boabdil, ordering the 
commanders of his fortresses to aid him in all en- 
terprises against his uncle, and against such places 
as refused to acknowledge him as king; and Don 
Juan de Bonavides, who commanded in Lorca, even 
made inroads in his name, into the territories of Al- 
meria. Baza, and Guadi.x, which owned allegiance to 
El Zagal. 

The unfortunate Boabdil had three great evils to 
contend with — the inconstancy of his subjects, the 
hostility of his uncle, and the friendship of Ferdi- 
nand. The last was by far the most baneful : his 
fortunes withered under it. He was looked upon as 
the enemy of his faith and of his country. The cities 
shut their gates against him ; the people cursed him ; 
even the scanty band of cavaliers, who had hitherto 
followed his ill-starred banner, began to desert him ; 



for he had not wherewithal to reward, or even to 
support them. His spirits sunk with his fortune, and 
he feared that in a little time he should not have a 
spot of earth whereon to plant his standard, nor an 
adherent to rally under it. 

In the midst of his despondency, he received a 
message from his lion-hearted mother, the sultana 
Ayxa la Horra. " For shame," said she, "to linger 
timorously about the borders of your kingdom, when 
a usurper is seated in your capital. Why look abroad 
for perfidious aid, when you have loyal hearts beat- 
ing true to you in Granada ? The Albaycin is ready 
to throw open its gates to receive you. Strike home 
vigorously — a sudden blow may mend all, or make 
an end. A throne or a grave ! — for a king, there is 
no honorable medium." 

Boabdil was of an undecided character, but there 
are circumstances which bring the most wavering 
to a decision, and when once resolved they are apt 
to act with a daring impulse unknown to steadier 
judgments. The message of the sultana roused 
hiin from a dream. Granada, beautiful Granada, 
with its stately Alhambra, its delicious gardens, its 
gushing and liinpid fountains sparkling among 
groves of orange, citron, and myrtle, rose before 
hiin. " What have I done," exclaimed he, " that 
I should be an exile from this paradise of my 
forefathers — a wanderer and fugitive in my own 
kingdom, while a murderous usurper sits proudly 
upon my throne? Surely Allah will befriend the 
righteous cause ; one blow, and all may be my own." 

He summoned his scanty band of cavaliers. 
"Who is ready to follow his monarch unto the 
death ? " said he : and every one laid his hand upon 
his scimitar. " Enough ! " said he ; " let each man 
arm himself and prepare his steed in secret, for an 
enterprise of toil and peril : if we succeed, our re- 
ward is empire." 

[END OF VOL. ONE.] 



A Chronicle of the Conouest of Granada. 



VOLUME SECOND. 



CHAPTER I. 

HOW BOABDIL RETURNED SECRETLY TO GR.\- 
NADA, AND HOW HE WAS RECEIVED. 

" In the hand of God," exclaims an old Arabian 
chronicler, " is the destiny of princes ; he alone giv- 
eth empire. A single Moorish horseman, mounted 
on a fleet Arabian steed, was one day traversing the 
mountains which extend between Granada and the 
frontier of Murcia. He galloped swiftly through the 
valleys, but paused and looked out cautiously from 
the summit of every height. A squadron of cava- 
liers followed warily at a distance. There were fifty 
lances. The richness of their armor and attire 
showed them to be warriors of noble rank, and their 
leader had a lofty and prince-like demeanor." The 
squadron thus described by the Arabian chronicler, 
-was the Moorish king Boabdil and his devoted fol- 
Sowers. 

For two nights and a day they pursued their ad- 
'venturous journey, avoiding all populous parts of the 



country, and choosing the most solitary passes of 
the mountains. They suffered severe hardships and 
fatigues, but they suffered without a murmur : they 
were accustomed to rugged campaigning, and their 
steeds were of generous and unyielding spirit. It 
was midnight, and all was dark and silent as they 
descended from the mountains, and approached the 
city of Granada. They passed along quietly under 
the shadow of its walls, until they arrived near the 
gate of the Albaycin. Here Boabdil ordered his fol- 
lowers to halt, and remain concealed. Taking but 
four or five with him, he advanced resolutely to the 
gate, and knocked with the hilt of his scimitar. The 
guards demanded who sought to enter at that un- 
seasonable hour. " Your king ! " exclaimed Boab- 
dil, " open the gate and admit him I " 

The guards held forth a light, and recognized the 
person of the youthful monarch. They were struck 
with sudden awe, and threw open the gates ; and 
Bo.abdil and his followers entered unmolested. They 
galloped to the dwellings of the principal inhabitants 
of the Albaycin, thundering at their portals, and 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



233 



summoning them to rise and take arms for their 
rightful sovereign. The summons was instantly 
obeyed : trumpets resounded throughout the streets 
— the gleam of torches and the flash of arms showed 
the Moors hurrying to tlieir gathering-places — and 
by daybreak, the whole force of the Albaycin was 
rallied under the standard of Boabdil. Such was the 
success of this sudden and desperate act of the 
young monarch ; for we are assured by contempo- 
rary historians, that there had been no previous con- 
cert or arrangement. " As the guards opened the 
gates of the city to admit him," observes a pious 
chronicler, " so God opened the hearts of the IVIoors 
to receive him as their king."* 

In the morning early, the tidings of this event 
roused El Zagal from his slumbers in the Alhambra. 
The fiery old warrior assembled his guard in haste, 
and made his way sword in hand to the Albaycin, 
hoping to come upon his nephew by surprise. He 
was vigorously met by Boabdil and his adherents, 
and driven back into the quarter of the Alhambra. 
An encounter took place between the two kings, in 
the square before the principal mosque ; here they 
fought hand to hand with implacable fury, as though 
it had been agreed to decide their competition for 
the crown by single combat. In the tumult of this 
chance medley afiVay, however, they were separated, 
and the party of El Zagal v^as ultimately driven from 
the Square. 

The battle raged for some time in the streets and 
places of the city, but finding their powers of mis- 
chief cramped within such narrow limits, both par- 
ties sallied forth into the fields, and fought beneath 
the walls until evening. Many fell on both sides, 
and at night each party withdrew into its quarter, 
until the morning gave them light to renew the un- 
natural conflict. For several days, the tv/o grand 
divisions of the city remained like hostile powers 
arrayed against each other. The party of the Al- 
hambra was more numerous than that of the Albay- 
cin, and contained most of the nobility and chivalry ; 
but the adherents of Boabdil were men hardened 
and strengthened by labor and habitually skilled in 
the exercise of arms. 

The Albaycin underwent a kind of siege by the 
forces of El Zagal ; they effected breaches in the 
walls, and made repeated attempts to carry it sword 
in hand, but were as often repulsed. The troops of 
Boabdil, on the other hand, made frequent sallies ; 
and in the conflicts which took place, the hatred of 
the combatants arose to such a pitch of fury, that no 
quarter was given on either side. 

Boabdil perceived the inferiority of his force ; he 
dreaded also that his adherents, being for the most 
part tradesmen and artisans, would become impa- 
tient of this interruption of their gainful occupations, 
and disheartened by these continual scenes of car- 
nage. He sent missives, therefore, in all haste, to 
Don Fadrique de Toledo, who commanded the 
christian forces on the iVontier, entreating his as- 
sistance. 

Don Fadrique had received instructions from the 
politic Ferdinand, to aid the youthful monarch in all 
his contests with his uncle. He advanced, therefore, 
with a body of troops near to Granada, but, wary 
lest some treachery might be intended, he stood for 
some time aloof, watching the movements of the 
parties. The furious and sanguinary nature of the 
conflicts which distracted unhappy Granada, soon 
convinced him that there was no collusion between 
the monarchs. He sent Boabdil, therefore, a rein- 
forcement of christian foot-soldiers and arquebusiers, 
under Fernan Alvarez de Sotomayer, alcayde of 

• Pulgar. 



Colomera. This was as a firebrand thrown in to 
light up anew the flames of war in the city, which 
remained raging between the Moorish inhabitants 
for the space of fifty days. 



CHAPTER II. 



HOW KING FERDINAND LAID SIEGE TO \'ELEZ 
MALAGA. 

Hitherto, the events of this renowned war have 
been little else than a succession of brilliant but brief 
exploits, such as sudden forays and wild skirmishes 
among the mountains, or the surprisals of castles, 
fortresses, and frontier towns. We approach now 
to more important and prolonged operations, in 
which ancient and mighty cities, the bulwarks of 
Granada, were invested by powerful armies, subdued 
by slow and regular sieges, and thus the capital left 
naked and alone. 

The glorious triumphs of the Catholic sovereigns 
(says Fray Antonio Agapida) had resounded through- 
out the east, and filled all heathenesse with alarm. 
The Grand-Turk Bajazet II. and his deadly foe, the 
grand soldan of Egypt, suspending for a time their 
bloody feuds, entered into a league to protect the 
religion of Mahomet and the kingdom of Granada 
from the hostilities of the christians. It was concert- 
ed between them, that Bajazet should send a power- 
ful armada against the island of Sicily, then apper- 
taining to the Spanish crown, for the purpose of 
distracting the attention of the Castilian sovereigns; 
while, at the same time, great bodies of troops should 
be poured into Granada, from the opposite coast of 
Africa. 

Ferdinand and Isabella received timely intelligence 
of these designs. They resolved at once to carry the 
war into the seaboard of Granada, to possess them- 
selves of its ports, and thus, as it were, to bar the 
gates of the kingdom against all e.vternal aid. Mal- 
aga was to be the main object of attack : it was the 
principal sea-port of the kingdom, and almost neces- 
sary to its existence. It had long been the seat of 
opulent commerce, sending many ships to the coasts 
of Syria and Egypt. It was also the great channel 
of communication with Africa, through which were 
introduced supplies of money, troops, arms, and 
steeds, from Tunis, Tripoli, Fez, Tremezan, and 
other Barbary powers. It was emphatically called, 
therefore, " the hand and mouth of Granada." Be- 
fore laying siege to this redoubtable city, however, 
it was deemed necessary to secure the neighboring 
city of Velez Malaga and its dependent places, which 
might otherwise harass the besieging army. 

For this important campaign, the nobles of the 
kingdom were again summoned to take the field with 
their forces, in the spring of 1487. The menaced 
invasion of the infidel powers of the east had 
awakened new ardor in the bosoms of all true chris- 
tian knights ; and so zealously did they respond to 
the summons of the sovereigns, that an army of 
twenty thousand cavalry and fifty thousand foot, the 
flower of Spanish warriors, led by the bravest of 
Spanish cavaliers, thronged the renowned city of 
Cordova, at the appointed time. 

On the night before this mighty host set forth 
upon its march, an earthquake shook the city. The 
inhabitants, awakened by the shaking of the walls 
and rocking of the towers, fled to the courts and 
squares, fearing to be overwhelmed by the rums of 
their dwellings. The earthquake was most violent 
in the quarter of the royal residence, the site of the 
ancient palace of the Moorish kings. Many looked 



234 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



upon this as an omen of some impending evil ; but 
Fray Antonio Agapida, in that infallible spirit of 
divination whicli succeeds an event, plainly reads in 
it a presage that the empire of the Moors was about 
to be shaken to its centre. 

It was on Saturday, the eve of the Sunday of 
Palms, (says a worthy and loyal chronicler of the 
time,) that the most Catholic monarch departed with 
his army, to render service to Heaven, and make war 
upon the Moors.* Heavy rains had swelled all the 
streams, and rendered the roads deep and difficult. 
The king, therefore, divided his host into two bodies. 
In one he put all the artillery, guarded by a strong 
body of horse, and commanded by the Master of 
Alcantara and Martin Alonzo. Senior of Monte- 
mayor. This division was to proceed by the road 
through the valleys, where pasturage abounded for 
the oxen which drew the ordnance. 

The main body of the army was led by the king 
in person. It was divided into numerous battalions, 
each commanded by some distinguished cavalier. 
The king took the rough and perilous road of the 
mountains, and few mountains are more rugged and 
difficult than those of Andalusia. The roads are 
mere mule-paths, straggling amidst rocks and along 
the verge of precipices, clambering vast craggy 
heights, or descending into frightful chasms and 
ravines, with scanty and uncertain foothold for either 
man or steed. Four thousand pioneers were sent in 
advance, under the alcayde de los Donzeles, to con- 
quer, in some degree, the asperities of the road. 
Some had pickaxes and crowbars to break the rocks, 
others had implements to construct bridges over the 
mountain torrents, while it v.'as the duty of others to 
lay stepping-stones in the smaller streams. As the 
country was inhabited by fierce Moorish mountain- 
eers, Don Diego de Castrillo was dispatched, with a 
body of horse and foot, to take possession of the 
heights and passes. Notwithstanding every precau- 
tion, the royal army suffered excessively on its march. 
At one time, there was no place to encamp, for five 
leagues of the most toilsome and mountainous 
country ; and many of the beasts of burden sunk 
down, and perished on the road. 

It was with the greatest joy, therefore, that the 
royal army emerged from these stern and frightful 
defiles, and came to where they looked down upon 
the vega of Velez Malaga. The region before them 
was one of the most delectable to the eye that ever 
was ravaged by an army. .Sheltered from every rude 
blast by a screen of mountains, and sloping and ex- 
panding to the south, this lo\'ely valley was quick- 
ened by the most generous sunshine, watered by the 
silver meanderings of the Velez, and refreshed by 
cooling breezes from the Mediterranean. The slop- 
ing hills were covered with vineyards and olive- 
trees ; the distant fields waved with grain, or were 
verdant with pasturage; while around the city were 
delightful gardens, the favorite retreats of the Moors, 
where their white pavilions gleamed among groves 
of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, and were sur- 
mounted by stately palms — those plants of southern 
growth, bespeaking a generous climate and a cloud- 
less sky. 

In the upper part of this delightful valley, the city 
of Velez Malaga reared its warrior battlements in 
stern contrast to the landscape. It was built on the 
declivity of a steep and insulated hill, and strongly 
fortified by walls and towers. The crest of the hill 
rose high above the town, into a mere crag, inacces- 
sible on every other side, and crowned by a power- 
ful castle, which domineered over the surrounding 
country. Two suburbs swept down into the valley, 

• Pulgar. Cronica de los Reyes Catholicos. 



from the skirts of the town, and were defended by 
bulwarks and deep ditches. The vast ranges of 
gray mountains, often capped with clouds, which 
rose to the north, were inhabited by a hardy and 
warlike race, whose strong fortresses of Comares, 
Camillas, Competa, and Benemarhorga, frowned 
down from cragged heights. 

At the time that the christian host arrived in sight 
of this valley, a squadron was hovering on the smooth 
sea before it, displaying the banner of Castile. This 
was commanded by the count of Trevento, and con- 
sisted of four armed galleys, conveying a number of 
caravels, laden with supplies for the army. 

After surveying the ground, king Ferdinand en- 
camped on the side of a mountain which advanced 
close to the city, and which was the last of a rugged 
sierra, or chain of heights, that extended quite to 
Granada. On the summit of this mountain, and 
overlooking the camp, was a Moorish town, power- 
fully fortified, called Bentoniiz, and which, from its 
vicinity, had been considered capable of yielding 
great assistance to Velez Malaga. Several of the 
generals remonstrated with the king, for choosing a 
post so exposed to assaults from the mountaineers. 
Ferdinand replied, that he should thus cut off all 
communication between the town and the city ; and 
that as to the danger, his soldiers must keep the 
more vigilant guard against surprise. 

King Ferdinand rode forth, attended by several 
cavaliers and a small number of cuirassiers, appoint- 
ing the various stations of the camp. While a body 
of foot-soldiers were taking possession, as an ad- 
vanced guard, of an important height which over- 
looked the city, the king retired to a tent to take re- 
freshment. While at table, he was startled by a 
sudden uproar, and, looking forth, beheld his soldiers 
flying before a superior force of the enemy. The 
king had on no other armor but a cuirass ; seizing a 
lance, however, he sprang upon his horse and gal- 
loped to protect the fugitives, followed by his hand- 
ful of knights and cuirassiers. When the Spaniards 
saw the king hastening to their aid, they turned up- 
on their pursuers. P'erdinand, in his eagerness, 
threw himself into the midst of the foe. One of his 
grooms was killed beside him ; but, before the Moor 
who slew him could escape, the king transfixed him 
with his lance. He then sought to draw his sword, 
which hung at his saddle-bow — but in vain. Never 
had he been exposed to such peril ; — he was sur- 
rounded by the enemy, without a weapon wherewith 
to defend himself. 

In this moment of awful jeopardy, the marques of 
Cadiz, the count de Cabra, the adelantado of Mur- 
cia, with two other cavaliers, named Garcilasso de 
la Vega and Diego de Atayde, came galloping to the 
scene of action, and, surrounding the king, made a 
loyal rampart of their bodies against the assaults of 
the Moors. The horse of the marques was pierced 
by an arrow, and that worthy cavalier exposed to 
imminent danger; but, with the aid of his valorous 
companions, he quickly put the enemy to flight, and 
pursued them, with slaughter, to the very gates of 
the city. 

When those loyal warriors returned from the pur- 
suit, they remonstrated with the king for exposing 
his life in personal conflict, seeing that he had so 
many valiant captains whose business it was to fight. 
They reminded him that the life of a prince was the 
life of his people, and that many a brave army was 
lost by the loss of its commander. They entreated 
him, therefore, in future, to protect them with the 
force of his mind in the cabinet, rather than of his 
arm in the field. 

Ferdinand acknowdcdged the wisdom of their ad- 
vice, but declared that he could not see his people 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



235 



in peril without venturing his person to assist them : 
— a reply (says the old chroniclers) which delighted 
the whole army, inasmuch as they saw that he not 
only governed them as a good king, but protected 
them as a valiant captain. Ferdinand, however, 
was conscious of the extreme ])er\\ to which he had 
been exposed, and made a vow never again to 
venture into battle without having his sword girt to 
his side.* 

When this achievement of the king was related to 
Isabella, she trembled amidst her joy at his safety ; 
and afterwards, in memorial of the event, she grant- 
ed to Velez Malaga, as the arms of the city, the 
figure of the king on horseback, with a groom lying 
dead at his feet, and the Moors flying.t 

The camp was formed, but the artillery was yet 
on the road, advancing with infinite labor, at the 
rate of merely a league a day ; for heavy rains had 
converted the streams of the valleys into raging tor- 
rents, and completely broken up the roads. In the 
mean time, king Ferdinand ordered an assault on 
the suburbs of the city. They were carried, after a 
sanguinary conflict of six hours, in which many 
christian cavaliers were killed and wounded, and, 
among the latter, Don Alvaro of Portugal, son of the 
duke of Braganza. The suburbs were then fortified 
towards the city, with trenches and palisades, and 
garrisoned by a chosen force, under Don Fadrique 
de Toledo. Other trenches were digged round the 
city, and from the suburbs to the royal camp, so as 
to cut off all communication with the surrounding 
country. 

Bodies of troops were also sent to take possession 
of the mountain passes, by which the supplies for 
the army had to be brought. The mountains, how- 
ever, were so steep and rugged, and so full of defiles 
and lurking-places, that the Moors could sally forth 
and retreat in perfect security ; frequently swooping 
down upon christian convoys, and bearing off both 
booty and prisoners to their strong-holds. Some- 
times the Moors would light fires at night, on the 
sides of the mountains, which would be answered 
by fires from the watch-towers and fortresses. By 
these signals, they would concert assaults upon the 
christian camp, which, in consequence, was obliged 
to be continually on the alert, and ready to fly to arms. 

King Ferdinand flattered himself that the mani- 
festation of his force had struck sufficient terror in- 
to the city, and that by offers of clemency it might 
be induced to capitulate. He wrote a letter, there- 
fore, to the commanders, promising, in case of im- 
mediate surrender, that all the inhabitants should be 
permitted to depart with their effects ; but threaten- 
ing them with fire and sword, if they persisted in 
defence. This letter was dispatched by a cavalier 
named Carvagal, who, putting it on the end of a 
lance gave it to the Moors who were on the walls 
of the city. The commanders replied, that the king 
was too noble and magnanimous to put such a threat 
in execution, and that they should not surrender, as 
they knew the artillery could not be brought to the 
camp, and they were promised succor by the king 
of Granada. 

At the same time that he received this reply, the 
king learnt that at the strong town of Comares, upon 
a height about two leagues distant from the camp, a 
large number of warriors had assembled from the 
.A.xarquia, the same mountains in which the chris- 
tian cavaliers had been massacred in the beginning 
of the war ; others were daily expected, lor this 
rugged sierra was capable of furnishing fifteen thou- 
sand fighting men. 



* Illescas, Hist. Pontif. lib. 6, c. so. Wedmar, Hist. Velez Malaga, 
t Idem. 



King Ferdinand felt that his army, thus disjointed, 
and inclosed in an enemy's country, was in a peril- 
ous situation, and that the utmost discipline and vigi- 
lance were necessary. He put the camp under the 
strictest regulations, forbidding all gaming, blasphe- 
my, or brawl, and expelling all loose women and 
their attendant bully ruffians, the usual fomcnters of 
riot and contention among soldiery. He ordered 
that none should sally forth to skirmish, without per- 
mission from their commanders ; that none should 
set fire to the woods on the neighboring mountains ; 
and that all word of security given to Moorish places 
or individuals, should be inviolably observed. These 
regulations were enforced by severe penalties, and 
had such salutary effect, that, though a vast host of 
various people was collected together, not an oppro- 
brious epithet was heard, nor a weapon drawn in 
quarrel. 

In the mean time, the cloud of war went on, 
gathering about the summits of the mountains ; 
multitudes of the fierce warriors of the sierra de- 
scended to the lower heights of Bentomiz, which 
overhung the camp, intending to force their way to 
the city. A detachment was sent against them, 
which, after sharp fighting, drove them to the higher 
cliffs of the mountain, where it was impossible to 
pursue them. 

Ten days had elapsed since the encampment of 
the army, yet still the artillery had not arrived. The 
lom bards and other heavy ordnance were left in 
despair, at Antiquera ; the rest came groaning slowly 
through the narrow valleys, which were filled with 
long trains of artillery, and cars laden wilh munitions. 
At length part of the smaller ordnance arrived within 
half a league of the camp, and the christians were 
animated with the hopes of soon being able to make 
a regular attack upon the fortifications of the city. 



CHAPTER III. 



HOW KING FERDINAND AND HIS ARMY WERE 
E.KPOSED TO IMMINENT PERIL BEFORE VELEZ 
MALAGA. 

While the standard of the cross waved on the 
hills before Velez Malaga, and every height and clift' 
bristled with hostile arms, the civil war between the 
factions of the Alhambra and the Albaycin, or rather 
between El Zagal and El Chico, continued to con- 
vulse the city of Granada. The tidings of the invest- 
ment of Velez Malaga at length roused the attention 
of the old men and the alfaquis, whose heads were 
not heated by the daily broils. They spread them- 
selves through the city, and endeavored to arouse 
the people to a sense of their common danger. 

" Why," said they, " continue these brawls be- 
tween brethren and kindred .'' what battles are these, 
where even triumph is ignominious, and the victor 
blushes and conceals his scars.' Behold Ihe christians 
ravaging the land won by the valor and blood of 
your forefathers ; dwelling in the houses they have 
built, sitting under the trees they have planted, while 
your brethren wander about, houseless and desolate. 
Do you wish to seek your real foe ? — he is encamped 
on the mountain of Bentomiz. Do you want a field 
for the display of your valor? — you will find it before 
the walls of Velez Malaga." 

When they had roused the spirit of the people, 
they made their way to the rival kings, and address- 
ed them with like remonstrances. Hamet Aben 
Zarrax, the inspired santon, reproached El Zagal 
with his blind and senseless ambition : " You are 



236 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



striving to be king," said he, bitterly, "yet suffer the 
kingdom to be lost ! " 

El Zagal found himself in a perplexing dilemma. 
He had a double war to wage, — with the enemy 
without, and the enemy within. Should the chris- 
tians gain possession of the sea-coast, it would be 
ruinous to the kingdom ; should he leave Granada 
to oppose them, his vacant tlirone might be seized 
on by his nephew. He made a merit of necessity, 
and, pretending to yield to the remonstrances of the 
alfaquis, endeavored to compromise with Boabdil. 
He expressed deep concern at the daily losses of the 
country, caused by the dissensions of the capital ; an 
opportunity now presented to retrieve all by a blow. 
The christians had in a manner put themselves in a 
tomb between the mountains — nothing remained but 
to throw the earth upon them. He offered to resign 
the title of king, to submit to the government of his 
nephew, and Rght under his standard ; all he desired 
was to hasten to the relief of Velez Malaga, and to 
take full vengeance on the christians. 

Boabdil spurned his proposition, as the artifice of 
a hypocrite and a traitor. " How shall I trust a 
man," said he, "who has murdered my father and 
my kindred by treachery, and has repeatedly sought 
my own life, both by violence and stratagem ? " 

El Zagal boiled with rage and vexation — but there 
was no time to be lost. He was beset by the alfaquis 
and the nobles of his court ; the youthful cavahers 
were hot for action, the common people loud in their 
complaints that the richest cities were abandoned to 
the mercy of the enemy. The old warrior was 
naturally fund of fighting ; he saw also that to remain 
inactive would endanger both crown and kingdom, 
whereas a successful blow would secure his popu- 
larity in Granada. He had a much more powerful 
force than his nephew, having lately received rein- 
forcements from Baza, Gtiadix, and Almeria ; he 
could march with a large force, therefore, to the re- 
lief of Velez Malaga, and yet leave a strong garrison 
in the Alhambra. He took his measures according- 
ly, and departed suddenly in the night, at the head 
of one thousand horse and twenty thousand foot. He 
took the most unfreciuented roads, along the chain 
of mountains extending from Granada to the height 
of Bentomiz, and proceeded with such rapidity, as 
to arrive there before king Ferdinand had notice of 
his approach. 

The christians were alarmed one evening by the 
sudden blazing of great fires on the mountains about 
the fortress of' Bentomiz. By the ruddy light, they 
beheld the flash of weapons and the array of troops, 
and they heard the distant sound of Moorish drums 
and trumpets. The fires of Bentomiz were answered 
by fires on the towers of Velez Malaga. The shouts 
of " El Zagal ! El Zagal ! " echoed along the cliffs, 
and resounded from the city ; and the christians 
found that the old warrior king of Granada was on 
the mountain above their camp. 

The spirits of the Moors were suddenly raised to a 
pitch of the greatest exultation, while the christians 
were astonished to see this storm of war ready to 
burst upon their heads. The count de Cabra, with 
his accustomed eagerness when there was a king in 
the field, would lain have scaled the heights, and 
attacked El Zagal before he had time to form his 
camp ; but Ferdinand, who was more cool and wary, 
restrained him. To attack the height, would be to 
abandon the siege. He ordered everv one, there- 
fore, to keep vigilant watch at his post, and to stand 
ready to delend it to the utmost, but on no account 
to sally forth and attack the enemy. 

All night the signal-fires kept blazing along the 
mountains, rousing and animating the whole country. 
The morning sun rose over the lofty summit of Ben- 



tomiz on a scene of martial splendor. As its rays 
glanced down the mountain, they lighted up the 
white tents of the christian cavaliers, cresting its 
lower prominences, their pennons and ensigns flut- 
tering in the morning breeze. The sumptuous pa- 
vilions of the king, with the holy standard of the 
cross and the royal banners of Castile and Arragon, 
dominated the encampment. Beyond lay the city, 
its lofty castle and numerous towers glistening with 
arms ; while above all, and just on the profile of the 
height, in the full blaze of the rising sun, were de- 
scried the tents of the Moor, his turbaned troops 
clustering about them, and his infidel banners float- 
ing against the sky. Columns of smoke rose where 
the night-fires had blazed, and the clash of the Moor- 
ish cymbal, the bray of trumpet, and the neigh of 
steed, were faintly heard from the airy heights. So 
pure and transparent is the atmosphere in this re- 
gion, that every object can be distinctly seen at a 
great distance ; and the christians were able to be- 
hold the formidable hosts of foes that were gather- 
ing on the summits of the surrounding mountains. 

One of the first measures of the Moorish king, was 
to detach a large force, under Rodovan de Vanegas, 
alcayde of Granada, to fall upon the convoy of ord- 
nance, which stretched, for a great distance, through 
the mountain defiles. Ferdinand had anticipated 
this attempt, and sent the commander of Leon, with 
a body of horse and foot, to reinforce the Master 
of Alcantara. El Zagal, from his mountain height, 
beheld the detachment issue from the camp, and 
immediately recalled Rodovan de Vanegas. The 
armies now remained quiet for a time, the Moor 
looking grimly down upon the christian camp, like a 
tiger meditating a bound upon his prey. The chris- 
tians were in fearful jeopardy — a hostile city below 
them, a powerful army above them, and on every 
side mountains filled with implacable foes. 

After El Zagal had maturely considered the situa- 
tion of the christian camp, and informed himself of 
all the passes of the mountain, he conceived a plan 
to surprise the enemy, which he flattered himself 
would insure their ruin, and perhaps the capture ot 
king Ferdinand. He wrote a letter to the alcayde 
of the city, commanding him, in the dead of the night, 
on a signal-fire being made from the mountain, to 
sally forth with all his troops, and fall furiously upon 
the christian camp. The king would, at the same 
time, rush down with his army from the mountain, 
and assail it on the opposite side ; thus overwhelm- 
ing it, at the hour of deep repose. This letter he 
dispatched by a renegade christian, who knew all the 
secret roads of the country, and, if taken, could pass 
himself tor a christian who had escaped from captivity. 

The fierce El Zagal, confident in his stratagem, 
looked down upon the christians as his devoted vic- 
tims. As the sun went down, and the long shadows 
of the mountain stretched across the vega, he pointed 
v/ith exultation to the camp below, apparently un- 
conscious of the impending danger. "Allah Acbar ! 
exclaimed he. " God is great ! Behold the unbelievers 
are delivered into our hands ; their king and choicest 
chivalry will soon be at our mercy. Now is the 
time to show the courage of men, and, by one glori- 
ous victory, retrieve all that we have lost. Happy 
he who fails fighting in the cause of the Prophet ! he 
will at once be transported to the paradise of the 
faithful, and surrounded by immortal houris. Happy 
he who shall survive victorious ! he will behold 
Granada, — an earthly paradise ! — once more deliv- 
ered from its foes, and restored to all its glory." The 
words of El Zagal were received with acclamations 
by his troops, who waited impatiently for the ap- 
pointed hour, to pour down from their mountain-hold 
upon the christians. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



23"; 



CHAPTER IV. 

RESULT OF THE STRATAGEM OF EL ZAGAL TO 
SURPRISE KING FERDINAND. 

Queen Isabella and her court had remained at 
Cordova, in great anxiety for the result of the royal 
expedition. Every day brought tidings of the diffi- 
culties which attended the transportation of the ord- 
nance and munitions, and of the critical state of the 
army. 

While in this state of anxious suspense, couriers 
arrived with all speed from the frontiers, bringing 
tidings of the sudden sally of El Zagal from Granada, 
to surprise the camp. All Cordova was in conster- 
nation. The destruction of the Andalusian chivalry, 
among the mountains of this very neighborhood, was 
called to mind ; it was feared that similar ruin was 
about to burst forth, from rocks and precipices, upon 
Ferdinand and his army. 

Queen Isabella shared in the public alarm, but it 
served to rouse all the energies of her heroic mind. 
Instead of uttering idle apprehensions, she sought 
only how to avert the danger. She called upon all 
the men of Andalusia, under the age of seventy, to 
arm and hasten to the relief of their sovereign ; and 
she prepared to set out with the first levies. The 
grand cardinal of Spain, old Pedro Gonzalez de 
Mendoza, in whom the piety of the saint and the 
wisdom of the counsellor were mingled with the fire 
of the cavalier, offered high pay to all horsemen who 
would follow him to aid their king and the christian 
cause ; and, buckling on armor, prepared to lead 
them to the scene of danger. 

The summons of the queen roused the quick An- 
dalusian spirit. Warriors who had long since given 
up fighting, and had sent their sons to battle, now 
seized the sword and lance that were rusting on the 
wall, and marshalled Ibrth their gray-headed domes- 
tics and their grandchildren for the held. The great 
dread was, that all aid would arrive too late : El 
Zagal and his host had passed like a storm through 
the mountains, and it was feared the tempest had 
already burst upon the christian camp. 

In the mean time, the night had closed which had 
been appointed by El Zagal for the execution of his 
plan. He had watched the last light of day expire, 
and all the Spanish camp remained tranquil. As the 
hours wore away, the camp-fires were gradually 
extinguished. No drum or trumpet sounded from 
below. Nothing was heard, but now and then the 
dull heavy tread of troops, or the echoing tramp 
of horses — the usual patrols of the camp, and the 
changes of the guards. El Zagal restrained his own 
impatience, and that of his troops, until the night 
should be advanced, and the camp sunk in that 
heavy sleep from which men are with difficulty 
awakened ; and, when awakened, so prone to be 
bewildered and dismayed. 

At length, the appointed hour arrived. By order 
of the Moorish king, a bright flame sprung up from 
the height of Bentomiz ; but El Zagal looked in vain 
for the responding light from the city. His impa- 
tience would brook no longer delay ; he ordered the 
advance of the army, to descend the mountain defile 
and attack the camp. The defile was narrow, and 
overhung by rocks : as the troops proceeded, they 
came suddenly, in a shadowy hollow, upon a dark 
mass of christian warriors. A loud shout burst forth, 
and the christians rushed to assail them ; the Moors, 
surprised and disconcerted, retreated in confusion to 
the height. When El Zagal heard there was a chris- 
tian force posted in the defile, he doubted some 
counter-plan of the enemy. He gave orders to light 
the mountain fires. On a signal given, bright flames 



sprung out on every height, from great pyres of 
wood, prepared for the purpose : cliff blazed out 
after cliff, until the whole atmosphere was in a glow 
of fumace light. The ruddy glare lit up the glens 
and passes of the mountain, and fell strongly upon 
the christian camp, revealing all its tents and every 
post and bulwark. Wherever El Zagal turned his 
eyes, he beheld the light of his fires flashed back 
from cuirass, and helm, and sparkling lance ; he be- 
held a grove of spears planted in every pass, every 
assailable point bristling with arms, and squadrons 
of horse and foot in battle array, awaiting his attack. 

In fact, the letter of El Zagal to the alcayde of 
Velez Malaga had been intercepted by the vigilant 
Ferdinand ; the renegado messenger hanged ; and 
secret measures taken, after the night had closed in, 
to give the enemy a warm reception. El Zagal saw 
that his plan of surprise was discovered and foiled ; 
furious with disappointment, he ordered his troops 
forward to the attack. They rushed down the de- 
file, but were again encountered by the mass of 
christian warriors, being the advance guard of the 
army, commanded by Don Hurtado de Mendoza, 
brother of the grand cardinal. The Moors were 
again repulsed, and retreated up the height. Don 
Hurtado would have followed them, but the ascent 
was steep and rugged, and easily defended by the 
Moors. A sharp action was kept up, through the 
night, wilh cross-bows, darts, and arquebusses. The 
cliffs echoed with deafening uproar, while the fires 
blazing upon the mountains threw a lurid and un- 
certain light upon the scene. 

When the day dawned, and the Moors saw that 
there was no co-operation from the city, they began 
to slacken in their ardor : they beheld also every 
pass of the mountain filled with christian troops, 
and began to apprehend an assault in return. Just 
then king Ferdinand sent the marques of Cadiz, 
with horse and foot, to seize upon a height occu- 
pied by a battalion of the enemy. The marques 
assailed the Moors with his usual intrepidity, and 
soon put them to flight. The others, who were 
above, seeing their comrades flying, were seized with 
a sudden alarm : they threw down their arms, and 
retreated. One of those unaccountable panics, 
which now and then seize upon great bodies of 
people, and to which the light-spirited Moors were 
very prone, now spread throughout the camp. They 
were terrified, they knew not why, or at what. They 
threw away swords, lances, breast-plates, cross- 
bows, every thing that could burthen or impede 
their flight ; and, spreading themselves wildly over 
the mountains, fled headlong down the defiles. 
They fled without pursuers — -from the glimpse of 
each other's arms, from the sound of each other's 
footsteps. Rodovan de Vanegas, the brave alcayde 
of Granada, alone succeeded in collecting a body of 
the fugitives ; he made a circuit with them through 
the passes of the mountain, and forcing his way 
across a weak part of the christian lines, galloped 
towards Velez Malaga. The rest of the Moorish 
host was completely scattered. In vain did El Za- 
gal and his knights attempt to rally them ; they were 
left almost alone, and had to consult their own se- 
curity by flight. 

The marques of Cadiz, finding no opposition, as- 
cended from height to height, cautiously reconnoi- 
tring, and fearful of some stratagem or ambush. 
All, however, was quiet. He reached with his 
men the place which the Moorish army had occu- 
pied : the heights were abandoned, and strewed 
with cuirasses, scimitars, cross-bows, and other 
weapons. His force was too small to pursue the 
enemy, but returned to the royal camp, laden with 
the spoils. 



238 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



King- Ferdinand, at first, could not credit so sig- 
nal and miraculous a defeat : he suspected some 
lurking stratagem. He ordered, thereforv', that a 
strict watch should be maintained throughout the 
camp, and every one be ready for instant action. 
The IbUowmg night, a thousand cavaliers and 
hidalgos kept guard about the royal tent, as they 
had done for several preceding nights ; nor did the 
king relax this vigilance, until he received cer- 
tain intelligence that the enemy was completely 
scattered and El Zagal flying in confusion. 

The tidings of this rout, and of the safety of the 
christian army, arrived at Cordova just as reinforce.5 
ments were on the point of setting out. The anx- 
iety and alarm of the queen and the public were 
turned to transports ot joy and gratitude. The 
forces were disbanded, solemn processions were 
made, and te deiiins chanted in the churches, for so 
signal a victor)'. 



CHAPTER V. 



HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA REWARDED THE 
VALOR OF EL ZAGAL. 

The daring spirit of the old warrior, Muley Ab- 
dalla El Zagal, in sallying forth to defend his terri- 
tories, while he left an armed rival in his capital, 
had struck the people of Granada with admiration. 
They recalled his former exploits, and again antici- 
pated some hardy achievement from his furious 
valor. Couriers from the army reported its formid- 
able position on the height of Bentomiz. Eor a 
time, there was a pause in the bloody commotions 
of the city ; all attention was turned to the blow 
about to be struck at the christian camp. The 
same considerations which diffused anxiety and ter- 
ror through Cordova, swelled every bosom with ex- 
ulting confidence in Granada. The Moors expected 
to hear of another massacre, like that in the mount- 
ains of Malaga. " El Zagal has again entrapped 
the enemy ! " was the cry. " The power of the un- 
believers is about to be struck to the heart. We 
shall soon see the christian king led captive to the 
capital." Thus the name of El Zagal was on every 
tongue. He was extolled as the savior of the coun- 
try ; the only one worthy of wearing the Moorish 
crown. Boabdil was reviled as basely remaining 
passive while his country was invaded ; and, so vio- 
lent became the clamor of the populace, that his ad- 
herents trembled for his safety. 

While the people of Granada were impatiently 
looking out for tidings of the anticipated victoiy, 
scattered horsemen came spurring across the vega. 
They were fugitives from the Moorish army, and 
brought the first incoherent account of its defeat. 
Every one who attempted to tell the tale of this un- 
accountable panic and dispersion, was as if bewil- 
dered by the broken recollection of some frightful 
dream. He knew not how or why it came to pass. 
He talked of a battle in the night, among rocks and 
precipices, by the glare of bale-fires ; of multitudes 
of armed foes in every pass, seen by gleams and 
flashes ; of the sudden horror that seized upon 
the army at daybreak ; its headlong flight, and 
total dispersion. Hour after hour, tne arrival of 
other fugitives confirmed the story of ruin and dis- 
grace. 

In proportion to their recent vaunting, was the 
humiliation that now fell upon the people of Gra- 
nada. There was a universal burst, not of grief, 
but indignation. They confounded the leader 
with the army — the deserted, with those who had 
abandoned him ; and El Zagal, from being their 



idol, became suddenly the object of their execra- 
tion. He had sacrificed the army ; he had dis- 
graced the nation ; he had betrayed the country. 
He was a dastard, a traitor ; he was unworthy to 
reign ! 

On a sudden, one among the multitude shouted, 
" Long live Boabdil el Chico ! " the cry was echoed 
on all sides, and every one shouted, " Long live 
Boabdil el Chico ! long live the legitimate king of 
Granada : and death to all usurpers ! " In the ex- 
citement of the moment, they thronged to the Al- 
baycin ; and those who had lately besieged Boab- 
dil with arms, now surrounded his palace with ac- 
clamations. The keys of the city, and of all the 
fortresses, were laid at his feet ; he was borne in 
state to the Alhambra, and once more seated, 
with all due ceremony, on the throne of his an- 
cestors. 

Boabdil had by this time become so accustomed 
to be crowned and uncrowned by the multitude, that 
he put no great faith in the duration of their loyalty. 
He knew that he was surrounded by hollow hearts, 
and that most of the courtiers of the Alhambra were 
secretly devoted to his uncle. He ascended the 
throne as the rightful sovereign, who had been dis- 
possessed of it by usurpation ; and he ordered the 
heads of four of the principal nobles to be struck off, 
who had been most zealous in support of the usurper. 
Executions of the kind were matters of course, on 
any change in Moorish government ; and Boabdil 
was lauded for his moderation and humanity, in being 
content with so small a sacrifice. The factions were 
awed into obedience ; the populace, delighted with 
any change, extolled Boabdil to the skies ; and the 
name of Muley Abdalla El Zagal was for a lime a by- 
word of scorn and opprobrium throughout the city. 

Never was any commander more astonished and 
confounded by a sudden reverse of fortune, than El 
Zagal. The evening had seen him with a powerful 
army at his command, his enemy within his grasp, 
and victory about to cover him with glory, and to 
consolidate his power: — the morning beheld him a 
fugitive among the mountains, his army, his pros- 
perity, his power, all dispelled, he knew not how — 
gone like a dream of the night. In vain had he tried 
to stem the headlong flight of the army. He saw his 
squadrons breaking and dispersing among the cliffs 
of the mountains, until, of all his host, only a hand- 
ful of cavaliers remained faithful to him. With these 
he made a gloomy retreat towards Granada, but with 
a heart fulf of foreboding. When he drew near to 
the city, he paused on the banks of the Xenel, and 
sent forth scouts to collect intelligence. They re- 
turned with dejected countenances : " The gates of 
Granada," said they, " are closed against you. The 
banner of Boabdil' floats on the tower of the Al- 
hambra." 

El Zagal turned his steed, and departed in silence. 
He retreated to the town of Almunecar, and from 
thence to Almeria, which places still remained faith- 
ful to him. Restless and uneasy at being so distant 
from the capital, he again changed his abode, and 
repaired to the city of Guadix, within a few leagues 
of Granada. Here he remained, endeavoring to 
rally his forces, and preparing to avail himselt of 
any' sudden change in the fluctuating politics of the 
metropolis. 



CHAPTER VI. 



SURRENDER OF VELEZ MALAGA AND OTHER 
PLACES. 

The people of Velez Malaga had beheld the camp 
of Muley Abdalla El Z.agal, covering the summit of 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



239 



Bentoniiz, and glittering in the last rays of the set- 
ting sun. During the night, they had been alarmed 
and perplexed by signal-lires on the mountain, and 
by the sound of distant battle. When the morning 
broke, the Aloorish army had vanished as if by en- 
chantment. While the inhabitants were lost in won- 
der and conjecture, a body of cavalry, the fragment 
of the army saved by Rodovan de Vanegas, the 
brave alcayde of Granada, came galloping to the 
gates. The tidings of the strange discomfiture of 
the host, filled the city with consternation ; but Ro- 
dovan exhorted the people to continue their resist- 
ance. He was devoted to El Zagal, and confident 
in his skill and prowess; and felt assured that he 
would soon collect his scattered forces, and return 
with fresh troops from Granada. The people were 
comforted by the words, and encouraged by the 
presence, of Rodovan ; and they had still a lingering 
hope that the heavy artillery of the christians might 
be locked up in the impassable defiles of the mount- 
ains. This hope was soon at an end. The very 
next day, they beheld long laborious lines of ordnance 
slowly moving into the Spanish camp, lombards, 
ribadoquines, catapultas, and cars laden with muni- 
tions, — while the escort, under the brave Master of 
Alcantara, wheeled in great battalions into the camp, 
to augment the force of the besiegers. 

The intelligence that Granada had shut its gates 
against El Zagal, and that no reinforcements were 
to be expected, completed the despair of the inhab- 
itants ; even Rodovan himself lost confidence, and 
advised capitulation. 

The terms were arranged between the alcayde 
and the noble count de Cifuentes ; the latter had 
been prisoner of Rodovan at Granada, who had 
treated him with chivalrous courtesy. They had 
conceived a mutual esteem for each other, and met 
as ancient friends. 

Ferdinand granted favorable conditions, for he 
was eager to proceed against Malaga. The inhab- 
itants were permitted to depart with their effects, 
except their arms, and to reside, if they chose it, in 
Spain, in any place distant from the sea. One hun- 
dred and twenty christians, of both sexes, were res- 
cued from captivity by the surrender of Velez Mal- 
aga, and were sent to Cordova, where they were re- 
ceived with great tenderness by the queen and her 
daughter the Infanta Isabella, in the famous cathe- 
dral, in the midst of public rejoicings for the victory. 

The capture of Velez Malaga was followed by the 
surrender of Bentomiz, Comares, and all the towns 
and fortresses of the Axarquia. which were strongly 
garrisoned, and discreet and valiant cavaliers ap- 
pointed as their alcaydes. The inhabitants of nearly 
forty towns of the Alpaxarra mountains, also, sent 
deputations to the Castilian sovereigns, taking the 
oath of allegiance as Mudeharcs, or Moslem vassals. 

About the same time came letters from Boabdil el 
Chico, announcing to the sovereigns the revolution 
of Granada in his favor. He solicited kindness and 
protection for the inhabitants who had returned to 
their allegiance, and for those of all other places 
which should renounce adherence to his uncle. By 
this means (he observed) the whole kingdom of Gra- 
nada would soon be induced to acknowledge his 
sway, and would be held by him in faithful vassalage 
to the Castilian crown. 

The Cathohc soverei,gns complied with his re- 
quest. Protection was immediately extended to the 
inhabitants of Granada, permitting them to cultivate 
their fields in peace, and to trade with the christian 
territories in all articles excepting arms ; being pro- 
vided with letters of surety, from some christian 
captain or alcayde. The same favor was promised 
to all other places, which, within six months, should 



renounce El Zagal and come under allegiance to the 
younger king. Should they not do so within that 
time, the sovereigns threatened to make war upon 
them, and conquer them for themselves. This meas- 
ure had a great effect, in inducing many to return to 
the standard of Boabdil. 

Having made every necessary arrangement for the 
government and security of the newly conquered 
territory, Ferdinand turned his attention to the great 
object of his campaign, the reduction of Malaga. 



CHAPTER Vn. 



OF THE CITY OF M.1LAG.\, AND ITS INHABIT- 
ANTS. 

The city of Malaga lies in the lap of a fertile val- 
ley, surrounded by mountains, excepting on the part 
which lies open to the sea. As it was one of the 
most important, so it was one of the strongest, cities 
of the Moorish kingdom. It was fortified by walls 
of prodigious strength, studded with a great number 
of huge towers. On the land side, it was protected 
by a natural barrier of mountains ; and on the other, 
the waves of the Mediterranean beat against the 
foundations of its massive bulwarks. 

At one end of the city, near the sea, on a high 
mound, stood the Alcazaba or citadel, — a fortress of 
great strength. Immediately above this, rose a steep 
and rocky mount, on the top of which, in old times, 
had been a Pharo or light-house, from which the 
height derived its name of Gibralfaro.* It was at 
present crowned by an immense castle, which, from 
its lotty and cragged situation, its vast walls and 
mighty towers, was deemed impregnable. It com- 
municated with the Alcazaba by a covered way, six 
paces broad, leading down between two walls, along 
the profile or ridge of the rock. The castle of Gib- 
ralfaro commanded both citadel and city, and was 
capable, if both were taken, of maintaining a siege. 
Two large suburbs adjoined the city : in the one to- 
wards the sea. were the dwelling-houses of the most 
opulent inhabitants, adorned with hanging gardens ; 
the other, on the land side, was thickly peopled, and 
surrounded by strong walls and towers. 

Malaga possessed a brave and numerous garrison, 
and the common people were active, hardy, and 
resolute ; but the city was rich and commercial, and 
under the habitual control of numerous opulent 
merchants, who dreaded the ruinous consequences 
of a siege. They were little zealous for the warlike 
renown of their city, and longed rather to partici- 
pate in the enviable security of property, and the 
lucrative privileges of safe traffic with the christian 
territories, granted to all places which declared for 
Boabdil. At the head of these gainful citizens was 
Ali Dordux, a mighty merchant of uncounted wealth, 
whose ships traded to every part of the Levant, and 
whose word was as a law in Malaga. Ali Dordux as- 
sembled the most opulent and important of his 
commercial brethren, and they repaned in a body to 
the Alcazaba, where they were received by the al- 
cayde, Albozen Connixa, with that deference gen 
erally shown to men of their great local dignity and 
power of purse. Ali Dordux was ample and stately 
in his form, and fluent and emphatic in his discourse ; 
his eloquence had an effect therefore upon the al- 
cayde, as he represented the hopelessness of a de- 
fence of Malaga, the misery that must attend a 
siege, and the ruin that must follow a capture by 
force of arms. On the other hand, he set forth the 



* A corruption of Gibet-/aro : the hill of the Iight-hou5c. 



240 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



grace that might be obtained from the Castilian 
sovereigns, by an early and voluntary acknowledg- 
ment of Boabdil as king ; the peaceful possession of 
their property, and the profitable commerce with the 
christian ports, that would be allowed them. He 
was seconded by his weighty and important coadju- 
tors ; and the alcayde, accustomed to regard them 
as the arbiters of the affairs of the place, yielded to 
their united counsels. He departed, therefore, with 
all speed, to the christian camp, empowered to ar- 
range a capitulation with the Castilian monarch ; 
and in the mean time, his brother remained in com- 
mand of the Alcazaba. 

There was at this time, as alcayde, in the old 
crag-built castle of Gibralfaro, a warlike and fiery 
Moor, an implacable enemy of the christians. This 
was no other than Hamet Zeli, surnamed El Zegri, 
the once formidable alcayde of Ronda, and the ter- 
ror of its mountains. He had never forgiven the 
capture of his favorite fortress, and panted for ven- 
geance on the christians. Notwithstanding his re- 
verses, he had retained the favor of El Zagal, who 
knew how to appreciate a bold warrior of the kind, 
and had placed him in command of this important 
fortress of Gibralfaro. 

Hamet el Zegri had gathered round him the rem- 
nant of his band of Gomeres, with others of the same 
tribe. These fierce v/arriors were nestled, like so 
many war-hawks, about their lofty cliff. They looked 
down with martial contempt upon the commercial 
city of Malaga, which they were placed to protect ; 
or rather, they esteemed it only for its military im- 
portance, and its capability of defence. They held 
no communion with its trading, gainful inhabitants, 
and even considered the garrison of the Alcazaba as 
their inferiors. War was their pursuit and passion ; 
they rejoiced in its turbulent and perilous scenes ; 
and, confident in the strength of the city, and, above 
all, of their castle, they set at defiance the menace 
of christian invasion. There were among them, also, 
many apostate Moors, who had once embraced Chris- 
tianity, but had since recanted, and had fled from 
the vengeance of the Inquisition. These were des- 
. peradoes, who had no mercy to expect, should they 
again fall into the hands of the enemy. 

Such were the fierce elements of the garrison of 
Gibralfaro ; and its rage may easily be conceived, at 
hearing that Malaga was to be given up without a 
blow ; that they were to sink into christian vassals, 
under the intermediate sway of Boabdil el Chico ; 
and that the alcayde of the Alcazaba had departed, 
to arrange the terms of capitulation. 

Hamet el Zegri determined to avert, by desperate 
means, the threatened degradation. He knew that 
there was a large party in the city faithful to El 
Zagal, being composed of warlike men, who had 
taken refuge from the various mountain towns which 
had been captured : their feelings were desperate as 
their fortunes, and, like Hamet, they panted for 
revenge upon the christians. With these he had a 
secret conference, and received assurances of their 
adherence to him in any measures of defence. As 
to the counsel of the peaceful inhabitants, he con- 
sidered it unworthy the consideration of a soldier ; 
and he spurned at the interference of the wealthy 
merchant AH Dordux, in matters of warfare. 

•'Still," said Hamet el Zegri, "let us proceed 
regtilarly." So he descended with his Gomeres to 
the citadel, entered it suddenly, put to death the 
brother of the alcayde, and such of the garrison as 
made any demur, and then summoned the principal 
inhabitants of Malaga, to deliberate on measures for 
the welfare of the city.* The wealthy merchants 



• Cura de los Palacios, c. 82, 



again mounted to the citadel, excepting All Dordux, 
who refused to obey the summons. They entered 
with hearts filled with .awe, for they found Hamet 
surrounded by his grim African guard, and all the 
stern array of military power, and they beheld the 
bloody traces of the recent massacre. 

Hamet el Zegri rolled a dark and searching eye 
upon the assembly. " Who," said he, " is loyal and 
devoted to Muley Abdalla el Zagal .>" Every one 
present asserted his loyalty. " Good ! " said Hamet ; 
" and who is ready to prove his devotion to his sover- 
eign, by defending this his important city to the last 
extremity ? " Every one present declared his readi- 
ness. " Enough ! " observed Hamet ; " the alcayde 
Albozen Connixa has proved himself a traitor to his 
sovereign, and to 50U all; for he has conspired to 
deliver the place to the christians. It behoves you 
to choose some other commander capable of defend- 
ing your city against the approaching enemy." The 
assembly declared unanimously, that there was no 
one so v^'orthy of the command as himself. So 
Hamet el Zegri was appointed alcayde of Malaga, 
and immediately proceeded to man the forts and 
towers with his partisans, and to make every prepa- 
ration for a desperate resistance. 

Intelligence of these occurrences put an end to the 
negotiations between king Ferdinand and the super- 
seded alcayde Albozen Connixa, and it was supposed 
there was no alternative but to lay siege to the 
place. The marques of Cadiz, however, found at 
Velez a Moorish cavalier of some note, a native 
of Malaga, who offered to tamper with Hamet el 
Zegri for the surrender of the city, or at least of the 
castle of Gibralfaro. The marques communicated 
this to the king: "1 put this business, and the key 
of my treasury, into your hands," said Ferdinand ; 
" act, stipulate, and disburse, in my name, as you 
think proper." 

The marques armed the Moor with his own lance, 
cuirass, and target, and mounted him on one of his 
own horses. He equipped in similar style, also, 
another Moor, his companion and relation. They 
bore secret letters to Hamet from the marques, 
offering him the town of Coin in perpetual inherit- 
ance, and four thousand doblas in gold, if he would 
deliver up Gibralfaro ; together with large sums, to 
be distributed among his officers and soldiers : and 
he offered unlimited rewards for the surrender of the 
city.* 

Hamet had a warrior's admiration of the marques 
of Cadiz, and received his messengers with courtesy 
in his fortress of Gibralfaro. He even listened to 
their propositions with patience, and dismissed them 
in safety, though with an absolute refusal. The 
marques thought his reply was not so peremptory 
as to discourage another effort. The emissaries 
were dispatched, therefore, a second time, with 
further propositions. They approached Malaga in 
the night, but found the guards doubled, patrols 
abroad, and the whole place on the alert. They 
were discovered, pursued, and only saved them- 
selves by the tleetness of their steeds, and their 
knowledge of the passes of the mountains. 

Finding all attempts to tamper with the faith of 
Hamet el Zegri utterly futile, king Ferdinand pub- 
licly summoned the city to surrender, offering the 
most favorable terms in case of immediate com- 
pliance; but threatening captivity to all the inhabit- 
ants, in case of resistance. 

The message was delivered in presence of the 
principal inhabitants, who, however, were too much 
in awe of the stem alcayde to utter a word. Hamet 
el Zegri then rose haughtily, and replied, that the 



* Cura dc los Palacios, c. 82. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



241 



city of Malaga had not been confided to him to be 
surrendered, but defended ; and the king should wit- 
ness how he acquitted himself of his charge.* 

The messengers returned with formidable accounts 
of the force of the garrison, the strength of the forti- 
fications, and the determined spirit of the commander 
and his men. The king immediately sent orders to 
have the heavy artillery forwarded from Anliquera ; 
and, on the 7th of May, marched with his army to- 
wards Malaga. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



ADVANCE OF KING FERDINAND AGAINST 
MALAGA. 

The army of Ferdinand advanced in lengthened 
line, glittering along the foot of the mountains which 
border the Mediterranean ; while a Meet of vessels, 
freighted with heavy artillery and warlike munitions, 
kept pace with it at a short distance from the land, 
covering the sea with a thousand gleaming sails. 
When Hamet el Zegri saw this force approaching, 
he set fire to the houses of the suburbs which ad- 
joined the walls, and sent forth three battalions to 
encounter the advance guard of the enemv. 

The christian army drew near to the city, at that 
end where the castle and rocky height of Gibralfaro 
defend the seaboard. Immediately opposite, at about 
two bow-shots' distance, stood the castle ; and be- 
tween it and the high chain of mountains, was a steep 
and rocky hill, commanding a pass through which the 
christians must march to penetrate to the vega and 
surround the city. Hamet el Zegri ordered the three 
battalions to take their stations, one on this hill, an- 
other in the pass near the castle, and a third on the 
side of the mountain near the sea. 

A body of Spanish foot-soldiers, of the advance 
guard, sturdy mountaineers of Gallicia, sprang for- 
ward to climb the side of the height ne.xt the sea ; 
at the same time, a number of cavaliers and hidalgos 
of the royal household attacked the Moors who 
guarded the pass below. The Moors defended their 
posts with obstinate valor. The Gallicians were re- 
peatedly overpowered and driven down the hill, but 
as often rallied, and being reinforced by the hidalgos 
and cavaliers, returned to the assault. This obstinate 
struggle lasted lor si.x hours : the strife was of a dead- 
ly kind, not merely with cross-bows and arquebusses, 
but hand to hand, with swords and daggers ; no 
quarter was claimed or given, on either side — they 
fought not to make captives, but to slay. It was but 
the advance of the christian army that was engaged ; 
so narrow was the pass along the coast, that the army 
could proceed only in file : horse and foot, and beasts 
of burden, were crowded one upon another, imped- 
ing each other, and blocking up the narrow and rug- 
ged defile. The soldiers heard the uproar of the 
battle, the sound of trumpets, and the war-cries of 
the Moors — but tried in vain to press forward to the 
assistance of their companions. 

At length a body of foot-soldiers of the Holy 
Brotherhood climbed, with great difficulty, the steep 
side of the mountain which overhung the pass, and 
advanced with seven banners displayed. The Moors, 
seeing this force above them, abandoned the pass m 
despair. The battle was still raging on the height ; 
the Gallicians, though supported by Castilian troops 
under Don Hurtado de Mendoza and Garcilasso de 
la Vega, were severely pressed and roughly handled 
by the Moors ; at length a brave standard-bearer, 
Luys Mazedo by name, threw himself into the midst 



* Pulgar, part 3. cap. 7.^. 
itj 



of the enemy, and planted his banner on the summit. 
The Gallicians and Castilians, stimulated by this no- 
ble self-devotion, followed him fighting desperately, 
and the Moors were at length driven to their castle 
of Gibralfaro.* 

This important height being taken, the pass lay 
open to tlie army; but by this time evening was ad- 
vancing, and the liost was too weary and exhausted 
to seek proper situations for the encampment. The 
king, attended by several grandees and cavaliers, 
went the rounds at night, stationing outposts towards 
the city, and guards and patrols to give the alarm on 
the least movement of the enemy. All night the 
christians lay upon their arms, lest there should be 
some attempt to sally forth and attack them. 

When the morning dawned, the king gazed with 
admiration at this city, which he hoped soon to add 
to his dominions. It was surrounded on one side by 
vineyards, gardens, and orchards, which covered the 
hills with verdure ; on the other side, its walls were 
bathed by the smooth and tranquil sea. Its vast and 
lofty towers and prodigious castles, hoary with age, 
yet unimpaired in strength, showed the labors of 
magnanimous men in former times to protect their 
favorite abode. Hanging gardens, groves of oranges, 
citrons, and pomegranates, with tall cedars and 
stately palms, were mingled with the stern battle- 
ments and towers — bespeaking the opulence and 
luxury that reigned within. 

In the mean time, the christian army poured 
through the pass, and, throwing out its columns and 
extending its lines, took possession ol every vantage- 
ground around the city. King Ferdinand surveyed 
the ground, and appointed the stations of the differ- 
ent commanders. 

The important mount which had cost so violent a 
struggle, and faced the powerful fortress of Gibral- 
faro, was given in charge to Roderigo Ponce de 
Leon, marques of Cadiz, who, in all sieges, claimed 
the post of danger. He had several noble cavaliers 
with their retainers in his encampment, which con- 
sisted of fifteen hundred horse and fourteen thousand 
foot ; and extended from the summit of the mount 
to tlie margin of the sea, completely blocking up the 
approach to the city on that side. From this post, 
a line of encampments extended quite round the 
city to the seaboard, fortified by bulwarks and deep 
ditches ; while a fleet of armed ships and galleys 
stretched before the harbor ; so that the place was 
completely invested, by sea and land. The various 
parts of the valley now resounded with the din of 
preparation, and were filled with artificers preparing 
warlike engines and munitions : armorers and smiths, 
with glowing forges and deafening hammers ; car- 
penters and engineers, constructing machines where- 
with to assail the walls ; stone-cutters, shaping stone 
balls for the ordnance ; and burners of charcoal, 
preparing fuel for the furnaces and forges. 

When the encampment was formed, the heavy 
ordnance was landed from the ships, and mounted 
in various parts of the camp. Five huge lombards 
were placed on the mount commanded by the mar- 
ques of Cadiz, so as to bear upon the castle of Gib- 
ralfaro. 

The Moors made strenuous efforts to impede these 
preparations. They kept up a heavy fire from their 
ordnance, upon the men employed in digging trenches 
or constructing batteries, so that the latter had to 
work principally in the night. The royal tents had 
been stationed conspicuously, and within reach of 
the Moorish batteries ; but were so warmly assailed, 
that they had to be removed behind a hill. 

When the works were completed,, the christian 

* Pulgar. Cronica. 



242 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



batteries opened in return, and kept up a tremendous 
cannonade; while the fleet, approaching the land, 
assailed the city vigorously on the opposite side. 

" It was a glorious and delectable sight," observes 
Fray Antonio Agapida, " to behold this infidel city 
thus surrounded by sea and land, by a mighty chris- 
tian force. Every mound in its circuit was, as it 
were, a little city of tents, bearing the standard of 
some renowned Catholic warrior. Beside the war- 
like ships and galleys which lay before the place, the 
sea was covered with innumerable sails, passing and 
repassing, appearing and disappearing, being en- 
gaged in bringing supplies for the subsistence of the 
army. It seemed a vast spectacle contrived to rec- 
reate the eye, did not the volleying bursts of flame 
and smoke from the ships, which seemed to lie 
asleep on the quiet sea, and the thunder of ordnance 
from camp and city, from tower and battlement, tell 
the deadly warfare that was raging. 

" At night, the scene was far more direful than in 
the day. The cheerful light of the sun was gone ; 
there was nothing but the flashes of artillery, or the 
baleful gleams of combustiles thrown into the city, 
and the conflagration of the houses. The fire kept 
up from the christian batteries was incessant ; there 
were seven great lombards in particular, called The 
Seven Sisters of Ximenes, which did tremendous 
execution. The Moorish ordnance replied in thun- 
der from the walls ; Gibralfaro was wrapped in 
volumes of smoke, rolling about its base ; and Ha- 
met el Zegri and his Gomeres looked out with tri- 
umph upon the tempest of war they had awakened. 
Truly they were so many demons incarnate," con- 
cludes the pious Fray Antonio Agapida, " who were 
permitted by Heaven to enter into and possess this 
infidel city, for its perdition." 



CHAPTER IX. 



SIEGE OF MALAGA. 



The attack on Malaga, by sea and land, was kept 
up for several days with tremendous violence, but 
without producing any great impression, so strong 
were the ancient bulwarks of the city. The count 
de Cifuentes w-as the first to signalize himself by any 
noted achievement. A main tower of the suburb 
had been shattered by the ordnance, and the battle- 
ments demolished, so as to yield no shelter to its de- 
fenders. Seeing this, the count assembled a gallant 
band of cavaliers of the royal household, and ad- 
vanced to take it by storm. They applied scaling- 
ladders, and mounted, sword in hand. The Moors, 
having no longer battlements to protect them, de- 
scended to a lower floor, and made furious resist- 
ance from the windows and loop-holes. They poured 
down boiling pitch and rosin, and hurled stones and 
darts and arrows on the assailants. Many of the 
christians were slain, their ladders were destroyed 
by flaming combustibles, and the count was obliged 
to retreat from before the tower. On the following 
day he renewed the attack with superior force, and, 
after a severe combat, succeeded in planting his 
victorious banner on the tower. 

The Moors now assailed the tower in their turn. 
They undermined the part towards the city, placed 
props of wood under the foundation, and, setting 
fire to them, drew off to a distance. In a little while 
the props gave way, the foundation sunk, and the 
tower was rent ; part of its wall fell, with a tremen- 
dous noise ; many of the christians were thrown out 
headlong, and the rest were laid open to the missiles 
of the enemy. 



By this time, however, a breach had been made in 
the wall adjoining the tower, and troops poured in to 
the assistance of their comrades. A continued battle 
was kept up, for two days and a night, by reinforce- 
ments from camp and city. The parties fought back- 
wards and forwards through the breach of the wall, 
with alternate success ; and the vicinity of the tower 
was strewn with the dead and wounded. At length 
the Moors gradually gave way, disputing every inch 
of ground, until they were driven into the city; and 
the christians remained masters of the greater part 
of the suburb. 

This partial success, though gained with great toil 
and bloodshed, gave temporary animation to the 
christians ; they soon found, however, that the attack 
on the main works of the city was a much more 
arduous task. The garrison contained veterans who 
had served in many of the towns captured by the 
christians. They were no longer confounded and 
dismayed by the battering ordnance and other strange 
engines of foreign invention, and had become expert 
in parrying their effects, in repairing breaches, and 
erecting counter-works. 

The christians, accustomed of late to speedy con- 
quests of Moorish fortresses, became impatient of 
the slow progress of the siege. Many were appre- 
hensive of a scarcity of provisions, from the diffi- 
culty of subsisting so numerous a host in the heart 
of the enemy's country, where it w.as necessary to 
transport supplies across rugged and hostile mount- 
ains, or subjected to the uncertainties of the sea. 
Many also were alarmed at a pestilence which broke 
out in the neighboring villages ; and some were so 
overcome by these apprehensions, as to abandon the 
camp and return to their homes. 

Several of the loose and worthless hangers-on that 
infest all great armies, hearing these murmurs, 
thought that the siege would soon be raised, and 
deserted to the enemy, hoping to make their fortunes. 
They gave exaggerated accounts of the alarms and 
discontents of the army, and represented the troops 
as daily returning home in bands. Above all, they 
declared that the gunpowder was nearly exhausted, 
so that the artillery would soon be useless. They as- 
sured the Moors, therefore, that if they persisted a 
little longer in their defence, the king would be 
obliged to draw off his forces and abandon the siege. 

The reports of these renegadoes gave fresh courage 
to the garrison ; they made vigorous sallies upon the 
camp, harassing it by night and day, and obliging 
every part to be guarded with the most painful vigi- 
lance. They fortified the weak parts of their walls 
with ditches and palisadoes, and gave every mani- 
festation of a determined and unyielding spirit. 

Ferdinand soon received intelligence of the re- 
ports which had been carried to the Moors; he un- 
derstood that they had been informed, likewise, that 
the queen was alarmed for the safety of the camp, 
and had written repeatedly urging him to abandon 
the siege. As the best means of disproving all these 
falsehoods, and of destroying the vain hopes of the 
enemy, Ferdinand wrote to the queen, entreating her 
to come and take up her residence in the camp. 



CHAPTER X. 



.SIEGE OF MALAGA CONTINUED— OBSTINACY OF 
HAMET EL ZEGRI. 

Great was the enthusiasm of the army, when they 
beheld their patriot queen advancing in state, to 
share the toils and dangers of her people. Isabella 
entered the camp, attended by the dignitaries and 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



243 



the whole retinue of her court, to manifest that this 
was no temporary visit. On one side of her was her 
daughter, the Infanta ; on the other, the grand cardi- 
nal of Spain, Hernando de Talavera, the prior of 
Prado, confessor to the queen, followed, with a great 
train of prelates, courtiers, cavaliers, and ladies of 
distinction. The cavalcade moved in calm and 
stately order through the camp, softening the iron 
aspect of war by this array of courtly grace and 
female beauty. 

Isabella had commanded, that on her coming to 
the camp, the horrors of war should be suspended, 
and fresh offers of peace made to the enemy. On 
her arrival, therefore, there had been a general ces- 
sation of firing throughout the camp. A messenger 
was, at the same time, dispatched to the besieged, 
informing them of her being in the camp, and of the 
determination of the sovereigns to make it their set- 
tled residence until the city should be taken. The 
same terms were offered, in case of immediate sur- 
render, that had been granted to Velez Malaga ; but 
the iniiabitants were threatened with captivity and 
the sword, should they persist in their defence. 

Hamet el Zegri received this message with haughty 
contempt, and dismissed the messenger without 
deigning a reply. " The christian sovereigns," said 
he, " have made this offer in consequence of their 
despair. The silence of their batteries proves the 
truth of what has been told us, that their powder is 
exhausted. They have no longer the means of de- 
molishmg our walls ; and if they remain much long- 
er, the autumnal rains will interrupt their convoys, 
and fill their camp wiih fo^miae and disease. The 
first storm will disperse their fleet, which has no 
neighborinjj port of shelter : Africa will then be open 
to us, to procure reinforcements and supplies." 

The words of Hamet el Zegri were hailed as 
oracular, by his adherents. Many of the peaceful 
part of the community, however, ventured to remon- 
strate, and to implore him to accept the proffered 
mercy. The stern Hamet silenced them with a 
terrific threat : he declared, that whoever should 
talk of capitulating, or should hold any communica- 
tion with the christians, should be put to death. The 
fierce Gomeres, like true men of the sword, acted 
upon the menace of their chieftain as upon a written 
law, and having detected several of the inhabitants 
in secret correspondence with the enemy, they set 
upon and slew them, and then confiscated their ef- 
fects. This struck such terror into the citizens, that 
those who had been loudest in their murmurs be- 
came suddenly mute, and were remarked as evincing 
the greatest bustle and alacrity in the defence of the 
city. 

When the messenger returned to the camp, and 
reported the contemptuous reception of the royal 
message, king Ferdinand was exceedingly indignant. 
Finding the cessation of firing, on the queen's ar- 
rival, had encouraged a belief among the enemy that 
there was a scarcity of powder in the camp, he or- 
dered a general discharge from all the batteries. 
The sudden burst of war from every quarter soon 
convinced the Moors of their error, and completed 
the confusion of the citizens, who knew not which 
most to dread, their assailants or their defenders, 
the christians or the Gomeres. 

That evening the sovereigns visited the encamp- 
ment of the marques of Cadiz, which commanded a 
view over a great part of the city and the camp. 
The tent of the marques was of great magnitude, 
furnished with hangings of rich brocade and French 
cloth of the rarest texture. It was in the oriental 
style ; and, as it crowned the height, with the sur- 
rounding tents of other cavaliers, all sumptuously 
fiirnished, presented a gay and silken contrast to the 



opposite towers of Gibralfaro. Here a splendid col- 
lation was served up to the sovereigns ; and the 
courtly revel that prevailed in this chivalrous en- 
campment, the glitter of pageantry, and the bursts 
of festive music, made more striking the gloom and 
silence that reigned over the Moorish castle. 

The marques of Cadiz, while it was yet light, con- 
ducted his royal visitors to e\ery point that com- 
manded a view of the warlike scene below. He 
caused the heavy lombards also to be discharged, 
that the queen and ladies of the court might witness 
the effect of those tremendous engines. The fair 
dames were filled with awe and admiration, as the 
mountain shook beneath their feet with the thunder 
of the artillery, and they beheld great fragments of 
the Moorish walls tumbling down the rocks and 
precipices. 

While the good marques was displaying these 
things to his royal guests, he lifted up his eyes, and 
to his astonishment beheld his own banner hanging 
out from the nearest tower of Gibralfaro. The blood 
mantled in his cheek, for it was a banner which he 
had lost at the time of the memorable massacre of 
the heights of Malaga.* To make this taunt more 
evident, several of the Gomeres displayed themselves 
upon the battlements, arrayed in the helmets and 
cuirasses of some of the cavaliers slain or captured 
on that occasion. The marques of Cadiz restrained 
his indignation, and held his peace; but several of 
his cavaliers vowed loudly to revenge this cruel bra- 
vado, on the ferocious garrison of Gibralfaro. 



CHAPTER XI. 



ATTACK OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ UPON 
GIBRALFARO. 

The marques of Cadiz was not a cavalier that 
readily forgave an injury or an insult. On the morn- 
ing after the royal banquet, his batteries opened a 
tremendous fire upon Gibralfaro. All day, the en- 
campment was wrapped in wreaths of smoke ; nor 
did the assault cease with the day — but, throughout 
the night, there was an incessant flashing and thun- 
dering of the lombards, and, the following morning, 
the assault rather increased than slackened in fury. 
The Moorish bulwarks were no proof against those 
formidable engines. In a few days, the lofty tower 
on which the taunting banner had been displayed, 
was shattered ; a smaller tower in its vicinity reduced 
to ruins, and a great breach made in the intervening 
walls. 

Several of the hot-spirited cavaliers were eager for 
storming the breach, sword in hand ; others, more 
cool and wary, pointed out the rashness of such an 
attempt ; for the Moors had worked indefatigably in 
the night ; they had digged a deep ditch within the 
breach, and had fortified it with palisadoes and a 
high breastwork. All, however, agreed that the 
camp might safely be advanced near to the ruined 
walls, and that it ought to be done so, in return for 
the insolent defiance of the enemy. 

The marques of Cadiz felt the temerity of the 
measure, but he was unwilling to dampen the zeal 
of these high-spirited cavaliers ; and having chosen 
the post of danger in the camp, it did not become 
him to decline any service, merely because it might 
appear perilous. He ordered his outposts, therefore, 
to be advanced within a stone's-throw of the breach, 
but exhorted the soldiers to maintain the utmost 
vigilance. 

* Diego dc Valera. Cronica, MS. 



2U 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The thunder of the batteries had ceased ; the 
troops, exhausted by two nights' fatigiie and vvatch- 
fuhiess, and apprehending no danger from the dis- 
mantled wails, were half of them asleep ; the rest 
were scattered about in negligent security. On a 
sudden, upwards of two thousand Moors sallied forth 
from the casile, led on by Alrahan Zenete, the prin- 
cipal captain under Hamet. They fell with fearful 
havoc upon the advanced guard, slaying many of 
them in their sleep, and puttmg the rest to headlong 
flight. 

The marques was in his tent, about a bow-shot 
distance, when he heai'd the tumult of the onset, and 
beheld his men flying in confusion. He rushed forth, 
followed by his standard-bearer. " Turn again, 
cavaliers ! " exclaimed he ; " I am here. Ponce de 
Leon! to the foe! to the foe!" The flying troops 
stopped at hearing his well-known voice, rallied un- 
der his banner, and turned upon the enemy. The 
encampment, by this time, was roused ; several cav- 
aliers from the adjoining stations had hastened to 
the scene of action, with a number of Gallicians and 
soldiers of the Holy Brotherhood. An obstinate and 
bloody contest ensued ; the ruggedness of the place, 
the rocks, chasms, and declivities, broke it into nu- 
merous combats : christian and Moor fought hand to 
hand, with swords and daggers ; and often, grappling 
and struggling, rolled together down the precipices. 

The banner of the marques was in danger of being 
taken : he hastened to its rescue, followed by some 
of his bravest cavaliers. They were surrounded by 
the enemy, and several of them cut down. Don 
Diego Ponce de Leon, brother to the marques, was 
wounded by an arrow ; and his son-in-law, Luis 
Ponce, was likewise wounded : they succeeded, how- 
ever, in rescuing the banner, and bearing it off in 
safety. The battle lasted for an hour; the height 
was covered with killed and wounded, and the blood 
flowed in streams down the rocks ; at length, Alra- 
han Zenete being disabled by the thrust of a lance, 
the Moors gave way and retreated to the castle. 

They now opened a galling fire from their battle- 
ments and towers, approaching the breaches so as 
to discharge their cross-bows and arquebusses into 
the advanced guard of the encampment. The mar- 
ques was si.ngled out ; the shot fell thick about him, 
and one passed through his buckler, and struck upon 
his cuirass, but without doing him any injury. Every 
one now saw the danger and inutility of approaching 
the camp thus near to the castle ; and those who 
had counselled it, were now urgent that it should be 
withdrawn. It was accordingly removed back to its 
original ground, from which the marques had most 
reluctantly advanced it. Nothing but his valor and 
timely aid had prevented this attack on his outpost 
from ending in a total rout of all that part of the army. 

Many cavaliers of distinction fell in this contest ; 
but the loss of none was felt more deeply than that 
of Ortega de Prado, captain of escaladors. He was 
one of the bravest men in the service ; the same who 
had devised the first successful blow of the war, the 
storming of Alhama, where he was the first to plant 
and mount the scaling-ladders. He had always been 
high in the favor and confidence of the noble Ponce 
de Leon, who knew how to appreciate and avail 
himself of the merits of all able and valiant men.* 



CHAPTER XIL 



SIEGE OF MALAGA CONTINUED. — STRATAGEMS 
OF VARIOUS KINDS. 

Great were the exertions now made, both by the 
besiegers and the besieged, to carry on this contest 

• Zurita. Mariana. Abarca. 



with the utmost vigor. Hamet el Zegri went the 
rounds of the walls and towers, doubling the guards, 
and putting every thing in the best posture of de- 
fence. The garrison was divided into parties of a 
hundred, to each of which a captain was appointed. 
Some were to patrol, others to sally forth and skir- 
mish with the enemy, and others to hold themselves 
armed and in reserve. Six albatozas, or floating bat- 
teries, were manned and armed with pieces of artil- 
lery, to attack the fleet. 

On the other hand, the Castilian sovereigns kept 
open a communication by sea with various parts of 
Spain, from which they received provisions of all 
kinds ; they ordered supplies of powder also from 
Valencia, Barcelona, Sicily, and Portugal. They 
made great preparations also for storming the city. 
Towers of wood were constructed, to move on 
wheels, each capable of holding one hundred men ; 
they were furnished with ladders, to be thrown from 
their summits to the tops of the walls ; and within 
those ladders, others were encased, to be let down 
for the descent of the troops into the city. There 
were gallipagos or tortoises, also, being great wcodeii 
shields, covered with hides, to protect the assailants, 
and those who undermined the walls. 

Secret mines were commenced in various places ; 
some were intended to reach to the foundations of 
the walls, which were to be propped up with wood, 
ready to be set on fire ; others were to pass under 
the walls, and remain ready to be broken open so 
as to give entrance to the besiegers. At these 
mines the army worked day and night ; and during 
these secret preparations, the ordnance kept up a 
fire upon the city, to divert the attention of the be- 
sieged. 

In the mean time, Hamet el Zegri displayed won- 
derful vigor and ingenuity in defending the city, and 
in repairing or fortifying, by deep ditches, the breaches 
made by the enemy. He noted, also, every place 
where the camp might be assailed with advantage, 
and gave the besieging army no repose night or day. 
While his troops sallied on the land, his floating bat- 
teries attacked the besiegers on the sea; so that 
there was incessant skirmishing. The tents called 
the Queen's Hospital were crowded with wounded, 
and the whole army suffered from constant watch- 
fulness and fatigue. To guard against the sudden 
assaults of the Moors, the trenches were deepened, 
and palisadoes erected in front of the camp ; and in 
that part facing Gibralfaro, where the rocky heights 
did not admit of such defences, a high rampart of 
earth was thrown up. The cavaliers Garcilasso de 
la V'ega, Juan de Zufiiga, and Diego de Atayde, were 
appointed to go the rounds, and keep vigilant watch 
that these fortifications were maintained in good 
order. 

In a little while, Hamet discovered the mines se- 
cretly commenced by the christians : he immediately 
ordered counter-mines. The soldiers mutually work- 
ed until they met, and fought hand to hand, in these 
subterranean passages. The christians were driven 
out of one of their mines ; fire was set to the wooden 
framework, and the mine destroyed. Encouraged 
by this success, the Moors attempted a general at- 
tack upon the camp, the mines, and the besieging 
fleet. The battle lasted for six hours, on land and 
water, above and below ground, on bulwark, and in 
trench and mine ; the Moors displayed wonderful 
intrepidity, but were finally repulsed at all points, 
and obliged to retire into the city, where they were 
closely invested, without the means of receiving any 
assistance from abroad. 

The honors of famine were now added to the 
other miseries of Malaga. Hamet el Zegri, with the 
spirit of a man bred up to war, considered every 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



245 



thing as subsen'ient to the wants of the soldier, and 
ordered all the grain in the city to be gathered and 
garnered up for the sole use of those who fought. 
Even this was dealt out sparingly, and each soldier 
received four ounces of bread in the morning, and 
two in the evening, for his daily allowance. 

The wealthy inhabitants, and all those peacefully 
inclined, mourned over a resistance which brought 
destruction upon their houses, death into their fami- 
lies, and which they saw must end in their ruin and 
captivity : stdl none of them dared to speak openly 
of capitulation, or even to manifest their grief, lest 
they should awaken the wrath of their fierce defend- 
ers. They surrounded their civic champion, Ali 
Dordu.x, the great and opulent merchant, who had 
buckled on shield and cuirass, and taken spear in 
hand, for the defence of his native city, and, with a 
large body of the braver citizens, had charge of one 
of the gates and a considerable portion of the walls. 
Drawing Ali Dordux aside, they poured forth their 
griefs to him in secret. "Why," said they, "should 
we suffer our native city to be made a mere bulwark 
and hghting-place for foreigti barbarians and des- 
perate men .' They have no families to care for, no 
property to lose, no love for the soil, and no value 
for their lives. They fight to gratify a thirst for 
blood or a desire for revenge, and will fight on until 
Malaga become a ruin and us people slaves. Let us 
think and act for ourselves, our wives, and our chil- 
dren. Let us make private terms with the christians 
before it is too late, and save ourselves from destruc- 
tion." 

The bowels of Ali Dordux yearned towards his 
fellow-citizens; he bethought him also of the sweet 
security of peace, and the bloodless yet gratifying 
triumphs of gainful traffic. The idea also of a secret 
negotiation or bargain with the Castilian sovereigns, 
for the redemption of his native city, was more con- 
formable to his accustomed habits than this violent 
appeal to arms ; for though he had for a time assum- 
ed the warrior, he had not forgotten the merchant. 
Ali Dordux communed, therefore, with the citizen- 
soldiers under his command, and they readily con- 
formed to his opinion. Concerting together, they 
wrote a proposition to the Castilian sovereigns, of- 
fering to admit the army into the part of the city 
intrusted to their care, on receiving assurance of 
protection for the lives and properties of the inhabit- 
ants. This writing they delivered to a trusty emis- 
sary to take to the christian camp, appointing the 
hour and place of his return, that they might be 
ready to admit him unperceived. 

The Moor made his way in safety to the camp, 
and was admitted to the presence of the sovereigns. 
Eager to gain the city without further cost of blood 
or treasure, they gave a written promise to grant the 
conditions ; and the Moor set out joyfully on his re- 
turn. As he approached the walls where Ali Dor- 
dux and his confederates were waiting to receive 
him, he was descried by a patrolling band of Go- 
meres, and considered a spy coming from the camp 
of the besiegers. They issued forth and seized him, 
in sight of his employers, who gave themselves up 
for lost. The Gomeres had conducted him nearly 
to the gate, when he escaped from their grasp and 
fled. They endeavored to overtake him, but were 
encumbered with armor; he was lightly clad, and 
he fled for his life. One of the Gomeres paused, 
and, levelling his cross-bow, let fly a bolt, which 
pierced the fugitive between the shoulders ; he fell, 
and was nearly within their grasp, but rose again, 
and with a desperate eftbrt attained the christian 
camp. The Gomeres gave over the pursuit, and the 
citizens returned thanks to Allah for their deliver- 
ance from this fearful peril. As to the faithful mes- 



senger, he died of his wound shortly after reaching 
the camp, consoled with the idea that he had pre- 
served the secret and the lives of his employers. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



SUFFERINGS OF THE PEOPLE OF MALAG.V. 

The sufferings of Malaga spread sorrow and anx- 
iety among the Moors ; and they dreaded lest this 
beautiful city, once the bulwark of the kingdom, 
should fall into the hands of the unbelievers. The 
old warrior king, Abdalla el Zagal, was still sheltered 
in Guadix, where he was slowly gathering together 
his shattered forces. When the people of Guadix 
heard of the danger and distress of Malaga, they 
urged to be led to its relief; and the alfaquis admon- 
ished El Zagal not to desert so righteous and loyal a 
city, in its extremity. His own warlike nature made 
him teel a sympathy for a place that made so gal- 
lant a resistance ; and he dispatched as powerful a 
reinforcement as he could spare, under conduct of a 
chosen captain, with orders to throw themselves into 
the city. 

Intelligence of this reinforcement reached Boab- 
dil el Chico, in his royal palace of the Alhambra. 
Filled with hostility against his uncle, and desirous 
of proving his loyalty to the Castilian sovereigns, he 
immediately sent forth a superior force of horse and 
foot, under an able commander, to intercept the 
detachment. A sharp conflict ensued ; the troops of 
El Zagal were routed with great loss, and fled back 
in confusion to Guadix. 

Boabdil, not being accustomed to victories, was 
flushed with his melancholy triumph. He sent 
tidings of it to the Castilian sovereigns, accompanied 
with rich silks, boxes of Arabian perfume, a cup of 
gold, richly wrought, and a female captive of Ubeda, 
as presents to the queen ; and four Arabian steeds 
magnificently caparisoned, a sword and dagger richly 
mounted, and several albornozes and other robes 
sumptuously embroidered, for the king. He entreat- 
ed them, at the same time, always to look upon him 
with favor as their devoted vassal. 

Boabdil was fated to be unfortunate even in his 
victories. His defeat of the forces of his uncle, des- 
tined to the relief of unhappy Malaga, shocked the 
feelings and cooled the loyalty of many of his best 
adherents. The mere men of traffic might rejoice 
in their golden interval of peace ; but the chivalrous 
spirits of Granada spurned a security purchased by 
such sacrifices of pride and affection. The people 
at large, having gratified their love of change, began 
to question whether they had acted generously by 
their old fighting monarch. " El Zagal," said they, 
" was fierce and bloody, but then he was true to his 
country ; he was an usurper, it is true, but then he 
maintained the glory of the crown which he usurped. 
If his sceptre was a rod of iron to his subjects, it 
was a sword of steel against their enemies. This 
Boabdil sacrifices religion, friends, country, every 
thing, to a mere shadow of royalty, and is content 
to hold a rush for a sceptre." 

These factious murmurs soon reached the ears of 
Boabdil, and he apprehended another of his custom- 
ary reverses. He sent in all haste to the Castilian 
sovereigns, beseeching military aid to keep him on 
his throne. Ferdinand graciously complied with a 
request so much in unison with his policy. A de- 
tachment of one thousand cavalry, and two thousand 
infantry, was sent, under the command of Don Fer- 
nandez Gonsalvo of Cordova, subsequently renown- 
ed as the great captain. With this succor, Boabdil 



24fi 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



expelled from the city all those who were hostile to 
him, and in favor of his uncle. He felt secure in 
these troops, from their being- distinct in manners, 
language, and religion, from his s'bjetts ; and com- 
promised with his pride, in thus exhibiting that most 
unnatural and humiliating of all regal spectacles, a 
monarch supported on his throne by loreign weapons, 
and by soldiers hostile to Ins people. 

Nor was Boabdil el Chico the only Moorish sover- 
eign that sought protection from Ferdinand and 
Isabella. A splendid galley, with latine sails, and 
several banks of oars, displaying the standard of the 
crescent, but likewise a white flag in sign of amity, 
came one day into the harbor. An ambassador 
landed from it, within the christian lines. He came 
from the king of Tremezan, and brought presents 
similar to those of Boabdil, consisting of Arabian 
coursers, with bits, stirrups, and other furniture of 
gold, together with costly Moorish mantles: for the 
queen, there were sumptuous shawls, robes, and 
silken stuffs, ornaments of gold, and exquisite oriental 
perfumes. 

The king of Tremezan had been alarmed at the 
rapid conquests of the Spanish arms, and startled by 
the descent of several Spanish cruisers on the coast 
of Africa. He craved to be considered a vassal to 
the Castilian sovereigns, and that they would extend 
such favor and security to his ships and subjects as 
had been shown to other Moors who had submitted 
to their sway. He requested a painting of their 
arms, that he and his subjects might recognise and 
respect their standard, whenever they encountered 
it. At the same time he implored their clemency 
towards unhappy Malaga, and that its inhabitants 
might experience the same favor that had been 
shown towards the Moors of other captured cities. 

The embassy was graciously received by the chris- 
tian sovereigns. They granted the protection re- 
quired ; ordering their commanders to respect the 
flag of Tremezan, unless it should be found render- 
ing assistance to the enemy. They sent also to the 
Barbary monarch their royal arms, moulded in es- 
cutcheons of gold, a hand's-breadth in size.* 

While thus the chances ol assistance from with- 
out daily decreased, famine raged in the city. The 
inhabitants were compelled to eat the Hesh of horses, 
and many died of hunger. What made the suffer- 
ings of the citizens the more intolerable, was, to be- 
hold the sea covered with ships, daily arriving with 
provisions for the besiegers. Day after day, also, 
they saw herds of fat cattle, and flocks of sheep, 
driven into the camp. Wheat and flour were piled 
in huge mounds in the centre of the encampments, 
glaring in the sunshine, and tantalizing the wretched 
citizens, who, while they and their children were 
perishing with hunger, beheld prodigal abundance 
reigning within a bow-shot of their walls. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



HOW A MOORISH SANTON UNDERTOOK TO DELIVER 
THE CITY OF MALAGA FROM THE POWER OF ITS 
ENEMIES. 

There lived at this time, in a hamlet in the neigh- 
borhood of Guadix, an ancient Moor, of the name of 
Abrahin Algerbi. He was a native of Guerba, in the 
kingdom of Tunis, and had for several years led the 
life of a santon or hermit. The hot sun of Africa 
had dried his blood, and rendered him of an exalted 
yet melancholy temperament. He passed most of 

* Cura dc los Palacios, c. S4. Pulgar, part 3. c. 86. 



his time in meditation, prayer, and rigorous absti- 
nence, until his body was wasted and his mind be- 
wildered, and he fancied himself favored with divine 
revelations. The Moors, who have a great rever- 
ence for all enthusiasts of the kind, looked upon him 
as inspired, listened to all his ravings as veritable 
prophecies, and denominated him el santo, or the 
saint. 

The woes of the kingdom of Granada had long 
exasperated the gloomy spirit of this man, and he 
had beheld with indignation this beautiful country 
wrested from the dominion of the faithful, and be- 
coming a prey to the unbelievers. He had implored 
the blessings of Allah on the troops which issued 
forth from Guadix for the relief of Malaga ; but 
when he saw them return, routed and scattered by 
their own countrymen, he retired to his cell, shut 
himself up from the world, and was plunged for a 
time in the blackest melancholy. 

On a sudden, he made his appearance again in 
the streets of Guadix, his face haggard, his form 
emaciated, but his eye beaming with fire. He said 
that Allah had sent an angel to him in the solitude 
of his cell, revealing to him a mode of delivering 
Malaga from its perils, and striking horror and con- 
fusion into the camp of the unbelievers. The Moors 
listened with eager credulity to his words : four hun- 
dred of them oft'ered to follow him even to the death, 
and to obey implicitly his commands. Of this num- 
ber many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve their 
countrymen, who formed part of the garrison of 
Malaga. 

They traversed the kingdom by the wild and lonely 
passes of the mountains, concealing themselves in 
the day and travelling only in the night, to elude the 
christian scouts. At length they arrived at the 
mountains which tower above Malaga, and, looking 
down, beheld the city completely invested ; a chain 
of encampments extending round it from shore to 
shore, and a line of ships blockading it by sea ; 
while the continual thunder of artillery, and the 
smoke rising in various parts, showed that the siege 
was pressed with great activity. The hermit scanned 
the encampments warily, from his lofty height. He 
saw that the part of the encampment of the marques 
of Cadiz which was at the foot of the height, and on 
the margin of the sea, was most assailable, the rocky 
soil not admitting ditches or palisadoes. Remaining 
concealed all day, he descended with his followers 
at night to the sea-coast, and approached silently to 
the outworks. He had given them their instruc- 
tions ; they were to rush suddenly upon the camp, 
fight their way through, and throw themselves into 
the city. 

It was just at the gray of the dawning, when ob- 
jects are obscurely visible, that they made this 
desperate attempt. Some sprang suddenly upon the 
sentinels, others rushed into the sea and got round 
the works, others clambered over the breastworks. 
There was sharp skirmishing ; a great part of the 
Moors were cut to pieces, but about two hundred 
succeeded in getting into the gates of Malaga. 

The santon took no part in the conflict, nor did 
he endeavor to enter the city. His plans were of a 
different nature. Drawing apart from the battle, he 
threw himself on his knees on a rising ground, and, 
lilting his hands to Heaven, appeared to be absorbed 
in praver. The christians, as they were searching 
for fugitives in the clefts of the rocks, found him at 
his devotions. He stirred not at their approach, l)ut 
remained fixed as a statue, without changing color 
or moving a muscle. Filled with surprise not un- 
mingled with awe, they took him to the marques of 
Cadiz. He was wrapped in a coarse albornoz, or 
Moorish mantle ; his beard was long and grizzled. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



247 



and there was something wild and melancholy in his 
look, that inspired curiosity. On being examined, 
he gave himself out as a saint to whom Allah 
had revealed the events that were to take place in 
that siege. The marques demanded when and how 
Malaga was to be taken. He replied that he knew 
full well, but he was forbidden to reveal those im- 
portant secrets except to the king and queen. The 
good marques was not more given to superstitious 
fancies than other commanders of his time, yet there 
seemed something singular and mysterious about 
this man ; he might have some important intelligence 
to communicate ; so he was persuaded to send him 
to the king and queen. He was conducted to the 
royal tent, surrounded by a curious multitude, ex- 
claiming ''El Mora Santo!" for the news had 
spread through the camp, that they had taken a 
Moorish prophet. 

The king, having dined, was taking his siesta, or 
afternoon's sleep, in his tent ; and the queen, though 
curious to see this singular man, yet, from a natural 
delicacy and reserve, delayed until the king should 
be present. He was taken therefore to an adjoining 
tent, in which were Doiia Beatrix de BovadiUa, 
marchioness of Moya, and Don Alvaro of Portugal, 
son of the duke of Braganza, with two or three 
attendants. The Moor, ignorant of the Spanish 
tongue, had not understood the conversation of the 
guards, and supposed from the magnificence of the 
tumiture and the silken hangings, that this was the 
royal tent. From the respect paid by the attendants 
to Don Alvaro and the marchioness, he concluded 
that they were the king and queen. 

He now asked for a draught of water ; a jar was 
brought to him, and the guard released his arm to 
enable him to drink. The marchioness perceived a 
sudden change in his countenance, and something 
sinister in the expression of his eye, and shifted her 
position to a more remote part of the tent. Pretend- 
ing to raise the water to his lips, the Moor unfolded 
his albornoz, so as to grasp a scimitar which he wore 
concealed beneath ; then, dashing down the jar, he 
drew his weapon, and gave Don Alvaro a blow on 
the head, that struck Finn to the earth, and nearly 
deprived him of life. Turning then upon the mar- 
chioness, he made a violent blow at her ; but in his 
eagerness and agitation, his scimitar caught in the 
drapery of the tent ; the force of the blow was 
broken, and the weapon struck harmless upon some 
golden ornaments of her head-dress.* 

Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the queen, and 
Juan de Belalcazar, a sturdy friar, who were pres- 
ent, grappled and struggled with the desperado ; 
and immediately the guards, who had conducted 
him from the marques de Cadiz, fell upon him and 
cut him to pieces.! 

The king and queen, brought out of their tents 
by the noise, were filled with horror when they 
learned the imminent peril from which they had es- 
caped. The mangled body of the Moor was taken 
by the people to the camp, and thrown into the city 
from a catapult. The Gomeres gathered up the 
body with deep reverence, as the remains of a saint ; 
they washed and perfumed it, and buried it with 
great honor and loud lamentations. In revenge 
of his death, they slew one of their principal chris- 
tian captives, and, havmg tied his body upon an ass, 
they drove the animal forth into the camp. 

From this time, there was appointed an addi- 
tional guard around the tents of the king and 
queen, composed of twelve hundred cavaliers of 
rank, of the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon. 
No person was admitted to the roy.al presence 



armed ; no Moor was allowed to enter the camp, 
without a previous knowledge of his character 
and business ; and on no account was any Moor 
to be introduced into the presence of the sover- 
eigns. 

An act of treachery of such ferocious nature, 
gave rise to a train of gloomy apprehensions. 
There were many cabins and sheds about the 
camp, constructed of branches of trees which had 
become dry and combustible ; and fears were en- 
tertained that they might be set on fire by the Mu- 
dexares, or Moorish vassals, who visited the army. 
Some even dreaded that attempts might be made to 
poison the wells and fountains. To quiet these dis- 
mal alarms, all MuJexares were ordered to leave the 
camp; and all loose, idle loiterers, who could not 
give a good account of themselves, were taken into 
custody. 



CHAPTER XV. 



HOW HAMET EL ZEGRI WAS HARDENED IN HIS 
OBSTINACY, BY THE ARTS OF A MOORISH AS- 
TROLOGER. 

Among those followers of the santon that had 
effected their entrance into the city, was a dark 
African of the tribe of the Gomeres, who was like- 
wise a hermit or dervise, and passed among the 
Moors for a holy and inspired man. No sooner 
were the mangled remains of his predecessor buried 
with the honors of martyrdom, than this der\'ise 
elevated himself in his place, and professed to be 
gifted with the spirit of prophecy. He displayed a 
white banner, which, he assured the Moors, was sa- 
cred ; that he had retained it for twenty years for 
some signal purpose, and that Allah had revealed to 
him that under that banner the inhabitants of Mal- 
aga should sally forth upon the camp of the unbe- 
lievers, put it to utter rout, and banquet upon the 
provisions in which it abounded.* The hungry and 
credulous Moors were elated at this prediction, and 
cried out to be led forth at once to the attack ; but 
the dervise told them the time was not yet ar- 
rived, for every event had its allotted day in the de- 
crees of fate ; they must wait patiently, therefore, 
until the appointed time should be revealed to him 
by Heaven. Hamet el Zegri listened to the dervise 
with profound reverence, and his example had great 
effect in increasing the awe and deference of his fol- 
lowers. He took the holy man up into his strong- 
hold of Gibralfaro, consulted him on all occasions, 
and hung out his white banner on the loftiest tower, 
as a signal of encouragement to the people of the 
city. 

In the mean time, the prime chivalry of Spain 
was gradually assembling before the walls of Malaga. 
The army which had commenced the siege had been 
worn out by extreme hardships, having had to con- 
struct immense works, to dig trenches and mines, to 
mount guard by sea and land, to patrol the mount- 
ains, and to sustain incessant conflicts. The sover- 
eigns were obliged, therefore, to call upon various 
distant cities, for reinforcements of horse and foot. 
Many nobles, also, assembled their vassals, and re- 
paired, of their own accord, to the royal camp. 

Every little while, some stately galley or gallant 
caravel would stand into the harbor, displaying the 
well-known banner of some Spanish cavalier, and 
thundering from its artillery a salutation to the 
sovereigns and a defiance to the Moors. On the 
land side also, reinforcements would be seen, wind- 



• Pietro Martyr, Epist. 62. 



t Cura de los Palacios. 



* Cura de los Palacios. 



248 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ing^ clown from the mountains to the sound of 
drum and trumpet, and marching into the camp 
with glistening arms, as yet unsullied by the toils 
of war. 

One morning, the whole sea was whitened by the 
sails and vexed by the oars of ships and galleys 
bearing towards the port. One hundred vessels of 
various kinds and sizes arrived, some armed for war- 
like ser\'ice, others deep freighted with provisions. 
At the same time, the clangor of drum and trumpet 
bespoke the arrival of a powerful force by land, which 
came pouring in lengthening columns into the camp. 
This mighty reinforcement was furnished by the 
duke of Medina Sidonia, who reigned like a petty 
monarch over his vast possessions. He came with 
this princely force, a volunteer to the royal standard, 
not having been summoned by the sovereigns ; and 
he brought, moreover, a loan of twenty thousand 
doblas of gold. 

When the camp was thus powerfully reinforced, 
Isabella advised that new offers of an indulgent kind 
should be made to the inhabitants ; for she was anx- 
ious to prevent the miseries of a protracted siege, or 
the effusion of blood that must attend a general at- 
tack. A fresh summons was, therefore, sent for the 
city to surrender, with a promise of life, liberty, and 
property, in case of immediate compliance ; but de- 
nouncing all the horrors of war, if the delence were 
obstinately continued. 

Hametel Zegri again rejected the offer with scorn. 
His main fortifications as yet were but little impaired, 
and were capable of holding out much longer ; he 
trusted to the thousand evils and accidents that be- 
set a besieging army, and to the inclemencies of the 
approaching season ; and it is said that he, as well 
as his followers, had an infatuated belief in the pre- 
dictions of the dervise. 

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida does not scru- 
ple to affirm, that the pretended prophet of the city 
was an arch nigromancer, or Moorish magician, 
"of which there be countless many," says he, "in 
the filthy sect of Mahomet ; " and that he was 
leagued with the prince of the powers of the air, to 
endeavor to work the confusion and defeat of the 
christian army. The worthy father asserts, also, 
that Hamet employed him in a high tower of the 
Gibralfaro, uhich commanded a wide view over sea 
and land, wh:;re he wrought spells and incantations 
with astrolabes and other diabolical instruments, to 
defeat the christian ships and forces, whenever they 
were engaged with the Moors. 

To the potent spells of this sorcerer, he ascribes 
the perils and losses sustained by a party of cavaliers 
of the royal household, in a desperate combat to 
gain two towers of the suburb, near the gate of the 
city called la Puerto de Granada. The christians, 
led on by Ruy Lopez de Toledo, the valiant treas- 
urer of the queen, took, and lost, and retook the 
towers, which were finally set on fire by the Moors, 
and abandoned to the flames by both parties. To the 
same malignant infiuence he attributes the damage 
done to the christian fleet, which was so vigorously 
assailed by the albatozas, or floating batteries of the 
Moors, that one ship, belongmg to the duke of Me- 
dina Sidonia, was sunk, and the rest were obliged to 
retire. 

" Hamet el Zegri," says Fray Antonio Agapida, 
"stood on the top of the high tower of Gibralfaro, 
and beheld this injury wrought upon the christian 
force, and his proud heart was puffed up. And the 
Moorish nigromancer stood beside him. And he 
pointed out to him the christian host below, en- 
camped on every eminence around the city, and 
covering its fertile valley, and the many ships float- 
ing upon the tranquil sea ; and he bade him be strong 



of heart, for that in a few days all this mighty fleet 
would be scattered by the winds of Heaven ; and 
that he should sally forth, under guidance of the 
sacred banner, and attack this host and utterly de- 
feat it, and make spoil of those sumptuous tents ; 
and Malaga should be triumphantly revenged upon 
her assailants. So the heart of Hamet was hardened 
like that of Pharaoh, and he persisted in setting at 
defiance the Catholic sovereigns and their army of 
saintly warriors." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



SIEGE OF MALAGA CONTINUED. — DESTRUCTION 
OF A TOWER, BY FRANCISCO RAMIREZ DE 
MADRID. 

Seeing the infatuated obstinacy of the besieged, 
the christians now approached their works to the 
walls, gaining one position after another, preparatory 
to a general assault. Near the barrier of the city 
was a bridge with four archer, defended at each end 
by a strong and lofty tower, by which a part of the 
army would have to pass in making an attack. The 
commander-in-chief of the artillery, Francisco Ram- 
irez de Madrid, was ordered to take possession of 
this bridge. The approach to it was perilous in the 
extreme, from the exposed situation of the assailants, 
and the number of Moors that garrisoned the tow- 
ers. Francisco Ramirez, therefore, secretly exca- 
vated a mine leading beneath the first tower, and 
placed a piece of ordnance with its mouth upwards, 
immediately under the foundation, with a train of 
powder to produce an explosion at the necessary 
moment. 

When this was arranged, he advanced slowly 
with his forces in face of the towers, erecting bul- 
warks at every step, and gradually gaining ground, 
untd he arrived near to the bridge. He then planted 
several pieces of artillery in his works, and began to 
batter the tower. The Moors replied bravely from 
their battlements; but in the heat of the combat, 
the piece of ordnance under the foundation was dis- 
charged. The earth was rent open, a part of the 
tower overthrown, and several of the Moors torn to 
pieces; the rest took to flight, overwhelmed with 
terror at this thundering explosion bursting beneath 
their feet, and at beholding the earth vomiting flames 
and smoke ; for never before had they witnessed 
such a stratagem in warfare. The christians rushed 
forward and took possession of the abandoned post, 
and immediately commenced an attack upon the 
other tower at the opposite end of the bridge, to 
which the Moors had retired. An incessant fire of 
cross-bows and arquebusses was kept up between 
the rival towers, volleys of stones were discharged, 
and no one dared to venture upon the intermediate 
bridge. 

Francisco de Ramirez at length renewed his for- 
mer mode of approach, making bulwarks step by 
step, while the Moors, stationed at the other end, 
swept the bridge with their artillery. The combat 
was long and bloody, — furious on the part of the 
Moors, patient and persevering on the part of the 
christians. By slow degrees, they accomplished 
their advance across the bridge, drove the enemy 
before them, and remained masters of this important 
pass. 

For this valiant and skilful achievement, king 
Ferdinand, after the surrender of the city, conferred 
the dignity of knighthood upon Francisco Ramirez, 
in the tower which he had so gloriously gained." 



* Pulgar, part 3, c. 91. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



249 



The worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida indulges 
in more than a page of extravagant eulogy, upon 
this invention of blowing up the foundation of the 
tower by a piece of ordnance, which he affirms to 
be the first instance on record of gunpowder being 
used in a mine. 



CHAPTER XVir. 



HOW THE PEOPLE OF MALAGA EXPOSTULATED 
WITH HAMET EL ZEGRL 

While the dervise was deluding the garrison of 
Malaga with vain hopes, the famine increased to a 
terrible degree. The Gomeres ranged about the 
city as though it had been a conquered place, taking 
by force whatever they found eatable in the houses 
of the peaceful citizens ; and breaking open vaults 
and cellars, and demolishing walls, wherever they 
thought provisions might be concealed. 

The wretched inhabitants had no longer bread to 
eat ; the horse-tlesh also now failed them, and they 
were fain to devour skins and hides toasted at the 
fire, and to assuage the hunger of their children with 
vine-leaves cut up and fried in oil. Many perished 
of famine, or of the unwholesome food with which 
they endeavored to relieve it ; and many took refuge 
in the christian camp, preferring captivity to the 
horrors which surrounded them. 

At length the sufferings of the inhabitants became 
so great, as to conquer even their fears of Hamet and 
his Gomeres. They assembled before the house of 
Ali Dordux, the wealthy merchant, whose stately 
mansion was at the foot of the hill of the Alcazaba, 
and they urged hmi to stand forth as their leader, 
and to intercede with Hamet el Zegri for a surrender. 
Ali Dordux was a man of courage, as well as policy ; 
he perceived also that hunger was giving boldness to 
the citizens, while he trusted it was subduing the 
fierceness of the soldiery. He armed himself, there- 
fore, cap-a-pie, and undertook this dangerous parley 
with the alcayde. He associated with him an alfac[ui 
named Abrahen Alharis, and an important inhabitant 
named Amar ben Aniar ; and they ascended to the 
fortress of Gibralfaro, followed by several of the 
trembling merchants. 

They found Hamet el Zegri, not, as before, sur- 
rounded by ferocious guards and all the implements 
of war ; but in a chamber of one of the lofty towers, 
at a table of stone, covered with scrolls traced with 
strange characters and mystic diagrams ; While instru- 
ments of singular and unknown form lay about the 
room. Beside Hamet el Zegri stood the prophetic 
dervise, who appeared to have been explaining to 
him the mysterious inscriptions of the scrolls. His 
presence filled the citizens with awe, for even Ali 
Dordux considered him a man inspired. 

The alfaqui Abrahen Alharis, whose sacred char- 
acter gave him boldness to speak, now lifted up his 
voice, and addressed Hamet el Zegri. "We implore 
you," said he, solemnly, "in the name of the most 
powerful God, no longer to persist in a vain resist- 
ance, which must end in our destruction, but deliver 
up the city while clemency is yet to be obtained. 
Think how many of our warriors have fallen by the 
sword ; do not sufler those who survive to perish by 
famine. Our wives and children cry to us for bread, 
and we have none to give them. We see them ex- 
pire in lingering agony belore our eyes, while the 
enemy mocks our misery by displaying the abundance 
of his camp. Of what avail is our defence ? Are our 
walls peradventure more strong than the walls of 
Ronda ? Are our warriors more brave than the de- 
fenders of Loxa .' The walls of Ronda were thrown 



down, and the warriors of Loxa had to surrender. 
Do we hope for succor.' — from whence are we to 
receive it .' The tmie for hope is gone by. Granada 
has lost its power ; it no longer possesses chivalry, 
commanders, or a king. Boabdil sits a vassal in the 
degraded hails of the .■\lhambra; El Zagal is a fugi- 
tive, shut up within the walls of Guadix. The king- 
dom is divided against itself, — its strength is gone, its 
pride fallen, its very existence at an end. In the 
name of Allah, we conjure thee, who art our captain, 
l)e not our direst enemy; but surrender these ruins 
of our once happy Malaga, and deliver us from these 
overwhelming horrors." 

Such was the supplication forced from the inhab- 
itants by the extremity of their sufferings. Hamet 
el Zegri listened to the alfaqui without anger, for he 
respected the sanctity of his office. His heart, too, 
was at that moment lifted up with a vain confidence. 
" Yet a few days of patience," said he, " and all these 
evils will suddenly have an end. I have been con- 
ferring with this holy man, and tind that the time of 
our deliverance is at hand. The decrees of fate are 
inevitable ; it is written in the book of destiny, that 
we shall sally forth and destroy the camp of the un- 
believers, and banquet upon those mountains of grain 
which are piled up in the midst of it. So Allah hath 
promised, by the mouth of this his prophet. Allah 
Acbar ! God is great. Let no man oppose the de- 
crees of Heaven ! " 

The citizens bowed with profound reverence, for 
no true Moslem pretends to struggle against whatever 
is written in the book of fate. Ali Dordux, who had 
come prepared to champion the city and to brave 
the ire of Hamet, humbled himself before this holy 
man, and gave faith to his prophecies as the revela- 
tions of Allah. So the deputies returned to the citi- 
zens, and exhorted them to be of good cheer : " A few 
days longer," said they, " and our sufferings are to 
terminate. When the white banner is removed from 
the tower, then look out for deliverance ; for the hour 
of sallying forth will have arrived." The people re- 
tired to their homes, with sorrowful hearts ; they 
tried in vain to quiet the cries of their famishing 
children ; and day by day, and hour by hour, their 
anxious eyes were turned to the sacred banner, which 
still continued to wave on the tower of Gibralfaro. 



CHAPTER XVIIL 



HOW HAMET EL ZEGRI SALLIED FORTH WITH THE 
SACRED BANNER, TO ATTACK THE CHRISTIAN 
CAMP. 

" The Moorish nigromancer," observes the worthy 
Fray Antonio Agapida, " remained shut up in a tower 
of the Gibralfaro, devising devilish means to work 
mischief and discomfiture upon the christians. He 
was daily consulted by Hamet el Zegri, wiio had 
great faith in those black and magic arts, which he 
had brought with him from the bosom of heathen 
Africa." 

From the account given of this dervise and his 
incantations by the worthy father, it would appear 
that he was an astrologer, and was studying the stars, 
and endeavoring to calculate the day and hour when 
a successful attack might be made upon the christian 
camp. 

Famine had now increased to such a degree as to 
distress even the garrison of Gibralfaro, although the 
Gomeres had seized upon all the provisions they 
could find in the city. Their passions were sharpen- 
ed by hunger, and they became restless and turbu- 
lent, and impatient for action. 



250 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Hamet el Zegri was one day in council with his 
captains, perplexed by the pressure of events, when 
the dervise entered among them. " The hour of vic- 
tory," exclaimed he, " Is at hand. Allah has com- 
manded that to-morrow morning ye shall sally forth 
to the fight. I will bear before you the sacred ban- 
ner, and deliver your enemies into your hands. Re- 
member, however, that ye are but instruments in 
the hands of Allah, to take vengeance on the ene- 
mies of the faith. Go into battle, therefore, with 
pure hearts, forgiving each other all past offences ; 
for those who are charitable towards each other, 
will be victorious over the foe." The words of the 
dervise were received with rapture : all Gibralfaro 
and the Alcazaba resounded immediately with the 
din of arms; and Hamet sent throughout the towers 
and fortifications of the city, and selected the choic- 
est troops and most distinguished captains for this 
eventual combat. 

In the morning early, the rumor went throughout 
the city that the sacred banner had disappeared from 
the tower of Gibralfaro, and all Malaga was roused 
to witness the sally that was to destroy the unbe- 
lievers. Hamet descended from his strong-hold, ac- 
companied by his principal captain, Abrahen Zenete, 
and followed by his Gomeres. The dervise led the 
way, displaying the white banner, the sacred pledge 
of victory. The multitude shouted "Allah Acbar 1 " 
and prostrated themselves before the banner as it 
passed. Even the dreaded Hamet was hailed with 
praises ; for in their hopes of speedy relief through 
the prowess of his arm, the populace forgot every 
thing but his bravery. Every bosom in Malaga was 
agitated by hope and fear — the old men, the women 
and children, and all who went not forth to battle, 
mounted on tower and battlement and roof, to watch 
a combat that was to decide their fate. 

Before sallying forth from the city, the dervise ad- 
dressed the troops, reminding them of the holy nat- 
ure of this enterprise, and warning them not to for- 
feit the protection of the sacred banner by any 
unworthy act. They were not to pause to make 
spoil nor to take prisoners : they were to press for- 
ward, fighting valiantly, and granting no quarter. 
The gate was then thro\v'n open, and the dervise 
issued forth, followed by the army. They directed 
their assaults upon the encampments of the Master 
of Santiago and the Master of Alcantara, and came 
upon them so suddenly that they killed and wounded 
several of the guards. Abrahen Zenete made his 
way into one of the tents, where he beheld several 
christian striplings just starting from their slumber. 
The heart of the Moor was suddenly touched with 
pity for their youth, or perhaps he scorned the weak- 
ness of the foe. He smote them with the flat, instead 
of the edge of the sword. "Away, imps," cried he, 
" away to your mothers." The fanatic dervise re- 
proached him with his clemency — " I did not kill 
them," replied Zenete, " because I saw no beards I "* 

The alarm was given in the camp, and the chris- 
tians rushed from all quarters to defend the gates of 
the bulwarks. Don Pedro Puerto Carrero, Senior 
of Moguer, and his brother Don Alonzo Pacheco, 
planted themselves, with their followers, in the gate- 
way of the encampment of the Master of Santiago, 
and bore the whole brunt of battle until they were 
reinforced. The gate of the encampment of the 
Master of Calatrava was in like manner defended 
by Lorenzo Saurez de Mendoza. Hamet el Zegri 
was furious at being thus checked, where he had 
expected a miraculous victory. He led his troops 
repeatedly to the attack, hoping to force the gates 
before succor should arrive : they fought with vehe- 

• Cura de los Palacios, c. 84. 



ment ardor, but were as often repulsed ; and every 
time they returned to the assault, they found their 
enemies doubled in number. The christians opened 
a cross-fire of all kinds of missiles, from their bul- 
warks ; the Moors could effect but little damage upon 
a foe thus protected behind their works, while they 
themselves were exposed from head to foot. The 
christians singled out the most conspicuous cavaliers, 
the greater part of whom were either slain or wound- 
ed. Still the Moors, infatuated by the predictions of 
the prophet, fought desperately and devotedly, and 
they were furious to revenge the slaughter of their 
leaders. They rushed upon certain death, endeavor- 
ing madly to scale the bulwarks, or force the gates, 
and fell amidst showers of darts and lances, filling 
the ditches with their mangled bodies. 

Hamet el Zegri raged along the front of the bul- 
warks, seeking an opening for attack. He gnashed 
his teeth with fury, as he saw so many of his chosen 
warriors slain around him. He seemed to have a 
charmed life ; for, though constantly in the hottest 
of the fight, amidst showers of missiles, he still es- 
caped uninjured. Blindly confiding in the prophecy 
of victory, he continued to urge on his devoted 
troops. The dervise, too, ran like a maniac through 
the ranks, waving his white banner, and inciting the 
Moors by bowlings rather than by shouts. In the 
midst of his frenzy, a stone from a catapult struck him 
on the head, and dashed out his bewildered brains.* 

When the Moors beheld their prophet slain, and 
his banner in the dust, they were seized with despair, 
and fled in conlusion to the city. Hamet el Zegri 
made some effort to rally them, but was himself 
confounded by the fall of the dervise. He covered 
the flight of his broken forces, turning repeatedly 
upon their pursuers, and slowly making his retreat 
into the city. 

The inhabitants of Malaga witnessed from their 
walls, with trembling anxiety, the whole of this dis- 
astrous conflict. At the first onset, when they be- 
held the guards of the camp put to flight, they ex- 
claimed, " Allah has given us the victory ! " and they 
sent up shouts of triumph. Their exultation, how- 
ever, was soon turned into doubt, when they beheld 
their troops repulsed in repeated attacks. They 
could see, from time to time, some distinguished 
warrior laid low, and others brought back bleeding 
to the city. When at length the sacred banner fell, 
and the routed troops came flying to the gates, pur- 
sued and cut down by the foe, horror and despair 
seized upon the populace. 

As Hamet el Zegri entered the gates, he heard 
nothing but loud lamentations : mothers, whose sons 
had been slain, shrieked curses after him as he pass- 
ed ; some, in the anguish of their hearts, threw 
down their famishing babes before hiin, exclaiming, 
" Trample on them with thy horse's feet ; for we 
have no food to give them, and we cannot endure 
their cries." All heaped execrations on his head, as 
the cause of the woes ot Malaga. 

The warlike part of the citizens also, and many 
warriors, who, with their wives and children, had 
taken refuge in Malaga from the mountain fortresses, 
now joined in the popular clamor, for their hearts 
were overcome by the sufferings of their families. 

Hamet el Zegri found it impossible to withstand 
this torrent of lamentations, curses, and reproaches. 
His military ascendancy was at an end ; for most of 
his officers, and the prime warriors of his African 
band, had fallen in this disastrous sally. Turning 
his back, therefore, upon the city, and abandoning y 
it to its own councils, he retired with the remnant tl 
of his Gomeres to his strong-hold in the Gibralfaro. 



* Garibay, lib. i3, c. 33. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



251 



CHAPTER XIX. 
HOW THE CITY OF MALAGA CAPITULATED. 

The people of Malaga, being no longer overawed 
by Hainet el Zegri and his Gomeres, turned to AH 
Dordux, tlie magnanimous merchant, and put the 
fate of the city into his hands. He had already 
gained the alcaydes of the castle of the Genoese, and 
of the citadel, into his party, and in the late confu- 
sion had gained the sway over those important for- 
tresses. He now associated himself with the alfaqui, 
Abrahen Alhariz and four of the principal inhabit- 
ants, and, forming a provisional junta, they sent 
heralds to the christian sovereigns, offering to sur- 
render the city on certain terms, pirotecting the per- 
sons and property of the inhabitants, permitting 
them to reside as Mude.xares or tributary vassals, 
either in Malaga or elsewhere. 

When the heralds arrived at the camp, and made 
known their mission to king Ferdinand, his anger 
was kindled. " Return to your fellow-citizens," said 
he, " and tell them that the day of grace is gone by. 
They have persisted in a fruitless defence, until they 
are driven by necessity to capitulate ; they must sur- 
render unconditionally, and abide the fate of the 
vanquished. Those who merit death shall suffer 
death : those who merit captivity shall be made 
captives." 

This stern reply spread consternation among the 
people of Malaga; but All Dordux comforted them, 
and undertook to go in person, and pray for favor- 
able terms. When the people beheld this great and 
wealthy merchant, who was so eminent in their city, 
departing with his associates on this mission, they 
plucked up heart ; for they said, " Surely the chris- 
tian king will not turn a deaf ear to such a man as 
Ali Dordux ! " 

Ferdinand, however, would not even admit the 
ambassadors to his presence. " Send them to the 
devil I " said he, in a great passion, to the com- 
mander of Leon ; " I'll not see them. Let them get 
back to their city. They shall all surrender to my 
mercy, as vanquished enemies."* 

To give emphasis to this reply, he ordered a gen- 
eral discharge from all the artillery and batteries ; 
and there was a great shout throughout the camp, 
and all the lombards and catapults, and other en- 
gines of war, thundered furiously upon the city, do- 
ing great damage. 

Ali Dordux and his companions returned to the 
city with downcast countenances, and could scarce 
make the reply of the christian sovereign be heard, 
for the roaring of the artillery, the tumbling of the 
walls, and the cries of women and children. The 
citizens were greatly astonished and dismayed, when 
they found the little respect paid to their most emi- 
nent man ; but the warriors who were in the city 
exclaimed, " What has this merchant to do with 
questions between men of battle ? Let us not ad- 
dress the enemy as abject suppliants who have no 
power to injure, but as valiant men, who have weap- 
ons in their hands." 

So they dispatched another message to the chris- 
tian sovereigns, offering to yield up the city and all 
their effects, on condition of being secured in their 
personal liberty. Should this be denied, they de- 
clared they would hang from the battlements fifteen 
hundred christian captives, male and female ; that 
they would put all their old men, their women and 
children into the citadel, set fire to the city, and sally 
forth sword in hand, to fight until the last gasp. " In 
this way," said they, " the Spanish sovereigns shall 



gain a bloody victory, and the fall of Malaga be re- 
nowned while the world endures." 

To this fierce and swelling message, Ferdinand 
replied, that if a single christian captive were injured, 
not a Moor in Malaga but should be put to the 
edge of the sword. 

A great conflict of counsels now arose in Malaga. 
The warriors were for following up their menace by 
some desperate act of vengeance or of selt-devotion. 
Those who had families looked with anguish upon 
their wives and daughters, and thought it better to 
die than live to see them captives. By degrees, how- 
ever, the transports of passion and despair subsided, 
the love of life resumed its sway, and they turned 
once more to Ali Dordux, as the man most prudent 
in council and able in negotiation. By his advice, 
fourteen of the principal inhabitants were chosen 
from the fourteen districts of the city, and sent to the 
camp, bearing a long letter, couched in terms of the 
most humble supplication. 

Various debates now took place in the christian 
camp. Many of the cavaliers were exasperated 
against Malaga for its long resistance, which had 
caused the death of many of their relations and 
favorite companions. It had long been a strong-hold 
also for Moorish depredators, and the mart where 
most of the warriors captured in the Axarquia had 
been exposed in triumph and sold to slavery. They 
represented, moreover, that there were many Moor- 
ish cities yet to be besieged : and that an example 
ought to be made of Malaga, to prevent all obstinate 
resistance thereafter. They advised, therelore, that 
all the inhabitants should be put to the sword ! * 

The humane heart of Isabella revoltc^d at such 
sanguinary counsels : she insisted that their triumph 
should not be disgraced by cruelty. Ferdinand, how- 
ever, was inflexilile in refusing to grant any prelimi- 
nary terms, insisting on an unconditional surrender. 

The people of Malaga now abandoned themselves 
to paroxysms of despair ; on the one side they saw 
famine and death, on the other slavery and chains. 
The mere men of the sword, who had no families to 
protect, were loud for signalizing their fall by some 
illustrious action. " Let us sacrifice our christian 
captives, and then destroy ourselves," cried some. 
" Let us put all the women and children to death, 
set fire to the city, fall on the christian camp, and die 
sword in hand," cried others. 

Ali Dordux gradually made his voice be heard, 
amidst the general clamor. He addressed himself to 
the principal inhabitants, and to those who had chil- 
dren. " Let those who live by the sword, die by the 
sword," cried he ; " but let us not follow their des- 
perate counsels. Who knows what sparks of pity 
may be awakened in the bosoms of the christian 
sovereigns, when they behold our unoffending wives 
and daughters, and our helpless little ones I The 
christian queen, they say, is full of mercy." 

At these words, the hearts of the unhappy people 
of Malaga yearned over their families, and they em- 
powered Ali Dordux to deliver up their city to the 
mercy of the Castilian sovereigns. 

The merchant now went to and fro, and had sev- 
eral communications with Ferdinand and Isabella, 
and interested several principal cavaliers in his 
cause ; and he sent rich presents to the king and 
queen, of oriental merchandise, and silks and stuffs 
of gold, and jewels and precious stones, and spices 
and perfumes, and many other sumptuous things, 
which he had accumulated in his great tradings with 
the east ; and he gradually found favor in the eyes 
of the sovereigns.t Finding that there was nothing 
to be obtained for the city, he now, hke a prudent 



* Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84. 



* Pulgar. 



t MS. Chron. ofValera. 



252 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



man and able merchant, begin to negotiate for him- 
self and his immediate friends. He represented that 
from the first they had been desirous of yielding up 
the city, but had been prevented by warlike and 
high-handed men, who had threatened their lives : 
he entreated, therefore, that mercy might be extend- 
ed to tliem, and that they might not be confounded 
with the guilty. 

The sovereigns had accepted the presents of AH 
Dordux — how could the)- then turn a deaf ear to his 
petition ? So they granted a pardon to him, and to 
forty families which he named ; and it was agreed 
that they should be protected in their liberties and 
property, and permitted to reside in Malaga as Mu- 
dexares or Moslem vassals, and to follow their cus- 
tomary pursuits.* All this being arranged, Ali Dor- 
dux delivered up twenty of the principal inhabitants, 
to remain as hostages, until the whole city should be 
placed in the possession of the christians. 

Don Gutiere de Cardenas, senior commander of 
Leon, now entered the city, armed cap-a-pie, on 
horseback, and took possession in the name of the 
Castilian sovereigns. He was followed by his re- 
tainers, and by the captains and cavaliers of the 
army ; and in a little while, the standards of the 
cross, and of the blessed Santiago, and of the Cath- 
lic sovereigns, were elevated on the principal tower 
of the Alcazaba. When these standards were beheld 
from the camp, the queen and the princess and the 
ladies of the court, and all the royal retinue, knelt 
down and gave thanks and praises to the holy virgin 
and to Santiago, for this great triumph of the faith ; 
and the bishops and other clergy who were present, 
and the choristers of the royal chapel, chanted " Tf 
Deiim LauJainiis," and " Gloria in Excelsis." 



CHAPTER XX. 



FULFILMENT OF THE PROPHECY OF THE DERVISE. 
— F.A.TE OF HAMET EL ZEGRL 

No sooner was the city delivered up, than the 
wretched inhabitants implored permission to pur- 
chase bread for themselves and their children, from 
the heaps of grain which they had so often gazed at 
wistfully from their walls. Their prayer was grant- 
ed, and they issued forth with the famished eagerness 
of starving men. It was piteous to behold the strug- 
gles of those unhappy people, as they contended who 
tirst should have their necessities relieved. 

" Thus," says the pious Fray Antonio Agapida, 
" thus are the predictions of false prophets some- 
times permitted to be verified, but always to the 
confusion of those who trust in them : for the words 
of the Moorish nigromancer came to pass, that the 
people of Malaga should eat of those heaps of bread ; 
but they ate in humiliation and defeat, and with sor- 
row and bitterness of heart." 

Dark and fierce were the feelings of Hamet el 
Zegri, as he looked down from the castle of Gibral- 
faro, and beheld the christian legions pouring into 
the city, and the standard of the cross supplanting 
the crescent on the citadel. " The people of Malaga," 
said he. " have trusted to a man of trade, and he has 
trafficked them away ; but let us not suffer ourselves 
to be bound hand and foot, and delivered up as part 
of his bargain. We have yet strong walls around us, 
and trusty weapons in our hands. Let us fight until 
buried beneath the last tumbling tower of Gibral- 
faro, or, rushing down from among its ruins, carry 
havoc among the unbelievers, as they throng the 
streets of Malaga ! " 



' Cura de los Palacios. 



The fierceness of the Gomeres, however, was 
broken. They could have died in the breach, had 
their castle been assailed ; hut the slow advances of 
famine subdued their strength without rousing 
their passions, and sapped the force both of soul 
and body. They were almost unanimous for a 
surrender. 

It was a hard struggle for the proud spirit of 
Hamet, to bow itself to ask for terms. Still he trust- 
ed that the valor of his defence would gain him re- 
spect in the eyes of a chivalrous foe. " Ali," said he, 
" has negotiated like a merchant ; I will capitulate 
as a soldier." He sent a herald, therefore, to Ferdi- 
nand, offering to yield up his castle, but demanding 
a separate treaty.* The Castilian sovereign made a 
laconic and stern reply : " He shall receive no terms 
but such as have been granted to the community of 
Malaga." 

For two days H.amet el Zegri remained brooding 
in his castle, after the city was in possession of the 
christians ; at length, the clamors of his followers 
compelled him to surrender. When the broken 
r'emnant of this fierce Alrican garrison descended 
from their cragged fortress, they were so worn by 
watchfulness, famine, and battle, yet carried such a 
lurking fury in their eyes, that they looked more like 
fiends than men. They were all condemned to slave- 
ry, excepting Abrahen Zenete. The instance of 
clemency which he had shown in refraining to harm 
the Spanish striplings, on the last sally from Malaga, 
won him favorable terms. It was cited as a magnan- 
imous act by the Spanish cavaliers, and all admitted, 
that though a Moor in blood, he possessed the chris- 
tian heart of a Castilian hidalgo.f 

As to Hamet el Zegri, on being asked what moved 
him to such hardened obstinacy, he replied. " When I 
undertook my command, I pledged myself to fight in 
defence of my faith, my city, and my sovereign, until 
slain or made prisoner; and depend upon it, had I 
had men to stand by me, I should have died fighting, 
instead of thus tamely surrendering myself without a 
weapon in my hand." 

"Such," says the pious Fray Antonio Agapida, 
" was the diabolical hatred and stiff-necked opposi- 
tion of this infidel to our holy cause. But he was 
justly served by our most Catholic and high-minded 
sovereign, for his pertinacious defence of the city ; 
for Ferdinand ordered that he should be loaded with 
chains, and thrown into a dungeon."}; 



CHAPTER XXI. 

HOW THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS TOOK POSSES- 
SION OF TH.E CITY OF MALAGA, AND HOW KING 
FERDINAND SIGNALIZED HIMSELF BY HIS SKILL 
IN BARGAINING WITH THE INHABITANTS FOR 
THEIR RANSOM. 

One of the first cares of the conquerors, on enter- 
ing Malaga, was to search for christian captives. 
Nearly sixteen hundred men and women were found, 
and among them were persons of distinction. Some 
of them had been ten, fifteen, and twenty years in 
capt vity. Many had been sei'vants to the Moors, or 
laborers on public works, and some had passed their 
time in chains and dungeons. Preparations were 
made to celebrate their deliverance as a christian 
triumph. A tent was erected not far from the city, 
and furnished with an altar and all the solemn deco- 
rations of a chapel. Here the king and queen waited 



* Cura de los Palacios. t Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84. 

X Pulgar. Cronica. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



253 



to receive the christian captives. They were assem- 
bled in the city, and marshalled forth in piteous pro- 
cession. Many of them had still the chains and 
shackles on their legs ; they were wasted with famine, 
their hair and beards overgrown and matted, and 
their faces pale and haggard from long confinement. 
When they helield themselves restored to liberty, 
and surrounded by their countrymen, some stared 
wildly about as if in a dream, others gave way to 
frantic transports, but most of them wept for joy. 
All present were moved to tears, by so touching a 
spectacle. When the procession arrived at what is 
called the Gate of Granada, it was met by a great 
concourse from the camp, with crosses and pennons, 
who turned and followed the captives, singing hymns 
of praise and thanksgiving. When they came in 
presence of the king and queen, they threw them- 
selves on their knees and would have kissed their 
feet, as their saviors and deliverers ; but the sover- 
eigns prevented such humiliation, and graciously 
extended to them their hands. They then prostrated 
themselves before the altar, and all present joined 
them in giving thanks to God for their liberation 
from this cruel bondage. By orders of the king and 
queen, their chains were then taken off, and they were 
clad in decent raiment, and food was set before them. 
After they had ate and drunk, and were refreshed 
and invigorated, they were provided with money and 
all things necessaiy for their journey, and were sent 
joyfully to their homes. 

While the old chroniclers dwell with becoming 
enthusiasm on this pure and affecting triumph of 
humanity, they go on, in a strain of equal eulogy, to 
describe a spectacle of a far different nature. It so 
happened, that there were found in the city twelve 
of those renegado christians who had deserted to the 
Moors, and conveyed false intelligence, during the 
siege : a barbarous species of punishment was mtlict- 
cd upon them, borrowed, it is said, from the Moors, 
and peculiar to these wars. They were tied to stakes 
in a public place, and horsemen exercised their skill 
in transpiercing them with pointed reeds, hurled at 
them while careering at full speed, until the miser- 
able victims expired beneath their wounds. Several 
apostate Moors, also, who, having embraced Chris- 
tianity, had afterwards relapsed into their early faith 
and had taken refuge in Malaga from the vengeance 
of the Inquisition, were publicly burnt. "These," 
says an old Jesuit historian, exultingly, " these were 
the tilts of reeds and the illuminations most pleasing 
for this victorious festival, and for the Catholic piety 
of our sovereigns ! "* 

When the city was cleansed from the impurities 
and offensive odors which had collected during the 
siege, the bishops and other clergy who accompanied 
the court, and the choir of the royal chapel, walked 
in procession to the principal mosque, which was 
consecrated, and entitled Santa Maria de la Incarna- 
tion. This done, the king and queen entered the 
city, accompanied by the grand cardinal of Spain, 
and the principal nobles and cavaliers of the army, 
and heard a solemn mass. The church was then 
elevated into a cathedral, and Malaga was made a 
bishopric, and many of the neighboring towns were 
comprehended in its diocese. The queen took up 
her residence in the Alcazaba, in the apartments of 
her valiant treasurer, Ruy Lopez, from whence she 
had a view of the whole city; but the king establish- 
ed his quarters in the warrior castle of Gibrallaro. 

And now came to be considered the disposition 
of the Moorish prisoners. All those who were stran- 



* " Los renegados fueron acaftav.ireados ; y los conversos que- 
niados ; v estos fueron las caft.xs, y luminarias mas alcs^res, por 
la fiesta de la vitoria, para la piedad Catholica de nuestros Reyes." 
Abarca. AnaUi de Aragon^ torn. 2. Rey xx.\. c. 3. 



gers in the city, and had either taken refuge there, or 
had entered to defend it. were at once considered 
slaves. They were divided into three lots : one was 
set apart for the service of God, in redeeming chris- 
tian captives from bondage, either in the kingdom of 
Granada or in Africa ; the second lot was divided 
among those who had aided either in field or cabinet, 
in the present siege, according to their rank; the 
third was appropriated to defray, by their sale, the 
great expenses incurred in the reduction of the 
place. A hundred of the Gomeres were sent as 
presents to Pope Innocent VII L, and were led in 
triumph through the streets of Rome, and after- 
wards converted to Christianity. Fifty Moorish 
maidens were sent to the queen Joanna of Naples, 
sister to king Ferdinand, and thirty to the queen of 
Portugal. Isabella made presents of others to the 
ladies of her household, and of the noble families 
of Spain. 

Among the inhabitants of Malaga were four hun- 
dred and fifty Moorish Jews, for the most part 
women, speaking the Arabic language, and dressed 
in the Moresco fashion. These were ransomed by 
a wealthy Jew of Castile, farmer-general of the royal 
revenues derived from the Jews of Spain. He agreed 
to make up, within a certain time, the sum of twenty 
thousand doblas, or pistoles of gold ; all the money 
and jewels of the captives being taken in part 
payment. They were sent to Castile, in two armed 
galleys. 

As to the great mass of Moorish inhabitants, they 
implored that they might not be scattered and sold 
into captivity, but might be permitted to ransom 
themselves by an amount paid within a certain time. 
Upon this, king Ferdinand took the advice of certain 
of his ablest counsellors: they said to him, "If you 
hold out a prospect of hopeless captivity, the infidels 
will throw all their gold and jewels into wells and 
pits, and you will lose the greater part of the spoil ; 
but if you fix a general rate of ransom, and receive 
their money and jewels in part payment, nothing will 
be destroved." The king relished greatly this advice ; 
and it was arranged that all the inhabitants should 
be ransomed at the general rate of thirty doblas or 
pistoles in gold for each individual, male or female, 
large or small ; that all their gold, jewels, and other 
valuables should be received immediately in part 
payment of the general amount, and that the residue 
should be paid within eight months ; that if any of 
the number, actually living, should die in the interim, 
their ransom should nevertheless be paid. If, how- 
ever, the whole of the amount were not paid at the 
expiration of the eight months, they should all be 
considered and treated as slaves. 

The unfortunate Moors were eager to catch at the 
least hope of future libertv, and consented to these 
hard conditions. The most rigorous precautions 
were taken to exact them to the uttermost. The in- 
habitants were numbered by houses and families, 
and their names taken down; their most precious 
effects were made up into parcels, and sealed and 
inscribed with their names; and they were ordered 
to repair with then\ to certain large corrales or 
inclosures adjoining the Alcazaba, which were sur- 
rounded by high walls and overlooked by watch- 
towers, to which places the cavalgadas of christian 
captives had usually been driven, to be confined 
until the time of sale, like cattle in a market. The 
Moors were obliged to leave their houses one by 
one ; all their money, necklaces, bracelets, and 
anklets of gold, pearl, coral, and precious stones, 
were taken from them at the threshold, and their 
persons so rigorously searched that they carried ofl 
nothing concealed. 

Then might be seen old men and helpless women, 



254 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and tender maidens, some of high birth and gentle 
condition, passing through the streets, heavily bur- 
thened, towards the Alcazaba. As they left their 
homes, they smote their breasts, and wrung their 
hands, and raised their weeping eyes to heaven in 
anguish ; and this is recorded as their plaint : " Oh 
Malaga ! city so renowned and beautiful ! where 
now is the strength of thy castles, where the grand- 
eur of thy towers ? Of what avail have been thy 
mighty walls, for the protection of thy children ? 
Behold them driven from thy pleasant abodes, 
doomed to drag out a life of bondage in a foreign 
land, and to die far from the home of their infancy ! 
What will become of thy old men and matrons, 
when their gray hairs shall be no longer reverenced ? 
What will become of thy maidens, so delicately 
reared and tenderly cherished, when reduced to 
hard and menial servitude ? Behold, thy once happy 
families are scattered asunder, never again to be 
united ; sons are separated from their fathers, hus- 
bands from their wives, and tender children from 
their mothers : they will bewail each other in 
foreign lands, but their lamentations will be the 
scoff of the stranger. Oh Malaga ! city of our birth ! 
who can behold thy desolation, and not shed tears 
of bitterness ? "* 

When Malaga was completely secured, a detach- 
ment was sent against two fortresses near the sea, 
called Mixas and Osuna, which had frequently har- 
assed the christian camp. The inhabitants were 
threatened with the sword, unless they instantly 
surrendered. They claimed the same terms that 
had been granted to Malaga, imagining them to be 
freedom of person and security of property. Their 
claim was granted ; they were transported to Malaga 
with all their riches, and, on arriving there, were 
overwhelmed with consternation at rinding them- 
selves captives. "Ferdinand," observes Fray An- 
tonio Agapida, " was a man of his word ; they were 
shut up in the inclosure at the Alcazaba with the 
people of Malaga, and shared their fate." 

The unhappy captives remained thus crowded in 
the court-yards of the Alcazaba, like sheep in a fold, 
until they could be sent by sea and land to Seville. 
They were then distributed about in city and coun- 
try, eac:h christian family having one or more to feed 
and maintain as servants, until the term fixed for 
the payment of the residue of the ransom should ex- 
pire. The captives had obtained permission that 
several of their number should go about among the 
Moorish towns of the kingdom of Granada, collect- 
ing contributions to aid in the purchase of their 
liberties ; but these towns were too much impover- 
ished by the war, and engrossed by their own dis- 
tresses, to lend a listening ear: so the time expired 
without the residue of the ransom being paid, and 
all the captives of Malaga, to the number, as some 
say, of eleven, and others of fifteen thousand, became 
slaves! "Never," exclaims the worthy Fray An- 
tonio Agapida, in one of his usual bursts of zeal and 
loyalty, " never has there been recorded a more 
adroit and sagacious arrangement than this made 
by the Catholic monarch, b)^ which he not only 
secured all the property and half of the ransom of 
these infidels, but finally got possession of their per- 
sons into the bargain. This truly may be considered 
one of the greatest triumphs of the pious and politic 
Ferdinand, and as raising him above the generality 
of conquerors, who have merely the valor to gam 
victories, but lack the prudence and management 
necessary to turn them to account." 



» Pulgar. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

HOW KING FERDINAND PREPARED TO CARRY 
THE WAR INTO A DIFFERENT PART OF THE 
TERRITORIES OF THE MOORS. 

The western part of the kingdom of Granada had 
now been conquered by the christian arms. The 
sea-port of Malaga was captured : the fierce and 
warlike inhabitants of the Serrania de Ronda, and 
the other mountain holds of the frontier, were all 
disarmed, and reduced to peaceful and laborious 
vassalge ; their haughty fortresses, which had so 
long overawed the valleys of Andalusia, now dis- 
played the standard of Castile and Arragon ; the 
watch-towers, which crowned every height, and from 
whence the infidels had kept a vulture eye over the 
christian territories, were now either dismantled, or 
garrisoned with Catholic troops. " What signalized 
and sanctified this great triumph," adds the worthy 
Fray Antonio Agapida, " were the embleins of eccle- 
siastical domination which every where appeared. 
In every direction arose stately convents and monas- 
teries, those fortresses of the faith, garrisoned by its 
spiritual soldiery of monks and friars. The sacred 
melody of christian bells was again heard among the 
mountains, calling to early matins, or sounding the 
Angeles at the solemn hour of evening." 

While this part of the kingdom was thus reduced 
by the christian sword, the central part, round the 
city of Granada, forming the heart of the Moorish 
territory, was held in vassalage of the Castilian mon- 
arch, by Boabdil, surnamed el Chico. That unfortu- 
nate prince lost no occasion to propitiate the con- 
querors of his country by acts of homage, and by 
professions that must have been foreign to his heart. 
No sooner had he heard of the capture of .Malaga, 
than he sent congratulations to the Catholic sover- 
eigns, accompanied with presents of horses richly 
caparisoned for the king, and precious cloth of gold 
and oriental perfumes for the queen. His congratu- 
lations and his presents were received with the ut- 
most graciousness ; and the short-sighted prince, 
lulled by the temporary and politic forbearance of 
Ferdinand, flattered himself that he was securing 
the lasting friendship of that monarch. 

The policy of Boabdil had its transient and super- 
ficial advantages. The portion of Moorish territory 
under his immediate swav had a respite from the 
calamities of war: the husbandmen cultivated their 
luxuriant fields in security, and the vega of Granada 
once more blossomed like the rose. The merchants 
again carried on a gainful traffic : the gates of the 
city were thronged with beasts of burden, bringing 
the rich products of every clime. Yet, while the 
people of Granada rejoiced in their teeming fields 
and crowded marts, they secretly despised the policy 
which had procured them these adrantages, and held 
Boabdil for little better than an apostatt- and an un- 
believer. Muley Abdalla el Zagal was now the hope 
of the unr.onquered part of the kingdom ; and every 
Moor, whose spirit was not quite subdued with his 
fortunes, lauded the valor of the old monarch and 
his fidelity to the faith, and wished success to his 
standard. 

El Zagal, though he no longer sat enthroned in 
the Alhambra, yet reigned over more considerable 
domains than his nephew. His territories extended 
from the frontier of Jaen along the borders of Murcia 
to the Mediterranean, and reached into the centre 
of the kingdom. On the north-east, he held the cities 
of Baza and Guadix, situated in the midst of fertile 
regions. He had the important sea-port of Almeria, 
also, which at one time rivalled Granada itself in 
wealth and population. Beside these, his territories 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



255 



included a great part of the Alpuxarra mountains, 
which extend across the kingrlom and shoot out 
branches towards the sea -coast. This mount- 
ainous region was a strong-hold of wealth and 
power. Its stern and rocky heights, rising to the 
clouds, seemed to set invasion at detiance ; yet 
within their rugged embraces were sheltered delight- 
ful valleys, of the happiest temperature and richest 
fertility. The cool springs and limpid rills which 
gushed out in all parts of the mountains, and the 
abundant streams, which, for a great part of the 
year, were supplied by the Sierra Nevad.a, spread a 
perpetual verdure over the skirts and slopes of the 
hills, and, collecting in silver rivers in the valleys, 
wound along among plantations of mulberry trees, 
and groves of oranges and citrons, of almonds, figs, 
and pomegranates. Here was produced the finest 
silk of Spam, which gave employment to thousands 
of manufacturers. The sun-burnt sides of the hills, 
also, were covered with vineyards; the abundant 
herbage of the mountain ravines, and the rich pas- 
turage of the valleys, fed vast flocks and herds ; and 
even the arid and rocky bosoms of the heights 
■teemed with wealth, from the mines of various 
metals with which they were impregnated. In a 
word, the Alpuxarra mountains had ever been the 
great source of revenue to the monarchs of Granada. 
Their inhabitants, also, were hardy and warlike, and 
a sudden summons from the Moorish king could at 
any time call fortli fifty thousand fighting men from 
their rocky fastnesses. 

Such was the rich but rugged fragment of an em- 
pire which remained under the sway of the old war- 
rior monarch El Zagal. The mountain barriers by 
which it was locked up, had protected it from most 
of the ravages of the present war. El Zagal prepared 
himself, by strengthening every fortress, to battle 
fiercely for its mamtenance. 

The Catholic sovereigns saw that fresh troubles 
and toils awaited them. The war had to be carried 
into a new quarter, demanding immense expendi- 
tures ; and new ways and means must be devised to 
replenish their exhausted coffers. "As this was a 
holy war, however," says Fray Antonio Agapida, 
" and peculiarly redounded to the prosperity of the 
church, the clergy were full of zeal, and contributed 
vast sums of money and large bodies of troops. A 
pious fund was also produced, from the first fruits 
of that glorious institutiori, the Inquisition." 

It so happened, that about this time there were 
many families of wealth and dignity in the kingdoms 
of Arragon and Valentia, and the principality of 
Catalonia, whose forefathers had been Jews, but had 
been converted to Christianity. Notwithstanding the 
outward piety of these families, it was surmised, and 
soon came to be strongly suspected, that many of 
them had a secret hankering after Judaism ; and it 
was even whispered, that some of them practised 
Jewish rites in private. 

The Catholic monarch (continues Agapida) had a 
righteous abhorrence of all kinds of heresy, and 
a fervent zeal for the faith ; he ordered, therefore, 
a strict investigation of the conduct of these pseudo 
christians. Inquisitors were sent into these prov- 
inces for the purpose, who proceeded with their ac- 
customed zeal. The consequence was, that many 
families were convicted of apostasy from the chris- 
tian faith, and of the private practice of Judaism. 
Some, who had grace and policy sufficient to reform 
in time, were again received into the christian fold, 
after being severely mulcted and condemned to 
heavy penance ; others were burnt at mcto da fcs, 
for the edification of the public, and their property 
was confiscated for the good of the state. 

As these Hebrews were of great wealth, and had 



a hereditary passion for jewelry, there was found 
abundant store in their possession of gold and silver, 
of rings and necklaces, and strings of pearl and coral, 
and precious stones ; — treasures easy of transporta- 
tion, and wonderfully adapted for the emergencies 
of war. "In this way," concludes the pious Agap- 
ida, " these backsliders, by the all-seeing contrivances 
of Providence, were made to serve the righteous 
cause which they had so treacherously deserted ; 
and their apostate wealth was sanctified by being 
devoted to the service of Heaven and the crown, in 
this holy crusade against the infidels." 

It must be added, however, that these pious finan- 
cial expedients received some check from the inter- 
ference of queen Isabella. Her penetrating eyes dis- 
covered that many enormities had been committed 
under color of religious zeal, and many innocent per- 
sons accused by false witnesses of apostasy, either 
through malice or a hope of obtaining their wealth : 
she caused strict investigation, therefore, into the 
proceedings which had been held ; many of which 
were reversed, and suborners punished in proportion 
to their guilt.* 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



HOW KING FERDINAND INVADED THE EASTERN 
SIDE OF THE KINGDOM OF GRANADA, AND HOW 
HE WAS RECEIVED BY EL ZAGAL. 

"MuLEY Abdalla EL Zagal," says the vener- 
able Jesuit father, Pedro Abarca, "was the most 
venomous Mahometan in all Morisma : " and the 
worthy Fray Antonio Agapida most devoutly echoes 
his opinion ; " Certainly," adds the latter, " none ever 
opposed a more heathenish and diabolical obstinacy 
to the holy inroads of the cross and sword." 

El Zagal felt that it was necessary to do something 
to quicken his popularity with the people, and that 
nothing was more efiectual than a successful inroad. 
The Moors loved the stirring call to arms, and a wild 
foray among the mountains ; and delighted more in 
a hasty spoil, wrested with hard fighting from the 
christians, than in ail the steady and certain gains 
secured by peaceful traffic. 

There reigned at this time a careless security along 
the frontier of Jaen. The alcaydes of the christian 
fortresses were confident of the friendship of Boab- 
dil el Chico, and they fancied his uncle too distant 
and too much engrossed by his own perplexities, to 
think of molesting them. On a sudden. El Zagal 
issued out of Guadix with a chosen band, passed 
rapidly through the mountains which extend behind 
Granada, and fell like a thunderbolt upon the territo- 
ries in the neighborhood of Alcala la Real. Before 
the alarm could be spread and the frontier roused, 
he had made a wide career of destruction through 
the country, sacking and burning villages, sweeping 
off flocks and herds, and carrying away captives. 
The warriors of the frontier assembled ; but El Zagal 
was already far on his return through the mountains, 
and he re-entered the gates of Guadix in triumph, 
his army laden with christian spoil, and conducting 
an immense cavalgada. Such was one of the fierce 
El Zagal's preparatives for the expected invasion of 
the christian king, exciting the warlike spirit of his 
people, and gaining for himself a transient popu- 
larity. 

King Ferdinand assembled his army at Murcia in 
the spring of 1488. He left that city on the fifth of 
June, with a flying camp of four thousand horse and 



* Pulgar, part 3, c. 100. 



256 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



fourteen thousand foot. The marques of Cadiz led 
the van, followed by the adelantado of Murcia. The 
army entered the Moorish frontier by the sea-coast, 
spreading terror through the land ; wherever it ap- 
peared, the towns surrendered without a blow, so 
great was the dread of experiencing- the woes which 
had desolated the opposite frontier. In this way, 
Vera, Velez el Rubio, Velez el Blanco, and many 
towns of inferior note, to the number of sixty, yield- 
ed at the first summons. 

It was not until it approached Almeria, that the 
army met with resistance. This important city was 
commanded by the prince Zelim, a relation of El 
Zagal. He led forth his Moors bravely to the en- 
counter, and skirmished fiercely with the advance 
guard in the gardens near the city. King Ferdinand 
came up with the main body of the army, and called 
off his troops from the skirmish. He saw that to 
attack the place with his present force was fruitless. 
Having reconnoitred the city and its environs, there- 
fore, against a future campaign, he retired with his 
army and marched towards Baza. 

The old warrior El Zagal was himself drawn up 
in the city ot Baza, with a powerful garrison. He 
felt confidence in the strength of the place, and re- 
joiced when he heard that the christian king was 
approaching. In the valley in front of Baza, there 
extended a great tract of gardens, like a continued 
grove, and intersected by canals and water-courses. 
In this he stationed a powerful ambuscade of arque- 
busiers and cross-bow-men. The vanguard of the 
christian army came marching gaily up the valley, 
with great sound of drum and trumpet, and led on 
by the marques of Cadiz and the adelantado of 
Murcia. As they drew near, EI Zagal sallied forth 
with horse and foot, and attacked them for a time 
Gradually falling back, as if press 



campaign with his present force. His late successes 
had probably rendered him over-confident : El Zagal 
had again schooled him into his characteristic cau- 
tion. He saw that the old warrior was too formid- 
ably ensconced in Baza, to be dislodged by any thing 
except a powerful army and battering artillery ; and 
he feared, that should he persist in his invasion, 
some disaster might befall his army, either from the 
enterprise of the foe, or from a pestilence which pre- 
vailed in various parts of the country. 

Ferdinand retired, therefore, from before Baza, as 
he had on a former occasion from before Loxa, all 
the wiser for a wholesome lesson in warfare, but by 
no means grateful to those who had given it, and 
with a solemn determination to have his revenge 
upon his teachers. 

He now took measures for the security of the 
places gained in this campaign ; placing in them 
strong garrisons, well armed and supplied, charging 
their alcaydes to be vigilant on their posts and to 
give no rest to the enemy. The whole of the fron- 
tier was placed under the command of the brave 
Luiz Fernandez Puerto Carrero. As it was evident, 
from the warlike character of El Zagal, that there 
would be abundance of active service and hard fight- 
ing, many hidalgos and young cavaliers, eager for 
distinction, remained with Puerto Carrero. 

All these dispositions being made, king Ferdinand 
closed the dubious campaign of this year, not, as 
usual, by returning in triumph at the head of his 
army to some important city of his dominions, but 
by disbanding the troops, and repairing to pray at 
the cross of Caravaca. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



with great spirit. G , „ 

ed by their superior valor, he drew the exulting 

christians among the gardens. Suddenly the Moors | how THE MOORS MADE VARIOUS ENTERPRISES 



in ambuscade burst from their concealment, and 
opened such a terrible fire in tlank and rear, that 
many of the christians were slain, and the rest 
thrown into confusion. King Ferdinand arrived in 
time to see the disastrous situation of his troops, and 
gave signal for the vanguard to retire. 

El Zagal did not permit the foe to draw off un- 
molested. Ordering out fresh squadrons, he fell upon 
the rear of the retreating troops with loud and tri- 
umphant shouts, driving them before him with dread- 
ful havoc. The old war-cry of " El Zagal ! El Za- 
gal ! " was again put up by the Moors, and was echoed 
with transport from the walls of the city. The chris- 
tians were for a time in imminent peril of a complete 
route, when fortunately the adelantado of Murcia 
threw himself with a large body of horse and foot 
between the pursuers and the pursued, covering the 
retreat of the latter, and giving them time to rally. 
The Moors were now attacked so vigorously in turn, 
that they gave over the unequal contest, and drew 
back slowly into the city. Many valiant cavaliers 
were slain in this skirmish, among the number ot 
whom was Don Philip of Arragon, Master of the 
chivalry of St. George of Montesor ; he was illegiti- 
mate son of the king's illegitimate brother Don 
Carlos, and his death was greatly bewailed by Fer- 
dinand. He had formerly been archbishop of Pa- 
lermo, but had doffed the cassock for the cuirass, 
and had thus, according to Fray Antonio Agapida, 
o-ained a glorious crown of martyrdom by tailing in 
this holv war. 

The warm reception of his advanced guard by the 
old warrior El Zagal, brought king Ferdinand to a 
pause : he encamped on the banks of the neighbor- 
ing river Guadalquiton, and began to consider 
whether he had acted wisely in undertaking this 



AGAINST THE CHRISTIANS. 

"While the pious king Ferdinand," observes 
Fray Antonio .-Agapida, "was humbling himself be- 
fore the cross, and devoutly praying for the destruc- 
tion of his enemies, that fierce pagan El Zagal, de- 
pending merelv on his arm of flesh and sword of 
steel, pursued his diabolical outrages upon the chris- 
tians." No sooner was the invading army disbanded, 
than El Zagal sallied forth from his strong-hold, and 
carried fire and sword into all those parts that had 
submitted to the Spanish yoke. The castle ol Nixar, 
being carelessly guarded, was taken by surprise, and 
its garrison put to the sword. The old warrior raged 
with sanguinary fury about the whole frontier, attack- 
ing convoys, slaying, wounding, and making prison- 
ers, and coming by surprise upon the christians 
wherever they were off their guard. 

The alcayde of the fortress of Cullar, confiding in 
the strength of its walls and towers, and in its diffi- 
cult situauon. being built on the summit of a lofty 
hill, and surrounded by precipices, ventured to ab- 
sent himself from his post. The vigilant El Zagal 
was suddenly before it, with a powerlul force: he 
stormed the town sword in hand, fought the chris- 
tians from street to street, and drove them, with 
o-reat slaughter, to the citadel. Here a veteran cap- 
tain, by the name of Juan de Avalos, a gray-headed 
warrior scarred in many a battle, assumed the com- 
niand and made an obstinate defence. Neither the 
multitude of the enemy, nor the vehemence of their 
attacks, though led on by the terrible El Zagal him- 
self, had power to shake the fortitude of this doughty 
old soldier. 

The Moors undermined the outer walls and one 
of the towers of the fortress, and made their way into 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



257 



the exterior court. The alcayde manned the tops of 
his towers, pouring- down melted pitch, and shower- 
ing darts, arrows, stones, and all kinds ot" missiles, 
upon the assailants. The Moors were driven out of 
the court; but, being- reinforced with fresh troops, 
returned repeatedly to the assault. For five days the 
combat was kept up: the christians were nearly ex- 
hausted, but they were sustained by the cheerings of 
their staunch old alcayde ; and they feared death from 
the cruel El Zagal, should they surrender. At length 
the approach of a powerful force under Puerto Car- 
rero relieved them from this fearful peril. El Zagal 
abandoned the assault, but set fire to the town in his 
rage and disappointment, and retired to his strong- 
hold of Guadix. 

The example of El Zagal roused his adherents to 
action. Two bold Moorish alcaydes, AH Altar and 
Yza Altar, commanding the fortresses of Alhenden 
and Salobrefia, laid waste the country of the subjects 
of Boabdil, and the places which had recently sub- 
mitted to the christians : they swept off the cattle, 
carried off captives, and harassed the whole of the 
newly conquered frontier. 

The Moors also of Almeria, and Tavernas, and 
Purchena, made inroads into Murcia, and carried hre 
and sword into its most fertile regions. On the op- 
posite frontier, also, among the wild valleys and rug- 
ged recesses of the Sierra Bormeja, or Red Mount- 
ains, many of the Moors who had lately submitted 
again flew to arms. The marques of Cadiz suppressed 
by timely vigilance the rebellion of the mountain 
town of Gausin, situated on a high peak, almost 
among the clouds; but others of the Moors fortified 
themselves in rock-built towers and castles, inhabit- 
ed solely by warriors, from whence they carried on 
a continual war of forage and depredation ; sweep- 
ing suddenly down into the valleys, and carrying off 
flocks and herds and all kinds of booty to these 
eagle-nests, to which it was perilous and fruitless to 
pursue them. 

The worthy father Fray Antonio Agapida closes 
his history of this checkered year, in quite a different 
strain from those triumphant periods with which he 
is accustomed to wind up the victorious campaigns 
of the sovereigns. "Great and mighty," says this 
venerable chronicler, " were the floods and tempests 
which prevailed throughout the kingdoms of Castile 
and Arragon, about this time. It seemed as though 
the windows of Heaven were again opened, and a 
second deluge overwhelming the lace of nature. The 
clouds burst as it were in cataracts upon the earth ; 
torrents rushed down from the mountains, overflow- 
ing the valleys; brooks were swelled into raging 
rivers; houses were undermined; mills were swept 
away by their own streams ; the affrighted shepherds 
saw their flocks drowned in the midst of the pasture, 
and were fain to take refuge for their lives in towers 
and high places. The Guadalquivir for a time he- 
came a roaring and tumultuous sea, inundating the 
immense plain of the Zablada, and filling the fair 
city of Seville with affright. 

" A vast black cloud moved over the land, accom- 
panied by a hurricane and a trembling of the earth. 
Houses were unroofed, the walls and battlements of 
fortresses shaken, and lotty towers rocked to their 
foundations. Ships, riding at anchor, were either 
stranded or swallowed up ; others, under sail, were 
tossed to and fro upon mountain waves, and cast 
upon the land, where the whirlwind rent them in 
pieces and scattered them in fragments in the air. 
Doleful was the ruin and great the terror, where this 
baleful cloud passed by ; and it left a long track of 
desolation over sea and land. Some of the faint- 
hearted," adds Antonio Agapida, "looked upon this 
torment of the elements as a prodigious event, out 
17 



of the course of nature. In the weakness of their 
fears, they connected it with those troubles which 
occurred in various places, considering it a portent 
of some great calamity, about to be wrought by the 
violence of the bloody-handed El Zagal and his fierce 
adherents." 



CHAPTER XXV. 



HOW KING FERDINAND PREPARED TO BESIEGE 
THE CITY OF BAZA, AND HOW THE CITY PRE- 
PARED FOR DEFENCE. 

The stormy winter had passed away, atKl the- 
spring of 1489 was advancing; yet the heavy rains, 
had broken up the roads, the mountain brooks were 
swoln to raging torrents, and the late shallow and: 
peaceful rivers were deep, turbulent, and dangerous.. 
The christian troops had been sun-tmotved to assem- 
ble in early spring on the frontiers of Jaen. but were- 
slow in arriving at the appointed place. They were- 
entangled in the miry defiles of the mountains, or 
fretted impatiently on the banks of impassable floods. 
It was late in the month of IVFay, before they assem- 
bled in sufficient force to attempt the proposed in-- 
vasion ; when, at length, a valiant anny, of thirteen 
thousand horse and forty thousand foot, marched 
merrily over the border. The queen remained at the- 
city of Jaen, with the pnnce-royal and the prmcesses. 
her children, acconapanied and supported by the 
venerable cardinal ot' .Spain, and those reverend 
prelates who assisted in her councils throughout this, 
holy war. 

The plan of king Ferdinand was to lay siege to 
the city of Bara, the key of the remaining posses- 
sions of the Moor. That important fortress talven. 
Guadix and Alnieriia must soon follow, amd then the 
power of El Zagal would be at an end. As the 
Catholic k!i\^ advanced, he had first no secure vari- 
ous castles and stit>ng-hc»l!ds in the vicinity of Baza, 
which miglit otherwise harass his army. .Some of 
these made obstinate resistance, especially the town 
of Cuxar. The christians assailed the walls with 
various nrochines, to sap them and b.atter them down. 
The brave alcayde, Hubec Adalgan, opposed force 
to force and engine to engine. He manned his tow- 
ers with his bravest warr'.ors, who rained down an 
iron shower upon the enemy ; and he linked caul- 
drons together by strong chains, and cast fire from 
them, consuming the w'ooden engines of their assail- 
ants, and those who managed them. 

The siege was protracted for several days : the 
bravery of the alcayde could not save his fortress 
from an overwhelming foe, but it gained him honor- 
able terms. Ferdinand permitted the garrison and 
the inhabitants to repair with their effects to Baza ; 
and the valiant Hubec Adalgan marched forth with 
the remnant of his force, and took the way to that 
devoted city. 

The delays which had been caused to the invading 
army by these various circumstances, had been dili- 
gently improved by the old Moorish monarch El 
Zagal ; who felt that he was now making his last 
stand for empire, and that this campaign would de- 
cide, whether he should continue a king, or sink into 
a vassal. El Zagal was but a few leagues from 
Baza, at the city of Guadix. This last was the most 
important point of his remaining territories, being a 
kind of bulwark between them and the hostile city 
of Granada, the seat of his nephew's power. Though 
he heard of the tide of war, therefore, that was col- 
lecting and rolling towards the city of Baza, he 
dared not go in person to its assistance. He dread^ 



258 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ed that, should he leave Guadix, Boabdil would at- 
tack him in rear while the christian army was bat- 
tling with him in front. El Zagal trusted in the 
great strength of Baza, to defy any violent assault ; 
and he profited by the delays of the christian army, 
to supply it with all possible means of defence. He 
sent thither all the troops he could spare from his 
garrison of Guadi.x, and dispatched missives through- 
out his territories, calling upon true Moslems to 
hasten to Baza, to make a devoted stand in defence 
of their homes, their liberties, and their religion. 
The cities of Tavernas and Purchena, and the sur- 
rounding heights and valleys, responded to his or- 
ders, and sent forth their fighting men to the field. 
The rocky fastnesses of the Alpuxarras resounded 
with the din of arms : troops of horse and bodies of 
foot-soldiers were seen winding down the rugged 
cliffs and defiles of those marble mountains, and 
hastening towards Baz.a. Many brave cavaliers of 
Granada also, spurning the quiet and security of 
christian vassalage, secretly left the city and hasten- 
ed to join their fighting countrymen. The great de- 
jjendence of El Zagal, however, was upon the valor 
and loyalty of his cousin and brother-in-law, Cidi 
Yahye Alnayar Aben Zelim, who was alcayde of 
Almeria, — a cavalier experienced in warfare, and 
redoubtable in the field. He wrote to him to leave 
Almeria, and repair, with all speed, at the head of 
his troops, to Baza. Cidi Yahye departed imme- 
diately, with ten thousand of the bravest Moors in 
the kingdom. These were for the most part hardy 
mountaineers, tempered to sun and storm, and tried 
in many a combat. None equalled them for a sally 
or a skirmish. They were adroit in executing a 
thousand stratagems, ambuscidoes, and evolutions. 
Impetuous in their assaults, yet governed in their 
utmost fury by a word or sign from their com- 
mander, at the sound of a trumpet they would check 
themseK-es in the midst of their career, wheel off 
and disperse; and at another sound of a trumpet, 
they would as suddenly re-assemble and return to 
the attack. They were upon the enemy when 
least expected, coming like a rushing blast, spread- 
ing havoc and consternation, and then passing away 
in an instant ; so that when one recovered from the 
shock and looked around, behold nothing was to be 
seen or heard of this tempest of war, but a cloud 
of dust and the clatter of retreating hoofs. 

When Cidi Yahye led his train of ten thousand 
valiant warriors into the gates of Baza, the city rang 
with acclamations, and for a time the inhabitants 
thought themselves secure. El Zag.al, also, felt a 
glow of confidence, notwithstanding his own absence 
Irom the city. " Cidi Yahye," said he, " is my cousin 
and my brother-in-law ; related to me by blood and 
marriage, he is a second self: happy is that monarch 
who has his kindred to command his armies." 

With all these reinforcements, the garrison of 
Baza amounted to above twenty thousand men. 
There were at this time three principal leaders in 
the city :— Mohammed ben Hassan, surnamed the 
veteran, who was military governor or alcayde, an 
old Moor of great experience and discretion ; the 
second was Hamet Abu Zali, who was captain of 
the troops stationed in the place; and the third was 
Hubec Adalgan, the valiant alcayde of Cuxar, who 
had repaired hither with the remains of his garrison. 
Over all these Cidi Yahye exercised a supreme com- 
mand, in consequence of his being of the blood- 
royal, and in the especial confidence of Muley Ab- 
dalla el Zagal. He was eloquent and ardent in 
council, and fond of striking and splendid achieve- 
ments ; but he was a little prone to be carried away 
by the excitement of the moment, and the warmth 
of his imagination. The councils of war of these 



commanders, therefore, were more frequently con- 
trolled by the opinions of the old alcayde Moham- 
med ben Hassan, for whose shrewdness, caution, and 
experience, Cidi Yahye himself felt the greatest 
deference. 

The city of Baza was situated in a great valle)', 
eight leagues in length and three in breadth, called 
the Hoya, or basin of Baza. It was surrounded by 
a range of mountains, called the Sierra of Xabalco- 
hol, the streams of which, collecting themselves into 
two rivers, watered and fertilized the country. The 
city was built in the plain ; but one part of it was 
protected by the rocky precipices of the mountain, 
and by a powerful citadel ; the other part was de- 
fended by massive walls, studded with immense 
towers. It had suburbs towards the plain, imper- 
fectly fortified by earthen walls. In front of these 
suburbs extended a tract of orchards and gardens 
nearly a league in length, so thickly planted as to 
resenible a continued forest. Here, every citizen 
who could afford it. had his little plantation, and his 
garden of fruits and flowers and vegetables, watered 
by canals and rivulets, and dominated by a small 
tower to serve for recreation or defence. This wil- 
derness of groves and gardens, intersected in all parts 
by canals ar.d runs of water, and studded by above 
a thousand small towers, formed a kind of protec- 
tion to this side of the city, rendering all approach 
extremely difficult and perplexed, and affording 
covert to the defenders. 

While the christian army had been detained before 
the frontier posts, the city of Baza had been a scene 
of hurried and unremitting preparation. All the 
grain of the surrounding valley, though yet unripe, 
was hastily reaned and borne into the city, to pre- 
vent it from yielding sustenance to the enemy. The 
country was drained of all its supplies ; flocks and 
herds were driven, bleating and bellowing, into the 
gates ; long trains of beasts of burthen, some laden 
with food, others with lances, darts, and arms of all 
kinds, kept pouring into the place. Already there 
were munitions collected sufficient for a siege of fif- 
teen months ; yet still the eager and hasty prepara- 
tion was going on, when the army of Ferdinand 
came in sight. 

On one side might be seen scattered parties of foot 
and horse spurring to the gates, and muleteers hur- 
rying forward their burthened animals, all anxious to 
get under shelter before the gathering storm ; on the 
other side, the cloud of war came sweeping down 
the valley, the roll of drum or clang of trumpet re- 
sounding occasionally from its deep bosom, or the 
bright glance of arms flashing forth, like vivid light- 
ning, from its columns. King Ferdinand pitched his 
tents in the valley, beyond the green labyrinth ol 
gardens. He sent his heralds to summon the city to 
surrender, promising the most favorable terms in case 
of immediate compliance, and avowing in the most 
solemn terms his resolution never to abandon the 
siege until he had possession of the place. 

Upon receiving this summons, the Moorish com- 
manders held a council of war. The prince Cidi 
Yahye, indignant at the menace of the king, was lor 
retorting by a declaration that the garrison never 
would surrender, but would fight until buried under 
the ruins of the walls. " Of what avail," said the 
veteran Mohammed, " is a declaration of the kind 
which we may falsify by our deeds .' Let us threaten 
what we know we can perform, and let us endeavor 
to perform more than we threaten." 

In conformity to the advice of Mohammed ben 
Hassan, therefore, a laconic reply was sent to the 
christian monarch, thanking him tor his offer of favor- 
able terms, but informing him that they were placed 
in the city to defend, not to surrender it. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



259 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE BATTLE OF THE GARDENS BEFORE BAZA. 

When the reply of the Moorish commanders was 
brought to king Ferdinand, he prepared to press the 
siege with the utmost rigor. Finding the cainp too | 
far from the citv, and that the intervening orchards 
afforded shelter for the sallies of the Moors, he deter- 
mmed to advance it beyond the gardens, in the space 
between them and the suburbs, where his batteries 
would have full play upon the city walls. A detach- 
ment was sent in advance, to take possession of the 
gardens, and to keep a check upon the suburbs, op- 
posing any sally, while the encampment should be 
formed and fortified. The various commanders en- 
tered the orchards at difTerent points. The young 
cavaliers marched fearlessly forward, but the e\pe- 
rienced veterans foresaw infinite peril in the mazes 
of this verdant labyrinth. The Master of St. Jago, 
as he led his troops into the centre of the gardens, 
exhorted them to keep by one another, and to press 
forward in defiance of all difficulty or danger ; assur- 
ing them that God would give them the victory, if 
they attacked hardily and persisted resolutely. 

Scarce had they entered the verge of the orchards, 
when a din of drums and trumpets, mingled with 
war-cries, was heard from the suburbs, and a legion 
of Moorish warriors on foot poured forth. They 
were led on by the prince Cidi Yahye. He saw the 
imminent danger of the city, should the christians 
gain possession of the orchards. " Soldiers," he cried, 
" we fight for life and liberty, for our families, our 
country, our religion ;* nothing is left for us to depend 
upon, but the strength of our hands, the courage of 
our hearts, and the almighty protection of Allah." 
The Moors answered him with shouts of war, and 
rushed to the encounter. The two hosts met in the 
midst of the gardens A ch.ance-medley combat en- 
sued, with lances, arquebusses, cross-bows, and scimi- 
tars ; the perplexed nature of the ground, cut up and 
intersected by canals and streams, the closeness of 
the trees, the multiplicity of towers and petty edifices, 
gave greater advantages to the Moors, who were on 
foot, than to the christians, who were on horseback. 
The Moors, too, knew the ground, with all its alleys 
and passes ; and were thus enabled to lurk, to sally 
forth, to attack, and to retreat, almost without in- 
jury. 

The christian commanders, seeing this, ordered 
many of the horsemen to dismount and fight on foot. 
The battle then became fierce and deadly, each dis- 
regarding his own life, provided he could slay his 
enemy. It was not so much a general battle, as a 
multitude of petty actions ; for every orchard and 
garden had its distinct contest. No one could see 
further than the little scene of fury and bloodshed 
around him, nor know how the general battle fared. 
In vain the captains exerted their voices, in vain the 
trumpets brayed forth signals and commands — all 
was confounded and unheard, in the universal din 
and uproar. No one kept to his standard, but fought 
as his own fury or fear dictated. In some places the 
christians had the advantage, in others the Moors ; 
often, a victorious party, pursuing the vanquished, 
came upon a superior and triumphant force of the 
enemy, and the fugitives turned back upon them in 
an overwhelming wave. Some broken remnants, in 
their terror and confusion, fled from their own coun- 
trymen and sought refuge among their enemies, not 
knowing friend from foe, in the obscurity of the 
groves. The Moors were more adroit in these wild 
skirmishings, from their flexibility, lightness, and agil- 

* '* llti (Mauri) pro forttmis, pro libertate, pro laribus patriis, pro 
vita denique certabant." — Pietro Martyr^ Epist. 70. 1 



ity, and the rapidity with which they would disperse, 
rally, and return again to the charge.* 

The hardest fighting was about the small garden 
towers and pavilions, which served as so many petty 
fortresses. Each party by turns gained them, defend- 
ed them fiercely, and were driven out ; many of the 
towers were set on fire, and increased the horrors of 
the fight by the wreaths of smoke and flame in which 
they wrapped the groves, and by the shrieks of those 
who were burning. 

Several of the christian cavaliers, bewildered by 
the uproar and confusion, and shocked at the carnage 
which prevailed, would have led their men out of 
the action ; but they were entangled in a labyrinth, 
and knew not which way to retreat. While in this 
perplexity, the standard-bearer of one of the squad- 
rons of the grand cardinal had his arm carried off by 
a cannon-ball ; the standard was well-nigh falling into 
the hands of the enemy, when Roderigo de Mendoza, 
an intrepid vouth, natural son of the grand cardinal, 
rushed to its rescue, through a shower of balls, 
lances, and arrows, and, bearing it aloft, dashed for- 
ward with it into the hottest of the combat, followed 
by his shouting soldiery. 

King Ferdinand, who remained in the skirts of the 
orchard, vva,s in extreme anxiety. It was impossible 
to see much of the action, for the multiplicity of trees 
and towers, and the wreaths of smoke ; and those 
who were clriven out defeated, or came out wounded 
and exhausted, gave different accounts, according to 
the fate of the partial conflicts in which they had 
been engaged. Ferdinand exerted hmiself to the 
utmost, to "animate and encourage his troops to this 
blind encounter, sending reinforcements of horse and 
foot to those points where the battle was most san- 
guinary and doubtful. 

Among those who were brought forth mortally 
wounded, was Don Juan de Luna, a youth of un- 
common merit, greatly prized by the king, beloved 
by the army, and recently married to Donna Catalina 
de Urrea, a young lady of distinguished beauty. t 
They laid him at the foot of a tree, and endeavored 
to stanch and bind up his wounds with a scarf which 
his bride had wrought for him ; but his lile-blood 
flowed too profusely ; and while a holy friar was yet 
administering to him the last sacred offices of the 
church, he expired, almost at the feet of his sovereign. 

On the other hand, the veteran alcayde Moham- 
med hen Hassan, surrounded by a little band of 
chieftains, kept an anxious eye upon the scene of 
comb.at from the walls of the city. For nearly twelve 
hours, the battle had raged without mtermission. 
The thickness of the foliage hid all the particulars 
from their sight ; but they could see the flash of 
swords and glance of helmets among the trees. 
Columns of smoke rose in every direction, while the. 
clash of arms, the thundering of ribadoquines and 
arquebusses, the shouts and cries of the combatants, 
and the groans and supplications of the wounded, 
bespoke the deadly conflict that was waging in the 
bosom of the groves. They were harassed, too, by 
the shrieks and lamentations of the Moorish women 
and children, as their wounded relations were brought 
bleeding from the scene of action ; and were stunned 
by a general outcry of wo on the part of the inhabit- 
ants, as the body of Redoan Zalfarga, a renegado 
christian, and one of the bravest of their generals, 
was borne breathless into the city. 

At length, the din of battle approached nearer to 
the skirts of the orchards. They beheld their war- 
riors driven out from among the groves by fresh 
squadrons of the enemv, and, after disputing the 
ground inch by inch, obliged to retire to a place be- 



* Mariana, lib. 25, cap. 13. 



+ Mariana. P, Martyr. Zarilr 



260 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tween the orchards and the suburbs, which was 
fortified with pahsadoes. 

The christians immediately planted opposing pah- 
sadoes, and established strong outposts near to this 
retreat of the Moors ; while, at the same time, king 
Ferdinand ordered that his encampment should be 
pitched within the hard-won orchards. 

Mohammed ben Hassan sallied forth to the aid of 
the prince Cidi Yahye, and made a desperate at- 
tempt to dislodge the enemy from this formidable 
jjosition : but the night had closed, and the darkness 
rendered it impossible to make any impression. The 
Moors, however, kept up constant assaults and 
alarms, throughout the night ; and the weary chris- 
tians, exhausted by the toils and sufferings of the 
day, were not allowed a moment of repose.* 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



.SIEGE OF BAZA. — EMBARRASSMENTS OF THE ARMY. 

The morning sun rose upon a piteous scene, be- 
fore the walls of Baza. The christian outposts, har- 
assed throughout the night, were pale and haggard ; 
while the multitudes of slain which lay before their 
palisadoes, showed the fierce attacks they had sus- 
tained, and the bravery of their defence. 

Beyond them lay the groves and gardens of Baza ; 
once, the favorite resorts for recreation and delight — 
now, a scene of horror and desolation. The towers 
and pavilions were smoking ruins; the canals and 
water-courses were discolored with blood, and choked 
with the bodies of the slain. Here and there, the 
ground, deep dinted with the tramp of man and 
steed, and plashed and slippery with gore, showed 
where there had been some fierce and mortal con- 
tlict ; while the bodies of Moors and christians, 
ghastly in death, lay half concealed among the mat- 
ted and trampled shrubs, and flowers, and herbage. 

Amidst these sanguinary scenes arose the chris- 
tian tents, which had been hastily pitched among 
the gardens in the preceding evening. The e.xpe- 
rience of the night, however, and the forlorn as- 
pect of every thing in the morning, convinced king 
Ferdinand of the perils and hardships to which his 
camp must be exposed, in its present situation ; and, 
after a consultation with his principal cavaliers, he 
resolved to abandon the orchards. 

It was a dangerous movement, to extricate his 
army from so entangled a situation, in the face of so 
alert and daring an enemy. A bold front was there- 
fore kept up towards the city ; additional troops were 
ordered to the advanced posts, and works begun as 
if for a settled encampment. Not a tent was struck 
in the gardens ; but in the mean time, the most 
active and unremitting exertions were made to re- 
move all the baggage and furniture of the camp 
back to the original station. 

All day, the Moors beheld a formidable show of 
war maintained in front of the gardens ; while in the 
rear, the tops of the christian tents, and the pennons 
of the different commanders, were seen rising above 
the groves. Suddenly, towards evening, the tents 
sunk and disappeared; the outposts broke up their 
stations and withdrew, and the whole shadow of an 
encampment was fast vanishing from their eyes. 

The Moors saw too late the subtle manoeuvre of 
king Ferdinand. Cidi Yahye again sallied forth with 
a large force of horse and foot, and pressed luriously 
upon the christians. The latter, however, experi- 
enced in Moorish attack, retired in close order. 



* Pulgar, part 3, cap. 106, 107. Cura de los Palacios, cap. 92. 
Zurita, lib. so. cap. 81. 



sometimes turning upon the enemy and driving them 
to their barricadoes, and then pursuing their retreat. 
In this way the army was extricated, without much fur- 
ther loss, from the perilous labyrinths of the gardens. 

The camp was now out of danger; but it was also 
too distant from the city to do mischief, while the 
Moors could sally forth and return without hindrance. 
The king called a council of war, to consider in what 
manner to proceed. The marques of Cadiz was for 
abandoning the siege for the present, the place being 
too strong, too well garrisoned and provided, and 
too extensive, to be either carried by assault or in- 
vested and reduced by famine, with their limited 
forces ; while, in lingering before it, the army would 
be exposed to the usual maladies and sufferings of 
besieging armies, and, when the rainy season came 
on, would be shut up by the swelling of the rivers. 
He recommended, instead, that the king should 
throw garrisons of horse and foot into all the towns 
captured in the neighborhood, and leave them to 
keep up a predatory war upon Baza, while he should 
overrun and ravage all the country ; so that, in the 
following year, Almeria and Guadix, having all their 
subject towns and territories taken from them, might 
be starved into submission. 

Don Gutiere de Cardenas, senior commander of 
Leon, on the other hand, maintained that to abandon 
the siege would be construed by the enemy into a 
sign of weakness and irresolution. It would give 
new spirits to the partisans of El Zagal, and would 
gain to his standard many of the wavering subjects 
of Boabdil, if it did not encourage the fickle popu- 
lace of Granada to open rebellion. He advised there- 
fore that the siege should be prosecuted with vigor. 

The pride of Ferdinand pleaded in favor of the 
last opinion ; for it would be doubly humiliating, 
again to return from a campaign in this part of the 
Moorish kingdom, without effecting a blow. But 
when he reflected on all that his army had suffered, 
and on all that they must suffer should the siege 
continue — especially from the difficulty of obtaining 
a regular supply of provisions for so numerous a host, 
across a great extent of rugged and mountainous 
country — ^he determined to consult the safety of his 
people, and to adopt the advice of the marques of 
Cadiz. 

When the soldiery heard that the king was about 
to raise the siege in mere consideration of their suf- 
ferings, they were filled with generous enthusiasm, 
and entreated, as with one voice, that the siege 
might never be abandoned until the city surren- 
dered. 

Perplexed by conflicting counsels, the king dis- 
patched messengers to the queen at Jaen, requesting 
her advice. Posts had been stationed between them, 
in such manner that missives from the camp could . 
reach the queen within ten hours. Isabella sent in- I 
stantly her reply. She left the policy of raising or I 
continuing the siege to the decision of the king and i 
his captains ; but should they determine to persevere, 
she pledged herself, with the aid of God, to forward 
them men, money, provisions, and all other supplies, 
until the city should be taken. 

The reply of the queen determined Ferdinand to 
persevere ; and when his determination was made 
known to the army, it was hailed with as much joy 
as if it had been tidings of a victory. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



SIEGE OF BAZA CONTINUED.— HOW KING FER- 
DINAND COMPLETELY INVESTED THE CITY. 

The Moorish prince Cidi Yahye had received 
tidings of the doubts and discussions in the christian 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



2G1 



camp, and flattered himself with hopes that the be- 
siegmg army would soon retire in despair, though 
the veteran alcayde Mohammed shook his head with 
incredulity at the suggestion. A sudden movement, 
one morning, in the christian camp, seemed to con- 
firm the sanguine hopes of the prince. The tents 
were struck, the artillery and baggage were conveyed 
away, and bodies of soldiers began to march along 
the valley. The momentary gleam of triumph was 
soon dispelled. The Catholic king had merely di- 
vided his host into two camps, the more effectually 
to distress the city. One, consisting of four thousand 
hotse and eight thousand foot, with all the artillery 
and battering engines, took post on the side of the 
city towards the mountain. This was commanded 
by the valiant marques of Cadiz, with whom were 
Don Alonzo de Aguilar, Luis Fernandez Puerto 
Carrero, and many other distinguished cavaliers. 

The ot-her camp was commanded by the king, 
having si.\ thousand horse and a great host of foot- 
soldiers, the hardy mountaineers of Biscay, Guipus- 
con, Gallicia, and the Asturias. Among the cava- 
liers who were with the king were the brave count 
de Tendilla, Don Roderigo de Mendoza, and Don 
Alonzo de Cardenas, Master of Santiago. The two 
camps were wide asunder, on opposite sides of the 
city, and between them lay the thick wilderness of 
orchards. Both camps were therefore fortified by 
great trenches, breastworks, and palisadoes. The 
veteran Mohammed, as he saw these two formidable 
camps glittering on each side of the city, and noted 
the well-known pennons of renowned commanders 
fluttering above them, still comforted his companions: 
" These camps," said he, " are too far removed from 
each other, for mutual succor and co-operation ; and 
the forest of orchards is as a gulf between them." 
This consolation was but of short continuance. 
Scarcely were the christian camps fortified, when the 
ears of the Moorish garrison were startled by the 
sound of innumerable axes, and the crash of falling 
trees. They looked with anxiety from their highest 
towers, and behold, their favorite groves were sinking 
beneath the blows of the christian pioneers. The 
Moors sallied forth with fiery zeal to protect their 
beloved gardens, and the orchards in which they so 
much delighted. The christians, however, were too 
well supported to be driven from their work. Day 
after day, the gardens became the scene of incessant 
and bloody skirmishings ; yet still the de\ astation 
of the groves went on, for king Ferdinand was too 
well aware of the necessity of clearing away this 
screen of woods, not to bend all his forces to the 
undertaking. It was a work, however, of gigantic 
toil and patience. The trees were of such magnitude, 
and so closely set together, and spread over so wide 
an extent, that notwithstanding lour thousand men 
were employed, they could scarcely clear a strip of 
land ten paces broad within a day ; and such were 
the interruptions from the incessant assaults of the 
Moors, that it was full forty days before the orchards 
were completely levelled. 

The devoted city of Baza now lay stripped of its 
beautiful covering of groves and gardens, at once its 
ornament, its delight, and its protection. The be- 
siegers went on slowly and surely, with almost in- 
credible labors, to invest and isolate the city. They 
connected their camps by a deep trench across the 
plain, a league in length, into which they diverted 
the waters of the mountain streams. They pro- 
tected this trench by palisadoes, fortified by fifteen 
castles, at regular distances. They dug a deep 
trench, also, two leagues in length, across the 
mountain in the rear of the city, reaching from 
camp to camp, and fortified it on each side with 
walls of earth, and stone, and wood. Thus the 



Moors were inclosed on all sides by trenches, pal- 
isadoes, walls, and castles; so that it was impossible 
for them to sally beyond this great line of circum- 
vallation — nor could any force enter to their succor. 
Ferdinand made an attempt, likewise, to cut off the 
supply of water from the city; "for water," ob- 
serves the worthy Agapida, " is more necessary 
to these infidels than bread, making use of it in 
repeated daily ablutions enjoined by their damn- 
able religion, and employing it in baths and in a 
thousand other idle and extravagant modes, of 
which we Spaniards and christians make but little 
account." 

There was a noble fountain of pure water, which 
gushed out at the foot of the hill Albohacen, just be- 
hind the city. The Moors had almost a superstitious 
fondness for this fountain, and chiefly depended upon 
it for their supplies. Receiving intimation from some 
deserters, of the plan of king Ferdinand to get pos- 
session of this precious fountain, they sallied forth 
at night, and threw up such powerful works upon 
the impending hill, as to set all attempts of the 
christian assailants at defiance. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



EXPLOIT OF HERNANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR 
AND OTHER CAVALIERS. 

The siege of Baza, while it displayed the skill 
and science of the christian commanders, gave but 
little scope for the adventurous spirit and fiery valor 
of the young Spanish cavaliers. They repined at the 
tedious monotony and dull security of their fortified 
camp, and longed for some soul-stirring exploit of 
difficulty and danger. Two of the most spirited of 
these youthful cavaliers were Francisco de Bazan 
and Antonio de Cueva, the latter of whom was son 
to the duke of Albuquerque. As they were one dav 
seated on the ramparts of the camp, and venting 
their impatience at this life of inaction, they were 
overheard by a veteran adalid, one of those scouts 
or guides who are acquainted with all parts of the 
country. " Senors," said he, "if you wish for a serv- 
ice of peril and profit, if you are willing to pluck the 
fiery old Moor by the beard, I can lead you to where 
you may put your mettle to the proof. Hard by 
the city of Guadix, are certain hamlets rich in 
booty. I can conduct you by a way in which you 
may come upon them by surprise ; and if you are as 
cool in the head, as you are hot in the spur, you 
may bear off your spoils from under the very eyes 
of old El Zagal." 

The idea of thus making booty at the very gates 
of Guadix, pleased the hot-spirited youths. These 
predatory excursions w'ere frequent about this time ; 
and the Moors of Padul, Alhenden, and other towns 
of the Alpuxarras, had recently harassed the chris- 
tian territories by expeditions of the kind. Fran- 
cisco de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva soon found 
other young cavaliers of their age, eager to join in 
the adventure; and in a little while, they had nearly 
three hundred horse and two hundred foot, ready 
equipped and eager for the foray. 

Keeping their destination secret, they sallied out 
of the camp on the edge of an evening, and, 
guided by the adalid, made their way by star-light 
through the most secret roads of the mountains. 
In this way they pressed on rapidly day and night, 
until early one morning, before cock-crowing, they 
fell suddenly upon the hamlets, made prisoners of 
the inhabitants, sacked the houses, ravaged the fields, 
and, sweeping through the meadows, gathered to- 



262 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



gether all the flocks and herds. Without giving 
themselves time to rest, they set out upon their 
return, making with all speed for the mountains, 
before the alarm should be given and the country 
roused. 

Several of the herdsmen, however, had fled to 
Guadix, and carried tidings of the ravage to El Za- 
gal. The beard of old ^Iuley trembled with rage ; 
he immediately sent out six hundred of his choicest 
horse and foot, with orders to recover the booty, 
and to bring those insolent marauders captive to 
Guadix. 

The christian cavaliers were urging their caval- 
gada of cattle and sheep up a mountain, as fast as 
their own weariness would permit, when, looking 
back, they beheld a great cloud of dust, and pres- 
ently descried the turbaned host hot upon their 
traces. 

They saw that the Moors were superior in num- 
ber; they were fresh also, both man and steed, 
whereas both they and their horses were fatigued by 
two days and two nights of hard marching. Several 
of the horsemen therefore gathered round the com- 
manders, and proposed that they should relmquish 
their spoil, and save themselves by flight. The cap- 
tains, Francisco de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva. 
spurned at such craven counsel. " What ! " cried 
they, " abandon our prey without striking a blow .' 
Leave our foot-soldiers too in the lurch, to be over- 
whelmed by the enemy .' If any one gives such coun- 
sel through fear, he mistakes the course of safety ; 
for there is less danger in presenting a bold front to 
the foe, than in turning a dastard back ; and fewer 
men are killed in a braxe advance, than in a cow- 
ardly retreat." 

Some of the cavaliers were touched by these words, 
and declared that they would stand by the foot-sol- 
diers like true companions in arms : the great mass 
of the party, however, were volunteers, brought to- 
gether by chance, who received no pay, nor had any 
common tie to keep them together in time of danger. 
The pleasure of the expedition being over, each 
thought but of his own safety, regardless of his com- 
panions. As the enemy approached, the tumult of 
opinions increased, and every thing was in confusion. 
The captains, to put an end to the dispute, ordered 
the standard-bearer to advance against the Moors, 
well knowing that no true cavalier would hesitate to 
follow and defend his banner. The standard-bearer 
hesitated — the troops were on the point of taking to 
flight. 

Upon this, a cavalier of the roval guards, named 
Hernando Perez del Pulgar, alcayde of the fortress 
of Salar, rode to the front. He took off a handker- 
chief which he wore round his head, after the Anda- 
lusian fashion, and, tying it to the end of his lance, 
elevated it in the air. '• Cavaliers," cried he, " why 
do ye take weapons in your hands, if you depend 
upon your feet for safety .' This day will determine 
who is the brave man, and who the coward. He 
who is disposed to fight, shall not want a standard : 
let him follow this handkerchief." So saying, he 
waved his banner, and spurred bravely against the 
Moors. His example shamed some, and filled others 
with generous emulation : all turned with one ac- 
cord, and, following the valiant Pulgar, rushed with 
shouts upon the enemy. The Moors scarcely waited 
to receive the shock of their encounter. Seized with 
a sudden panic, they took to flight, and were pursued 
for a considerable distance, with great slaughter. 
Three hundred of their dead strewed the road, and 
were stripped and despoiled by the conquerors ; 
many were taken prisoners, an-d the christian cava- 
liers returned in triumph to the camp, with a long 
cavalgada of sheep ana cattle, and mules laden with 



booty, and bearing before them the singular standard 
which had conducted them to victory. 

When king Ferdinand was informed of the gallant 
action of Hernando Perez del Pulgar, he immediately 
conferred on him the honor of knighthood, and or- 
dered, that in memory of his achievement, he should 
bear for arms a lance with a handkerchief at the end 
of it, together with a castle and twelve lions. This 
is but one of many hardy and heroic deeds done by 
this brave cavalier, in the wars against the Moors ; 
by which he gained great renown, and the distin- 
guished appellation of "El de las hazanas," or " He 
of the exploits."* 



CHAPTER XXX. 



CONTINUATION OF THE SIEGE OF B.\ZA. 

The old Moorish king El Zagal mounted a tower 
and looked out eagerly to enjoy the sight of the chris- 
tian marauders brought captive into the gates of 
Guadix ; but his spirits fell, when he beheld his own 
troops stealing back in the dusk of the evening, in 
broken and dejected parties. 

The fortune of war bore hard against the old mon- 
arch ; his mind was harassed by the disastrous tidings 
brought each day from Baza, of the sufferings of the 
inhabitants, and the numbers of the garrison slain in 
the frequent skirmishes. He dared not go in person 
to the relief of the place, for his presence was neces- 
sary in Gaudix, to keep a check upon his nephew in 
Granada. He made efforts to send reinforcements 
and supplies; but they were intercepted, and either 
captured or driven back. Still his situation was in 
some respects preferable to that of his nephew Boab- 
dil. The old monarch was battling like a warrior, 
on the last step of his throne ; El Chico remained a 
kind of pensioned vassal, in the luxurious abode of 
the Alhambra. The chivalrous part of the inhabit- 
ants of Granada could not but compare the generous 
stand made by the wan iors of Baza for their country 
and their faith, with their own timeserving submission 
to the yoke of an unbeliever. Every account they 
received of the woes of Baza, wrung their hearts 
with agony ; eveiy account of the exploits of its de- 
voted defenders, brought blushes to their cheeks. 
Many stole forth secretly with their weapons, and 
hastened to join the besieged ; and the partisans of 
El Zagal wrought upon the patriotism and passions 
of the remainder, until another of those conspiracies 
was formed, that were continually menacing the un- 
steady throne of Granada. It was concerted by the 
conspirators, to assail the Alhambra on a sudden ; to 
sla, Boabdil ; to assemble all the troops, and march 
to Guadix ; where, being reinforced by the garrison 
of that place, and led on by the old warrior monarch, 
they might fall with overwhelming power upon the 
christian army before Baza. 

Fortunately for Boabdil, he discovered the con- 
spiracy in time, and had the heads of the leaders 
struck off, and placed upon the walls of the Alham- 
bra, — an act of severity unusual with this mild and 
wavering monarch, which struck terror into the dis- 
affected, and produced a kind of mute tranquillity 
throughout the city. 

King Ferdinand had full information of all these 
movements and measures for the relief of Baza, and 
took timely precautions to prevent them. Bodies of 
horsemen held watch in the mountain passes, to 
prevent all supplies, and to intercept any generous 

* Hernando del Pulgar the historian, secretar>' to queen Isabella, 
is confounded with this cavalier, by some writers. He was also 
present at the siege of Baza, and has recounted this transaction ki 
his chronicle of the Catholic sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



263 



volunteers from Granada ; and watch-towers were 
erected, or scouts were placed on every command- 
ing height, to give the alarm at the least sign of a 
hostile turban. 

The prince Cidi Yahye and his brave companions 
in arms, were thus gradually walled up, as it were, 
from the rest of the world. A line of towers, the 
battlements of which bristled with troops, girdled 
their city ; and behind the intervening bulwarks and 
palisadoes, passed and repassed continual squadrons 
of troops. Week after week, and month after month, 
passed away, but Ferdinand waited in vain for the 
garrison to be either terrified or starved into surren- 
der. Every day they sallied forth with the spirit and 
alacrity of troops high fed, and flushed with confi- 
dence. " The christian monarch," said the veteran 
Mohammed ben Hassan, " builds his hopes upon our 
growing faint and desponding — we must manifest 
unusual cheerfulness and vigor. What would be 
nashness in other service, becomes prudence with 
us." The prince Cidi Yahye agreed with him in 
opinion, and sallied forth with his troops upon all 
kinds of harebrained exploits. They laid ambushes, 
concerted surprises, and made the most desperate 
assaults. The great extent of the christian works 
rendered them weak in many parts : against these 
the Moors directed their attacks, suddenly breaking 
into them, making a hasty ravage, and bearing off 
their booty in triumph to the city. Sometimes they 
would sally forth by the passes and clefts of the 
mountain in the rear of the city, which it was diHi- 
cult to guard, and, hurrying down into the plain, 
would sweep off all cattle and sheep that were grazing 
near the suburbs, and all stragglers from the camp. 

These partisan sallies brought on many sharp and 
bloody encounters, in some of which Don Alonzo de 
Aguilar and the alcayde de los Donzeles distinguish- 
ed themselves greatly. During one of these hot 
skirmishes, which happened on the skirts of the 
mountain, about twilight, a valiant cavalier, named 
Martin Galindo, beheld a powerful Moor dealing dead- 
ly blows about him, and making great havoc among 
the christians. Galindo pressed forward, and chal- 
lenged him to single combat. The Moor, who was 
of the valiant tribe of the Abencerrages, was not 
slow in answering the call. Couching their lances, 
they rushed I'uriously upon each other. At the first 
shock the Moor was wounded in the face, and borne 
out of his saddle. Before Galindo could check his 
steed, and turn from his career, the Moor sprang 
upon his feet, recovered his lance, and, rushing upon 
him, wounded him in the head and the arm. Though 
Galindo was on horseback and the Moor on foot, 
yet such was the prowess and address of the latter, 
that the christian knight being disabled in the arm, 
was in the utmost peril, when his comrades hastened 
to his assistance. At their approach, the valiant pa- 
gan retreated slowly up the rocks, keeping them at 
bay, until he found himself among his companions. 

Several of the young Spanish cavaliers, stung by 
the triumph of this Moslem knight, would have chal- 
lenged others of the Moors to single combat ; but 
king Ferdinand prohibited all vaunting encounters 
of the kind. He forbade his troops, also, to provoke 
skirmishes, well knowing that the .Moors were more 
dextrous than most people in this irregular mode 
of fighting, and were better acquainted with the 
ground. 

CHAPTER X.X.XI. 

HOW TWO FRIARS ARRIVED AT THE CAMP, AND 

HOW THEY CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND. 
While the holy christian army (says Fray Anto- 
nio Agapida) was thus beleaguring this infidel city 



of Baza, there rode into the camp, one day, two rever- 
end friars of the order of Saint Francis. One was 
of portly person, and authoritative air : he bestrode 
a goodly steed, well conditioned and well caparison- 
ed ; while his companion rode beside him, upon a 
humble hack, poorly accoutred, and, as he rode, he 
scarcely raised his eyes from the ground, but main- 
tained a meek and lowly air. 

The arrival of two friars in the camp was not a 
matter of much note, for in these holy wars the 
church militant continually mingled in the affray, 
and helmet and cowl were always seen together ; 
but it was soon discovered that these worthy saints- 
errant were from a far country, and on a mission of 
great import. 

They were, in truth, just arrived from the Holy 
Land, being two of the saintly men who kept vigil 
over the sepulchre of our blessed Lord at Jerusalem. 
He of the tall and portly form and commanding 
presence, was Fray Antonio Millan, prior of the 
Franciscan convent in the holy city. He had a full 
and florid countenance, a sonorous voice, and was 
round, and swelling, and copious in his periods, like 
one accustomed to harangue, and to be listened to 
with deference. His companion was small and spare 
in form, pale of visage, and soft and silken and al- 
most whispering in speech. " He had a humble and 
lowly way," says Agapida, "evermore bowing the 
head, as became one of his calling." Yet he was 
one of the most active, zealous, and effective broth- 
ers of the convent; and when he raised his small 
black eye from the earth, there was a keen glance 
out of the corner, which showed, that though harm- 
less as a dove, he was nevertheless as wise as a 
serpent. 

These holy men had come on a momentous em- 
bassy from the grand soldan of Egypt ; or, as Agap- 
ida terms him in the language of the day, the soldan 
of Babylon. The league which had been made be- 
tween that potentate and his arch-foe the Grand- 
Turk Bajazet II., to unite in arms for the salvation 
of Granada, as has been mentioned in a previous 
chapter of this chronicle, had come to nought. The 
infidel princes had again taken up arms against each 
other, and had relapsed into their ancient hostility. 
Still the grand soldan, as head of the whole Moslem 
sect, considered himself bound to preserve the king- 
dom of Granada from the grasp of unbelievers. He 
dispatched, therefore, these two holy friars with 
letters to the Castilian sovereigns, as well as to the 
pope and to the king of Naples, remonstrating against 
the evils done to the Moors of the kingdom of Gra- 
nada, who were of his faith and kindred ; whereas it 
was well known that great numbers of christians 
were indulged and protected in the full enjoyment of 
their property, their liberty, and their faith, in his 
dominions. He insisted, therefore, that this war 
should cease ; that the Moors of Granada should be 
reinstated in the territory of which they had been 
dispossessed ; otherwise he threatened to put to 
death all the christians beneath his sway, to de- 
molish their convents and temples, and to destroy 
the holy sepulchre. 

This fearful menace had spread consternation 
among the christians of Palestine ; and when the 
intrepid Fray Antonio Millan and his lowly compan- 
ion departed on their mission, they were accom- 
panied far from the gates of Jerusalem by an anx- 
ious throng of brethren and disciples, who remained 
watching them with tearful eyes, as they journeyed 
over the plains of Judea. 

These holy ambassadors were received with great 
distinction by king Ferdinand ; for men of their cloth 
had ever high honor and consideration in his court. 
He had long and frequent conversations with them, 



'2fi4 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



•about the Holy Land ; the state of the christian 
church in the dominions of the grand soldan, and of 
the policy and conduct of that arch-infidel towards 
It. The portly prior of the Franciscan convent was 
full, and round, and oratorical, in his replies ; and 
the king expressed himself much pleased with the 
eloquence of his periods; but the politic monarch 
was observed to lend a close and attentive ear to the 
whispering voice of the lowly companion, " whose 
discourse," adds Agapida, " though modest and low, 
was clear and fluent, and full of subtle wisdom." 
These holy friars had visited Rome in their journey- 
ing, where they had delivered the letter of the sol- 
dan to the sovereign pontiff. His holiness had writ- 
ten by them to the Castilian sovereigns, requesting 
to know what reply they had to ofier to this demand 
of the oriental potentate. 

The king of Naples also wrote to them on the 
subject, but in wary terms. He inquired into the 
cause of this war with the Moors of Granada, and 
expressed great marvel at its events, as if (says 
Agapida) both were not notorious throughout all the 
christian world. " Nay," adds the worthy friar with 
becoming indignation, " he uttered opinions savoring 
of little better than damnable heresy ; — for he ob- 
served, that although the Moors were of a different 
sect, they ought not to be maltreated without just 
cause; and hinted that if the Castilian sovereigns did 
not suffer any crying injury from the Moors, it would 
be improper to do any thing which might draw great 
damage upon the christians ; as if, when once the 
sword of the faith was drawn, it ought ever to be 
sheathed until this scum of heathendom were utterly 
destroyed or driven from the land. But this mon- 
arch," he continues, "was more kindly disposed 
towards the infidels than was honest and lawful in 
a christian prince, and was at that very time in 
league with the soldan against their common enemy 
the Grand-Turk." 

These pious sentiments of the truly Catholic 
Agapida, are echoed by Padre Mariana, in his histo- 
r)' ;* but the worthy chronicler Pedro Abarca attrib- 
utes the interference of the king of Naples, not to 
lack of orthodoxy in religion, but to an excess of 
worldly policy ; he being apprehensive that, should 
Ferdinand conquer the Moors of Granada, he might 
have time and means to assert a claim of the house 
of Arragon to the crown of Naples. 

" King Ferdinand," continues the worthy father 
Pedro Abarca, " was no less master of dissimulation 
than his cousin of Naples ; so he replied to him with 
the utmost suavity of manner, going into a minute 
and patient vindication of the war, and taking great 
apparent pains to inform him of those things which 
all the world knew, but of which the other pretended 
to be ignorant. "t At the same time he soothed his 
solicitude about the fate of the christians in the em- 
pire of the grand soldan, assuring him that the great 
revenue extorted from them in rents and tributes, 
would be a certain protection against the threatened 
violence. 

To the pope he made the usual vindication of the 
war ; that it was for the recovery of ancient terri- 
tory, usurped by the Moors ; for the punishment of 
wars and violences inflicted upon the christians ; 
and finally, that it was a holy crusade for the glory 
and advancement of the church. 

" It was a truly edifying sight," savs Agapida, " to 
behold these friars, after they had had their audience 
of the king, moving about the camp always sur- 
rounded by nobles and cavaliers of high and martial 
renown. These were insatiable in their questions 



• Mariana, lib. 25. cap. 15. 

t Ab.iraca, Anales de Aragon, Rey xxx. cap. 3. 



about the Holy Land, the state of the sepulchre of 
our Lord, and the sufferings of the devoted brethren 
who guarded it, and the pious pilgrims who resorted 
there to pay their vows. The portly prior of the 
convent would stand with lofty and shining counte- 
nance in the midst of these iron warriors, and de- 
claim with resounding eloquence on the history of 
the sepulchre ; but the humbler brother would ever 
and anon sigh deeply, and in low tones utter some 
tale of suffering and outrage, at which his steel-clad 
hearers would grasp the hilts of their swords, and 
mutter between their clinched teeth prayers for an- 
other crusade." 

The pious fnars, having finished their mission to 
the king, and been treated with all due distinction, 
took their leave and wended their way to Jaen, to 
visit the most Catholic of queens. Isabella, whose 
heart was the seat of piety, received them as sacred 
men, invested with more than human dignity. During 
their residence at Jaen, they were continually in the 
royal presence ; the respectable prior of the convent 
moved and melted the ladies of the court by his 
florid rhetoric, but his lowly companion was observ- 
ed to have continual access to the ro)al ear. That 
saintly and soft-spoken messenger (says Agapida) 
received the reward of his humility ; for the queen, 
moved by his frequent representations, made in all 
modesty and lowliness of spirit, granted a yearly sum 
in perpetuity, of one thousand ducats in gold, for the 
support of the monks of the convent of the holy 
sepulchre.* 

Moreover, on the departure of these holy ambas- 
sadors, the excellent and most Catholic queen deliv- 
ered to them a veil devoutly embroidered with her 
own royal hands, to be placed over the holy sepul- 
chre ; — a precious and inestimable present, which 
called forth a most eloquent tribute of thanks from 
the portly prior, but which brought tears into the 
eyes of his lowly companion.! 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



HOW QUEEN ISABELLA DEVISED MEANS TO SUP- 
PLY THE ARMY WITH PROVISIONS. 

It has been the custom to laud the conduct and 
address of king Ferdinand, in this most arduous and 
protracted war; but the sage Agapida is more dis- 
posed to give credit to the counsels and measures of 
the queen, who, he observes, though less ostensible 
in action, was in truth the very soul, the vital prin- 
ciple, of this great enterprise. While king Ferdinand 
was bustling in his camp and making a glittering dis- 
play with his gallant chivalry, she, surrounded by 
her saintly counsellors, in the episccyjal palace of 
Jaen, was devising ways and ineans to keep the king 
and his army in existence. She had pledged herself 
to keep up a supply of men, and money, and provis- 



* " La Reyna dio a los Frayles mil ducados de renta cido ai^o 
para el suslanto de losreligiosos del santo sepulcro, que es la mejor 
iimosna y sustanto que hasta nuestros dias !ia qiiedado a estos re- 
ligiosas de Gerusalem; paradonde les dio la Reyna un veto labrado 
por sus manos, para poner encimade la santa sepulturadel Seizor." 
— Garibay^ Compend. Hi-st., lib. 18, cap. 36. 

t It is proper to mention the result of this mission of the two 
friars, and which the worthy Agapida has neglected to record. 
At a subsequent perind, the Catholic sovereigns sent the distin- 
guished historian . Pietro Martyr, of Angleria. as ambassador to the 
grand soldan. That able man made such repre.^-entations as were 
perfectly satisfactory to the oriental potentate. He also obtained 
from him the remission of many exactions and extortions hereto- 
fore practised upon christian pilgrims visiting the holy sepulchre ; 
which, it is presumed, had been gently but cogently detailed to the 
monarch by the lowly friar. Pielro Martyr wrote an account of his 
embassy to the grand soldan— a work greatly esteemed by the 
learned, and containing much curious information. It is entitled, 
De Legations Bahylonica. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



265 



ions, until ttie city should be tal<en. The hardships 
of the siege caused a fearful waste of life, but the 
supply of men was the least difficult part of her un- 
dertaking'. So beloved was the queen by the chivalry 
of Spain, that on her calling on them for assistance, 
not a grandee or cavalier that yet lingered at home, 
but either repaired in person or sent forces to the 
camp ; the ancient and warlike families vied with 
each other in marshalling forth their vassals, and 
thus the besieged Moors beheld each day fresh troops 
arriving before their city, and new ensigns and pen- 
nons displayed, emblazoned with arms well known 
to the veteran warriors. 

But the most arduous task was to keep up a regu- 
lar supply of provisions. It was not the army alone 
that had to be supported, but also the captured towns 
and their garrisons ; for the whole country around 
them had been ravaged, and the conquerors were in 
danger of starving in the midst of the land they had 
desolated. To transport the daily supplies for such 
immense numbers, was a gigantic undertaking, in a 
country where there was neither Vv-ater conveyance 
nor roads for carriages. Every thing had to be borne 
by beasts of burthen over rugged and broken paths 
of the mountains, and through dangerous defiles, ex- 
posed to the attacks and plunderings of the Moors. 

The wary and calculating merchants, accustomed 
to supply the army, shrunk from engaging, at their 
own risk, in so hazardous an undertaking. The 
queen therefore hired fourteen thousand beasts of 
burthen, and ordered all the wheat and barley to be 
bought up in Andalusia, and in the domains of the 
knights of Santiago and Calatraya. She distributed 
the administration of these supplies among able and 
confidential persons. Some were employed to col- 
lect the grain ; others, to take it to the mills ; others, 
to superintend the grinding and delivery ; and others, 
to convey it to the camp. To every two hundred 
animals a muleteer was allotted, to take charge of 
them on the route. Thus, great lines of convoys 
were in constant movement, traversing to and Iro, 
guarded by large bodies of troops, to defend them 
from hovering parties of the Moors. Not a single 
day's intermission was allowed, for the army de- 
pended upon the constant arrival of these supplies 
for daily food. The grain, when brought into the 
camp, was desposited in an immense granary, and 
sold to the army at a fi.xed price, which was never 
either raised or lowered. 

Incredible were the expenses incurred in these sup- 
plies ; but the queen had ghos^tly advisers, thoroughly 
versed in the art of getting at the resources of the 
country. Many worthy prelates opened the deep 
purses of the church, and furnished loans from the 
revenues of their dioceses and convents ; and their 
pious contributions were eventually rewarded by 
Providence an hundred fold. Merchants and other 
wealthy individuals, confident of the punctual faith 
of the queen, advanced large sums on the security 
of her word ; many noble families lent their plate, 
without waiting to be asked. The queen also sold 
certain annual rents in inheritance at great sacrifices, 
assigning the revenues of towns and cities for the 
payment. Finding all this insufficient to satisfy the 
enormous expenditure, she sent her gold and plate 
and all her jewels to the cities of Valentia and Bar- 
celona, where they were pledged for a great amount 
of money, which was immediately appropriated to 
keep up the supplies of the army. 

Thus, through the wonderful activity, judgment, 
and enterprise of this heroic and magnanimous 
woman, a great host, encamped in the heart ot a 
warlike country, accessible only over mountain roads, 
was maintained in continual abundance. Nor was 
it supplied merely with the necessaries and comforts 



of life. The powerful escorts drew merchants and 
artificers from all parts, to repair, as if in caravans, 
to this great military market. In a little while, the 
camp abounded with tradesmen and artists of all 
kinds, to administer to the luxury and ostentation of 
the vouthful chivalry. Here might be seen cunning 
artificers in steel, and accomplished armorers, achiev- 
ing those rare and sumptuous helmets and cuirasses, 
richly gilt, inlaid, and embossed, in which the Span- 
ish cavaliers delighted. Saddlers and harness- 
makers and horse-milliners, also, were there, whose 
tents glittered with gorgeous housings and capari- 
sons. The merchants spread forth their sumptuous 
silks, cloths, brocades, fine linen, and tapestry. The 
tents of the nobility were prodigally decorated with 
all kinds of the richest stuffs, and dazzled the eye 
with their magnificence : nor could the grave looks 
and grave speeches of king Ferdinand prevent his 
youthful cavaliers from vying with each other in the 
splendor of their dresses and caparisons, on all oc- 
casions of parade and ceremony. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



OF THE DISASTERS WHICH BEFELL THE CAMP. 

While the christian camp, thus gay and gor- 
geous, spread itself out like a holyday pageant before 
the walls of Baza — while a long line of beasts of bur- 
then, laden with provisions and luxuries, were seen 
descending the valley from morning till night, and 
pouring into the camp a continued stream of abun- 
dance, — the unfortunate garrison found their re- 
sources rapidly wasting away, and famine already 
began to pinch the peaceful part of the community. 

Cidi Yahye had acted with great spirit and valor, 
as long as there was any prospect of success ; but he 
began to lose his usual fire and animation, and was 
observed to pace the walls of Baza with a pensive 
air, casting many a wistful look towards the chris- 
tian camp, and sinking into profound reveries and 
cogitations. The veteran alcayde, Mohammed ben 
Hassan, noticed these desponding moods, and en- 
deavored to rally the spirits of the prince. "The 
rainy season is at hand," would he cry ; " the floods 
will soon pour down from the mountains ; the rivers 
will overflow their banks, and inundate the valleys. 
The christian king already begins to waver ; he dare 
not linger, and encounter such a season, in a plain 
cut up by canals and rivulets. A single wintry storm 
from our mountains would wash away his canvas 
city, and sweep off those gay pavilions like wreaths 
of snow before the blast." 

The prince Cidi Yahye took heart at these words, 
and counted the days as they passed until the stormy 
season should commence. As he watched the chris- 
tian camp, he beheld it one morning in universal 
commotion : there was an unusual sound of ham- 
mers in every part, as if some new engines of war 
were constructing. At length, to his astonishment, 
the walls and roofs of houses began to appear above 
the bulwarks. In a little while, there were above a 
thousand edifices of wood and plaister erected, cov- 
ered with tiles taken from the demolished towers of 
the orchards, and bearing the pennons of various 
commanders and cavaliers; while the common sol- 
diery constructed huts, of clay and branches of trees, 
thatched with straw^ Thus, to the dismay of the 
Moors, within four days the light tents and gay pa- 
vilions which had whitened their hills and plains, 
passed away like summer clouds ; and the unsub- 
stantial camp assumed the solid appearance of a city 



266 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



laid out into streets and squares. In tlie centre rose 
a large edifice which overlool<ed the whole ; and the 
royal standard of Arragon and Castile, proudly float- 
ing- above it, showed it to be the palace of the 
king.* 

Ferdinand had taken the sudden resolution thus 
to turn his camp into a city, partly to provide against 
the approaching season, and partly to convince the 
Moors of his fixed determination to continue the 
siege. In their haste to erect their dwellings, how- 
ever, the Spanish cavaliers had not properly consid- 
ered the nature of the climate. For the greater part 
of the year, there scarcely falls a drop of rain on the 
thirsty soil of Andalusia. The ramblas, or dry chan- 
nels of the torrents, remain deep and arid gashes and 
clefts in the sides of the mountains ; the perennial 
streams shrink up to mere threads of water, which, 
tinkling down the bottoms of the deep barrancas or 
ravines, scarce feed and keep alive the rivers of the 
valleys. The rivers, almost lost in their wide and 
naked beds, seem like thirsty rills, winding in ser- 
pentine mazes through deserts of sand and stones ; 
and so shallow and tranquil in their course, as to be 
forded in safety in almost every part. One autumnal 
tempest of rain, however, changes the whole face of 
nature :— the clouds break in deluges among the vast 
congregation of mountains ; the ramblas are sud- 
denly filled with raging floods ; the tinkling rivulets 
swell to thundering torrents, that come roaring down 
from the mountains, tumbling great masses of rocks 
in their career. The late meandering river spreads 
over its once naked bed, lashes its surges against the 
banks, and rushes like a wide and foaming inunda- 
tion through the valley. 

Scarcely had the christians finished their slightly 
built edifices, when an autumnal tempest of the kind 
came scouring from the mountains. The camp was 
immediately overflowed. Many of the houses, un- 
dermined by the floods or beaten by the rain, crum- 
bled away and fell to the earth, burying man and 
beast beneath their ruins. Several valuable lives 
were lost, and great numbers of horses and other 
animals perished. To add to the distress and con- 
fusion of the camp, the daily supply of provisions 
suddenly ceased ; for the rain had broken up the 
roads, and rendered the rivers impassable. A panic 
seized upon the army, for the cessation of a single 
day's supply produced a scarcity of bread and prov- 
ender. Fortunately, the rain was but transient : the 
torrents rushed by, and ceased ; the rivers shrunk 
back again to their narrow channels, and the convoys 
that had been detained upon their banks arrived 
safely in the camp. 

No sooner did queen Isabella hear of this interrup- 
tion of her supplies, than, with her usual vigilance 
and activity, she provided against its recurrence. 
She dispatched six thousand foot-soldiers, under the 
command of experienced officers, to repair the roads, 
and to make causeways and bridges, tor the distance 
of seven Spanish leagues. The troops, also, who 
had been stationed in the mountains by the king to 
guard the defiles, made two paths, — one for the con- 
voys going to the camp, and the other for those re- 
turning, that they might not meet and impede each 
other. The edifices which had been demolished by 
the late floods were rebuilt in a firmer manner, and 
precautions were taken to protect the camp from 
future inundations. 



• Cura de fos Palacios, Pulgar, &c. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

ENCOUNTERS BETWEEN THE CHRISTIANS AND 
MOORS, BEFORE BAZA; AND THE DEVOTION 
OF THE INHABITANTS TO THE DEFENCE OF 
THEIR CITY. 

When King Ferdinand beheld the ravage and 
confusion produced by a single autumnal storm, and 
bethought him of all the maladies to which a be" 
sieging camp is exposed in inclement seasons, he 
began to feel his compassion kindling for the suffering 
people of Baza, and an inclination to grant them 
more favorable terms. He sent, therefore, several 
messages to the alcayde Mohammed ben Hassan, 
offering liberty of person and security of property 
for the inhabitants, and large rewards for himself, if 
he would surrender the city. 

The veteran Mohammed was not to be dazzled by 
the splendid offers of the monarch ; he had received 
exaggerated accounts of the damage done to the 
christian camp by the late storm, and of the suffer- 
ings and discontents of the army in consequence of 
the transient interruption of supplies : he considered 
the overtures of Ferdinand as proofs of the desperate 
state of his affairs. " A little more patience, a little 
more patience," said the shrewd old warrior, "and 
we shall see this cloud of christian locusts driven 
away before the winter storms. When they once 
turn their backs, it will be our turn to strike ; and 
with the help of Allah, the blow shall be decisive." 
He sent a firm though courteous refusal to the 
Castilian monarch, and in the mean time animated 
his companions to sally forth with more spirit than 
ever, to attack the Spanish outposts and those labor- 
ing in the trenches. The consequence was, a daily 
occurrence of the most daring and bloody skirmishes, 
that cost the lives of many of the bravest and most 
adventurous cavaliers of either army. 

In one of these sallies, nearly three hundred horse 
and two thousand foot mounted the heights behind 
the city, to capture the christians W'ho were employ- 
ed upon the works. They came by surprise upon a 
body of guards, esquires of the count de Ureiia, kill- 
ed some, put the rest to flight, and pursued them 
down the mountain, until they came in sight of a 
small force under the count de Tendilla and Gon- 
salvo of Cordova. The Moors came rushing down 
with such fury, that many of the men of the count 
de Tendilla betook themselves to flight. The brave 
count considered it less dangerous to fight than to 
fly. Bracing his buckler, therefore, and grasping 
his trusty weapon, he stood his ground with his 
accustomed prowess. Gonsalvo of Cordova ranged 
himself by his side, and, marshalling the troops which 
remained with them, they made a valiant front to the 
Moors. 

The infidels pressed them hard, and were gaining 
the advantage, when Alonzo de Aguilar, hearing of 
the danger of his brother Gonsalvo, flew to his as- 
sistance, accompanied by the count of Urena and a 
body of their troops. A hot fight ensued, from cliff 
to cliff and glen to glen. The Moors were fewer in 
number, but they excelled in the dexterity and light- 
ness requisite tor their scrambling skirmishes. They 
were at length driven from their v.antage-ground, 
and pursued by Alonzo de Aguilar and his brother 
Gonsalvo to the very suburbs of the city, leaving 
many of the bravest of their men upon the field. 

Such was one of innumerable rough encounters 
which were daily taking place, in which many brave 
cavaliers were slain, without any apparent benefit to 
either party. The Moors, notwithstanding repeated 
defeats and losses, continued to sally forth daily, 
with astonishing spirit and vigor, and the obstinacy 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



2()7 



of their defence seemed to increase with their suffer- 
ings. 

The prince Cidi Yahye was ever foremost in these 
sallies, but he grew daily more despairing of success. 
All the money in the military chest was expended, 
and there was no longer wherewithal to pay the 
hired troops. Still the veteran Mohammed ben Has- 
san undertook to provide lor this emergency. Sum- 
moning the principal inhabitants, he represented the 
necessity of some exertion and sacrifice on their part, 
to maintain the defence of the city. "The enemy," 
said he, " dreads the approach of winter, and our 
perseverance drives him to despair. A little longer, 
and he will leave you in quiet enjoyment of your 
homes and families. But our troops must be paid, 
to keep them in good heart. Our money is exhausted, 
and all our supplies are cut off. It is impossible to 
continue our defence, without your aid." 

Upon this the citizens consulted together, and they 
collected all their vessels of gold and silver, and 
brought them to Mohammed ben Hassan : " Take 
these," said they, "and coin them, or sell them, or 
pledge them, for money wherewith to pay the troops." 
The women of Baza also were seized with generous 
emulation : " Shall we deck ourselves with gorgeous 
apparel," said they, " when our country is desolate, 
and its defenders in want of bread.' " So they took 
their collars, and bracelets and anklets, and other 
ornaments of gold, and all their jewels, and put them 
in the hands of the veteran alcayde : " Take these 
spoils of our vanity," said they, "and let them con- 
tribute to the defence of our homes and families. If 
Baza be delivered, we need no jewels to grace our 
rejoicing ; and if Baza fall, of what avail are orna- 
ments to the captive ? " 

By these contributions was Mohammed enabled to 
pay the soldiery, and to carry on the defence of the 
city with unabated spirit. 

Tidings were speedily conveyed to king Ferdi- 
nand, ot this generous devotion on the part of the 
people of Baza, and the hopes which the Moorish 
commanders gave them that the christian army would 
soon abandon the siege in despair. " They shall have 
a convincing proof of the fallacy of such hopes," said 
the politic monarch : so he wrote forthwith to queen 
Isabella, praying her to come to the camp in state, 
with all her train and retinue, and publicly to take 
up her residence there for the winter. By this 
means, the Moors would be convinced of the settled 
determination of the sovereigns to persist in the 
siege until the city should surrender, and he trusted 
they would be brought to speedy capitulation. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



HOW QUEEN ISABELLA ARRIVED AT THE CAMP, 
AND THE CONSEQUENCES OF HER ARRIVAL. 

Mohammed ben Hassan still encouraged his 
companions with hopes that the royal army would 
soon relinquish the siege ; when they heard, one day, 
shouts of joy from the christian camp, and thunder- 
ing salvos of artillery. Word was brought, at the 
same time, from the sentinels on the watch-towers, 
that a christian army was approaching down the 
valley. Mohammed and his fellow-commanders as- 
cended one of the highest towers of the walls, and 
beheld in truth a numerous force, in shining array, 
descending the hills, and heard the distant clangor of 
the trumpet and the faint swell of triumphant music. 

As the host drew nearer, they descried a stately 
dame magnificently attired, whom they soon dis- 
covered to be the queen. She was riding on a mule, 



the sumptuous trappings of which w'ere resplendent 
with gold, and reached to the ground. On her right 
hand rode her daughter, the princess Isabella, equally 
splendid in her array ; and on her left, the venerable 
grand cardinal of Spain. A noble train of ladies and 
cavaliers followed her, together with pages and 
esquires, and a numerous guard of hidalgos of high 
rank, arrayed in superb armor. When the veteran 
Mohammed ben Hassan beheld that this was the 
queen Isabella, arriving in state to take up her resi- 
dence in the camp, his heart failed him ; he shook 
his head mournfully, and, turning to his captains, 
" Cavaliers," said he, " the fate of Baza is decided ! " 

The Moorish commanders remained gazing with 
a mingled feeling of grief and admiration at this 
magnificent pageant, which foreboded the fall of 
their city. Some of the troops would have sallied 
forth on one of their desperate skirmishes, to attack 
the roval guard ; but the prince Cidi Yahye forbade 
them ; nor would he allow any artillery to be dis- 
charged, or any molestation or insult to be offered ; 
for the character of Isabella was venerated even by 
the Moors ; and most of the commanders possessed 
that high and chivalrous courtesy which belongs to 
heroic spirits — for they were among the noblest and 
bravest cavaliers of the Moorish nation. 

The inhabitants of Baza, when they learnt that the 
christian queen was approaching the camp, eagerly 
sought every eminence that could command a view 
of the plain ; and every battlement, and tower, and 
mosque, was covered with turbaned heads gazing at 
the glorious spectacle. They beheld king Ferdinand 
issue forth in royal state, attended by the marques 
of Cadiz, the Master of Santiago, the duke of Alva, 
the admiral of Castile, and many other nobles of re- 
nown ; while the whole chivalry of the camp, sump- 
tuously arrayed, followed in his train, and the popu- 
lace rent the air with acclamations at the sight of 
the patriot queen. 

When the sovereigns had met and embraced each 
other, the two hosts mingled together and entered 
the camp in martial pomp; and the eyes of the in- 
fidel beholders were dazzled by the flash of armor, 
the splendor of golden caparisons, the gorgeous dis- 
play of silks and brocades and velvets, of tossing 
plumes and fluttering banners. There was at the 
same time a triumphant sound of drums and trump- 
ets, clarions and sackbuts, mingled with the sweet 
melody of the dulcimer, which came swelling in 
bursts of harmony that seemed to rise up to the 
heavens.* 

On the arrival of the queen, (says the historian 
Hernando del Pulgar, who was present at the time,) 
it was marvellous to behold how all at once the rigor 
and turbulence of war were softened, and the storm 
of passion sunk into a calm. The sword was sheath- 
ed ; the cross-bow no longer lanched its deadly 
shafts ; and the artillery, which had hitherto kept up 
an incessant uproar, now ceased its thundering. On 
both sides, there was still a vigilant guard kept up ; 
the sentinels bristled the walls of Baza with their 
lances, and the guards patrolled the christian camp ; 
but there was no sallying forth to skirmish, nor any 
wanton violence or carnage. 

Prince Cidi Yahye saw, by the arrival of the 
queen, that the christians were detemiined to con- 
tinue the siege, and he knew that the city would 
have to capitulate. He had been prodigal of the 
lives of his soldiers, as long as he thought a military 
good was to be gained by the sacrifice ; but he vvas 
sparing of their blood in a hopeless cause, and 
weary of exasperating the enemy by an obstinate yet 
hopeless defence. 



* Cura de los Palacios. 



268 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



At the request of prince Cidi Yahye, a parley was 
granted, and the Master commander of Leon, Don 
Gutiere de Cardenas, was appointed to cotiter with 
the veteran alcayde Mohammed. They met at an 
appointed place, within view of both camp and city, 
honorably attended by cavaliers of either army. 
Their meeting- was highly courteous, for they had 
learnt, from rough encounters in the field, to admire 
each other's prowess. The commander of Leon, in 
an earnest speech, pointed out the hopelessness of 
any further defence, and warned Mohammed of the 
ills which Malaga had incurred by its obstinacy. " I 
promise, in the name of my sovereigns," said he, 
•' that if you surrender immediately, the inhabitants 
shall be treated as subjects, and protected in prop- 
erty, liberty, and religion. If you refuse, you, who 
are now renowned as an able and judicious com- 
mander, will be chargeable with the confiscations, 
captivities, and deaths, which may be suffered by 
the people of Baza." 

The commander ceased, and Mohammed returned 
to the city to consult with his companions. It was 
evident that all further resistance was hopeless ; but 
the Moorish commanders felt that a cloud might 
rest upon their names, should they, of their own dis- 
cretion, surrender so important a place without its 
having sustained an assault. Prince Cidi Yahye re- 
quested permission, therefore, to send an envoy to 
Guadix, with a letter to the old monarch El Zagal, 
treating of the surrender; the request was granted, 
a safe-conduct assured to the envoy, and the veteran 
alcayde Mohammed ben Hassan departed upon this 
momentous mission. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 



SURRENDER OF BAZA. 



The old warrior king was seated in an inner cham- 
ber of the castle of Guadix, much cast down in spirit, 
and ruminating on his gloomy fortunes, when an en- 
voy from Baza was announced, and the veteran al- 
cayde Mohammed stood b-fore him. El Zagal saw 
disastrous tidings written in his countenance : " How 
fares it with Baza ? " said he, summoning up his spirits 
to the question. " Let this inform thee," replied 
Mohammed ; and he delivered into his hands the 
letter from the prince Cidi Yahye. 

This letter spoke of the desperate situation of 
Baza ; the impossibihty of holding out longer, with- 
out assistance from El Zagal ; and the favorable 
terms held out by the Castilian sovereigns. Had it 
been written by any other person. El Zagal might 
have received it with distrust and indignation ; but 
he confided in Cidi Yahye as in a second self, and 
the words of his letter sunk deep in his heart. Wlien 
he had finished reading it, he sighed deeply, and re- 
mained for some time lost in thought, with his head 
drooping upon his bosom. Recovering himself, at 
length, he called together the alfaquis and the old 
men of Guadix, and, communicating the tidings from 
Baza, solicited their advice. It was a sign of sore 
trouble of mind and dejection of heart, when El Zagal 
sought the advice of others ; but his fierce courage 
was tamed, for he saw the end of his power approach- 
ing. The alfaquis and the old men did but increase 
the distraction of his mind by a variety of counsel, 
none of which appeared of any avail ; for unless Baza 
were succored, it was impossible that it should hold 
out ; and every attempt to succor it had proved inef- 
fectual. 

El Zagal dismissed his council in despair, and 
summoned the veteran Mohammed before him. " Al- 



lah Acbar ! " exclaimed he, " God is great ; there is 
but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet. Return 
to my cousin, Cidi Yahye ; tell him it is out of my 
power to aid him ; he must do as seems to him for 
the best. The people of Baza have performed deeds 
worthy of immortal fame ; 1 cannot ask them to en- 
counter further ills and perils, in maintaining a hope- 
less defence." 

The reply of El Zagal determined the fate of the 
city. Cidi Yahye and his fellow commanders imme- 
diately capitulated, and were granted the most favor- 
able terms. The cavaliers and soldiers who had 
come from other parts to the defence of the place, 
were permitted to depart freely with their arms, 
horses, and effects. The inhabitants had their choice, 
either to depart with their property, or to dwell in 
the suburbs, in the enjoyment of their religion and 
laws, taking an oath of fealty to the sovereigns, and 
paying the same tribute they had paid to the Moor- 
ish kings. The city and citadel were to be delivered 
up in six days, within which period the inhabitants 
were to remove all their effects ; ami in the mean 
time, they were to place, as hostages, fifteen Moorish 
youths, sons of the principal inhabitants, in the hands 
of the commander of Leon. When Cidi Yahye and 
the alcayde Mohammed came to deliver up the hos- 
tages, among whom were the sons of the latter, they 
paid homage to the king and queen, who received 
them with the utmost courtesy and kindness, and or- 
dered magnificent presents to be given to them, and 
likewise to the other Moorish cavaliers, consisting 
of money, robes, horses, and other things of great 
value. 

The prince Cidi Yahye was so captivated by the 
grace, the dignity, and generosity of Isabella, and the 
princely courtesy of F"erdinand, that he vowed never 
again to draw his sword against such magnanimous 
sovereigns. The queen, charmed with his gallant 
bearing and his animated professions of devotion, as- 
sured him, that, having him on her side, she already 
considered the war terminated which had desolated 
the kingdom of Granada. 

Mighty and irresistible are words of praise from 
the lips of sovereigns. Cidi Yahye was entirely sub- 
dued by this fair speech from the illustrious Isabella. 
His heart burned with a sudden flame of loyalty to- 
wards the sovereigns. He begged to be enrolled 
amongst the most devoted of their subjects ; and, in 
the fervor of his sudden zeal, engaged not merely to 
dedicate his sword to their service, but to exert all 
his influence, which was great, in persuading his 
cousin, Muley Abdalla el Zagal, to surrender the 
cities of Guadix and Almeria, and to give up all fur- 
ther hostilities. Nay, so powerful was the effect 
produced upon his mind by his conversation with the 
sovereigns, that it extended even to his religion; 
for he became immediately enlightened as to the 
heathenish abominations of the vile sect of Mahomet, 
and struck with the truths of Christianity, as illustra- 
ted by such powerful monarchs. He consented, there- 
fore, to be baptized, and to be gathered into the fold 
of the church. The pious Agapida indulges in a 
triumphant strain of exultation, on the sudden and 
surprising conversion of this princely infidel : he con- 
siders it one of the greatest achievements of the Cath- 
olic sovereigns, and indeed one of the marvellous 
occurrences of this holy war : " But it is given to 
saints and pious monarchs," says he, " to work mira- 
cles in the cause of the faith ; and such did the most 
Catholic Ferdinand, in the conversion of the prince 
Cidi Yahye." 

Some of the Arabian writers have sought to lessen 
the wonder of this miracle, by alluding to great reve- 
nues granted to the prince and his heirs by the Cas- 
tilian monarchs, together with a territory in Marche- 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



2G9 



na, with towns, lands, and vassals ; but in this (says 
Agapida) we only see a wise precaution of king Fer- 
dinand, to clinch and secure the conversion of his 
proselyte. The policy of the Catholic monarch was 
at all times equal to his piety. Instead also of vaunt- 
ing of this great conversion, and making a public 
parade of the entry of the prince into the church, 
king Ferdinand ordered that the baptism should be 
performed in private, and kept a profound secret. 
He feared that Cidi Yahye might otherwise be de- 
nounced as an apostate, and abhorred and abandon- 
ed by the IVloors, and thus his influence destroyed in 
bringing the war to a speedy termination.* 

The veteran Mohammed ben Hassan was likewise 
won by the magnanimity and munificence of the 
Castilian sovereigns, and entreated to be received 
into their service ; and his example was followed by 
many other Moorish cavaliers, whose services were 
generously accepted and magnificently rewarded. 

Thus, after a siege of six months and twenty days, 
the city of Baza surrendered on the 4th of Decem- 
ber, 1489; the festival of the glorious Santa Barbara, 
who is said, in the Catholic calendar, to preside over 
thunder and lightning, fire and gunpowder, and all 
kinds of cumbustious explosions. The king and 
queen made their solemn and triumphant entry on 
the following day ; and the public jov was heighten- 
ed by the sight of upwards of five hundred christian 
captives, men. women, and children, delivered from 
the Moorish dungeons. 

The loss of the christians in this siege amounted 
to twenty thousand men, of whom seventeen thou- 
sand died of disease, and not a few of mere cold, — 
a kind of death (says the historian Mariana) pecul- 
iarly uncomfortable ; but (adds the venerable Jesuit) 
as these latter were chiefly people of ignoble rank, 
baggage-carriers and such like, the loss was not of 
great importance. 

The surrender of Baza waf followed by that of 
Almunecar, Tavernas, and most of the fortresses of 
the Alpuxarra mountains ; the inhabitants hoped, by 
prompt and voluntary' submission, to secure equally 
favorable terms with those granted to the captured 
city, and the alcaydes to receive similar rewards to 
those lavished on its commanders; nor were either 
of them disappointed. The inhabitants were per- 
mitted to remain as Mudexares, in the quiet enjoy- 
ment of their property and religion ; and as to the 
alcaydes, when they came to the camp to render up 
their charges, they were received by Ferdinand with 
distinguished favor, and rewarded with presents of 
money in proportion to the importance of the places 
they had commanded. Care was taken by the politic 
monarch, however, not to wound their pride or shock 
their delicacy ; so these sums were paid under color 
of arrears due to them for their services to the former 
government. Ferdinand had conquered by dint of 
sword, in the earlier ])art of the w-ar ; but he found 
gold as potent as steel, in this campaign of Baza. 

With several of these mercenary chieftains came 
one named All Aben Fahar, a seasoned warrior, who 
had held many important commands. He was a 
Moor of a lofty, stern, and melancholy aspect, and 
stood silent and apart, while his companions surren- 
dered their several fortresses and retired laden with 
treasure. When it came to his turn to speak, he ad- 
dressed the sovereigns with the frankness of a sol- 
dier, but with a tone of dejection and despair. 

" I am a Moor," said he, " and of Moorish lineage, 
and am alcayde of the fair towns and castles of Pur- 
chena and Paterna. These were intrusted to me to 
defend ; but those who should have stood by me 
have lost all strength and courage, and seek only for 



• Conde, torn. 3, cap. 40. 



security. These fortresses, therefore, most potent 
sovereigns, are yours, whenever you will send to 
take possession of them." 

Large sums of gold were immediately ordered by 
Ferdinand to be delivered to the alcayde, as a recom- 
pense for so important a surrender. The Moor, 
however, put back the gift with a firm and haughty 
demeanor: " I came not." said he, " to sell what is 
not mine, but to yield what fortune has made yours ; 
and your majesties may rest assured that, had I been 
properly seconded, death would have been the price 
at which I would have sold my fortresses, and not 
the gold you offer me." 

The Castilian monarchs were struck with the lofty 
and loyal spirit of the Moor, and desired to engage a 
man of such fidelity in their service ; but the proud 
Moslem could not be induced to serve the enemies 
of his nation and his faith. " 

" Is there nothing then," said queen Isabella, 
" that we can do to gratify thee, and to prove to 
thee our regard?" "Yes," replied the Moor; "I 
have left behind me, in the towns and valleys which I 
have surrendered, manv of my unhappy countrymen, 
with their wives and children, who cannot tear them- 
selves from their native abodes. Give me your royal 
word that they shall be protected in the peaceable 
enjoyment of their religion and their homes." " We 
promise it," said Isabella ; " they shall dwell in peace 
and security. But for thyself — what dost thou ask 
for thyself.' " " Nothing," replied Ali, " but permis- 
sion to pass unmolested, with my horses and effects, 
into Africa." 

The Castilian monarchs would fain have forced 
upon him gold and silver, and superb horses richly 
caparisoned, not as rewards, but as marks of per- 
sonal esteem ; but Ali Aben Fahar declined all 
presents and distinctions, as if he thought it criminal 
to flourish individually during a time of public dis- 
tress; and disdained all prosperity that seemed to 
grow out of the ruins of his country. 

Having received a royal passport, he gathered to- 
gether his horses and servants, his armor and weap- 
ons, and all his warlike effects; bade adieu to his 
weeping countrymen with a brow stamped with an- 
guish, but without shedding a tear; and, mounting 
his Barbai-y steed, turned his back upon the delight- 
ful valleys of his conquered country, departing on his 
lonely way, to seek a soldier's fortune amidst the 
burning sands of Africa.* 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



SUBMISSION OF EL ZAGAL TO THE CASTILIAN 
SOVEREIGNS. 

Evil tidings never fail by the way, through lack 
of messengers ; they are wafted on the wings of the 
wind, and it is as if the very birds of the air would 
bear them to the ear of the unfortunate. The old 
king El Zagal buried himself in the recesses of his 
castle, to hide himself from the light of day, which 
no longer shone prosperously upon him ; but every 
hour brought missives, thundering at the gate, with 
the tale of some new disaster. Fortress after fortress 
had laid its keys at the feet of the christian sover- 
eigns : strip by strip, of warrior mountain and green 
fruitful valley, was torn from his domains, and added 
to the territories of the conquerors. Scarcely a 
remnant remained to him, except a tract of the 
Alpuxarras, and the noble cities of Guadix and 
Almeria. No one any longer stood in awe of the 
fierce old monarch ; the terror of his frown had de- 



• Pulgiir. Garib.iy, lib. 40. cap. 40. Cura de los Palacios. 



270 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



clined with his power. He had arrived at that stage 
of adversity, wlien a man's friends feel emboldened 
to tell him hard truths, and to give him unpalatable 
advice ; and when his spirit is bowed down to listen 
quietly, if not meekly. 

El Zagal was seated on his divan, his whole spirit 
absorbed in rumination on the transitory nature of 
human glory, when his kinsman and brother-in-law, 
the prince Cidi Yahye, was announced. That illus- 
trious convert to the true faith and the interests of 
the conquerors of his country, had hastened to Gua- 
dix with all the fervor of a new proselyte, eager to 
prove his zeal in the service of Heaven and the Cas- 
tilian sovereigns, by persuading the old monarch to 
abjure his faith and surrender his possessions. 

Cidi Yahye still bore the guise of a Moslem, for 
his conversion was as yet a secret. The stern heart 
of El Zagal softened at beholding the face of a kins- 
man, in this hour of adversity. He folded his cousin 
to his bosom, and gave thanks to Allah that amidst 
all his troubles he had still a friend and counsellor 
on whom he might rely. 

Cidi Yahye soon entered upon the real purpose of 
his mission. He represented to El Zagal the des- 
perate stale of affairs, and the irretrievable decline 
of Moorish power in the kingdom of Granada. 
"Fate," said he, " is against our arms; our ruin is 
written in the heavens. Remember the prediction 
of the astrologers, at the birth of your nephew 
Boabdil. We had hoped that their prediction was 
accomplished by his capture at Lucena ; but it is 
now evident that the stars portended not a tempo- 
rary and passing reverse of the kingdom, but a final 
overthrow. The constant succession of disasters 
which have attended our efforts, show that the 
sceptre of Granada is doomed to pass into the 
hands of the christian monarchs. Such,'' concluded 
the prince emphatically, and with a profound and 
pious reverence, " such is the almighty will ot God ! " 

El Zagal listened to these words in mute atten- 
tion, without so much as moving a muscle of his 
face, or winking an eyelid. When the prince had 
concluded, he remained for a long time silent and 
pensive ; at length, heaving a profound sigh from 
the very bottom of his heart, " Alahuma subahana 
hu ! " exclaimed he, " the will of God be done ! Yes, 
my cousin, it is but too evident that such is the will 
of Allah; and what he wills, he fails not to accom- 
plish. Had he not decreed the fall of Granada, this 
arm and this scimitar would have maintained it."* 

"What tlien remains," said Cidi Yahye, "but to 
draw the most advantage from the wreck of empire 
that is left you ? To persist in a war is to bring com- 
plete desolation upon the land, and ruin and death 
upon its faithful inhabitants. Are you disposed to yield 
up your remaining towns to your nephew El Chico, 
that they may augment his power, and derive protec- 
tion from his alliance with the christian sovereigns .■' " 

The eye of El Zagal flashed fire at tills suggestion. 
He grasped the hilt of his scimitar, and gnashed 
his teeth in fury. "Never," cried he, "will I make 
terms with that recreant and slave ! Sooner would I 
see the banners of the christian monarchs floating 
above my walls, than they should add to the posses- 
sions of the vassal Boabdil I " 

Cidi Yahye immediately seized upon this idea, and 
urged El Zagal to make a frank and entire surren- 
der: " Trust," said he, " to the magnanimity of the 
Castilian sovereigns ; they will doubtless grant you 
high and honorable terms. It is better to yield to 
them as friends, what they must infallibly and before 
long wrest from you as enemies ; for such, my cousin, 
is the almighty will of God ! " 



* Conde, torn. 3. c. 40. 



" Alahuma subahana hu ! " repeated El Zagal, 
" the will of God be done!" So the old monarch 
bowed his haughty neck, and agreed to surrender 
his territories to the enemies of his faith, rather than 
suffer them to augment the Moslem power under 
the swav of his nephew. 

Cidi Yahye now returned to Baza, empowered by 
El Zagal to treat on his behalf with the christian 
sovereigns. The prince felt a species of exultation, 
as he expatiated on the rich relics of empire which 
he was authorized to cede. There was a gieat part 
of that line of mountains which extends from the 
metropolis to the Mediterranean sea, with their 
series of beautiful green valleys, like precious emer- 
alds set in a golden chain. Above all, there were 
Guadix and Almeria, two of the most inestimable 
jewels in the crown of Granada. 

In return for these possessions, and for the claim 
of El Zagal to the rest of the kingdom, the sovereigns 
received him into their friendship and alliance, and 
gave him in perpetual inheritance the territory of 
Andarax and the valley of .-^Ihaurin in the Alpuxar- 
ras, with half of the Salinas or salt-pits of Maleha. 
He was to enjoy the title of king of Andarax, with 
two thousand IVIudexares, or conquered Moors, for 
subjects ; and his revenues were to be made up to 
the sum of four millions of marevedies.* All these 
he was to hold, as a vassal of the Castilian crown. 

These arrangements! being made, Cidi Yahye re- 
turned with them to j\Iuley Abdalla ; and it was 
concerted that the ceremony of surrender and hom- 
age should take place at the city of Almeria. 

On the 17th of December, king Ferdinand de- 
parted from Baza with a part of his army, and the 
queen soon followed with the remainder. Ferdinand 
passed in triumph by several of the newly-acquired 
towns, exulting in these trophies of his policy rather 
than his valor. As he drew near to Almeria, the 
Moorish king came f«rth to meet him, accompanied 
by the prince Cidi Yahye, and a number of the prin- 
cipal inhabitants on horseback. The fierce brow of 
El Zagal was clouded with a kind of forced humility ; 
but there was an impatient curl of the lip, with now 
and then a swelling of the bosom and an indignant 
breathing from the distended nostril. It was evident 
he considered himself conquered, not by the power 
of man, but by the hand of Heaven ; and, while he 
bowed to the decrees of fate, it galled his proud 
spirit to have to humble himself before its mortal 
agent. As he approached the christian king, he 
alighted from his horse, and advanced to kiss his 
hand in token of homage. Ferdinand, however, re- 
spected the royal title which the Moor had held, and 
would not permit the ceremony ; but, bending from 
his saddle, graciously embraced him, and requested 
him to remount his steed. t Several courteous 
speeches passed between them ; and the fortress 
and city of Almeria, and all the remaining terri- 
tories of El Zagal, were delivered up in form. 
When all was accomplished, the old warrior Moor 
retired to the mountains with a handful of adher- 
ents, to seek his petty territory of Andarax, to bury 
his humiliation from the world, and to console him- 
self with the shadowy title of a king.J; 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

EVENTS AT GRANADA, SUBSEQUENT TO THE 
SUBMISSION OF EL ZAGAL. 

Who can tell when to rejoice, in this fluctuating 
vorld ? Every wave of prosperity has its reacting 



* Cura de los Palacios, cap, 94. t Cura de los Palacios, cap 93. 
} Pulgar, Garibay, &c., &c. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



271 



surge, and we are often overwhelmed by the very 
billow on which we thought to be wafted into the 
haven of our hopes. When Yusef Aben Comixa, 
the vizier of Boabdil, surnamed El Chico, entered 
the royal saloon of the Aliiambra and announced 
the capitulation of El Zagal, the heart of the youth- 
ful monarch leaped for joy. His great wish was 
accomplished ; his uncle was defeated and de- 
throned, and he reigned without a rival, sole mon- 
arch of Granada. At length, he was about to enjoy 
the fruits of his humiliation and vassalage. He be- 
held his throne fortified by the friendship and alli- 
ance of the Castilian monarchs ; there could be no 
question, therefore, of its stability. " Allah Ac- 
bar ! " exclamied he, "God is great ! Rejoice with 
me, oh Yusef; the stars have ceased their persecu- 
tion. Henceforth let no man call me El Zogoybi." 

In the first moment of his exultation, Boabdil 
would have ordered public rejoicings ; but the 
shrewd Yusef shook his head. " The tempest has 
ceased," said he, " from one point of the heavens, 
but it may begin to rage from another. A troubled 
sea is beneath us, and we are surrounded by rocks 
and quicksands : let my lord the king defer rejoic- 
ings until all has settled into a calm." El Chico, 
however, could not remain tranquil, in this day of 
exultation : he ordered his steed to be sumptuously 
caparisoned, and, issuing out of the gate of the Al- 
hambra, descended, with a glittering retinue, along 
the avenue of trees and fountains, into the city, to 
receive the acclamations of the populace. As he 
entered the great square of the Vivarrambla, he be- 
held crowds of people in violent agitation ; but, as 
he approached, what was his surprise, to hear groans 
and murmurs and bursts of execration ! The tidings 
had spread through Granada, that Muley Abdalla 
el Zagal had been driven to capitulate, and that all 
his territories had fallen into the hands of the chris- 
tians. No one had inquired into the particulars, but 
all Granada had been thrown into a ferment of grief 
and indignation. In the heat of the moment, old 
Muley was extolled to the skies as a patriot prince, 
who had fought to the last for the salvation of his 
country — as a mirror of monarchs, scorning to com- 
promise the dignity of his crown by any act of vas- 
salage. Boabdil, on the contrary, had looked on ex- 
ultingly at the hopeless yet heroic struggle of his 
uncle ; he had rejoiced in the defeat of the faithful, 
and the triumph of unbelievers ; he had aided in the 
dismemberment and downfall of the empire. When 
they beheld him riding forth in gorgeous state, on 
what they considered a day of humiliation for all 
true Moslems, they could not contain their rage; and 
amidst the clamors that met his ears, Boabdil more 
than once heard his name coupled with the epithets 
of traitor and renegado. 

Shocked and discomfited, the youthful monarch 
returned in confusion to the Alhambra. He shut 
himself up within its innermost courts, and remained 
a kind of voluntary prisoner until the first burst of 
popular feeling should subside. He trusted that it 
would soon pass away ; that the people would be too 
sensible of the sweets of peace, to repine at the price 
at which it was obtained ; at any rate, he trusted to 
the strong friendship of the christian sovereigns, to 
secure him even against the factions of his subjects. 

The first missives from the politic Ferdinand show- 
ed Boabdil the value of his friendship. The Catholic 
monarch reminded him of a treaty which he had made 
when captured in the city of Loxa. By this, he had 
engaged, that in case the Catholic sovereigns should 
capture the cities of Guadix, Baza, and Almeria, he 
would surrender Granada into their hands within a 
limited time, and accept in exchange certain Moorish 
towns, to be held by him as their vassal. Ferdinand 



now informed him that Gaudix, Baza, and Almeria 
had fallen ; he called upon him, therefore, to fulfil 
his engagement. 

If the untbrtunate Boabdil had possessed the will, 
he had not the power to comply with this demand. 
He was shut up in the Alhambra, while a tempest of 
popular fury raged without. Granada was thronged 
by refugees from the captured towns, many of them 
disbanded soldiers, and others broken-down citizens, 
rendered fierce and desperate by ruin. All railed at 
Boabdil, as the real cause of their misfortunes. How 
was he to venture forth in such a storm ? — above all, 
how was he to talk to such men of surrender.' In 
his replv to Ferdinand, he represented the difficulties 
of his situation, and that, so far from having control 
over his subjects, his very life was in danger from 
their turbulence. He entreated the king, therefore, 
to rest satisfied for the present with his recent con- 
quests, promising him that should he be able to re- 
gain full empire over his capital and its inhabitants, 
it would but be to rule over them as vassal to the 
Castilian crown. 

Ferdinand was not to be satisfied with such a reply. 
The time was come to bring his game of policy to a 
close, and to consummate his conquest, by seating 
himself on the throne of the Alhambra. Professing to 
consider Boabdil as a faithless ally, who had broken 
his plighted word, he discarded him from his friend- 
ship, and addressed a second letter, not to that mon- 
arch, but to the commanders and council of the city. 
He demanded a complete surrender of the place, 
with all the arms in the possession either of the citi- 
zens or of others who had recently taken refuge within 
its walls. If the inhabitants should comply with this 
summons, he promised them the indulgent terms 
which had been granted to Baza, Guadix, and Alme- 
ria ; if they should refuse, he threatened them with 
the fate of Malaga.* 

The message of the Catholic monarch produced 
the greatest commotion in the city. The inhabitants 
of the Alcaiceria, that busy hive of traffic, and all 
others who had tasted the sweets of gainful com- 
merce during the late cessation of hostilities, were 
for securing their golden advantages by timely sub- 
mission : others, who had wives and children, looked 
on them with tenderness and solicitude, and dreaded, 
by resistance, to bring upon them the horrors of 
slavery. 

But, on the other hand. Granada was crowded 
with men from all parts, ruined by the war, exasper- 
ated by their sufferings, and eager only for revenge ; 
with others, who had been reared amidst hostilities, 
who had lived by the sword, and whom a return of 
peace would leave without home or hope. Beside 
these, there were others no less fiei-y and warlike in 
disposition, but animated by a loftier spirit. These 
were valiant and haughty cavaliers of the old chival- 
rous lineages, who had inherited a deadly hatred to 
the christians from a long line of warrior ancestors, 
and to whom the idea was worse than death, that 
Granada, illustrious Granada ! for ages the seat of 
Moorish grandeur and delight, should become the 
abode of unbelievers. 

Among these cavaliers, the most eminent was 
Muza ben Abil Gazan. He was of royal lineage, of 
a proud and generous nature, and a form combining 
manly strength and beauty. None could excel him in 
the management of the horse, and dextrous use of all 
kinds of weapons: his gracefulness and skill in the 
tourney were the theme of praise among the Moorish 
dames, and his prowess in the field had made him 
the terror of the enemy. He had long repined at 
the timid policy of Boabdil, and had endeavored to 

* Cura de los Palacios, cap g6. 



272 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



counteract its enervating effects, and to keep alive 
the martial spirit of Granada. For this reason, he 
had promoted jousts and tiltings with the reed, and 
all those other public games which bear the sem- 
blance of war. He endeavored also to inculcate 
into his companions in arms those high chivalrous 
sentiments which lead to valiant and magnanimous 
deeds, but which are apt to decline with the inde- 
pendence of a nation. The generous efforts of Muza 
had been in a great measure successful : he was the 
idol of the youthful cavaliers ; they regarded him as 
a mirror of chivalry, and endeavored to imitate his 
lofty and heroic virtues. 

When Muza heard the demand of Ferdinand that 
they should deliver up their arms, his eye flashed 
fire : " Does the christian king think that we are old 
men," said he, "and that staffs will suffice us? — or 
that we are women, and can be contented with dis- 
taffs ? Let him know that a Moor is born to the spear 
and scimitar ; to career the steed, bend the bow, and 
lanch the javelin : deprive him of these, and you de- 
prive him of his nature. If the christian king desires 
our ai'ms, let hiin come and win them ; but let him 
win them dearly. For my part, sweeter were a 
grave beneath the walls of Granada, on the spot 1 
had died to defend, than the richest couch within 
her palaces, earned by submission to the unbeliever." 

The words of Muza were received with enthusi- 
astic shouts, by the warlike part of the populace. 
Granada once more awoke, as a warrior shaking off 
a disgraceful lethargy. The commanders and council 
partook of the public excitement, and dispatched a 
reply to the christian sovereigns, declaring that they 
would suffer death rather than surrender their city. 



CHAPTER XXXI.X. 



HOW KING FERDINAND TURNED HIS HOSTILI- 
TIES AGAINST THE CITY OF GRANADA. 

When king Ferdinand received the defiance of 
the Moors, he made preparations for bitter hostili- 
ties. The winter season did not admitof an imme- 
diate campaign ; he contented himself therefore, 
with throwing strong garrisons into all his towns 
and fortresses in the neighborhood of Granada, and 
gave the command of all the frontier of Jaen to 
Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, count of Tendilla, who had 
shown such consummate vigilance and address in 
maintaining the dangerous post of Alhama. This 
renowned veteran established his head-quarters in 
the mountain city of Alcala la Real, within eight 
leagues of the city of Granada, and commanding 
the most important passes of that rugged frontier. 

In the mean time, the city of Granada resounded 
with the stir of war. The chivalry of the nation had 
again control of its councils ; and the populace, hav- 
ing once more resumed their weapons, were anxious 
to wipe out the disgrace of their late passive subinis- 
sion, by signal and daring exploits. 

Muza ben Abil Gazan was the soul of action. He 
commanded the cavalry, which he had disciplined 
with uncommon skill: he was surrounded by the 
noblest youth of Granada, who had caught his own 
generous and martial fire, and panted for the field ; 
while the common soldiers, devoted to his person, 
were ready to follow him in the most desperate en- 
terprises. He did not allow their courage to cool 
for want of action. The gates of Granada once 
more poured forth legions of light scouring cavalry, 
which skirred the country up to the very gates of 
the christian fortresses, sweeping off Hocks and 
herds. The name of Muza became formidable 



throughout the frontier; he had many encounters 
with the enemy in the rough passes of the mount- 
ains, in which the superior lightness and dexterity 
of his cavalry gave him the advantage. The sight 
of his glistening legion, returning across the vega 
with long cavalgadas of booty, was hailed by the 
Moors as a revival of their ancient triumphs ; but 
when they beheld christian banners borne into their 
gates as trophies, the exultation of the light-minded 
populace was beyond all bounds. 

The winter passed away; the spring advanced, 
yet Ferdinand delayed to take the field. He knew 
the city of Granada to be too strong and populous 
to be taken by assault, and too full of provisions to 
be speedily reduced by siege. " We must have pa- 
tience and perseverance," said the politic monarch ; 
" by ravaging the country this year, we shall produce 
a scarcity the next, and then the city may be invested 
with effect." 

An interval of peace, aided by the quick vegeta- 
tion qfa prolific soil and happy climate, had restored 
the vega to all its luxuriance and beauty ; the green 
pastures on the borders of the Xenel were covered 
with flocks and herds ; the blooming orchards gave 
promise of abundant fruit, and the open plain was 
waving with ripening corn. The time was at hand 
to put in the sickle and reap the golden harvest, 
when suddenly a torrent of war came sweeping 
down from the mountains ; and Ferdinand, with an 
army of five thousand horse and twenty thousand 
loot, appeared before the walls of Granada. He had 
left the queen and princess at the fortress of Moclin, 
and came attended by the duke of Medina Sidonia, 
the marques of Cadiz, the marques de Villena, the 
counts of Urena and Cabra, Don Alonzo de Aguilar, 
and other renowned cavaliers. On this occasion, 
king Ferdinand for the first time led his son prince 
Juan into the field, and bestowed upon him the dig- 
nity of knightliood. As if to stimulate him to grand 
achievements, the ceremony took place on the banks 
of the grand canal, almost Ijeneath the embattled 
walls of that warlike city, the object of such daring 
enterprises, and in the midst of that famous vega 
which had been the field of so many chivalrous ex- 
ploits. Above them shone resplendent the red tow- 
ers of the Alhambra, rising from amidst delicious 
groves, with the standard of Mahomet waving de- 
fiance to the christian arms. 

The duke of Medina Sidonia, and the valiant Rod- 
erigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, were spon- 
sors ; and all the chivalry of the camp was assem- 
bled on the occasion. The prince, after he was 
knighted, bestowed the same honor on several 
youthful cavaliers of high rank, just entering, like 
himself on the career of arms. 

Ferdinand did not loiter, in carrying his desolat- 
ing plans into execution. He detached parties in 
every direction, to lay waste the country ; villages 
were sacked, burnt, and destroyed, and the lovely 
vega once more laid waste with fire and sword. The 
ravage was carried so close to Granada, that the 
city was wrapped in the smoke of its gardens and 
hamlets. The dismal cloud rolled up the hill and 
hung about the towers of the Alhambra, where the 
unfortunate Boabdil still remained shut up from the 
indignation of his subjects. The ha]5less monarch 
smote his breast, as he looked down from his mount- 
ain palace on the desolation effected by his late ally. 
He dared not even show himself in arms among the 
populace, for they cursed him as the cause of the 
miseries once more brought to their doors. 

The Moors, however, did not suffer the christians 
to carry on their ravages as unmolested as in former 
years. Muza incited them to incessant sallies. He 
divided his cavalry into small squadrons, each led 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



273 



by a daring commander. They were taug-ht to hover 
round the christian camp ; to harass it from various 
and opposite quarters, cutting off convoys and strag- 
gling detachments ; to waylay the army in its ravag- 
ing expeditions, lurking among rocks and passes of 
the mountains, or in hollows and thickets of the 
plain, and practising a thousand stratagems and sur- 
prises. 

The christian army had one day spread itself out 
rather unguardedly, in its foraging about the vega. 
As the troops commanded by the marques of Vil- 
lena approached the skirts of the mountains, they 
beheld a number of Moorish peasants hastily driving 
a herd of cattle into a narrow glen. The soldiers, 
eager for booty, pressed in pursuit of them. Scarcely 
had they entered the glen, when shouts arose from 
every side, and they were furiously attacked by an 
ambuscade of horse and foot. Some of the chris- 
tians took to flight ; others stood their ground, and 
fought valiantly. The Moors had the vantage- 
ground ; some showered darts and arrows from the 
cliffs of the rocks, others fought hand to hand on 
the plain ; while their cavalry, rapid as lightning in 
their movements, carried havoc and contusion into 
the midst of the christian forces. 

The marques de Villena, with his brother Don 
Alonzo de Pacheco, at the first onset of the Moors, 
spurred into the hottest of the fight. They had 
scarce entered, when Don Alonzo was struck life- 
less from his horse, before the eyes of his brother. 
Estevan de Luzon, a gallant captain, fell fighting 
bravely by the side of the marques, who remained, 
with his chamberlain Solierand a handful of knights, 
surrounded by the enemy. Several cavaliers from 
other parts of the army hastened to their assistance, 
when king Ferdinand, seeing that the Moors had 
the vantage-ground and that the christians were 
suffering severely, gave signal for retreat. The mar- 
ques obeyed slowly and reluctantly, for his heart was 
full of grief and rage at the death of his brother. 
As he was retiring, he beheld his faithful chamber- 
lain Solier defending himself valiantly against six 
Moors. The marques turned, and rushed to his 
rescue ; he killed two of the enemy with his own 
hand, and put the rest to flight. One of the Moors, 
however, in retreating, rose in his stirrups, and, hurl- 
ing his lance at the marques, wounded him in the 
right arm and crippled him for life.* 

Such was one of the many ambuscadoes concerted 
by Muza ; nor did he hesitate at times to present a 
bold front to the christian forces, and to defy them 
ia the open field. King Ferdinand soon perceived, 
however, that the Moors seldom provoked a battle 
without having the advantage of the ground ; and 
that though the christians generally appeared to 
have the victory, they suffered the greatest loss ; for 
retreating was a part of the Moorish system, by 
which they would draw their pursuers into confusion, 
and then turn upon them with a more violent and 
fatal attack. He commanded his captains, tlierefore, 
to decline all challenges to skirmish, and to pursue 
a secure system of destruction, ravaging the country, 
and doing all possible injury to the enemy, with 
slight risk to themselves. 

* In consequence of this wound, the marques was ever after 
obliged to write his si_i;nature with his left hand, though capable 
ol managing his lance with his right. The queen one day de- 
manded of him, why he had adventured his life for that of a do- 
mestic? " Does not your majesty think," replied he, '" that I ought 
to risk one life for him who would have adventured three for me 
had he posses>ied them?" The queen was charmed with the 
magnanimity of the reply, and often quoted the marques as set- 
ting an heroic example to the chivalry of the age. — Mariana^ lib. 
35. c. 15. 



18 



CHAPTER XL. 

THE FATE OF THE CASTLE OF ROMA. 

About two leagues from Granada, on an eminence 
commanding an extensive view of the vega, stood 
the strong Moorish castle of Roma, a great place of 
refuge and security. Hither the neighboring peas- 
antry drove their flocks and herds, and hurried with 
their most precious effects, on the irruption of a 
christian force; and any foraging or skirmishing 
party from Granada, on being intercepted in theit 
return, threw themselves ;nto Roma, manned its 
embattled towers, and set the enemy at defiance. 
The garrison were accustomed to these sudden 
claims upon their protection; to have parties of 
Moors clattering up to their gates, so hotly pursued 
that there was barely time to throw open the portal, 
receive them within, and shut out their pursuers ; 
while the christian cavaliers had many a time reined 
in their panting steeds, at the very entrance of the 
barbacan, and retired, cursing the strong walls of 
Roma, that robbed them of their prey. 

The late ravages of Ferdinand, and the continual 
skirmishings in the vega, had roused the vigilance of 
the castle. One morning early, as the sentinels kept 
watch upon the battlements, they beheld a cloud of 
dust advancing rapidly from a distance : turbans and 
Moorish weapons soon caught their eyes ; and as the 
whole approached, they descried a drove of cattle, 
urged on in great haste, and convoyed by one hun- 
dred and fifty Moors, who led with them two chris- 
tian captives in chains. 

When the cavalgadahad arrived near to the castle, 
a Moorish cavalier, of noble and commanding mien 
and splendid attire, rode up to the foot of the tower, 
and entreated admittance. He stated that they were 
returning with rich booty from a foray into the lands 
of the christians, but that the enemy was on their 
traces, and they feared to be overtaken before they 
could reach Granada. The sentinels descended in 
all haste, and flung open the gates. The long caval- 
gada defiled into the courts of the castle, which were 
soon filled with lowing and bleating flocks and herds, 
with neighing and stamping steeds, and with fierce- 
looking Moors from the mountains. The cavalier 
who had asked admission was the chief of the party ; 
he was somewhat advanced in life, of a lofty and gal- 
lant bearing, and had with him a son, a young man 
of great fire and spirit. Close by them followed the 
two christian captives, with looks cast down and 
disconsolate. 

The soldiers of the garrison had roused themselves 
from their sleep, and were busily occupied attending 
to the cattle which crowded the courts ; while the 
foraging party distributed themselves about the cas- 
tle, to seek refreshment or repose. Suddenly a shout 
arose, that was echoed from court-yard, and hall, 
and battlement. The garrison, astonished and be- 
wildered, would have rushed to their arms, l:)ut found 
themselves, almost before they could make resistance, 
completely in the power of an enemy. 

The pretended foraging party consisted of Mu- 
dexares, or Moors tributary to the christians ; and 
the commanders were the prince Cidi Yahye, and 
his son Alnayer. They had hastened from the mount- 
ains with this small force, to aid the Catholic sover- 
eigns during the summer's campaign ; and they had 
concerted to surprise this important castle, and pre- 
sent it to king Ferdinand, as a gage of their faith, 
and the first fruits of their devotion. 

The polite monarch overwhelmed his new con- 
verts and allies with favors and distinctions, in return 
for this important acquisition ; but he took care to 
dispatch a strong force of veteran and genuine chris- 
tian troops, to man the fortress. 



■21i 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



As to the Moors who had composed the garrison, 
Cidi Yahye remembered that they were his country- 
men, and could not prevail upon himself to deliver 
them into christian bondage. He set them at liberty, 
and permitted them to repair to Granada ; — " a 
proof," says the pious Agapida, " that his conversion 
was not entirely consummated, but that there were 
still some lingerings of the infidel in his heart." His 
lenity was far from procuring him indulgence in the 
opinions of his countiymen ; on the contrary, the in- 
habitants of Granada, when they learnt from the 
liberated garrison the stratagem by which Roma had 
been captured, cursed Cidi Yahye for a traitor ; and 
the garrison joined in the malediction. 

But the indignation of the people of Granada was 
destined to be aroused to tenfold violence. The old 
warrior Mulev Abdalla el Zagal had retired to his 
little mountain territory, and for a short time endeav- 
ored to console himself with his petty title of king 
of Andarax. He soon grew impatient, however, of 
the quiet and inaction of his mimic kingdom. His 
fierce spirit was exasperated by being shut up within 
such narrow limits, and his hatred rose to downright 
fury against Boabdil, whom he considered as the 
cause of his downfall. When tidings were brought 
him that king Ferdinand was laying waste the vega, 
he took a sudden resolution. Assembling the whole 
disposable force of his kingdom, which amounted but 
to two hundred men, he descended from the Alpuxar- 
ras and sought the christian camp, content to serve 
as a vassal the enemy of his faith and his nation, so 
that he might see Granada wrested from the sway 
of his nephew. 

In his blind passion, the old wrathful monarch in- 
jured his cause, and strengthened the cause of his 
adversary. The Moors of Granada had been clamor- 
ous in his praise, extolling him as a victim to his pa- 
triotism, and had refused to believe all reports of his 
treaty with the christians ; but when they beheld, 
from the walls of the city, his banner mingling with 
the banners of the unbelievers, and arrayed against 
his late people, and the capital he had commanded, 
they broke forth into curses and revilings, and 
heaped all kind of stigmas upon his name. 

Their next emotion, of course, was in favor of 
Boabdil. They gathered under the walls of the Al- 
hambra, and hailed him as their only hope, as the 
sole dependence of the country. Boabdil could 
scarcely believe his senses, when he heard his name 
mingled with praises and greeted with acclamations^ 
Encouraged by this unexpected gleam of popularity, 
he ventured forth from his retreat, and was received 
with rapture. All his past errors were attributed to 
the hardships of his fortune, and the usurpation of 
his tyrant uncle ; and whatever breath the populace 
could spare from uttering curses on El Zagal, was 
expended in shouts in honor of El Chico. 



CHAPTER XLI. 



HOW BOAEDIL EL CHICO TOOK THE FIELD ; AND 
HIS EXPEDITION AGAINST ALHENDIN. 

For thirty days had the vega been overrun by the 
christian forces; and that vast plain, late so luxu- 
riant and beautiful, was one wide scene of desola- 
tion. The destroying army, having accomplished 
its task, passed over the bridge of Finos and wound 
up into the mountains, on the way to Cordova, bear- 
ing away the spoils of towns and villages, and driving 
off flocks and herds in long dusty columns. The 
sound of the last christian trumpet died away along 
the side of the mountain of Elvira, and not a hostile 



squadron was seen glistening on the mournful fields 
of the vega. 

The eyes of Boabdil el Chico were at length 
opened to the real policy of king Ferdinand, and he 
saw that he had no longer any thing to depend upon 
but the valor of his arm. No time was to be lost in 
hastening to counteract the effect of the late chris- 
tian ravage, and in opening the channel for distant 
supplies to Granada. 

Scarcely had the retiring squadrons of Ferdinand 
disappeared among the mountains, when Boabdil 
buckled on his armor, sallied forth from the Alham- 
bra, and prepared to take the field. When the popu- 
lace beheld him actually in arms against his late 
ally, both parties thronged with zeal to his standard. 
The hardy inhabitants also of the Sierra Nevada, or 
chain of snow-capped mountains which rise above 
Granada, descended from their heights, and hastened 
into the city gates, to proffer their devotion to their 
youthful king. The great square of the Vivarrambia 
shone with the proud array of legions of cavalry, 
decked with the colors and devices of the most an- 
cient Moorish families, and marshalled forth by the 
patriot Muza to follow the king to battle. 

It was on the 15th of June that Boabdil once more 
issued forth from the gates of Granada on martial 
enterprise. A few leagues from the city, within full 
view of it, and at the entrance of the Alpuxarra 
mountains, stood the powerful castle of Alhendin. 
It was built on an eminence, rising from the midst 
of a small town, and commanding a great part of the 
vega, and the main ro.ad to the rich valleys of the 
Alpuxarras. The castle was commanded by a valiant 
christian cavalier named Mendo de Quexada, and 
garrisoned by two hundred and fifty men, all sea- 
soned and experienced warriors. It was a continual 
thorn in the side of Granada : the laborers of the 
vega were swept off from their fields, by its hardy 
soldiers ; convoys were cut off, in the passes of the 
mountains ; and as the garrison commanded a full 
view of the gates of the city, no band of merchants 
could venture forth on their needful journeys, without 
being swooped up by the war-hawks of Alhendin. 

It was against this important fortress, that Boab- 
dil first led his troops. For six days and nights, the 
fortress was closely besieged. The alcayde and his 
veteran garrison defended themselves valiantly, but 
they were exhausted by fatigue and constant watch- 
fulness ; for the Moors, being continually relieved bv 
fresh troops from Granada, kept up an unremitted 
and vigorous attack. Twice the barbacan was forced, 
and twice the assailants were driven forth headlong 
with excessive loss. The garrison, however, was 
dini'nished in number by the killed and wounded ; 
there were no longer soldiers sufficient to man the 
walls and gateway ; and the brave alcayde was com- 
pelled to retire, with his surviving force, to the keep 
of the castle, in which he continued to make desper- 
ate resistance. 

The Moors now approached the foot of the tower, 
under shelter of wooden screens covered with wet 
hides, to ward off missiles and combustibles. They 
went to work vigorously to undermine the tower, 
placing props of wood under the foundations, to be 
afterwards set on fire, so as to give the besiegers 
time to escape before the edifice should fall. Some 
of the Moors plied their cross-bows and arquebusses 
to defend the workmen, and to drive the christians 
from the wall ; while the latter showered down 
stones, and darts, and melted pitch, and flaming 
combustibles, on the miners. 

The brave Mendo de Quexada had cast many an 
anxious eye across the vega, in hopes of seeing some 
christian force hastening to his assistance. Not a 
gleam of spear or helm was to be descried, for no 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



275 



one had dreamt of this sudden irruption of the Moors. 
The alcayde beheld his bravest men dead or wounded 
around him, while the remainder were sinking with 
watchfulness and fatigue. In defiance of all opposi- 
tion, the Moors had accomplished their mine; the 
fire was brought before the walls, that was to be 
applied to the stanchions, in case the garrison per- 
sisted in defence. In a little while, the tower would 
crumble beneath him, and be rent and hurled a ruin 
to the plain. At the very last moment, the brave 
alcayde made the signal of surrender. He marched 
forth with the remnant of his veteran garrison, who 
were all made prisoners. Boabdil immediately or- 
dered the walls of the fortress to be razed, and fire 
to be applied to the stanchions, that the place might 
never again become a strong-hold to the christians, 
and a scourge to Granada. The alcayde and his 
fellow-captives were led in dejected convoy across 
the vega, when they heard a tremendous crash be- 
hind them. They turned to look upon their late 
fortress, but beheld nothing but a heap of tumbling 
ruins, and a vast column of smoke and dust, where 
once had stood the lofty tower of Alhendin. 



CHAPTER XLH. 

EXPLOIT OF THE COUNT DE TENDILLA. 

Boabdil el Chico followed up his success, by 
capturing the two fortresses of Marchena and Buldy ; 
he sent his alfaquis in every direction, to proclaim a 
holy war, and to summon all true Moslems of town 
or castle, mountain or valley, to saddle steed and 
buckle on armor, and hasten to the standard of the 
faith. The tidings spread far and wide, that Boabdil 
el Chico was once more in the field, and was victo- 
rious. The Moors of various places, dazzled by this 
gleam of success, hastened to throw off their sworn 
allegiance to the Castilian crown, and to elevate the 
standard of Boabdil ; and the youthful monarch flat- 
tered himself that the whole kmgdom was on the 
point of returning to its allegiance. 

The fiery cavaliers of Granada were eager to re- 
new those forays into the christian lands, in which 
they had formerly delighted. A number of them 
therefore concerted an irruption to the north, into 
the territor)' of Jaen, to harass the country about 
Quezada. Thev had heard of a rich convoy of mer- 
chants and wealthy travellers, on the way to the city 
of Baza ; and they anticipated a glorious conclusion 
to their foray, in capturing this convoy. 

Assembling a number of horsemen, lightly armed 
and fleetly mounted, and one hundred foot-soldiers, 
these hardy cavaliers issued forth by night from Gra- 
nada, made their way in silence through the defiles 
of the mountains, crossed the frontier without oppo- 
siiion, and suddenly appeared, as if fallen from the 
clouds, in the very heart of the christian countrj'. 

The mountainous frontier which separates Granada 
from Jaen was at this time under the command of 
the count de Tendilla, the same veteran who had 
distinguished himself by his vigilance and sagacity 
when commanding the fortress of Alhama. He held 
his head-quarters at the city of Alcala la Real, in its 
impregnable fortress, perched high among the mount- 
ams, about six leagues from Granada, and dominat- 
ing all the frontier. From this cloud-capt hold among 
the rocks, he kept an eagle eye upon Granada, and 
had his scouts and spies in all directions, so that a 
crow could not fly over the border without his knowl- 
edge. His fortress was a place of refiige for the 
christian captives who escaped by night from the 
Moorish dungeons of Granada. Often, however. 



they missed their way in the defiles of the mountains, 
and, wandering about bewildered, either repaired by 
mistake to some Moorish town, or were discovered 
and retaken at daylight by the enem)-. To prevent 
these accidents, the count had a tower built at his 
own expense, on the top of one of the heights near 
Alcala, which commanded a view of the vega and 
the surrounding country. Here he kept a light blaz- 
ing throughout the night, as a beacon for all christian 
fugitives, to guide them to a place of safety. 

The count was aroused one night from his repose, 
by shouts and cries, which came up from the town 
and approached the castle walls. " To arms ! to 
arms ! the Moor is over the border ! " was the cry. 
A christian soldier, pale and emaciated, and who still 
bore traces of the Moorish chains, was brought before 
the count. He had been taken as guide by the Moor- 
ish cavaliers who had sallied from Granada, but had 
escaped from them among the mountains, and, after 
much wandering, had found his way to Alcala by the 
signal-fire. 

Notwithstanding the bustle and agitation of the 
moment, the count de Tendilla listened calmly and 
attentively to the account of the fugitive, and ques- 
tioned him minutely as to the time of departure of 
the Moors, and the' rapidity and direction of their 
march. He saw that it was too late to prevent their 
incursion and ravage ; but he determined to await 
them, and give them a warm reception on their re- 
turn. His soldiers were always on the alert, and 
ready to take the field at a moment's warning. 
Choosing one hundred and fifty lances, hardy and 
valiant men, well disciplined and well se.asoned, as 
indeed were all his troops, he issued forth quietly 
before break of day, and, descending through the 
defiles of the mountains, stationed his little force in 
ambush, in a deep barranca, or dry channel of a tor- 
rent, near Barzina, but three leagues from Granada, 
on the road by which the marauders would have to 
return. In the mean time, he sent out scouts, to 
post themselves upon different heights, and look out 
for the approach of the enemy. 

All day they remained concealed in the ravine, 
and for a great part of the following night ; not a 
turban, however, was to be seen, excepting now and 
then a peasant returning from his labor, or a solitary 
muleteer hastening towards Granada. The cavaliers 
of the count began to grow restless and impatient ; 
they feared that the enemy might have taken some 
other route, or might have received intelligence of 
their ambuscade. They urged the count to abandon 
the enterprise, and return to Alcala. " We are here," 
said they, " almost at the gates of the Moorish capital ; 
our movements may have been descried, and, before 
we are aware, Granada may pour forth its legions of 
swift cavalry, and crush us with an overwhelming 
force." The count de Tendilla, however, persisted 
in remaining until his scouts should come in. About 
two hours before daybreak, there were signal-fires 
on certain Moorish watch-towers of the mountains. 
While they were regarding these with anxiety, the 
scouts came hurrying into the ravine: " The Moors 
are approaching," said they ; " we have reconnoitred 
them near at hand. They are between one and two 
hundred strong, but encumbered with many prisoners 
and much booty." The christian cavaliers laid their 
ears to the ground, and heard the distant tramp of 
horses and the tread of foot-soldiers. They mounted 
their horses, braced their shields, couched their 
lances, and drew near to the entrance of the ravine 
where it opened upon the road. 

The Moors had succeeded in waylaying and sv.r- 
prising the christian convoy, on its way to Baza. 
They had captured a great number of prisoners, male 
and female, with great store of gold and jewels, and 



276 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sumpter mules laden with ricli merchandise. With 
these they had made a forced march over the dan- 
gerous parts of the mountains ; but now, finding them- 
selves so near to Granada, they fancied themselves 
in perfect securit)-. They loitered along the road, 
therefore, irregularly and slowly, some singing, others 
laughing and exulting at having eluded the boasted 
vigilance of the count de Tendilla ; while ever and 
anon were heard the plaint of some female captive 
bewailing the jeopardy of her honor, and the heavy 
sighing of the merchant at beholding his property in 
the grasp of ruthless spoilers. 

The count de Tendilla waited until some of the 
escort had passed the ravine ; then, giving the signal 
for assault, his cavaliers set up great shouts and cries, 
and charged furiously into the centre of the foe. The 
obscurity of the place and the hour added to the 
terrors of the surprise. The Moors were thrown into 
confusion ; soine rallied, fought desperately, and fell 
covered with wounds. Thirty-six were killed, and 
fifty-five were made prisoners ; the rest, under cover 
of the darkness, made their escape to the rocks and 
defiles of the mountains. 

The good count unbound the prisoners, gladden- 
ing the hearts of the inerchants by restoring to them 
their merchandise. To the female captives also he 
restored the jewels of which they had been despoiled, 
excepting such as had been lost beyond recovery. 
Forty-five saddle horses, of the choice Barbary breed, 
remained as captured spoils of the Moors, together 
with costly armor, and booty of various kinds. Hav- 
ing collected every thing in haste, and arranged his 
cavalgada, the count urged his way with all speed 
for Alcala la Real, lest he should be pursued and 
overtaken by the Moors of Granada. As he wound 
up the steep ascent to his mountain city, the mhab- 
itants poured forth to meet him with shouts of joy. 
His triumph was doubly enhanced by being received 
at the gates of the city by his wife, the daughter of 
the marques of Villena, a lady of distinguished merit, 
whom he had not seen for two years, that he had 
been separated from his home by the arduous duties 
of these iroii wars. 



CHAPTER XLIII. 



EXPEDITION OF BO.A.BDIL EL CHICO AGAINST 
SALOBRESA. — EXPLOIT OF HERNANDO PEREZ 
DEL PULGAR. 

King Bo.\BDIL found that his diminished territoiy 
was too closely dominated by christian fortresses like 
Alcala la Real, and too strictly watched by vigilant 
alcaydes like the count of Tendilla, to be able to 
maintain itself by internal resources. H:s foraging 
expeditions were liable to be intercepted and defeat- 
ed, while the ravage of the vega had swept off every 
thing on which tlie city depended for future sus- 
tenance. He felt the want of a sea-port, through 
which, as formerly, he might keep open a communi- 
cation with Africa, and obtain reinforcements and 
supplies from beyond the sea. All the ports and 
harbors were in the hands of the christians, and 
Granada and its remnant of dependent territory were 
completely landlocked. 

In this emergency, the attention of Boabdil was 
called by circumstances to the sea-port of Salobreiia. 
This redoubtable town has already been mentioned 
in this chronicle, as a place deemed impregnable by 
the Moors ; insomuch that their kings were accus- 
tomed, in time of peril, to keep their treasures in 
its citadel. It was situated on a high rocky hill, di- 
viding one of those rich little vegas or plains which 



lie open to the Mediterranean, but run like deep 
green bays into the stern bosoms of the mountains. 
The vega was covered with beautiful vegetation, 
with rice and cotton, with groves of oranges, citrons, 
figs and mulberries, and with gardens inclosed by 
hedges of reeds, of aloes and the Indian fig. Run- 
ning streams of cool water from the springs and 
snows of the Sierra Nevada, kept this delightful 
valley continually fresh and verdant ; while it was 
almost locked up by mountain barriers, and lofty 
promontories that stretched far into the sea. 

Through the centre of this rich vega, the rock of 
Salobreiia reared its rugged back, nearly dividing the 
plain, and advancing to the margin of the sea, with 
just a strip of sandy beach at its foot, laved by the 
blue waves of the Mediterranean. 

The town covered the ridge and sides of the rocky 
hill, and was fortified by strong walls and towers ; 
while on the highest and most precipitous part stood 
the citadel, a huge castle that seemed to form a part 
of the living rock ; the massive ruins of which, at the 
present day, attract the gaze of the traveller, as he 
winds his way far below, along the road which passes 
through the vega. 

This important fortress had been intrusted to the 
command of Don Francisco Ramirez de Madrid, 
captain-general of the artillery, and the most scientific 
of all the Spanish leaders. That experienced veteran, 
however, was with the king at Cordova, having left 
a valiant cavalier as alcayde of the place. 

Boabdil el Chico had full information of the state 
of the garrison and the absence of its commander. 
Putting himself at the head of a powerful force, 
therefore, he departed from Granada, and made a 
rapid march through the mountains ; hoping, by this 
sudden move, to seize upon Salobrena before king 
Ferdinand could come to its assistance. 

The inhabitants of Salobrena were Mudexares, or 
Moors who had sworn allegiance to the christians. 
Still, when they heard the sound of the Moorish 
drums and trumpets, and beheld the squadrons of 
their countrymen advancing across the vega, their 
hearts yearned towards the standard of their nation 
and their faith. A tumult arose in the place ; the 
populace shouted the name of Boabdil el Chico, 
and, throwing open the gates, admitted him within 
the walls. 

The christian garrison was too few in number, to 
contend for the possession of the town : they re- 
treated to the citadel, and shut themselves within its 
massive walls, which were considered impregnable. 
Here they maintained a desperate defence, hoping 
to hold out until succor should arrive from the 
neighboring fortresses. 

The tidings that Salobrefia was invested by the 
Moorish king, spread along the sea-coast, and filled 
the christians with alarm. Don Francisco Enriquez, 
uncle of the king, commanded the city of Velez 
Malaga, about twelve leagues distant, but separated 
by ranges of those vast rocky mountains which are 
piled along the Mediterranean, and tower in steep 
promontories and precipices above its waves. 

Don Francisco summoned the alcaydes of his dis- 
trict to hasten with him to the relief of this impor- 
tant fortress. A number of cavaliers and their re- 
tainers answered to his call, among whom was 
Fernando Perez del Pulgar, surnamcd " El de las 
Hazanas," (he of the exploits,) — the same who had 
signalized himself in a foray, by elevating a handker- 
chief on a lance for a banner, and leading on his 
disheartened comrades to victory. As soon as Don 
Francisco beheld a little band collected round him, 
he set out with all speed for Salobrena. The march 
was rugged and severe, climbing and descending 
immense mountains, and sometimes winding along 






A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



277 



the edge of giddy precipices, with the surges of the 
sea raging far below. When Don P'rancisco arrived 
with his followers at the lofty promontory that 
stretches along one side of the little vega of Salo- 
brena, he looked down with sorrow and anxiety up- 
on a Moorish army of great force encamped at the 
foot of the fortress, while Moorish banners, on 
various parts of the walls, showed that the town was 
already in possession of the infidels. A solitary 
christian standard alone floated on the top of the 
castle-keep, showing that the brave garrison were 
hemmed up in their rock-built citadel. 

Don Francisco found it impossible, with his small 
force, to make any impression on the camp of the 
Moors, or to get to the relief of the castle. He sta- 
tioned his little band upon a rocky height near the 
sea, where they were safe from the assaults of the 
enemy. The sight of his friendly banner waving in 
their neighborhood cheered the heart of the garri- 
son, and conveyed to them assurance of speedy suc- 
cor from the king. 

In the mean time, Fernando Perez del Pulgar, 
who always burned to distinguish himself by bold 
and striking exploits, in the course of a prowling 
expedition along the borders of the Moorish camp, 
remarked a postern-gate of the castle, opening upon 
the steep part of the rocky hill which looked towards 
the mountains. 

A sudden thought flashed upon the daring mind 
of Pulgar: — "Who will follow my banner," said he, 
"and make a dash for yonder postern.?" Ahold 
proposition, in time of warfare, never wants for bold 
spirits to accept it. Seventy resolute men immedi- 
ately stepped forward. Pulgar put himself at their 
head ; they cut their way suddenly through a weak 
part of the camp, fought their way up to the gate, 
which was eagerly thrown open to receive them ; 
and succeeded in making their way into the fortress, 
before the alarm of their attempt had spread through 
the Moorish army. 

The garrison was roused to new spirit by this un- 
looked-for reinforcement, and were enabled to make 
a more vigorous resistance. The Moors had intelli- 
gence, however, that there was a great scarcity of 
water in the castle; and they exulted in the idea 
that this additional number of warriors would soon 
exhaust the cisterns, and compel them to surrender. 
When Pulgar heard of this hope entertained by the 
enemy, he caused a bucket of water to be lowered 
from the battlements, and threw a silver cup in 
bravado to the Moors. 

The situation of the garrison, however, was daily 
growing more and more critical ; they suffered greatly 
from thirst, while, to tantalize them in their suffer- 
ings, they beheld limpid streams winding in aoun- 
dance through the green plain below them. They 
began to fear that all succor would arrive too late, 
when one day they beheld a little squadron of ves- 
sels far at sea, but standing towards the shore. 
There was some doubt at first whether it might not 
be a hostile armament from Africa ; but as it ap- 
proached, they descried, to their great joy, the banner 
of Castile. 

It was a reinforcement, brought in all haste by the 
governor of the fortress, Don Francisco Ramirez. 
The squadron anchored at a steep rocky island, 
which rises from the very margin of the smooth 
sandy beach, directly in front of the rock of Salo- 
brena, and stretches out into the sea. On this 
island Ramirez landed his men, and was as strongly 
posted as if in a fortress. His force was too scanty 
to attempt a battle, but he assisted to harass and 
distract the besiegers. Whenever king Boabdil made 
an attack upon the fortress, his camp was assailed 
on one side by the troops of Ramirez, who landed 



from their island, and on another by those of Don 
Francisco Enriquez, who swept down from their rock, 
while Fernando del Pulgar kept up a fierce defence, 
from every tower and battlement of the castle. 

The attention of the Moorish king was diverted, 
also, for a time, by an ineffectual attempt to relieve 
the little port of Adra, which had recently declared 
in his favor, but which had been recaptured for the 
christians by Cidi Yahye and his son AInayar. Thus 
the unlucky Boabdil, bewildered on every hand, lost 
all the advantage that he had gained by his rapid 
march from Granada. While he was yet besieging 
the obstinate citadel, tidings were brought him that 
king Ferdinand was in full march, with a powerful 
host, to its assistance. There was no time for farther 
delay : he made a furious attack with all his forces 
upon the castle, but was again repulsed by Pulgar 
and his coadjutors; when, abandoning the siege in 
despair, he retreated with his army, lest king Ferdi- 
nand should get between him and his capital. On 
his way back to Granada, however, he in some sort 
consoled himself for his late disappointment, by 
overrunning a part of the territories and posse:sions 
lately assigned to his uncle El Zagal, and to Cidi 
Yahye. He defeated their alcaydes, destroyed sev- 
eral of their fortresses, burnt their villages, and, 
leaving the countrv behind him reeking and smoking 
with his vengeance, returned with considerable 
booty, to repose himself within the walls of the 
Alhambra. 



CHAPTER XLIV. 



HOW KING FERDINAND TREATED THE PEOPLE OF 
GUADIX — AND HOW EL ZAGAL FINISHED HIS 
REGAL CAREER. 

Scarcely had Boabdil ensconced himself in his 
capital, when king Ferdinand, at the head of seven 
thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, again ap- 
peared in the vega. He had set out in all haste from 
Cordova to the relief of Salobrena ; but, hearing on 
his march that the siege was raised, he turned with 
his army to make a second ravage round the walls 
of devoted Granada. His present forage lasted fifteen 
days, in the course of which every thing that had 
escaped his former desolating visit was destroyed, 
and scarce a green thing or a living animal was left 
on the face of the land. The Moors sallied frequent- 
ly, and fought desperately, in defence of their fields ; 
but the work of destruction was accomplished — and 
Granada, once the qu,en of gardens, was left sur- 
rounded by a desert. 

From hence Ferdinand inarched to crush a con- 
spiracy which had lately manifested itself in the cities 
of Guadix, Baza, and Almeria. These recently con- 
quered places had entered into secret correspondence 
with king Boabdil, inviting him to march to their 
gates, promising to rise upon the christian garrisons, 
seize upon the citadels, and surrender themselves 
into his power. The marques of Villena had re- 
ceived notice of the conspiracy, and had suddenly 
thrown himself, with a large force, into Guadix. 
Under pretence of making a review of the inhabit- 
ants, he made them sally forth into the fields before 
the city. When the whole Moorish population capa- 
ble of bearing arms was thus without the walls, he 
ordered the gates to be closed. He then permitted 
them to enter, two by two and three by three, and 
to take forth their wives, children, and effects. The 
houseless Moors were fain to make themselves tem- 
por.ary hovels, in the gardens and orchards about the 
city; they were clamorous in their complaints at be- 
ing thus excluded from their homes, but were told 



278 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



they must wait with patience until the charges 
against them could be investigated, and the pleasure 
ot the king be known.* 

When Ferdinand arrived at Guadix, he found the 
unhappy Moors in their cabins among the orchards. 
Tliey complained bitterly of the deception that had 
been practised among them, and implored permission 
to return into the city, and live peaceably in their 
dwellings, as had been promised them in their arti- 
cles of capitulation. 

King Ferdinand listened graciously to their com- 
plaints : " My friends," said he in reply, " I am in- 
tormed that there has been a conspiracy among you 
to kill my alcayde and garrison, and to take part 
with my enemy the king of Granada. I shall make 
a thorough investigation of this conspiracy. Those 
among you who shall be proved innocent shall be 
restored to their dwellings, but the guilty shall incur 
the penalty of their offences. As I wish, however, to 
proceed with mercy as well as justice, I now give 
you your choice, either to depart at once without 
further question, going wherever you please, and 
taking with you your families and effects, under an 
assurance of safety ; or to deliver up those who are 
guilty, not one of'vhom, I give' you my royal word, 
shall escape punishment." 

When the people of Guadix heard these words, 
they communed among themselves ; and as most of 
them (says the worthy Agapida) were either culpa- 
ble or feared to be considered so, they accepted the 
alternative, and departed sorrowfully, they and their 
wives and their little ones. " Thus," in the words 
of that excellent and cotemporary historian, Andres 
Bernaldez, commonly called the curate of Los Pala- 
cios — " thus did the king deliver Guadix from the 
hands of the enemies of our holy faith, after seven 
hundred and seventy years that it had been in their 
possession, ever since the time of Roderick the Goth ; 
and this was one of the mysteries of our Lord, who 
would not consent that the city should remain longer 
in the power of the Moors:" — a pious and sage re- 
mark, which is quoted with peculiar approbation by 
the worthy Agapida. 

King Ferdinand offered similar alternatives to the 
Moors of B.aza, Almeria, and other cities accused of 
participation in this conspiracy ; who generally pre- 
leiTed to abandon their homes, rather than incur the 
risk of an investigation. Most of them relinquished 
.Spain, as a country where they codld no longer live 
in security and independence, and departed with 
their families for Africa ; such as remained were suf- 
fered to live in villages and hamlets, and other un- 
walled places.! 

While Ferdinand was thus occupied at Guadix, 
dispensing justice and mercy, and receiving cities in 
exchange, the old monarch Muley Abdalla, sur- 
named El Zagal, appeared before him. He was hag- 
gard with care, and almost crazed with passion. He 
had found his little territory of Andarax, and his two 
thousand subjects, as difficult to govern as had been 
the distracted kingdom of Granada. The charm, 
which had bound the Moors to him, was broken 
when he appeared in arms under the banner of Fer- 
dinand. He had returned from his inglorious cam- 
paign with his petty army of two hundred men, fol- 
lowed by the execrations of the people of Granada, 
and the secret repining of those he had led into the 
field. No sooner had his subjects heard of the suc- 
cesses of Boabdil el Chico, than they had seized their 
arms, assembled tumultuously, declared for the young 
monarch, and threatened the life of El Zagal. { The 



• Zurita, iib. 20. c. 85. Cura de los Palacios, c. 97. 
t Garibay, iib. 13. cap. 3). Pulgar, part 3. cap. 133. 
X Cura de los Palacios, cap. 97. 



unfortunate old king had with difficulty evaded their 
fury ; and this last lesson seemed entirely to have 
cured him of his passion for sovereignty. He now 
entreated Ferdinand to purchase the towns and cas- 
tles and other possessions which had been granted 
to him ; offering them at a low rate, and begging 
safe passage for himself and his followers to Africa. 
King Ferdinand graciously complied with his wishes. 
He purchased of him three-and-twenty towns and 
village? in the valleys of Andarax and Alhaurin, for 
which he gave him five millions of maravedies. El 
Zagal relinquished his right to one-half of the salinas 
or salt-pits of Maleha, in favor of his brother-in-law 
Cidi Yahye. Having thus disposed of his petty em- 
pire and possessions, he packed up all his treasure, 
of which he had a great amount, and, followed by 
many Moorish families, passed over to Africa.* 

And here let us cast an eye beyond the present 
period of our chronicle, and trace the remaining ca- 
reer of El Zagal. His short and turbulent reign, and 
disastrous end, would afford a wholesome lesson to 
unprincipled ambition, were not all ambition of the 
kind fated to be blind to precept and example. When 
he arrived in Africa, instead of meeting with kind- 
ness and sympathy, he was seized and thrown mto 
prison by the king of Fez, as though he had been his 
vassal. He was accused of being the cause of the 
dissensions and downfall of the kingdom of Granada ; 
and the accusation being proved to the satisfaction 
of the king of Fez, he condemned the unhappy El 
Zagal to perpetual darkness. A basin of glowing 
copper was passed before his eyes, which effectually 
destroyed his sight. His wealth, which had proba- 
bly been the secret cause of these cruel measures, 
was confiscated and seized upon by his oppressor; 
and El Zagal was thrust forth, blind, helpless, and 
destitute, upon the world. In this wretched condi- 
tion, the late Moorish monarch groped his way 
through the regions of Tingitania, until he reached 
the city of Velcz de Gomera. The king of Velez had 
formerly been his ally, and felt some movement of 
compassion at his present altered and abject state. 
He gave him food and raiment, and suffered him to 
remain unmolested in his dominions. Death, which 
so often hurries off the prosperous and happy from 
the midst of untasted pleasures, spares on the other 
hand the miserable, to drain the last drop of his cup 
of bitterness. El Zagal dragged out a wretched ex- 
istence of many years, in the city of Velez. He wan- 
dered about blind and disconsolate, an object of 
mingled scorn and pity, and bearing above his rai- 
ment a parchment on which was written in Arabic, 
" This is the unfortunate king of Andalusia." t 



CHAPTER XLV. 



PREPARATIONS OF GRANADA FOR A DESPERATE 
DEFENCE. 

How is thy Strength departed, oh Granada ! how 
is thy beauty withered and despoiled, oh city of groves 
and fountains ! The commerce that once thronged 
thy streets is at an end ; the merchant no longer has- 
tens to thy gates, with the luxuries of foreign lands. 
The cities which once paid thee tribute are wrested 
from thy sway ; the chivalry which filled thy Vivar- 
rambla with the sumptuous pageantry of war, hawe 
fallen in many battles. The Al'hambra still rears its ' 
ruddy towers' from the midst of groves, but nielan 



* Conde, part 4. cap. 41. 

t Marmot, de Rebelione Maur. lib. i. cap. 16. Padraza, Hist. 
Granat. part 3. c. ». Suarez, Hist, de Obispados de Guadix y Baza, 
cap. 10 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



279 



choly reigns in its marble halls ; and the monarch 
looks down from his lolty balconies upon a naked 
waste, where once had extended the blooming glories 
of the vega ! 

Such is the lament of the Moorish writers, over 
the lamentable state of Granada, which now reinain- 
ed a mere phantom of its former greatness. The two 
ravages of the vega, following so closely upon each 
other, had swept off all the produce of the year; and 
the husbandman had no longer the heart to till the 
field, seeing that the ripening harvest only brought 
the spoiler to the door. 

During the winter season, king Ferdinand made 
diligent preparations for the last campaign, that was 
to decide the fate of Granada. As this war was 
waged purely for the promotion of the christian faith, 
he thought it meet that its enemies should bear the 
expenses. He levied, therefore, a general contribu- 
tion upon all the Jews throughout his kingdom, by 
synagogues and districts ; and obliged them to render 
in the proceeds, at the city of Seville.* 

On the nth of April, Ferdinand and Isabella de- 
parted for the Moorish frontier, with the solemn de- 
termination to lay close siege to Granada, and never 
to quit its walls until they had planted the standard 
of the faith on the towers of the Alhambra. Many 
of the nobles of the kingdom, particularly those from 
the parts remote from the scene of action, wearied by 
the toils of war, and foreseeing that this would be a 
tedious siege, requiring patience and vigilance rather 
than hardy deeds of arms, contented themselves with 
sending their vassals, while they staid at home, to 
attend to their domains. Many cities furnished sol- 
diers at their cost, and the king took the field with 
an army of forty thousand infantry and ten thousand 
horse. The principal captains who followed the 
king in this campaign, were Roderigo Ponce de Leon, 
the marques of Cadiz, the Master of Santiago, the 
marques of Villena ; the counts of Tendilla, Cifuentes, 
Cabra, and Urena ; and Don Alonzo de Aguilar. 

Queen Isabella, accompanied by her son the prince 
Juan, and by the princesses Juana, Maria, and Catha- 
lina, her daughters, proceeded to Alcala la Real, 
the mountain fortress and strong-hold of the count 
de Tendilla. Here she remained, to forward supplies 
to the army, and to be ready to repair to the camp, 
whenever her presence might be required. 

The army of Ferdinand poured into the vega, by 
various defiles ol the mountains ; and, on the 23d of 
April, the royal tent was pitched at a village called 
Los Ojos de Huescar, about a league and a half from 
Granada. At the approach of this formidable force, 
the harassed inhabitants turned pale, and even many 
of the warriors trembled ; for they felt that the last 
desperate struggle was at hand. 

Boabdil el Chico assembled his council in the Al- 
hambra, from the windows of v,'hich they could 
behold the christian squadrons glistening through 
clouds of dust, as they poured along the vega. The 
utmost confusion and consternation reigned in the 
council. Many of the members, terrified with the 
horrors impending over their families, advised Boab- 
dil to throw himself upon the generosity of the chris- 
tian monarch : even several of the bravest suggested 
the possibility of obtaining honorable terms. 

The wazir of the city, Abul Casim Abdel Melic, 
was called upon to report the state of the public 
means for sustenance and defence. There were 
sufficient provisions, he said, for a few months' sup- 
ply, independent of what might exist in the posses- 
sion of merchants and other rich inhabitants. " But 
of what avail," said he, " is a supply for a few months, 
against the sieges of the Castilian monarch, which are 
interminable ? " 



He produced, also, the lists of men capable of bear- 
ing arms. " The number," said he, "is great; but 
what can be expected from mere citizen soldiers ? 
They vaunt and menace, in time of safety; none are 
so arrogant, when the enemy is at a distance — but 
when the din of war thunders at their gates, they 
hide themselves in terror." 

When Muza heard these words, he rose with gen- 
erous warmth : " What reason have we," said he, " to 
despair.'' The blood of those illustrious Moors, the 
conquerors of Spain, still Hows in our veins. Let us 
be true to ourselves, and fortune will again be with 
us. We have a veteran force, both horse and foot, 
the flower of our chivalry, seasoned in war and scar- 
red in a thousand battles. As to the multitude of our 
citizens, spoken of so slightly, why should we doubt 
their valor ? There are twenty thousand young men, 
in the fire of youth, for whom I will engage, that 
in the defence of their homes they will rival the 
most valiant veterans. Do we want provisions ? Our 
horses are fleet, and our horsemen daring in the 
foray. Let them scour and scourge the country of 
those apostate Moslems who have surrendered to the 
christians. Let them make inroads into the lands ot 
our enemies. We shall soon see them returning with 
cavalgadas to our gates ; and, to a soldier, there is no 
morsel so sweet as that wrested with hard fighting 
from the foe." 

Boabdil el Chico, though he wanted firm and dura- 
ble courage, was readily excited to sudden emotions 
of bravery. He caught a glow of resolution from 
the noble ardor of Muza. " Do what is needful," 
said he to his commanders ; " into your hands I con- 
fide the common safety. You are the protectors of 
the kingdom, and, with the aid of Allah, will revenge 
the insults of our religion, the deaths of our friends 
and relations, and the sorrows and sufferings heaped 
upon our land."* 

To every one was now assigned his separate duty. 
The wazir had charge of the arms and provisions, 
and the enrolling of the people. Muza was to com- 
mand the cavalrv, to defend the gates, and to take 
the lead in all sallies and skirmishings. Naim Reduan, 
and Muhamed Aben Zayde, were his adjutants. Ab- 
del Kerim Zegri, and the other captains, were to 
guard the walls ; and the alcaydes of the Alcazaba, 
and of the Red Towers, had command of the for- 
tresses. 

Nothing now was heard but the din of arms, and 
the bustle of preparation. The Moorish spirit, quick 
to catch fire, was immediately in a flame ; and the 
populace, in the excitement of the moment, set at 
nought the power of the christians. Muza was in all 
parts of the city, infusing his own generous zeal into 
the bosoms of the soldiery. The young cavaliers 
rallied round him as their model ; the veteran war- 
riors regarded him with a soldier's admiration ; the 
vulgar throng followed him with shouts, and the 
helpless part of the inhabitants, the old men and the 
women, hailed him with blessings as their protector. 

On the first appearance of the christian army, the 
principal gates of the city had been closed, and se- 
cured with bars and bolts and heavy chains : Muza 
now ordered them to be thrown open ; " To me and 
my cavaliers," said he, "is intrusted the defence of 
the gates ; our bodies shall be their barriers." He 
stationed at each gate a strong guard, chosen from 
his bravest men. His horsemen were always com- 
pletely armed, and ready to mount at a moment's 
warning : their steeds stood saddled and caparisoned 
in the stables, with lance and buckler beside them. 
On the least approach of the enemy, a squadron of 
horse gathered within the gate, ready to lanch forth 
like the bolt from the thunder-cloud. Muza made 



* Garibay, lib. iS, c. 39. 



* Conde. 



280 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



no empty bravado nor haughty threat ; he was more 
terrible in deeds than in words, and executed daring 
exploits, beyond even the vaunt of the vain glorious. 
Such was the present champion of the .Moori. Had 
they possessed many such warriors, or had Muza 
risen to power at an earlier period of the war, the 
fate of Granada might have been deferred, and the 
Moor for a long time have maintained his throne 
within the walls of the Alhambra. 



CHAPTER XLVI. 



HOW KING FERDINAND CONDUCTED THE SIEGE 
CAUTIOUSLY ; AND HOW QUEEN ISABELLA 
ARRIVtD AT THE CAMP. 

Though Granada was shorn of its glories, and 
nearly cut off from all external aid, still its mighty 
castles and massive bulwarks seemed to set all attack 
at defiance. Bcmg the last retreat of Moorish power, 
it had assembled within its walls the remnants of the 
armies that had contended, step by step, with the 
invaders, in their gradual conquest of the land. All 
that remained of high-born and high-bred chivalry, 
was here ; all that was loyal and patriotic was roused 
to activity by the common danger ; and Granada, 
that had so long been lulled into inaction by vain 
hopes of security, now assumed a formidable aspect 
in the hour of its despair. 

Ferdinand saw that any attempt to subdue the city 
by main force, would be perilous and bloody. Cau- 
tious in his policy, and fond of conquests gained by 
art rather than valor, he resorted to the plan which 
had been so successful with Baza, and determined 
to reduce the place by famine. For this purpose, 
his armies penetrated into the very heart of the Al- 
puxarras, and ravaged the valleys, and sacked and 
burnt the towns, upon which the city depended for 
its supplies. Scouting parties, also, ranged the 
mountains behind Granada, and captured every 
casual convoy of provisions. The Moors became 
more daring, as their situation became more hope- 
less. Never had Ferdinand experienced such vigor- 
ous sallies and assaults. Muza, at the head of his 
cavalry, harassed the borders of the camp, and even 
penetrated into the interior, making sudden spoil and 
ravage, and leaving his course to be traced by the 
slain and wounded. To protect his camp from these 
assaults, Ferdinand fortified it with deep trenches 
and strong bulwarks. It was of a quadrangular form, 
divided into streets like a city, the troops being quar- 
tered in tents, and in booths constructed of bushes 
and branches of trees. When it was completed, 
queen Isabella came in state, with all her court, and 
the prince and princesses, to be present at the siege. 
This was intended, as on former occasions, to re- 
duce the besieged to despair, by showing the deter- 
mination of the sovereigns to reside in the camp until 
the city should surrender. Immediately after her 
arrival, the queen rode forth to survey the camp and 
its environs : wherever she went, she was attended 
by a splendid retinue ; and all the commanders vied 
with each other, in the pomp and ceremony with 
which they received her. Nothing was heard, from 
morning until night, but shouts and acclamations, 
and bursts of martial music ; so that it appeared to 
the Moors as if a continual festival and triumph 
reigned in the christian camp. 

The arrival of the queen, however, and the men- 
.aced obstinacy of the siege, had no effect in damping 
Ithe fire of the Moorish chivalry. Muza inspired the 
wouthful warriors with the most devoted heroism : 
•" We have nothing left to fight for," said he, "but 



the ground we stand on ; when this is lost, v\'e cease 
to have a country and a name." 

Finding the christian king forbore to make an 
attack, Muza incited his cavaliers to challenge the 
youthful chivalry of the christian army to single com- 
bat, or partial skirmishes. Scarce a day passed with- 
out gallant conflicts of the kind, in sight of the city 
and the camp. The combatants rivalled each other 
in the splendor of their armor and array, as well as 
in the prowess of their deeds. Their contests were 
more like the stately ceremonials of tilts and tourna- 
ments, than the rude conflicts of the field. Ferdi- 
nand soon perceived that they animated the fiery 
Moors with fresh zeal and courage, while they cost 
the lives of many of his bravest cavaliers : he again, 
therefore, forbade the acceptance of any individual 
challenges, and ordered that all partial encounters 
should be avoided. The cool and stern policy of the 
Catholic sovereign bore hard upon the generous 
spirits of either army, but roused the indignation of 
the Moors, when they found that they were to be 
subdued in this inglorious manner : " Of what avail," 
said they, " are chivalry and heroic valor.' the crafty 
monarch of the christians has no magnanimity in 
warfare ; he seeks to subdue us through the weak- 
ness of our bodies, but shuns to encounter the courage 
of our souls." 



CHAPTER XLVII. 



OF THE INSOLENT DEFIANCE OF YARFE THE 
MOOR, AND THE DARING EXPLOIT OF HER- 
NANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR. 

When the Moorish knights beheld that all cour- 
teous challenges were unavailing, they sought various 
means to provoke the christian warriors to the field. 
Sometimes a body of them, fleetly mounted, would 
gallop up to the skirts of the camp, and try who 
should hurl his lance farthest within the barriers, 
having his name inscribed upon it, or a label affixed 
to it, containing some taunting defiance. These bra- 
vadoes caused great irritation, but still the Spanish 
warriors were restrained by the prohibition of the 
king. 

Among the Moorish cavaliers was one named Yarfe, 
renowned for his great strength and daring spirit ; but 
whose courage partook of fierce audacity, rather than 
chivalric heroism. In one of these sallies, when they 
were skirting the christian camp, this arrogant Moor 
outstripped his companions, overleaped the barriers, 
and, galloping close to the royal quarters, lanched 
his lance so far within, that it remained quivering in 
the earth close by the pavilions of the sovereigns. 
The royal guards rushed forth in pursuit, but the 
Moorish horsemen were already beyond the camp, 
and scouring in a cloud of dust for the city. Upon 
wresting the lance from the earth, a label was found 
upon it, importing that it was intended for the 
queen. 

Nothing could equal the indignation of the chris- 
tian warriors, at the insolence of the bravado, and 
the discourteous insult offered to the queen. Her- 
nando Perez del Pulgar, surnamed " he of the ex- 
ploits," was present, and resolved not to be outbraved 
by this daring infidel : " Who will stand by me," said 
he, " in an enterprise of desperate peril ? " The chris- 
tian cavaliers well knew the harebrained valor of 
Hernando del Pulgar, yet not one hesitated to step 
forward. He chose fifteen companions, all men of 
powerful arm and dauntless heart. In the dead of 
the night, he led them forth from the camp, and ap- 
proached the city cautiously, until he arrived at a 



A CHROxNICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



281 



postem-gate, which opened upon the Darro, and 
was guarded by foot-soldiers. The guards, little 
thinking of such an unwonted and partial attack, 
were for the most part asleep. The gate was forced, 
and a confused and chance-medley skirmish ensued : 
Hernando del Pulgar stopped not to take part in the 
affray : putting spurs to his horse, he galloped 
furiously through the streets, striking fire out of the 
stones at every bound. Arrived at the principal 
mosque, he sprang from his horse, and, kneeling at 
the portal, took possession of the edifice as a chris- 
tian chapel, dedicating it to the blessed virgin. In 
testimonial of the ceremony, he took a tablet which 
he had brought with him, on which was inscribed in 
large characters, "Ave Mari.\," and nailed it to 
the door of the mosque with his dagger. This done, 
he remounted his steed, and galloped back to the 
gate. The alarm had been given — the city was in an 
uproar — soldiers were gathering from every direction. 
They were astonished at seeing a christian warrior 
galloping from the interior of the city. Hernando 
del Pulgar overturned some, cut down others, re- 
joined his companions, who still maintained posses- 
sion of the gate by dint of hard fighting, and all made 
good their retreat to the camp. The Moors were at 
a loss to imagine the meaning of this wild and ap- 
parently fruitless assault; but great was their ex- 
asperation, on the following day, when the trophy of 
hardihood and prowess, the " AVE IVIaria," was 
discovered thus elevated in bravado in the very 
centre of the city. The mosque thus boldly sancti- 
fied bv Hernando del Pulgar was actually consecra- 
ted into a cathedral, after the capture of Granada.* 



CHAPTER XLVni. 

HOW QUEEN ISABELLA TOOK A VIEW OF THE 
CITY OF GRANADA— AND HOW HER CURIOSITY 
COST THE LIVES OF MANY CHRISTIANS AND 
MOORS. 

The royal encampment lay at such a distance 
from Granada, that the general aspect of the city 
only could be seen, as it rose gracefully from the 
vega, covering the sides of the hills with palaces and 
towers. Queen Isabella had expressed an earnest 
desire to behold, nearer at hand, a city whose beauty 
was so renowned throughout the world ; and the 
marques of Cadiz, with his accustomed courtesy, 
prepared a great military escort and guard, to pro- 
tect the queen and the ladies of the court, while they 
enjoyed this perilous gratification. 

It was on the morning after the events recorded 
in the preceding chapter, that a magnificent and 
powerful train issued forth from the christian camp. 
The advanced guard w.is composed of legions of 
cavalry, heavily armed, that looked like moving 
masses of polished steel. Then came the king and 
queen, with the prince and princess, and the ladies 
of the court, surrounded by the royal body-guard, 
sumptuously arrayed, composed of the sons of the 
most illustrious houses of Spain ; after these was the 
rear-guard, composed of a powerful force of horse 
and foot ; for the flower of the army sallied forth 
that day. The Moors gazed with fearful admiration 

* In commemor.itIon of this daring feat, the emperor Charles V., 
in after years, conferred on Pulcar and his descendants the right of 
sepulture in that church, and the privilege of sitting in the choir 
during high mass. This Hernando Perez del Pulgar was a m^n of 
letters, as well as atms, and inscribed to Charles V. a summary of 
the achievements of Gonsalvo of Cordova, surnamed the great cap- 
tain, who had been one of his comrades in arms. He is often con- 
founded with Hernando del Pulgar, historian and secretary to queen 
Isabella. — See note to Piilgar's Chron. of the Catholic Sovereigns, 
part 3. c. iii. edit. Valencia, 1780. 



at this glorious pageant, wherein- the pomp of the 
court was mingled with the terrors of the camp. 
It moved along in a radiant line, across the vega, to 
the melodious thunders of martial music ; while 
banner and plume, and silken scarf, and rich bro- 
cade, gave a gay and gorgeous relief to the grim 
visage of iron war, that lurked beneath. 

The army moved towards the hamlet of Zubia, 
built on the skirts of the mountain to the left of Gra- 
nada, and commanding a view of the Alhambra, and 
the most beautiful quarter of the city. As they ap- 
proached the hamlet, the marques of Villena, the 
count Urefia, and Don Alonzo de Aguilar, filed off 
with their battalions, and were soon seen glittering 
along the side of the mountain above the village. In 
the mean time, the marques of Cadiz, the count de 
Tendilla, the count de Cabra, and Don Alonzo Fer- 
nandez, Senior of Alcandrete and Montemayor, drew 
up their forces in battle array on the plain below the 
hamlet, presenting a living barrier of loyal chivalry 
between the sovereigns and the city. 

Thus securely guarded, the royal party alighted, 
and, entering one of the houses of the hamlet, which 
had been prepared for their reception, enjoyed a full 
view of the city from its terraced roof. The ladies 
of the court gazed with delight at the red towers of 
the Alhambra, rising from amidst shady groves, 
anticipating the time when the Catholic sovereigns 
should be enthroned within its walls, and its courts 
shine with the splendor of Spanish chivalry. " The 
reverend prelates and holy friars, who always sur- 
rounded the queen, looked with serene satistaction," 
says Fray Antonio Agapida, " at this modern Baby- 
lon, enjoying the triumph that awaited them, when 
those mosques and minarets should be converted 
into churches, and goodly priests and bishops should 
succeed to the infidel alfaquis." 

When the Moors beheld the christians thus drawn 
forth in full array in the plain, they supposed it was 
to offer them battle ; and they hesitated not to ac- 
cept it. In a little while, the queen Vjeheld a body 
of Moorish cavalry pouring into the vega, the riders 
managing their fleet and fiery steeds with admirable 
address. They were richly armed, and clothed in 
the most brilliant colors, and the caparisons of their 
steeds flamed with gold and embroidei-y. This was 
the favorite squadron of Muza, composed of the 
flower of the youthful cavaliers of Granada. Others 
succeeded, some heavily armed, some a la ginete 
with lance and buckler ; and lastly came the legions 
of foot-soldiers, with arquebuss and cross-bow, and 
spear and scimitar. 

When the queen saw this army issuing from the 
city, she sent to the marques of Cadiz, and forbade 
any attack upon the enemy, or the acceptance of 
any challenge to a skirmish ; for she was loth that 
her curiosity should cost the life of a single human 
being. 

The marques promised to obey, though sorely 
against his will ; and it grieved the spirit of the 
Spanish cavaliers, to be obliged to remain with 
sheathed swords while bearded by the foe. The 
Moors could not comprehend the meaning of this 
inaction of the christians, after having apparently in- 
vited a battle. They sallied several times from their 
ranks, and approached near enough to discharge 
their arrows ; but the christians were immovable. 
Many of the Moorish horsemen galloped close to the 
christian ranks, brandishing their lances and scimi- 
tars, and defying various cavaliers to single combat ; 
but king Ferdinand had rigorously prohibited all 
duels of the kind, and they dared not transgress his 
orders under his very eye. 

While this grim and reluctant tranquillity pre- 
vailed along the christian line, there rose a mingled 



282 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



shout and sound -of laughter near the gate of the 
city. A Moorish horseman, armed at all points, 
issued forth, followed by a rabble, who drew back as 
he approache.l the scene of danger. The Moor was 
more robust and brawny than was common with 
his countrymen. His visor was closed ; he bore a 
huge buckler and a ponderous lance; his scimitar 
was of a Damascus blade, and his richly ornamented 
dagger was wrought by an artificer of Fez. He was 
known by his device to be Yarfe, the most insolent, 
yet valiant, of the Moslem warriors — the same who 
had hurled into the royal camp his lance, inscribed 
to the queen. As he rode slowly along in front of 
the army, his very steed, prancing with fiery eye and 
distended nostril, seeined to breathe defiance to the 
christians. 

But what were the feelings of the Spanish cava- 
liers, when they beheld, tied to the tail of his steed, 
and dragged in the dust, the veiy inscription, " AvE 
M4RIA," which Hernando Perez del Pulgar had 
affixed to the door of the mosc|ue ! A burst of hor- 
ror and indignation broke forth from the army. 
Hernando del Pulgar was not at hand to maintain 
his previous achievement ; but one of his young 
companions in arms. Garcilasso de la Vega by name, 
putting spurs to his horse, galloped to the hamlet of 
Zubia, threw himself on his knees before the king, 
and besought permission to accept the defiance of this 
insolent infidel, and to revenge the insult offered to 
our blessetl Lady. The request was too pious to be 
refused : Garcilasso remounted his steed ; he closed 
his helmet, graced by four sable plumes, grasped his 
buckler of Flemish workmanship, and his lance of 
matchless temper, and defied the haughty Moor in 
the midst of his career. A combat took place, in 
view of the two armies and of the Castilian court. 
The Moor was powerful in wielding his weapons, 
and dextrous in managing his steed. He was of 
larger frame than Garcilasso, and more completely 
armed ; and the christians trembled for their cham- 
pion. The shock of their encounter was dreadful ; 
their lances were shivered, and sent up splinters in 
the air. Garcilasso was thrown back in the saddle — 
his horse made a wide career, before he could re- 
cover, gather up the reins, and return to the con- 
flict. They now encountered each other with swords. 
The Moor circled round his opponent, as a hawk cir- 
cles whereabout to make a swoop ; his Arabian steed 
obeyed his rider, with matchless quickness; at every 
attack of the infidel it seemed as if the christian 
knight must sink beneath his flashing scimitar. But 
if Garcilasso were inferior to him in power, he was 
superior in agility : many of his blows he parried ; 
others he received upon his Flemish shield, which 
was proof against the Damascus blade. The blood 
streamed from numerous wounds received by either 
warrior. The Moor, seeing his antagonist exhausted, 
availed himself of his superior force, and, grappling, 
endeavored to wrest his from his saddle. They both 
fell to earth ; the Moor placed his knee upon the 
breast of his victim, and, brandishing his dagger, 
aimed a blow at his throat. A cry of despair was 
uttered by the christian warriors, when suddenly 
they beheld the Moor rolling lifeless in the dust. 
Garcilasso had shortened his sword, and, as his ad- 
versary raised his arm to strike, had pierced him to 
the heart. " It was a singular and miraculous vic- 
tory," says Fray Antonio Agapida ; " but the chris- 
tian knight was armed by the sacred nature of his 
cause, and the holy virgin gave him strength, like 
another David, to slay this gigantic champion of the 
Gentiles." 

The laws of chivalry were observed throughout 
the combat — no one interfered on either side. Gar- 
cilasso now despoiled his adversary ; then, rescuing 



the holy inscription of "AVE MARIA " from its de- 
grading situation, he elevated it on the point of his 
sword, and bore it off as a signal of triutnph, amidst 
the rapturous shouts of the christian army. 

The sun had now reached the meridian ; and the 
hot blood of the Moors was inflamed by its rays, and 
by the sight of the defeat of their champion. Muza 
ordered two pieces of ordnance to open a fire upon 
the christians. A confusion was produced in one 
part of their ranks : Muza called to the chiefs of 
the army, " Let us waste no more time in empty 
challenges — let us charge upon the enemy : he who 
assaults has always an advantage in the combat." 
So saying, he rushed forward, followed bv a large 
body of horse and foot, and charged so furiously upon 
the advance guard of the christians, that he drove it 
in upon the battalion of the marques of Cadiz. 

The gallant marques now considered himself ab- 
solved from all further obedience to the queen's com- 
mands. He gave the signal to attack. " Santiago I " 
was shouted along the line; and he pressed forward 
to the encounter, with his battalion of twelve hun- 
dred lances. The other cavaliers followed his ex- 
ample, and the battle instantly became general. 

When the king and queen beheld the armies thus 
rushing to the combat, they threw themselves on 
their knees, and implored the holy virgin to piloted 
her faithful warriors. The prince and princess, the 
ladies of the court, and the prelates and friars who 
were present, did the same; and the effect of the 
prayers of these illustrious and saintly persons, was 
immediately apparent. The fierceness with which 
the Moors had rushed to the attack was suddenly 
cooled ; they were bold and adroit for a skirmish, 
but unequal to the veteran Spaniards in the open 
field. A panic seized upon the foot-soldiers — they 
turned, and took to flight. Muza and his cavaliers 
in vain endeavored to rally them. Some took refuge 
in the mountains ; but the greater part fled to the 
city, in such confusion that they overturned and 
trampled upon each other. The christians pursued 
them to the very gates. Upwards of two thousand 
were either killed, wounded, or taken prisoners ; and 
the two pieces of ordnance were brought off, as 
trophies of the victory. Not a christian lance but 
was bathed that day m the blood of an infidel.* 

Such was the brief but bloody action, which was 
known among the christian warriors by the name of 
"the queen's skirmish;" for when the marques of 
Cadiz waited upon her majesty to apologize for 
breaking her commands, he attributed the victory 
entirely to her presence. The queen, however, in- 
sisted that it was all owing to her troops being led 
on by so valiant a commander. Her majesty had not 
yet recovered from her agitation at beholding so 
terrible a scene of bloodshed ; though certain vete- 
rans present pronounced it as gay and gentle a 
skirmish as they had ever witnessed. 

To commemorate this victory, the queen after- 
wards erected a monastery in this village of Zubia, 
dedicated to St. Francisco, which still exists; and in 
its garden is a laurel, planted by the hands of her 
majesty, t 



* Cura de los Palacios. 

+ The house from whence the king and queen contemplated the 
battle, is likewise to be seen at the present day. It is in the first 
street, to the right, on entering the village from the vega ; and the 
royal arms are painted on the ceilings. It is inhabited bj' a worthy 
iarmer, I'Vancisco Garcia, who, in showing the house, refuses all 
compensation, with true Spanish pride ; oflfenng, on the contrary, 
the hospitalities of his mansion to the stranger. His children ate 
versed in tile old Spanish ballads, about the exploits of Hernando 
Perez del Pulgar and Garcilasso de la Vega. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



283 



CHAPTER XLIX. 

CONFLAGRATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CAMP. 

The ravages of war had as yet spared a little por- 
tion of the vega of Granada. A green belt of gar- 
dens and orchards still flourished round the city, 
extending along the banks of the Xenel and the 
Darro. They had been the solace and delight of 
the inhabitants in their happier days, and contributed 
to their sustenance in this time of scarcity. Ferdi- 
nand determined to make a final and exterminating 
ravage to the very walls of the city, so that there 
should not remain a single green thing for the sus- 
tenance of man or beast. The evening of a hot 
July day shone splendidly upon the christian camp, 
which was in a bustle of pieparation for the next 
day's service — for desperate resistance was expected 
from the Moors. The camp made a glorious ap- 
pearance, in the setting sun. The various tents of 
the roy.nl family and the attendant nobles, v, ere 
adorned with rich hangings, and sumptuous devices, 
and costly furniture ; forming, as it were, a little 
city of silk and brocade, where the pinnacles of 
pavilions of various gay colors, surmounted with 
waving standards and fluttering pennons, might vie 
with the domes and minarets of the capital they 
were besieging. 

In the midst of this little gaudy metropolis, the 
lofty tent of the queen domineered over the rest like 
a stately palace. The marques of Cadiz had court- 
eously surrendered his own tent to the queen : it 
was the most complete and sumptuous in Christen- 
dom, and had been carried about with him through- 
out the war. In the centre rose a stately alfaneque 
or pavilion in oriental taste, the rich hangings being- 
supported by columns of lances and ornamented 
with martial devices. This central pavilion, or silken 
tower, was surrounded by other compartments, some 
of painted linen lined with silk, and all separated 
from each other by curtains. It was one of those 
camp palaces which are raised and demolished in an 
instant, like the city of canvas that surrounds them. 

As the evening advanced, the bustle in the camp 
subsided. Every one sought repose, preparatoiy to 
the next day's trial. The king retired early, that he 
might be up with the crowing of the cock, to head 
the destroying army in person. All stir of military 
preparation was hushed in the royal quarters ; the 
very sound of minstrelsy was mute, and not the 
tinkling of a guitar was to be heard from the tents 
of the fair ladies of the court. 

The queen had retired to the innermost part of 
her pavilion, where she was performing her orisons 
before a private altar; perhaps the jjeril to which 
the king might be exposed in the next day's foray, 
inspired her with more than usual devotion. While 
thus at her prayers, she was suddenly aroused by a 
glare of light, and wreaths of suffocating smoke. In 
an instant, the whole tent was in a blaze : there was 
a high gusty wind, which whirled the light flames 
from tent to tent, and wrapped the whole in one 
conflagration. 

Isabella had barely time to save herself by instant 
flight. Her first thought, on being extricated from 
her tent, was for the safety of the king. She rushed 
to his tent, but the vigilant Ferdinand was already 
at the entrance of it. Starting from bed on the first 
alarm, and fancying it an assault of the enemy, he 
had seized his sword and buckler, and sallied forth 
undressed, with his cuirass upon his arm. 

The late gorgeous camp was now a scene of wild 
confusion. The flames kept spreading from one 
pavilion to another, glaring upon the rich armor, 
and golden and silver vessels, which seemed melting 



in the fervent heat. Many of the soldiers had erected 
booths and bowers of branches, which, being dry, 
crackled and blazed, and added to the rapid con- 
flagration. The ladies of the court fled, shrieking 
and half-dressed, from their tents. There was an 
alarm of drum and trumpet, and a distracted hurry 
about the camp of men half armed. The prince 
Juan had been snatched out of bed by an attendant, 
and conveyed to the quarters of the count de Cabra, 
which were at the entrance of the camp. The loyal 
count immediately summoned his people, and those 
of his cousin Don Alonzo de Montemayor, and form- 
ed a guard round the tent in which the prince was 
sheltered. 

The idea that this was a stratagem of the Moors, 
soon subsided ; but it was feared that they might 
take advantage of it to assault the camp. The mar- 
ques of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with three 
thousand horse to check any advance from the city. 
As they passed along, the whole camp was a scene 
of hurry and consternation— some hastening to their 
posts, at the call of drum and trumpet ; some at- 
tempting to save rich effects and glittering armor 
from the tents, others dragging along terrified and 
restive horses. 

When they emerged from the camp, they found 
the whole firmament illuminated. The flames whirl- 
ed up in long light spires, and the air was filled with 
sparks and cinders. A bright glare was thrown 
upon the city, revealing every battlement and tower. 
Turbaned heads were seen gazing from every roof, 
and armor gleamed along the walls ; yet not a single 
warrior sallied from the gates : the Moors suspected 
some stratagem on the part of the christians, and 
kept quietly within their walls. By degrees, the 
flames expired ; the city faded from sight : all again 
became dark and quiet, and the marques of Cadiz 
returned with his cavalry to the camp. 



CHAPTER L. 



THE LAST RAVAGE BEFORE GRANADA. 

When the day dawned on the christian camp, 
nothing remained of that beautiful assemblage of 
stately pavilions, but heaps of smouldering rubbish, 
with helms and corselets and other furniture of war, 
and masses of melted gold and silver glittering 
among the ashes. The wardrobe of the queen v>'as 
entirely destroyed, and there was an immense loss 
in plate, jewels, costly stuffs, and sumptuous armor 
of the luxurious nobles. The fire at first had been 
attributed to treachery, but on investigation it proved 
to be entirely accidental. The queen, on retiring to 
her prayers, had ordered her lady in attendance to 
remove a light burning near her couch, lest it should 
prevent her sleeping. Through heedlessness, the 
taper was placed in another part of the tent, near 
the hangings, which, being blown against it by a 
gust of wind, immediately took fire. 

The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine tempera- 
ment of the Moors, and hastened to prevent their 
deriving confidence from the night's disaster. At 
break of day, the drums and trumpets sounded to 
arms, and the christian army issued froin among the 
smoking ruins of their camp, in shining squadrons, 
with flaunting banners and bursts of martial tnel- 
ody, as though the preceding night had been a time 
of high festivity, instead of terror. 

The Moors had beheld the conflagration with 
wonder and perplexity. When the day broke, and 
they looked towards the christian camp, they saw 
nothing but a dark smoking mass. Their scouts 



281 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



came in, with tlie joyful intelligence that the whole 
camp was a scene of ruin. Scarce had the tidings 
spread throughout the city, when they beheld the 
christian army advancing towards their walls. 
They considered it a feint, to cover their desperate 
situation and prepare for a retreat. Boabdil el 
Chico had one of his impulses of valor — he deter- 
mined to take the field in person, and to follow up this 
signal blow which Allah had inflicted on the enemy. 

The christian army approached close to the city, 
and were laying waste the gardens and orchards, 
when Boabdil sallied forth, surrounded by all that 
was left of the flower and chivalry of Granada. 
There is one place where even the coward becomes 
brave — that sacred spot called home. What then 
must have been the valor of the Moors, a people al- 
ways of fiery spirit, when the war was thus brought 
to their thresholds ! They fought among the scenes 
of their loves and pleasures; the scenes of their in- 
fancy, and the haunts of their domestic life. They 
fought under the eyes of their wives and children, 
their old men and their maidens, of all that was 
helpless and all that was dear to them ; for all Gra- 
nada, crowded on tower and battlement, watched 
with trembling heart the fate of this eventful day. 

There was not so much one battle, as a variety of 
battles ; every garden and orchard became a scene 
of deadly contest ; every inch of ground was dis- 
puted, with an agony of grief and valor, by the 
Moors ; every inch of ground that the christians 
advanced, they valiantly maintained ; but never did 
they advance with severer fighting, or greater loss 
of blood. 

The cavalry of Muza was in every part of the 
field ; wherever it came, it gave fresh ardor to the 
fight. The Moorish soldier, fainting with heat, 
fatigue, and wounds, was roused to new lite at the 
approach of Muza ; and even he who lay gasping 
in the agonies of death, turned his face towards 
him, and faintly uttered cheers and blessings as he 
passed. 

The christians had by this time gained possession 
of various towers near the city, from whence they 
had been annoyed by cross-bows and arquebusses. 
The Moors, scattered in various actions, were se- 
verely pressed. Boabdil, at the head of the cava- 
liers ot his guard, displayed the utmost valor, min- 
gling in the fight in various parts of the field, and en- 
deavoring to inspirit the foot-soldiers in the combat 
But the Moorish infantry was never to be depended 
upon. In the heat of the action, a panic seized upon 
them ; they fled, leaving their sovereign exposed with 
his handful of cavaliers to an overwhelming force. 
Boabdil was on the point of falling into the hands 
of the christians, when, wheeling round, with his 
followers, they threw the reins on the necks of their 
fleet steeds, and took refuge by dint of hoof within 
the walls of the city.* 

Muza endeavored to retrieve the fortune of the 
field. He threw himself before the retreating infan- 
try, calling upon them to turn and fight for their 
homes, their families, for every thing that was sacred 
and dear to them. It was all in vain : — they were 
totally broken and dismayed, and fled tumultuously 
for the gates. Muza would fain have kept the field 
with his cavalry ; but this devoted band, having stood 
the brunt of war throughout this desperate campaign, 
was fearfully reduced in numbers, and many of the 
survivors were crippled and enfeebled by their 
wounds. Slowly and reluctantly Muza retreated to 
the city, his bosom swelling with indignation and 
despair. When he entered the gates, he ordered 
them to be closed, and secured with bolts and bars ; 



* Zurita, lib. 20. c. 88. 



for he refused to place any further confidence in the 
archers and arquebusiers who were stationed to de- 
fend them, and he vowed never more to sally forth 
with foot-soldiers to the field. 

In the mean time the artillery thundered from the 
walls, and checked all further advances of the chris- 
tians. King Ferdinand, therefore, called off his 
troops, and returned in triumph to the ruins of his 
camp, leaving the beautiful city of Granada wrapped 
in the smoke of her fields and gardens, and surround- 
ed by the bodies of her slaughtered children. 

Such was the last sally made by the Moors, in de- 
fence of their favorite city. The French ambassa- 
dor, who witnessed it, was filled with wonder, at the 
prowess, the dexterity, and daring of the Moslems. 

In truth, this whole war was an instance, memora- 
ble in history, of the most persevering resolution. For 
nearly ten years had the war endured — an almost 
uninterrupted series of disasters to the Moorish arms. 
Their towns had been taken, one after another, and 
their brethren slain or led into captivity. Yet they 
disputed every city and town, and fortress and cas- 
tle, nay every rock itself, as if they had been inspir- 
ited by victories. Wherever they could plant foot 
to fight, or find wall or clift" from whence to lanch an 
arrow, they disputed their beloved country ; and now, 
when their capital was cut off from all relief, and 
had a whole nation thundering at its gates, they still 
maintained defence, as if they hoped some miracle 
to interpose in their behalf. Their obstinate resist- 
ance (says an ancient chronicler) shows the grief 
with which the Moors yielded up the vega, which 
was to them a paradise and heaven. Exerting all 
the strength of their arms, they embraced, as it were, 
that most beloved soil, from which neither wounds, 
nor defeats, nor death itsell, could part them. They 
stood firm, battling for it with the united force of 
love and grief, never drawing back the foot while 
they had hands to fight, or fortune to befriend them.* 



CHAPTEfl LI. 

BUILDING OF THE CITY OF SANTA FB— DESPAIR 
OF THE MOORS. 

The Moors now shut themselves up gloomily with- 
in their walls ; there were no longer any daring sallies 
from their gates ; and even the martial clangor of the 
drum and trumpet, which had continually resounded 
within that warrior city, was now seldom heard from 
its battlements. For a time, they flattered themselves 
with hopes that the late conflagration of the camp 
would discourage the besiegers ; that, as in former 
years, their invasion would end with the summer, and 
that they would again withdraw before the autumnal 
rains. 

The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon 
crushed these hopes. They gave orders to build a 
regular city upon the site of their camp, to convince 
the Moors that the siege was to endure until the sur- 
render of Granada. Nine of the principal cities of 
Spain were charged with this stupendous undertak- 
ing ; and they emulated each other, with a zeal wor- 
thy of the cause. " It verily seems," says Fray An- 
tonio Agapida, " as though some miracle operated to 
aid this pious work, so rapidly did arise a formidable 
city, with solid edifices, and powerful walls, and 
mighty towers, where lately had been seen nothing 
but tents and light pavilions. The city was traversed 
by two principal streets in form of a cross, terminat- 
ing in four gates facing the four winds ; and in the 



* Abaxca, Reyes de Aragon, R. 30, c. 3. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



285 



centre was a vast square, where the whole army 
might be assembled. To this city it was proposed 
to give tlie name of Isabella, so dear to the army and 
the nation ; " but that pious princess," adds Antonio 
Agapida, " calling to mind the lioly cause in which it 
was erected, gave it the name of Santa Fe, (or the 
City of the Holy Faith ;) and it remains to this day, 
a monument of the piety and glory of the Catholic 
sovereigns." 

Hither the merchants soon resorted, from all points. 
Long trains of mules were seen every day entering 
and departing from its gates ; the streets were 
crowded with magazines, tilled with all kinds of 
costly and luxurious merchandise ; a scene of bustling 
commerce and prosperity took place, while unhappy 
Granada remained shut up and desolate. 

In the mean time, the besieged city began to suffer 
the distress of famine. Its supplies were all cut off; 
a cavalgada of Hocks and herds, and mules laden with 
money, coming to the relief of the city from the 
mountains of the Alpuxarras, was taken by the mar- 
ques of Cadiz, and led in triumph to the camp, in 
sight of the suffering Moors. Autumn arrived ; but 
the harvests had been swept from the face of the 
country ; a rigorous winter was approaching, and the 
city was almost destitute of provisions. The people 
sank into deep despondency. They called to mind 
all that had been predicted by astrologers at the birth 
of their ill-starred sovereign, and all that had been 
foretold of the fate of Granada at the time of the 
capture of Zahara. 

Boabdil was alarmed by the gathering dangers 
from without, and by the clamors of his starving 
people. He summoned a council, composed of the 
principal officers of the army, the alcaydes of the 
fortresses, the xequis or sages of the city, and the 
alfaquis or doctors of the faith. They assembled in 
the great hall of audience of the Alhambra, and de- 
spair was painted in their countenances. Boabdil 
demanded of them, what was to be done in their 
present extremity ; and their answer was, " Surren- 
der." The venerable Abul Cazim Abdel Melic, 
governor of the city, represented its unhappy state : 
"Our granaries are nearly exhausted, and no fur- 
ther supplies are to be expected. The provender for 
the war-horses is required as sustenance for the sol- 
diery ; the very horses themselves are killed for lood ; 
of seven thousand steeds which once could be sent 
into the field, three hundred only remain. Our city 
contains two hundred thousand inhabitants, old and 
young, with each a mouth that calls piteously for 
bread." 

The xequis and principal citizens declared that the 
people could no longer sustain the labors and suffer- 
ings of a defence : " And of what avail is our de- 
fence," said they, " when the enemy is determined to 
persist in the siege ? — what alternative remains, but 
to surrender or to die .'' " 

The heart of Boabdil was touched by this appeal, 
and he maintained a gloomy silence. He had cher- 
ished some faint hope of relief from the soldan of 
Egypt or the Barbary powers : but it was now at an 
end ; even if such assistance were to be sent, he had 
no longer a sea-port where it might debark. The 
counsellors saw that the resolution of the king was 
shaken, and they united their voices in urging him 
to capitulate. 

The valiant Muza alone arose in opposition : " It 
is yet too early," said he, " to talk of a surrender. 
Our means are not exhausted ; we have yet one 
source of strength remaining, terrible in its effects, 
and which often has achieved the most signal victo- 
ries — it is our despair. Let us rouse the mass of the 
people — let us put weapons in their hands — let us 
fight the enemy to the very utmost, until we rush 



upon the points of their lances. I am ready to lead 
the way into the thickest of their squadrons ; and 
much rather would I be numbered among those who 
fell in the defence of Granada, than of those who 
survived to capitulate for her surrender ! " 

The words of Muza were without efiect, for they 
were addressed to broken-spirited and heartless men, 
or men, perhaps, to whom sad experience had taught 
discretion. They were arrived at that state of pub- 
lic depression, when heroes and heroism are no 
longer regarded, and when old men and their coun- 
sels rise into importance. Boabdil el Chico yielded 
to the general voice ; it was determined to capitulate 
with the christian sovereigns ; and the venerable 
Abul Cazim Abdel Melic was sent forth to the camp, 
empowered to treat for terms. 



CHAPTER LIL 
CAPITULATION OF GRANADA. 

The old governor, Abul Cazim Abdel Melic, was 
received with great distinction by Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, who appointed Gonsalvo of Cordova and Fer- 
nando de Zafra, secretary to the king, to confer with 
him. All Granada awaited, in trembling anxiety, 
the result of his negotiations. After repeated con- 
ferences, he at length returned with the ultimate 
terms of the Catholic sovereigns. They agreed to 
suspend all attack for seventy days, at the end of 
which time, if no succor should arrive to the Moorish 
king, the city of Granada was to be surrendered. 

All christian captives should be liberated, without 
ransom. 

Boabdil and his principal cavaliers should take an 
oath of fealty to the Castilian crown, and certain 
valuable territories in the Alpuxarra mountains 
should be assigned to the Moorish monarch for his 
maintenance. 

The Moors of Granada should become subjects of 
the Spanish sovereigns, retaining their possessions, 
their arms and horses, and yielding up nothing but 
their artillery. They should be protected in the ex- 
ercise of their religion, and governed by their own 
laws, administered by cadis of their own faith, under 
governors appointed by the sovereigns. They should 
be exempted from tribute for three years, after which 
term they shoiild pay the same that they had been 
accustomed to render to their native monarchs. 

Those who chose to depart for Africa within 
three years, should be provided with a passage for 
themselves and their effects, free of charge, from 
whatever port they should prefer. 

For the fulfilment of these articles, four hundred 
hostages from the principal families were required, 
previous to the surrender, to be subsequently re- 
stored. The son of the king of Granada, and all 
other hostages in possession of the Castilian sover- 
eigns, were to be restored at the same time. 

Such were the conditions that the wazir Abul 
Cazim laid before the council of Granada, as the best 
that could be obtained from the besieging foe. 

When the members of the council found that the 
awful moment had arrived when they were to sign 
and seal the perdition of their empire, and blot them- 
selves out as a nation, all firmness deserted them, 
and many gave way to tears. Muza alone retained 
an unaltered mien : " Leave, seniors," cried he, " this 
idle lamentation to helpless women and children : we 
are men — we have hearts, not to shed tender tears, 
but drops of blood. I see the spirit of the people so 
cast down, that it is impossible to save the kingdom. 
Yet there still remains an alternative for noble minds 



286 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



— a glorious denth ! Let us die defending our lib- 
erty, and avenging the woes of Granada. Our motlier 
earth will receive her children into her bosom, safe 
from the chains and oppressions of the conqueror ; 
or, should any fail a sepulchre to hide his remains, 
he will not want a sky to cover him. Allah forbid, it 
should be said the nobles of Granada feared to die 
in her defence ! " 

Muza ceased to speak, and a dead silence reigned 
in the assembly. Boabdii el Chico looked anxiously 
round, and scanned every face ; but he read in them 
all the anxiety of care-worn men, in whose hearts 
enthusiasm was dead, and who had grown callous to 
every chivalrous appeal. " Allah Acbar ! God is 
great !" exclaimed he; "there is no God but God, 
and Mahomet is his prophet ! It is in vain to strug- 
gle against the will of Heaven. Too surely was it 
written in the book of fate, that I should be unfor- 
tunate, and the kingdom expire under my rule." 

" Allah Acbar ! God is great ! " echoed the viziers 
and alfaquis ; " the will of God be done ! " So they 
all accorded with the king, that these evils were pre- 
ordained ; that it was hopeless to contend wiih them ; 
and that the terms offered by the Castilian monarchs 
were as favorable as could be expected. 

When Muza saw that they were about to sign the 
treaty of surrender, he rose in violent indignation : 
" Do not deceive yourselves," cried he, " nor think 
the christians will be faithful to their promises, or 
their king as magnanimous in conquest as he has been 
victorious in war. Death is the least we have to fear. 
It is the plundering and sacking of our city, the pro- 
fanation of our mosques, the ruin of our homes, the 
violation of our wives and daughters — cruel oppres- 
sion, bigoted intolerance, whips and chains, the dun- 
geon, the fagot, and the stake — such are the miseries 
and indignities we shall see and suffer ; at least, those 
groveling souls will see them, who now shrink from 
an honorable death. For my part, by Allah, I will 
never witness them ! " 

With these words he left the council-chamber, and 
strode gloomily through the Court of Lions and the 
outer halls of the Alhambra, without deigning to 
speak to the obsequious courtiers who attended in 
them. He repaired to his dwelling, armed himself 
at all points, mounted his favorite war-horse, and, 
issuing forth from the city by the gate of Elvira, was 
never seen or heard of more.* 

Such is the account given by Arabian historians, of 
the exit of Muza ben Abel Gazan ; but the venerable 
Fray Antonio Agapida endeavors to clear up the 
mystery of his fate. That very evening, a small 
party of Andalusian cavaliers, somewhat more than 
half a score of lances, were riding along the banks of 
the Xenel, where it winds through the vega. They 
beheld in the twilight a Moorish warrior approach- 
ing, closely locked up from head to foot in proof 
His visor was closed, his lance in rest, his powerful 
charger barbed like himself in steel. The christians 
were lightly armed, with corselet, helm, and target ; 
for, during the truce, they apprehended no attack. 
Seeing, however, the unknown warrior approach in 
this hostile guise, they challenged him to stand and 
declare himself 

The Moslem answered not, but, charging into the 
midst of them, transfixed one knight with his lance, 
and bore him out of his saddle to the earth. Wheel- 
ing round, he attacked the rest with his scimitar. 
His blows were furious and deadly ; he seemed re- 
gardless what wounds he received, so he could but 
slay. He was evidently fighting, not for glory, but 
revenge — eager to inflict death, but careless of sur\-iv- 
ing to enjoy victorv. Near one-half of the cavaliers 



fell beneath his sword, before he received a danger- 
ous wound, so completely was he cased in armor of 
proof At length he was desperately wounded, and 
his steed, being pierced by a lance, sank to the 
ground. The christians, admiring the valor of the 
Moor, would have spared his life ; but he continued 
to fight upon his knees, brandishing a keen dagger 
of Fez. Finding at length he could no longer 
battle, and determined not to be taken prisoner, he 
threw himself, with an expiring exertion, into the 
Xenel, and his armor sank him to the bottom of the 
stream. 

This unknown warrior the venerable Agapida 
pronounces to have been Muza ben Abel Gazan, and 
says his horse was recognised by certain converted 
Moors of the christian camp ; the fact, however, has 
always remained in doubt. 



* Conde, part 4. 



CHAPTER Lin. 

COMMOTION'S IN GRANADA. 

The capitulation for the surrender of Granada was 
signed on the 25th of November, 1481, and produced 
a sudden cessation of those hostilities which had 
raged for so many years. Christian and Moor 
might now be seen mingling courteously on the 
banks of the Xenel and the Darro, where to have 
met a few days previous would have produced a 
scene of sanguinary contest. Still, as the Moors 
might be suddenly aroused to defence, if, within the 
allotted term of seventy days, succors should arrive 
from abroad ; and as they were at all times a rash, 
inflammable people, the wary Ferdinand maintained 
a vigilant watch upon the city, and permitted no 
supplies of any kind to enter. His garrisons in the 
sea-ports, and his cruisers in the Straits of Gibraltar, 
were ordered likewise to guard against any relief 
from the grand soldan of Egypt, or the princes of 
Barbary. There was no need of such precautions. 
Those powers were either too much engrossed by 
their own wars, or too much daunted by the success 
of the Spanish arms, to interfere in a desperate 
cause ; and the unfortunate Moors of Granada were 
abandoned to their fate. 

The month of December had nearly passed away : 
the famine became extreme, and there was no hope 
of any favorable event within the term specified in 
the capitulation. Boabdii saw, that to hold out to the 
end of the allotted time would but be to protract 
the miseries of his people. With the consent of his 
council, he determined to surrender the city on the 
sixth of January. On the 30th of December, he 
sent his grand vizier Yusef Aben Comixa, u ith the 
four hundred hostages, to king Ferdinand, to make 
known his intention ; bearing him, at the same time, 
a present of a magnificent scimitar, and two Arabian 
steeds superbly caparisoned. 

The unfortunate Boabdii was doomed to meet with 
trouble, to the end of his career. The very next day, 
the santon or dervise Hamet Aben Zarrax, the same 
who had uttered prophecies and excited commotions 
on former occasions, suddenly made his appearance. 
Whence he came, no one knew ; it was rumored that 
he had been in the mountains of the Alpuxarras, and 
on the coast of Barbary, endeavoring to rouse the 
Moslems to the relief of Granada. He was reduced 
to a skeleton ; his eyes glowed like coals in their 
sockets, and his speech was little better than frantic 
raving. He harangued the populace, in the streets 
and squares ; inveighed against the capitulation, de- 
nounced the king and nobles as Moslems only in 
name, and called upon the people to sally forth 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



287 



against the unbelievers, for that Allah had decreed 
tliem a signal victory. 

Upwards of twenty thousand of the populace 
seized their arms, and paraded the streets with 
shouts and outcries. The shops and houses were 
shut up ; the king himself did not dare to venture 
forth, but remained a kind of prisoner in the Al- 
hambra. 

The turbulent multitude continued roaming and 
shouting and howling about the city, during the day 
and a part of the night. Hunger, and a wintry tem- 
pest, tamed their frenzy ; and when morning came, 
the enthusiast who had led them on had disnppeared. 
Whether he had been disposed of by the emissaries 
of the king, or by the leading men of the city, is not 
known : his disappearance remains a mystery."^ 

The Moorish king now issued from the Alhambra, 
attended by his principal nobles, and harangued the 
populace. He set forth the necessity of complying 
with the capitulation, from the famine that reigned 
in the city, the futility of defence, and from the hos- 
tages having already been delivered into the hands 
of the besiegers. 

In the dejection of his spirits, the unfortunate Bo- 
abdil attributed to himself the miseries of the coun- 
try. " It was my crime in ascending the throne in 
rebellion against my father," said he, mournfully, 
" which has brought these woes upon the kingdom ; 
but Allah has grievously visited my sins upon my 
head. For your sake, my people, I have now made 
this treaty, to protect you from the sword, your lit- 
tle ones from famine, your wives and daughters from 
the outrages of war; and to secure you in the en- 
joyment of your properties, your libetiies, your laws, 
and your religion, under a sovereign of happier des- 
tinies than the ill-starred Boabdil." 

The versatile population were touched by the hu- 
mility of their sovereign — they agreed to adhere to 
the capitulation, and there was even a faint shout of 
"Long live Boabdil the unfortunate ! " and they all 
returned to their homes in perfect tranquillity. 

Boabdil immediately sent missives to king Ferdi- 
, nand, apprizing him of these events, and of his fears 
lest further delay should produce new tumults. He 
proposed, therefore, to surrender the city on the fol- 
lowing day. The Castilian sovereigns assented, with 
great satisfaction ; and preparations were made in 
city and camp for this great event, that was to seal 
the fate of Granada. 

It was a night of doleful lamentings, within the 
walls of the Alhambra ; for the household of Boabdil 
were preparing to take a last tarewcU of that delight- 
ful abode. All the royal treasures, and the most 
precious effects of the Alhambra, were hastily packed 
upon mules ; the beautiful apartments were despoiled, 
with tears and wailings, by their own inhabitants. 
Betore the dawn of day, a mournful cavalcade moved 
obscurely out of a postern-gate of the Alhambra, and 
departed through one of the most retired quarters of 
the city. It was composed of the family of the un- 
fortunate Boabdil, which he sent off thus privately, 
that they might not be exposed to the eyes of scoffers, 
or the exultation of the enemy. The mother of Bo- 
abdil, the sultana Ayxa la Horra, rode on in silence, 
with dejected yet dignified demeanor ; but his wife 
Zorayma, and all the females of his household, gave 
way to loud lamentations, as they looked back upon 
their favorite abode, now a mass of gloomy towers 
behind them. They were attended by the ancient 
domestics of the household, and by a small guard of 
veteran Moors, loyally attached to the fallen monarch, 
and who would have sold their lives dearly in defiance 
of his family. Tlie city was yet buried in sleep, as 

* Mariana. 



j they passed through its silent streets. The guards 
at the gate shed tears, as they opened it for their de- 
parture. They paused not, but proceeded along the 
banks of the .\enel on the road that leads to the Al- 
puxarras, until they arrived at a hamlet at some dis- 
tance from the city, where they halted, and waited 
until they should be joined by king Boabdil. 



CHAPTER LIV. 

SURRENDER OF GRANADA. 

The sun had scarcely begun to shed his beams 
upon the summits of the snowy mountains which 
rise above Granada, when the christian camp was 
in motion. A detachment of horse and foot, led by 
distinguished cavaliers, and accompanied by Her- 
nando de Talavera, bishop of Avila, proceeded to 
take possession of the Alhambra and the towers. It 
had been stipulated in the capitulation, that the de- 
tachment sent for this purpose should not enter by 
the streets of the city ; a road had therefore been 
opened, outside of the walls, leading by the Puerta 
de los Molinos, or the Gate of the Mills, to the sum- 
mit of the Hill of Martyrs, and across the hill to a 
postern-gate of the Alhambra. 

When the detachment arrived at the summit of 
the hill, the Moorish king came forth from the gate, 
attended by a hancltul of cavaliers, leaving his vizier 
Yusef Aben Comixa to deliver up the palace. " Go, 
senior," said he to the commander of the detach- 
ment, " go and take possession of those fortresses, 
which Allah has bestowed upon your powerful sov- 
ereigns, in punishment of the suis of the Moors." 
He said no more, but passed mournfully on, along 
the same road by which the Spanish cavaliers had 
come ; descending to the vega, to meet the Catholic 
sovereigns. The troops entered the Alhambra, the 
gates of which were wide open, and all its splendid 
courts and halls silent and deserted. 

In the mean time, the christian court and army 
poured out of the city of Santa Fe, and advanced 
across the vega. The king and .queen, with the 
prince and princess, and the dignitaries and ladies of 
the court, took the lead, accompanied by the differ- 
ent orders of monks and friars, and surrounded by 
the royal guards splendidly arrayed. The proces- 
sion moved slowly forward, and paused at the village 
of Armilla, at the distance of half a league from the 
city. 

The sovereigns waited here with impatience, their 
eyes fixed on the lofty tower of the Alhambra, watch- 
ing for the appointed signal of possession. The 
time that had elapsed since the departure of the de- 
tachment seemed to them more than necessary for 
the purpose, and the anxious mind of Ferdinand be- 
gan to entertain doubts of some coiumotion in the 
city. At length they saw the silver cross, the great 
standard of this crusade, elevated on the Torre de 
la Vala, or Cireat Watch-Tower, and sparkling in 
the sunbeams. This was done by Hernando de 
Talavera, bishop of Avila. Beside it was planted 
the pennon of the glorious apostle St. James, and a 
great shout of" Santiago ! Santiago ! " rose through- 
out the army. Lastly was reared the royal standard 
by the king of arms, with the shout of " Castile ! 
Castile 1 For king Ferdinand and queen Isabella ! " 
The words were echoed by the whole army, with 
acclamations that resounded across the vega. At 
sight of these signals of possession, the sovereigns 
sank upon their knees, giving thanks to God for this 
great triumph ; the whole assembled host followed 
their example, and the choristers of the royal chapel 



288 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



broke forth into the solemn anthem of "Te Deum 
la2iiia mus ." 

The procession now resumed its march with joy- 
ful alacrity, to the sound of triumphant music, until 
they came to a small mosque, near the banks of the 
Xenel, and not far from the foot of the Hill of Mar- 
tyrs, which edifice remains to the present day, con- 
secrated as the hermitage of St. Sebastian. Here 
the sovereigns were met by the unfortunate Boabdil, 
accompanied by about fifty cavaliers and domestics. 
As he drew near, he would have dismounted in token 
of homage, but Ferdinand prevented him. He then 
proffered to kiss the king's hand, but this sign of 
vassalage was likewise declined ; whereupon, not to 
be outdone in magnanimity, he leaned forward and 
kissed the right arm of Ferdinand. Queen Isabella 
also refused to receive this ceremonial of homage, 
and, to console him under his adversity, delivered to 
him his son, who had remained as hostage ever since 
Boabdil's liberation from captivity. The Moorish 
monarch pressed his child to his bosom with tender 
emotion, and they seemed mutually endeared to 
each other by their misfortunes.* 

He then delivered the keys of the city to king Fer- 
dinand, with an air of mingled melancholy and res- 
ignation ; "These keys," said he, "arc the last relics 
of the Arabian empire in Spain : thine, oh king, are 
our trophies, our kingdom, and our person. Such 
is the will of God ! Receive them with the clem- 
ency thou hast promised, and which we look for at 
thy hands."t 

King Ferdinand restrained his exultation into an 
air of serene magnanimity. " Doubt not our prom- 
ises," replied he, " nor that thou shalt regain from 
our friendship the prosperity of which the fortune of 
war has deprived thee." 

On receiving the keys, king Ferdinand handed 
them to the queen ; she in her turn presented them 
to her son prince Juan, who delivered them to the 
count de Tendilla, that brave and loyal cavalier 
being appointed alcayde of the city, and captain- 
general of the kingdom of Granada. 

Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the 
unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Al- 
puxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of 
the christians into his capital. His devoted band of 
cavaliers followed him in gloomy silence ; but heavy 
sighs burst from their bosoms, as shouts of joy and 
strains of triumphant music were borne on the 
breeze from the victorious army. 

Having rejoined his family, Boabdil set forward 
with a heavy heart for his allotted residence in the 
valley of Purchena. At two leagues' distance, the 
cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the Alpuxarras, 
ascended an eminence commanding the last view of 
Granada. As they arrived at this spot, the Moors 
paused involuntarily, to take a farewell gaze at their 
beloved city, whicli a few steps more would shut 
from their sight for ever. Never had it appeared so 
lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in that 
transparent climate, lit up each tower and minaret, 
and rested gloriously upon the crowning battlements 
of the Alhambra ; while the vega spread its enam- 
elled bosom of verdure below, glistening with the 
silver windings of the Xenel. The Moorish cavaliers 
gazed with a silent agony of tenderness and grief 
upon that delicious abode, the scene of their loves 
and pleasures. While they yet looked, a light cloud 
of smoke burst forth from the citadel, and presently 
a peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that the city 
was taken possession of, and the throne of the Mos- 
lem kings was lost for ever. The heart of Boabdil, 



• Zurita, Anales de Aragon. 

t Abarca, AnaJes (le Aragon, Rcy 30. c. 3. 



softened by misfortunes and overcharged with grief, 
could no longer contain itself: " Allah .^cbar ! God 
is great!" said he; but the words of resignation 
died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. 

His mother, the intrepid sultana Ayxa la Horra, 
was indignant at his weakness : " You do well," said 
she, " to weep like a woman, for what you failed to 
defend like a man ! " 

The vizier Aben Comixa endeavored to console 
his royal master. " Consider, sire," said he, " that 
the most signal misfortunes often render men as re- 
nowned as the most prosperous achievements, pro- 
vided they sustain them with magnanimity." 

The unhappy monarch, however, was not to be 
consoled ; his tears continued to flow. " Allah Ac- 
bar ! " exclaimed he ; " when did misfortunes ever 
equal mine .' " 

From this circumstance, the hill, which is not far 
from the Padul, took the name of Feg Allah Acbar ' 
but the point of view commanding the last prospect 
of Granada, is known among Spaniards by the name 
of El ultimo sitspiro del Aloro ; or, " The last sigh 
of the Moor." 



CHAPTER LV. 



HOW THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS TOOK POS- 
SESSION OF GR.\NADA. 

When the Castilian sovereigns had received the 
keys of Granada from the hands of Boabdil el Chico, 
the royal army resumed its triumphant march. As 
it approached the gates of the city, in all the pomp 
of courtly and chivalrous array, a procession of a dif- 
ferent kind came forth to meet it. This was com- 
posed of more than five hundred christian captives, 
many of whom had languished for years in Moorish 
dungeons. Pale and emaciated, they came clanking 
their chains in triumph, and shedding tears of joy. 
They were received with tenderness by the sover- 
eigns. The king hailed them as good Spaniards, as 
men loyal and brave, as martyrs to the holy cause ; 
the queen distributed liberal relief among them with 
her own hands, and they passed on before the squad- 
rons of the army, singing hymns of jubilee.* 

The sovereigns did not enter the city on this day 
of its surrender, but waited until it should be fully 
occupied by their troops, and public tranquillity in- 
sured. The marques de Villena and the count de 
Tendilla, with three thousand cavalry and as many 
infantr)', marched in and took possession, accompa- 
nied by the proselyte prince Cidi Yahye, now known 
by the christian appellation of Don Pedro de Gra- 
nada, who was appointed chief alguazil of the city, 
and had charge of the Moorish inhabitants, and by 
his son the late prince Alnayar, now Don Alonzo de 
Granada, who was appointed admiral of the fleets. 
In a little while, every battlement glistened with 
christian helms and lances, the standard ol the faith 
and of the realm floated from every tower, and the 
thundering salvoes of the ordnance told that the 
subjugation of the city was complete. 

The grandees and cavaliers now knelt and kissed 
the hands of the king and queen and the prince Juan, 
and congratulated them on the acquisition of so great 
a kingdom ; after which, the royal procession returned 
in state to Santa Fe. 

It was on the sixth of January, the day of kings 
and festival of the Epiphany, that the sovereigns 
made their triumphal entry. The king and queen 
(says the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida; looked, on 



* Abarca, lib. sup. Zurita, &c. 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



2sa 



this occasion, as more than mort.il : the venerable 
ecclesiastics, to whose advice and zeal this glorious 
conquest ought in a great measure to be attributed, 
moved along with hearts swelling with holy exulta- 
tion, but with chastened and downcast looks of edi- 
fying humility ; while the hardy warriors, in tossing 
plumes and shining steel, seemed elevated with a 
stern joy, at finding themselves m possession of this 
object of so many toils and perils. As the streets 
resounded with the tramp of steed and swelling peals 
of music, the Moors buried themselves in the deepest 
recesses of their dwellings. There they bewailed in 
secret the fallen glory of their race, but suppressed 
their groans, iest they should be heard by their ene- 
mies and increase their triumph. 

The royal procession advanced to the principal 
mosque, which had been consecrated as a cathedral. 
Here the sovereigns offered up prayers and thanks- 
givings, and the choir of the royal chapel chanted a 
triumphant anthem, in which they were joined by all 
the courtiers and cavaliers. Nothing (says Fray 
Antonio Agapida) could exceed the thankfulness to 
God of the pious king Ferdinand, for having enabled 
him to eradicate from Spain the empire and name of 
that accursed heathen race, and for the elevation of 
the cross in that city wherein the impious doctrines 
of Mahomet had so long been cherished. In the 
fervor of his spirit, he supplicated from Heaven a 
continuance of its grace, and that this glorious tri- 
umph might be perpetuated.* The prayer of the 
pious monarch was responded by the people, and 
even his enemies were for once convinced of his sin- 
cerity. 

When the religious ceremonies were concluded, 
the court ascended to the stately palace of the Al- 
hambra, and entered by the great gate of Justice. 
The halls lately occupied by turbaned infidels now 
rustled with stately dames and christian courtiers, 
who wandered with eager curiosity over this far- 
famed palace, admiring its verdant courts and gush- 
ing fountains, its halls decorated with elegant ara- 
besques and storied with inscriptions, and the splen- 
dor of its gilded and brilliantly painted ceilings. 

It had been a last request of the unfortunate Bo- 
abdil, and one which showed how deeply he felt tlie 
transition of his fate, that no person might be per- 
mitted to enter or depart by the gate of the Alham- 
bra, through which he had sallied forth to surrender 
his capital. His reciuest was granted; the portal 
vi^as closed up, and remains so to the present day — 
a mute memorial of that event.t 

The Spanish sovereigns fixed their throne in the 
presence-chamber of the palace, so long the seat of 
Moorish royalty. Hither the principal inhabitants 
of Granada repaired, to pay them homage and kiss 
their hands in token of vassalage ; and their ex- 
ample was followed by deputies from all the towns 



and .fortresses of the Alpuxarras, which had not 
hitherto submitted. 

Thus terminated the war of Granada, after ten 
years of incessant fighting ; equalling (says Fray An- 
tonio Agapida) the far-famed siege of Troy in dura- 
tion, and ending, like that, in the capture of the city. 
Thus ended also the dominion of the Moors in Spain, 
having endured seven hundred and seventy-eight 
years, Irom the memorable defeat of Roderick, the 
last of the Goths, on the banks of the Guadalete. 
The authentic Agapida is uncommonly particular in 
fixing the epoch of this event. This great triumph 
of our holy Catholic faith, according to his compu- 
tation, took place in the beginning of January, in the 
year of our Lord 1492, being 3655 years from the 
population of Spain by the patriarch Tubal ; 3797 
from the general deluge ; 5453 from the creation of 
the world, according to Hebrew calculation ; and in 
the month Rabic, iii the eight hundred and ninety- 
seventh year of the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet ; 
whom may God confound ! saith the pious ."Agapida. 



APPENDIX, 



♦ The words of Fray Antonio Agapida are little more than an 
echo of those of the worthy Jesuit father Mariana. (L. 25. c. iS.) 

+ Garibay, Compend. Hist. lib. 40. c. 42. The existence of this 
gateway, and the story connected with it, are perhaps known to 
few ; but were identified, in the researches made to verify this his- 
tory. The gateway is at the bottom of the great tower, at s-ome 
distance Trom the main body of the Alhambra. The tower has 
been rent and ruined by gunpowder, at the time when the fortress 
was evacuated by the French. Great masses lie around, half cov- 
ered by vines and fig-trees. A poor man. by the name of Matteo 
Ximenes, who lives in one of the halls among the ruins of the Al- 
hambra, where his family has resided for many generations pointed 
out the gateway, still closed up with stones. He remembered to 
have heard his father and grandfather say. that it had always been 
stopped up, and that out of it king Boabdil had gone when he sur- 
rendered Granada. The route of the unfortunate king may be 
traced from thence across the garden of the convent of Los Marty ros, 
and down a ravine beyond, through a street of gipsy caves and 
hovels, by the gale of Los Molinos, and so on to the Hermitage of 
St. Sebastian. None but an antiquarian, however, will be able to 
trane it. unless aided by the humble historian of the place, Matteo 
Ximenes. 

19 



FATE OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. 

The Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada is 
finished ; but the reader may be desirous of knowing 
the subsequent fortunes of some of the principal per- 
sonages. The unfortunate Boabdil retired to the val- 
ley of Purchena, where a small but fertile territory had 
been allotted him, comprising several towns, with all 
their rights and revenues. Great estates had likewise 
been bestowed on his vizier Yusef Aben Comixa and 
his valiant relation and friend Yusef Venegas, both of 
whom resided near him. Were it in the heart of man 
in the enjoyment of present competence to forget past 
splendor, Boabdil might at length have been happy. 
Dwelling in the bosom of a delightful valley, surround- 
ed by obedient vassals, devoted friends, and a loving 
family, he might have looked back upon his past career 
as upon a troubled and terrific dream, and might have 
thanked his stars that he had at length awaked to 
sweet and tranquil security. But the dethroned prince 
could never forget that he had once been a monarch ; 
and the remembrance of the regal splendors of G;a- 
nada, made all present comforts contemptible in his 
eyes. No exertions were spared by Ferdinand and 
Isabella to induce him to embrace the Catholic relig- 
ion ; but he remained true to the faith of his fathers, 
and it added not a little to his humiliation, to live a 
vassal under christian sovereigns. 

It is probable that his residence in the kingdom was 
equally irksome to the politic Ferdinand, who could 
not feel perfectly secure in his newly conquered terri- 
tories, while there was one within their bounds who 
might revive pretensions to the throne. A private 
bargain was therefore made, in the year 1496, between 
Ferdinand and Yusef Aben Comixa, in which the lat- 
ter, as vizier of Boabdil, undertook to dispose of his 
master's scanty territory, for eighty thousand ducats 
of gold. This, it is affirmed, was done without the 
consent or knowledge of Boabdil ; but the vizier prob- 
ably thought he was acting for the best. 

The shrewd Ferdinand does not appear to have 
made any question about the right of the vizier to 
make the sale, but paid the money with secret exulta- 
tion. Yusef Aben Comixa loaded the treasure upon 
mules, and departed joyfully for the Alpuxarras. 
He spread the money in triumph before Boabdil : 
" Senior," said he, " I have observed that as long as 
you live here, you are exposed to constant peril. The 
Moors are rash and irritable ; they may make some 
sudden insurrection, elevate your standard as a pre- 
text, and thus overwhelm you and your friends with 



290 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



utter ruin. I have observed also that you pine away 
with grief, being continually reminded in this country 
that you were once its sovereign, but never more must 
hope to reign. I have put an end to these evils. Your 
territory is sold— behold the price of it. With this 
gold you may buy far greater possessions in Africa, 
where you may live in honor and security." 

When Boabdil heard these words, he burst into a 
sudden transport of rage, and, drawing his scimitar, 
would have sacrificed the officious Yusef on tfie spot, 
had not the attendants interfered, and hurried the 
vizier from his presence. 

Boabdil was not of a vindictive spirit, and his anger 
soon passed away. He saw that the evil was done, 
and he knew the spirit of the politic Ferdinand too 
well to hope that he would retract the bargain. Gath- 
ering together the money, therefore, and all his jewels 
and'precious effects, he departed with his family and 
household for a port where a vessel had been care- 
fully provided by the Castilian king to transport them 
to Africa. . 

A crowd of his former subjects witnessed his em- 
barkation. As the sails were unfurled and swelled to 
the breeze, and the vessel parted from the land, the 
spectators would fain have given him a parting cheer- 
ing ; but the humbled state of their once proud sover- 
eign forced itself upon their minds, and the ominous 
surname of his youth rose involuntarily to their tongues: 
" Farewell, Boabdil ! Allah preserve thee. El Zogoybi ! 
burst spontaneously from their lips. The unlucky ap- 
pellation sank into'the heart of the expatriated mon- 
arch, and tears dimmed his eyes as the snowy summits 
of the mountains of Granada gradually faded from his 

view. , . 

He was received with welcome at the court ot nis 
relation, Muley Ahmed, king of Fez, and resided for 
many years in his territories. How he passed his life, 
whether repining or resigned, history does not men- 
tion. The last we find recorded of him is in the year 
1536, thirty-four years after the surrender of Granada, 
when he followed the king of Fez-to the field, to quell 
the rebellion of two brothers named Xerifes. The 
armies came in sight of each other, on the banks of 
the Guadiswed, at the ford of Bacuba. The river was 
deep, the banks were high and broken ; for three days 
the armies remained firing at each other across the 
stream, neither venturing to attempt the dangerous 

ford. 

At length the king of Fez divided his army into 
three battalions ; the first led on by his son, and by 
Boabdil el Chico. They boldly dashed across the ford, 
scrambled up the opposite bank, and attempted to keep 
the enemy employed until the other battalions should 
have time to cross. The rebel army, however, at- 
tacked them with such fury, that the son of the king 
of Fez and several of the bravest alcaydes were slain 
upon the spot ; multitudes were driven back into the 
river, which was already crowded with passing troops. 
A dreadful confusion took place ; the horse trampled 
upon the foot ; the enemy pressed on them with fear- 
ful slaughter ; those who escaped the sword perished 
by the stream ; the river was choked by the dead 
bodies of men and horses, and by the scattered bag- 
gage of the army. In this scene of horrible carnage 
fell Boabdil, truly called El Zogoybi, or the unlucky ; 
—an instance, says the ancient chronicler, of the scorn- 
ful caprice of fortune, dying in defence of the kingdom 
of another, after wanting spirit to die in defence of his 
own.* 



DEATH OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ. 



* Marmol, De'crip. dc Africa, p. i, 1. 2, c. 40. Idem, Hist. Reb. 
de los Moros, lib. i. c. 21. 

Not-e — .\ portrait of Boabdil el Chico is to be seen in the pic- 
ture-gallery of the Oeneraliffe. He is represented with a irnld, 
h.indsome face, a fair complexion, and yellow hair. His dress is 
of yellow brocade, relieved with black velvet, and he has a black 
velvet cap, surmounted with a crown. In the armory of Madrid 
are two suits of armor, said to have belonged to hirn. One is of 
solid steel, with very little ornament, the helmet closed. 1-rom 
the proportions nf these suits of armor, he must have been ol full 
suture and vigorous form. 



The renowned Roderigo Ponce de Leon, Marques, 
Duke of Cadiz, was unquestionably the most distin- 
guished among the cavaliers of Spain, for his zeal, en- 
terprise, and heroism in the great crusade of Granada. 
He beo-an the war by the capture of Alhama ; he was 
en^ao-ed in almost every inroad and siege of impor- 
tance" during its continuance ; and he was present at 
the surrender of the capital, which was the closing 
scene of the conquest. The renown he thus acquired 
was sealed by his death, which happened in the forty- 
eighth year of his age, almost immediately at the close 
of his triumphs, and before a leaf of his laurels had 
time to wither. He died at his palace 111 the citv of 
Seville, on the 27th day of August, 1492, but a few 
months after the surrender of Granada, and of an ill- 
ness caused bv the exposures and fatigues he had under- 
gone in this memorable war. That honest chronicler, 
Andres Bernaldes, the curate of Los Palacios, who was 
a contemporary of the marques, draws his portrait 
from actual knowledge and observation. He was 
universally cited (says he) as the most perfect model 
of chivalrous virtue of the age. He was temperate, 
chaste and rigidly devout ; a benignant commander, 
a valiant defender of his vassals, a great lover of jus- 
tice, and an enemy to all flatterers, liars, robbers, 
traitors, and poltroons. . , , , ,■ 

His ambition was of a lofty kind— he sought to dis- 
tinguish himself and his family, by heroic and resound- 
ing deeds ; and to increase the patrimony of his an- 
cestors by the acquisition of castles, domains, vassals, 
and other princely possessions. His recreations were 
all of a warlike nature ; he delighted in geometry as 
applied to fortifications, and spent much time and 
treasure in erecting and repairing fortresses. He 
relished music, but of a military kind— the sound of 
clarions and sackbuts, of drums and trumpets. Like 
a true cavalier, he was a protector of the sex on all 
occasions, and an injured woman never applied tt^ 
him in vain for redress. His prowess was so well 
known, and his courtesv to the fair, that the ladies of 
the court when they accompanied the queen to the 
wars rejoiced to find themselves under his protection ; 
for wherever his banner was displayed, the Moors 
dreaded to adventure. He was a faithful and devoted 
friend but a formidable enemy; for he was slow 
to forgive, and his vengeance was persevering and 

terrible. ,. j ■ r j 

The death of this good cavalier spread grief and 
lamentation throughout all ranks, for he was univer- 
sally honored and beloved. His relations, dependants, 
and companions in arms, put on mourning for his loss ; 
and so numerous were they, that half of Seville was 
clad in black. None, however, deplored his death 
more deeply and sincerely than his friend and chosen 
companion, Don Alonzo de Aguilar. 

The funeral ceremonies were of the most solemn 
and sumptuous kind. The body of the marques was 
arrayed in a costly shirt, a doublet of brocade a sayo 
or long robe of black velvet, a marlota or Moorish 
tunic of brocade that reached to the feet, and scarlet 
stockings. His sword, superbly gilt, was g'rded to 
his side as he used to wear it when in the field. 1 hus 
maTuificently attired, the body was inclosed in a coffin 
which was covered with black velvet, and decorated 
with a cross of white damask. It was then placed on 
a sumptuous bier, in the centre of the great hall of the 
palace Here the duchess made great lamentation 
over the body of her lord, in which she was joined by 
her train of damsels and attendants, as well as by the 
pages and esquires, and innumerable vassals of the 

"'^n''"the close of the evening, just before the Ave 
Maria the funeral procession issued from the palace. 
Ten banners were borne around the bier, the particular 
trophies of the marques, won from the Moors by his 
valor in individual enterprises, before king I'erdinan.l 
had commenced the war of Granada. The procession 
was swelled by an immense train of bishops, priests 
and friars of different orders, together with the civil 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



291 



and military authorities, and all the chivalry of Seville, 
headed by the count of Cifuentes, at that time inten- 
dente or commander of the city. It moved slowly and 
solemnly through the streets, stopping occasionally, 
and chanting litanies and responses. Two hundred 
and forty waxen tapers shed a light like the day about 
the bier. The balconies and windows were crowded 
with ladies, who shed tears as the funeral train passed 
by ; while the women of the lower classes were loud 
in their lamentations, as if bewailing the loss of a 
father or a brother. On approaching the convent of 
St. Augustine, the monks came forth with the cross 
and tapers, and eight censers, and conducted the body 
into the church, where it lay in state until all the vigils 
were performed, by the different orders ; after which 
it was deposited in the family tomb of the Ponces in 
the same church, and the ten banners were suspended 
over the sepulchre.* 



The tomb of the valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, 
with his banners mouldering above it, remained for 
ages an object of veneration with all who had read or 
heard of his virtues and achievements. In the year 
1810, however, the chapel was sacked by the French, 
its altars overturned, and the sepulchres of the family 
of the Ponces shattered to pieces. The present duchess 
of Benevente, the worthy descendant of this illustrious 
and heroic line, has since piously collected the ashes 
of her ancestors, restored the altar, and repaired the 
chapel. The sepulchres, however, were utterly de- 
stroyed ; an inscription in gold letters, on the wall of 
the chapel, to the right of the altar, is all that denotes 
the place of sepulture of the brave Ponce de Leon. 



THE LEGEND OF THE DEATH OF DON 
ALONZO DE AGUILAR. 

To such as feel an interest in the fortunes of the vali- 
ant Don Alonzo de Aguilar, the chosen friend and com- 
panion in arms of Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, 
and one of the most disting^ised heroes of the war of 
Granada, a few particulars of his remarkable fate will 
not be unacceptable. They are found arftong the manu- 
scripts of the worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida, and 
appear to have been appended to this Chronicle. 

For several years after the conquest of Granada, 
the country remained feverish and unquiet. The zeal- 
ous efforts of the catholic clergy to effect the conver- 
sion of the infidels, and the pious coercion used for 
that purpose by government, exasperated the stubborn 
Moors of the mountains. Several missionaries were 
maltreated ; and in the town of Dayrin, two of them 
were seized, and exhorted, with many menaces, to 
embrace the Moslem faith ; on their resolutely refusing, 
they were killed with staves and stones, by the Moorish 
women and children, and their bodies burnt to ashes. f 

Upon this event, a body of christian cavaliers as- 
sembled in Andalusia to the number of eight hundred, 
and, without waiting for orders from the king, re- 
venged the death of these martyrs, by plundering and 
laying waste the Moorish towns and villages. The 
Moors fled to the mountains, and their cause was es- 
poused by many of their nation, who inhabited those 
rugged regions. The storm of rebellion began to 
gather, and mutter its thunders in the Alpuxarras. 
They were echoed from the Serrania of Ronda, ever 
ready for rebellion ; but the strongest hold of the in- 
surgents was in the Sierra Vermeja, or chain of Red 
Mountains, which lie near the sea, and whose savage 
rocks and precipices may be seen from Gibraltar. 

When king Ferdinand heard of these tumults, he is- 
sued a proclamation ordering all the Moors of the in- 
surgent regions to leave them within ten days, and re- 
pair to Castile; giving secret instructions, however. 



* Cura de los Palacios, c. 104. 
t Cura de los Palacios, c. 165. 



that those who should voluntarily embrace the christian 
faith might be permitted to remain. At the same 
time, he ordered Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and the 
counts of Urefia and Cifuentes, to march against the 
rebels. 

Don Alonzo de Aguilar was at Cordova when he 
received the commands of the king. "What force is 
allotted us for this expedition?" said he. On being 
told, he perceived that the number of troops was far 
from adequate. " When a man is dead," said he, " we 
send four men into his house to bring forth the body. 
We are now sent to chastise these Moors, who are 
alive, vigorous, in open rebellion, and ensconced in 
their castles; yet they do not give us man to man." 
These words of the brave Alonzo de Aguilar were 
afterwards frequently repeated; but though he saw the 
desperate nature of the enterprise, he did not hesitate 
to undertake it. 

Don Alonzo was at that time in the fifty-first year of 
his age. He was a veteran warrior, in whom the fire 
of youth was yet unquenched, though tempered by e.x- 
perience. The greater part of his life had been passed 
in the camp and in the field, until danger was as his 
natural element. His muscular frame had acquired 
the firmness of iron, without the rigidity of age. His 
armor and weapons seemed to have become a part of 
his nature, and he sat like a man of steel on his power- 
ful war-horse. 

He took with him, on this expedition, his son, Don 
Pedro de Cordova, a youth of bold and generous spirit, 
in the freshness of his days, and armed and arrayed 
with all the bravery of a young Spanish cavalier. 
When the populace of Cordova beheld the veteran 
father, the warrior of a thousand battles, leading forth 
his youthful son to the field, they bethought themselves 
of tile family appellation; " Behold," cried they, " the 
eagle teaching his young to fly! Long live the valiant 
line of Aguilar! "* 

The prowess of Don Alonzo, and of his companions 
in arms, was renowned throughout the Moorish towns. 
At their approach, therefore, numbers of the Moors 
submitted, and hastened to Ronda to embrace Christi- 
anity. .Among the mountaineers, however, there were 
many of the Gaudules, a fierce tribe from Africa, too 
proud of spirit to bend their necks to the yoke. At 
their head was a Moor named El Feri of Ben Estepar, 
renowned for strength and courage. At his instig.i- 
tions, his followers gathered together their families 
and most precious effects, placed them on mules, and, 
driving before them their flocks and herds, abandoned 
their valleys, and retired up the craggy passes of the 
Sierra Vermeja. On the summit was a fertile plain, 
surrounded by rocks and precipices, which formed a 
natural fortress. Here El Feri placed all the women 
and children, and all the property. By his orders, his 
followers piled great stones on, the rocks and cliffs 
which commanded the defiles and the steep sides of 
the mountain, and prepared to defend every pass that 
led to his place of refuge. 

The christian commanders arrived, and pitched their 
camp before the town of Monarda, a strong place, 
curiously fortified, and situated at the foot of the high- 
est part of the Sierra Vermeja. Here they remained 
for several days, unable to compel a surrender. They 
were separated from the skirt of the mountain by a 
deep barranca or ravine, at the bottom of which flowed 
a small stream. The Moors, commanded by El Feri, 
drew down from their mountain height, and remained 
on the opposite side of the brook, to defend a pass 
which led up to their strong-hold. 

One afternoon, a number of christian soldiers, in 
mere bravado, seized a banner, crossed the brook, and, 
scrambling up the opposite bank, attacked the Moors. 
They were followed by numbers of their companions, 
some in aid, some in emulation, but most in hope of 
booty. A sharp action ensued on the mountain side. 
The Moors were greatly superior in number, and had 
the vantage-ground. When the counts of Urefia and 
Cifuentes beheld this skirmish, they asked Don Alonzo 



* A^uiiar — the Spanisli for Ea^^le. 



292 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



de Aguilar his opinion: " My opinion," said he, "was 
given at Cordova, and remains the same; this is a 
desperate enterprise: however, the Moors are at hand, 
and if they suspect weakness in us, it will increase 
their courage and our peril. Forward, then, to the at- 
tack, and I trust in God we shall gain a victory." So 
saying he led his troops into the battle.* 

On the skirts of the mountain were several level 
places, like terraces; here the christians pressed vali- 
antly upon the Moors, and had the advantage; but the 
latter retreated to the steep and craggy heights, from 
whence they hurled darts and rocks upon their assail- 
ants. They defended their passes and defiles with 
ferocious valor, but were driven from height to height, 
until they reached the plain on the summit of the 
mountain, where their wives and children were shel- 
tered. Here they would have made a stand; but Alonzo 
de Aguilar, with his son Don Pedro, charged upon 
them at the head of three hundred men, and put them 
to flight with dreadful carnage. While they were pur- 
suing the flying enemy, the rest of the army, thinking 
the victory achieved, dispersed themselves over the 
little plain in search of plunder. They pursued the 
t^hrieking females, tearing off their necklaces, brace- 
lets, and anklets of gold; and they found so much 
treasure of various kinds collected in this spot, that 
they threw by their armor and weapons, to load them- 
selves with booty. 

Evening was closing. The christians, intent upon 
spoil, had ceased to pursue the Moors, and the latter 
were arrested in their flight by the cries of their wives 
and children. Their fierce leader. El Feri, threw him- 
self before them: "Friends, soldiers," cried he, 
"whither do you fly? Whither can you seek refuge, 
where the enemy cannot follow you? Your wives, 
your children, are behind you — turn and defend them; 
you have no chance for safety but from the weapons 
in your hands." 

The Moors turned at his words. They beheld the 
christians scattered about the plain, many of them 
without armor, and all encumbered with spoil. " Now 
is the time!" shouted El Feri; "charge upon them, 
while laden with your plunder. I will open a path for 
you!" He rushed to the attack, followed by his 
Moors, with shouts and cries that echoed through the 
mountains. The scattered christians were seized with 
panic, and, throwing down their bootv, began to fly in 
all directions. Don Alonzo de Aguilar advanced his 
banner, and endeavored to rally them. Finding his 
horse of no avail in these rocky heights, he dis- 
mounted, and caused him men to do the same; he had 
a smalt band of tried followers, with which he opposed 
a bold front to the Moors, calling on the scattered 
troops to rally in the rear. 

Night had completely closed. It prevented the Moors 
from seeing the smallness of the force with which they 
were contending; and Don Alonzo and his cavaliers 
dealt their blows so vigorously, that, aided by the 
darkness, they seemed multiplied to ten times their 
number. Unfortunately, a small cask of gunpowder 
blew up, near to the scene of action. It shed a mo- 
mentary but brilliant light over all the plain, and on 
every rock and cliff. The Moors beheld, with sur- 
prise, that they were opposed by a mere handful of 
men, and that the greater part of the christians were 
flying from the field. They put up loud shouts of tri- 
umph. While some continued the conflict with re- 
doubled ardor, others pursued the fugitives, hurling 
after them stones and darts, and discharging showers 
of arrows. Many of the christians, in their terror and 
their ignorance of the mountains, rushed headlong 
from the brinks of precipices, and were dashed in 
pieces. 

Don Alonzo de Aguilar still maintained his ground; 
but, while some of the Moors assailed him in front, 
others galled him with all kinds of missiles from the im- 
pending cliffs. Some of the cavaliers, seeing the hope- 
less nature of the conflict, proposed that they should 
abandon the height and retreat down the mountain: 



*.Bled3, 1.. 5, c. 26. 



"No," said Don Alonzo, proudly; " nevei did the 
banner of the house of Aguilar retreat one foot in the 
field of battle." He had scarcely uttered these words, 
when his son Don Pedro was stretched at his feet. A 
stone hurled from a cliff had struck out two of his 
teeth, and a lance passed quivering through his thigh. 
The youth attempted to rise, and, with one knee on 
the ground, to fight by the side of his father. Don 
Alonzo, finding him wounded, urged him to quit the 
field. " Fly, my son! " said he; " let us not put every 
thing at venture upon one hazard. Conduct thyself 
as a good christian, and live to comfort and honor thy 
mother." 

Don Pedro still refused to leave his side. Where- 
upon Don Alonzo ordered several of his followers to 
bear him off by force. His friend Don Francisco 
Alvarez of Cordova, taking him in his arms, conveyed 
him to the quarters of the count of Urefia, who had 
halted on the height, at some distance from the scene 
of battle, for the purpose of rallying and succoring the 
fugitives. Almost at the same moment, the count be- 
held his own son, Don Pedro Giron, brought in griev- 
ously wounded. 

In the mean time, Don Alonzo, with two hundred 
cavaliers, maintained the unequal contest. Surround- 
ed by foes, they fell, one after another, like so many 
noble stags encircled by the hunters. Don Alonzo was 
the last survivor, without horse, and almost without 
armor — his corselet unlaced, and his bosom gashed 
with wounds. Still he kept a brave front towards the 
enemy, and, retiring between two rocks, defended him- 
self with such valor, that the slain lay in a heap before 
him. 

He was assailed in this retreat by a Moor of sur- 
passing strength and fierceness. The contest was for 
some time doubtful; but Don Alonzo received a wound 
in the head, and another in the breast, that made him 
stagger. Closing and grappling with his foe, they 
had a desperate struggle, until the christian cavalier, 
exhausted by his wounds, fell upon his back. He still 
retained his grasp upon his enemy: "Think not," 
cried he, "thou hast an easy prize; know that I am 
Don Alonzo, he of Aguilar!" — "If thou art Don 
Alonzo," replied the Moor, "know that I am El Feri 
of Ben Estepar. " They continued their deadly strug- 
gle, and both drew their daggers; but Don Alonzo was 
exhausted by seven ghastly wounds: while he was yet 
struggling, his heroic soul departed from his body, and 
he expired in the grasp of the Moor. 

Thus fell Alonzo de Aguilar, the mirror of Anda- 
lusian chivalry — one of the most powerful grandees of 
Spain, for person, blood, estate, and office. For forty 
years he had made successful war upon the Moors — in 
childhood by his household and retainers, in manhood 
by the prowess of his arm, and in the wisdom and 
valor of his spirit. His pennon had always been fore- 
most in danger; he had been general of armies, vice- 
roy of Andalusia, and the author of glorious enter- 
prises, in which kings were vanquished, and mighty 
alcaydes and warriors laid low. He had slain many 
Moslem chiefs with his own arm, and among others 
the renowned Ali Atar of Loxa, fighting foot to 
foot, on the banks of the Xenel. His judgment, dis- 
cretion, magnanimity, and justice vied with his prow- 
ess. He was the fifth lord of his warlike house that 
fell in battle with the Moors. 

" His soul," observes the worthy padre Abarca, " it 
is believed, ascended to heaven, to receive the reward 
of so christian a captain; for that very day he had 
armed himself with the sacraments of confession and 
communion."* 

The Moors, elated with their success, pursued the 
fugitive christians down the defiles and sides of the 
mountains. It was with the utmost difficulty that the 
count de Urena could bring off a remnant of his forces 
from that disastrous height. Fortunately, on the lower 
slope of the mountain, they found the rear-guard of the 
army, led by the count de Cifuentes, who had crossed 
the brook and the ravine to come to their assistance. 



* Abacra, Anales de Aragon, Rey x.\x. cap. 



\ 



A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 



293 



As the fugitives came flying in headlong terror down 
the mountain, it was with dithculty the count kept his 
own troops from giving way in panic, and retreating 
in confusion across the brooli. He succeeded, how- 
ever, in maintaining order, in rallying the fugitives, 
and checking the fury of the Moors; then, taking his 
station on a rocky eminence, he maintained his post 
until morning; sometimes sustaining violent attacks, 
at other times rushing forth and making assaults upon 
the enemy. When morning dawned, the Moors ceased 
to combat, and drew up to the summit of the mountain. 

It was then that the christians had time to breathe, 
and to ascertain the dreadful loss they had sustained. 
Among the many valiant cavaliers who had fallen, was 
Don Francisco Ramirez of Madrid, who had been cap- 
tain-general of artillery throughout the war of Grana- 
da, and had contributed greatly by his valor and in- 
genuity to that renowned conquest. But all other 
f riefs and cares were forgotten, in anxiety for the fate 
of Don Alonzo de Aguilar. His son, Don Pedro de 
Cordova, had been brought off with great difficulty 
from the battle, and afterwards lived to be marques of 
Priego; but of Don Alonzo nothing was known, ex- 
cept that he was left with a handful of cavaliers, fight- 
ing valiantly against an overwhelming force. 

As the rising sun lighted up the red cliffs of the 
mountains, the soldiers watched with anxious eyes, if 
perchance his pennon might be descried, fluttering 
from any precipice or defile; but nothing of the kind 
was to be seen. The trumpet-call was repeatedly 
sounded, but empty echoes alone replied. A silence 
reigned about the mountain summit, which showed 
that the deadly strife was over. Now and then a 
wounded warrior came dragging his feeble steps from 
among the clefts and rocks; but, on being questioned, 
he shook his head mournfully, and could tell nothing of 
the fate of his commander. 

The tidings of this disastrous defeat, and of the 
perilous situation of the survivors, reached king Ferdi- 
nand at Granada; he immediately marched, at the head 
of all the chivalry of his court, to the mountains of 
Ronda. His presence, with a powerful force, soon 
put an end to the rebellion. A part of the Moors were 
suffered to ransom themselves, and to embark for 
Africa; others were made to embrace Christianity; and 
those of the town where the christian missionaries had 
been massacred, were sold as slaves. From the con- 
quered Moors, the mournful but heroic end of Alonzo 
de Aguilar was ascertained. 



On the morning after the battle, when the Moors came 
to strip and bury the dead, the body of Don Alonzo was 
found, among those of more than two hundred of his 
followers, many of them alcaydes and cavaliers of dis- 
tinction. Though the person of Don .■\lonzo was well 
known to the Moors, being so distinguished among 
them both in peace and war, yet it was so covered and 
disfigured with wounds, that it could with difficulty be 
recognized. They preserved it with great care, and, 
on making their submission, delivered it up to king 
Ferdinand. It was conveyed with great state to Cor- 
dova, amidst the tears and lamentations of all Anda- 
lusia. When the funeral train entered Cordova, and 
the inhabitants saw the coffin containing the remains 
of their favorite hero, and the war-horse, led in mourn- 
ful trappings, on which they had so lately seen him 
sally forth from their gates, there was a general burst 
of grief throughout the city. The body was interred, 
with great pomp and solemnity, in the church of St. 
Hypolito. 

Many years afterwards, his grand-daughter. Dona 
Catalina of Aguilar and Cordova, marchioness of 
Priego, caused his tomb to be altered. On examining 
the body, the head of a lance was found among the 
bones, received without doubt among the wounds of 
his last mortal combat. The name of this accomplished 
and christian cavalier has ever remained a popular 
theme of the chronicler and poet, and is endeared to 
the public memory by many of the historical ballads 
and songs of his country. For a long time the people 
of Cordova were indignant at the brave count de Urefia, 
who they thought had abandoned Don Alonzo in his 
extremity; but the Castilian monarch acquitted him of 
all charge of the kind, and continued him in honor and 
office. It was proved that neither he nor his people 
could succor Don Alonzo, or even know of his peril, 
from the darkness of the night. There is a mournful 
little Spanish ballad or romance, which breathes the 
public grief on this occasion; and the populace, on the 
return of the count de Urefia to Cordova, assailed him^ 
with one of its plaintive and reproachful verses: — 

Count Urefia ! count Urefia ! 
Tell us, where is Don Alonzo ! 

(Dezid Conde de Urena ! 
Don Alonzo, donde queda?)* 



* Bleda, L. 5, c. aS. 



Legends of the Conquest of Spain. 



PREFACE. 



Few events in history have been so signal and strik- 
ing in their main circumstances, and so overwhelming 
and enduring in their consequences, as that of the con- 
quest of Spain by the Saracens; yet there are few 
where the motives, and characters, and actions of the 
agents have been enveloped in more doubt and con- 
tradiction. As in the memorable story of the Fall of 
Troy, we have to make out, as well as we can, the 
veritable details through the mists of poetic fiction; 
yet poetry has so combined itself with, and lent its 
magic colouring to, every fact, that, to strip it away, 
would be to reduce the story to a meagre skeleton and 
rob it of all its charms. The storm of Moslem inva- 
sion that swept so suddenly over the peninsula, silen- 
ced for a time the faint voice of the muse, and drove 
the sons of learning from their cells. The pen was 
thrown aside to grasp the sword and spear, and men 
were too much taken up with battling against the evils 
which beset them on every side, to find time or incli- 
nation to record them. 

When the nation had recovered in some degree from 
the effects of this astounding blow, or rather, had be- 
come accustomed to the tremendous reverse which it 
produced, and sage men sought to inquire and write 
the particulars, it was too late to ascertain them in 
their exact verity. The gloom and melancholy that 
had overshadowed the land, had given birth to a thou- 
sand superstitious fancies; the woes and terrors of the 
past were clothed with supernatural miracles and por- 
tents, and the actors in the fearful drama had already 
assumed the dubious characteristics of romance. Or 
if a writer from among the conquerors undertook to 
touch upon the theme, it was embellished with all the 
wild extravagancies of an oriental imagination; which 
afterwards stole into the graver works of the monkish 
historians. ' 

Hence, the earliest chronicles which treat of the 
downfall of Spain, are apt to be tinctured with those 
saintly miracles which savour of the pious labours of 
the cloister, or those fanciful fictions that betray their 
Arabian authors. Yet, from these apocryphal sources, 
the most legitimate and accredited Spanish histories 
have taken their rise, as pure rivers may be traced up 
to the fens and mantled pools of a morass. It is true, 
the authors, with cautious discrimination, have dis- 
carded those particulars too startling for belief, and 
have culled only such as, from their probability and 
congruity, might be safely recorded as historical facts; 
yet, scarce one of these but has been connected in the 
original with some romantic fiction, and, even in its 
divorced state, bears traces of its former alliance. 

To discard, however, every thing wild and marvel- 
lous in this portion of Spanish history, is to discard 
some of its most beautiful, instructive, and national 
features; it is to judge of Spain by the standard of 
probability suited to tamer and more prosaic countries. 
Spain is virtually a land of poetry and romance, where 
every-day life partakes of adventure, and where tjie 
least agitation or excitement carries everything up into 
extravagant enterprise and daring exploit. The Spani- 
ards, in all ages, have been of swelling and braggart 
spirit, soaring in thought, pompous in word, and vali- 
ant, though vain-glorious, in deed. Their heroic aims 



have transcended the cooler conceptions of their neigh- 
bours, and their reckless daring has borne them on to 
achievements which prudent enterprise could never 
have accomplished. Since the time, too, of the con- 
quest and occupation of their country by the Arabs, a 
strong infusion of oriental magnificence has entered 
into the national character, and rendered the Spaniard 
distinct from every other nation of Europe. 

In the following pages, therefore, the author has 
ventured to dip more deeply into the enchanted fount- 
ains of old Spanish chronicles, than has usually been 
done by those who, in modern times, have treated of 
the eventful period of the conquest; but in so doing, 
he trusts he will illustrate more fully the character of 
the people and the times. He has thought proper to 
throw these records into the form of legends, not 
claiming for them the authenticity of sober history, 
yet giving nothing that has not historical foundation. 
All the facts herein contained, however extravagant 
some of them may be deemed, will be found in the 
works of sage and reverend chroniclers of yore, grow- 
ing side by side with long acknowledged 'truths, and 
might be supported by learned and imposing refer- 
ences in the margin. 



THE LEGEND OF DON RODERICK.* 



CHAPTER I. 



OF THE ANCIENT INHABITANTS OF SPAIN— OF 
THE MISRULE OF WITIZA THE WICKED. 

Spain, or Iberia, as it was called in ancient clays, 
has been a country harassed from the earliest times, 
by the invader. The Celts, the Greeks, the Phene- 
cians, the Carthagenians, by turns, or simultaneously, 
infringed its territories ; drove the native Iberians 
from their rightful homes, and established colonies 
and founded cities in the land. It subsequently fell 
into the all-grasping power of Rome, remaining for 
some time a subjugated province ; and when that 
gigantic empire crumbled into pieces, the Suevi, the 
Alani, and the Vandals, those barbarians of the 
north, overran and ravaged this devoted country, 
and portioned out the soil among them. 

Their sway was not of long duration. In the fifth 
century the Goths, who were then the allies of 
Rome, undertook the reconquest of Iberia, and suc- 
ceeded, after a desperate struggle of three years' 
duration. They drove before them the barbarous 
hordes, their predecessors, intermarried, and incor- 



* Many of the facts in this legend are taken from an old chronicle, 
written in quaint and antiquated Spanish, and professing to be a 
translation from the Arabian chronicle of the Moor Rasis, by Mo- 
hammed, a Moslem writer, and Gil Perez, a Spanish priest. It ii 
supposed to be a piece of literary mosaic work, made up from both 
Spanish and Arabian chronicles: yet. from this work most of the 
Spanish historians have drawn their particulars relative to the for^ 
tunes of Don Roderick. 

(295) 



296 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



/ 



porated themselves with the original inhabitants, 
and founded a powerful and splendid empire, com- 
prising the Iberian peninsula, the ancient Narbon- 
naise, afterwards called Gallia Gotica, or Gothic 
Gaul, and a part of the African coast called Tingi- 
tania. A new nation was, in a manner, produced 
by this mixture of the Goths and Iberians. Sprang 
from a union of warrior races, reared and nurtured 
amidst the din of arms, the Gothic Spaniards, if they 
may so be termed, were a warlike, unquiet, yet high- 
minded and heroic people. Their simple and ab- 
stemious habits, their contempt for toil and suffer- 
ing', and their love of daring enterprise, fitted them 
for a soldier's life. So addicted were they to war 
that, when they had no external foes to contend 
with, they fought with one another ; and, when en- 
gaged in battle, says an old chronicler, the very 
thunders and lightnings of heaven could not separate 
them.* 

For two centuries and a half the Gothic power re- 
mained unshaken, and the sceptre was wielded by 
twenty-five successive kings. The crown was elect- 
ive, in a council of palatines, composed of the 
bishops and nobles, who, while they swore allegiance 
to the newly-made sovereign, bound him by a re- 
ciprocal oath to be faithful to his trust. Their 
choice was made from among the people, subject 
only to one condition, that the king should be of 
pure Gothic blood. But though the crown was 
elective in principle, it gradually became hereditary 
from us.age, and the power of the sovereign grew to 
be almost absolute. The king was commander-in- 
chief of the armies ; the whole patronage of the 
kingdom was in his hands ; he summoned and dis- 
solved the national councils ; he made and revoked 
laws according to his pleasure ; and, having ecclesi- 
astical supremacy, he exercised a sway even over 
the consciences of his subjects. 

The Goths, at the time of their inroad, were stout 
adherents to the Arian doctrines ; but after a time 
they embraced the Catholic faith, which was main- 
tained by the native Spaniards free from many of the 
gross superstitions of the church at Rome, and this 
unity of faith contributed more than any thing else 
to blend and harmonize the two races into one. 
The bishops and other clergy were exemplary in 
their lives, and aided to promote the influence of the 
laws and niamtain the authority of the state. The 
fruits of regular and secure government were mani- 
fest in the advancement of agriculture, commerce, 
and the peaceful arts ; and in the increase of wealth, 
of luxury, and refinement ; but there was a gradual 
decline of the simple, hardy, and warlike habits 
that had distinguished the nation in its semi-barba- 
rous davs. 

Such was the state of Spain when, in the year of 
Redemption 701, Witiza was elected to the Gothic 
throne. The beginning of his reign gave promise 
of happy days to Spain. He redressed grievances, 
moderated the tributes of his subjects, and conducted 
himself v\ith mingled mildness and energy in the 
administration of the laws. In a little while, how- 
ever, he threw off the mask, and showed himself in 
his true nature, cruel and luxurious. 

Two of his relatives, sons of a preceding king, 
awakened his jealousy for the security of his throne. 
One of them, named Favila, duke of Cantabria. he 
put to death, and would have inflicted the same fate 
upon his son Pelayo, but that the youth was beyond 
his reach, being preserved by Providence for the 
future salvation of Spain. The other object of his 
suspicion was Theodofredo, who lived retired from 



* Florian de Ocampo, lib. 
L44 Blcda. Cronica L2, c. 3. 



c. 12. Justin Abrev. Trog. Pomp. 



court. The violence of Witiza reached him even in 
his retirement. His eyes were put out, and he was 
immured within a castle at Cordova. Roderick, the 
youthful son of Theodofredo, escaped to Italy, where 
he received protection from the Romans. 

Witiza now considering himself secure upon the 
throne, gave the reins to his licentious passions, and 
soon, by his tyranny and sensuality, acquired the 
appellation of Witiza the Wicked. Despising the 
old Gothic continence, and yielding to the example 
of the sect of Mahomet, which suited his lascivious 
temperament, he indulged in a plurality of wives 
and concubines, encouraging his subjects to do the 
same. Nay, he even sought to gain the sanction of 
the church to his e.xcesses, promulgating a law 
by which the clergy were released from their vows 
of celibacy, and permitted to marry and to entertain 
paramours. 

The sovereign Pontiff Constantine threatened to 
depose and excommunicate him, unless he abrogated 
this licentious law ; but Witiza set him at defiance, 
threatening, like his Gothic predecessor Alaric, to 
assail the eternal city with his troops, and make 
spoil of her accumulated treasures.* " We will 
adorn our damsels," said he, " with the jewels of 
Rome, and replenish our coffers from the mint of 
St. Peter." 

Some of the clergy opposed themselves to the 
innovating spirit of the monarch, and endeavoured 
from the pulpits to rally the people to the pure 
doctrines of their faith ; but they were deposed from 
their sacred office, and banished as seditious mis- 
chief makers. The church of Toledo continued 
refractory ; the archbishop Sindaredo, it is true, was 
disposed to accommodate himself to the corruptions 
of the times, but the prebendaries battled intrepidly 
against the new laws of the monarch, and stood 
manfully in defence of their vows of chastity. " Since 
the church of Toledo will not yield itself to our will," 
said Witiza, •' it shall have two husbands." So say- 
ing, he appointed his own brother Oppas, at that time 
archbishop of Seville, to take a seat with Sindaredo 
in the episcopal chair of Toledo, and made him 
primate of Spain. He was a priest after his own 
heart, and seconded him in all his profligate abuses. 

It was in vain the denunciations of the church 
were fulminated from the chair of St. Peter ; Witiza 
threw off all allegiance to the Roman Pontiff, threat- 
ening with pain of death those who should obey 
the papal mandates. " We will suffer no foreign 
ecclesiastic, with triple crown," said he, " to domi- 
neer over our dominions." 

The Jews had been banished from the country 
during the preceding reign, but Witiza permitted 
them to return, and even bestowed upon their syna- 
gogues privileges of which he had despoiled the 
churches. The children of Israel, when scattered 
throughout the earth by the fall of Jerusalem, had 
carried with them into other lands the gainful arcana 
of traffic, and were especially noted as opulent money 
changers and curious dealers in gold and silver and 
precious stones ; on this occasion, therefore, they 
were en.abled, it is said, to repay the monarch for 
his protection by bags of money, and caskets of 
sparkling gems, the rich product of their oriental 
commerce. 

The kingdom at this time enjoyed external peace, 
but there were symptoms of internal discontent. 
Witiza took the alarm ; he remembered the ancient 
turbulence of the nation, and its proneness to internal 
feuds. Issuing secret orders, therefore, in all direc- 
tions, he dismantled most of the cities, and demolish- 



* Chron. de Luitprando 709. 
Mahometismo, Fol. 5.) 



At area, Anales de Aragon (d 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



297 



eel the castles and fortresses that might serve as 
rallying- points for the factious. He disarmed the 
people also, and converted the weapons of war into 
the implements of peace. It seemed, in fact, as if 
the millennium were dawning upon the land, for the 
sword was beaten into a ploughshare, and the spear 
into a |)runing-hook. 

While thus the ancient martial fire of the nation 
was extinguished, its morals likewise were corrupted. 
The altars were abandoned, the churches closed, 
wide disorder and sensuality prevailed throughout 
the land, so that, according to the old chroniclers, 
within the compass of a few short years, " Witiza 
the Wicked taught all Spain to sin." 



CHAPTER II. 



THE RISE OF DON RODERICK — HIS GOVERNMENT. 

Woe to the ruler who founds his hope of sway 
on the weakness or corruption of the people. The 
very measures taken by Witiza to perpetuate his 
power ensured his downfall. While the whole na- 
tion, under his licentious rule, was sinking into vice 
and effeminacy, and the arm of war was unstrung, 
the youthful Roderick, son of Theodofredo, was 
training up for action in the stern but wholesome 
school of adversity. He instructed himself in the 
use of arms ; became adroit and vigorous by varied 
exercises ; learned to despise all danger, and inured 
himself to hunger and watchfulness and the rigour 
of the seasons. 

His merits and misfortunes procured him many 
friends among the Romans ; and when, being ar- 
rived at a fitting age, he undertook to revenge the 
wrongs of his father and his kindred, a host of brave 
and hardy soldiers flocked to his standard. With 
these he made his sudden appearance in Spain. The 
friends of his house and the disaffected of all classes 
hastened to join him, and he advanced rapidly and 
without opposition, through an unarmed and ener- 
vated land. 

Witiza saw too late the evil he had brought upon 
himself. He made a hasty levy, and took the field with 
a scantily equipped and undisciplined host, but was 
easily routed and made prisoner, and the whole king- 
dom submitted to Don Roderick. 

The ancient city of Toledo, the royal residence of 
the Gothic kings, was the scene of high festivity and 
solemn ceremonial on the coronation of the victor. 
Whether he was elected to the throne according to 
the Gothic usage, or seized it by the right of con- 
quest, is a matter of dispute among historians, but 
all agree that the nation submitted cheerfully to his 
sway, and looked forward to prosperity and happi- 
ness under their newly elevated monarch. His ap- 
pearance and character seemed to justity the antici- 
pation. He was in the splendour of youth, and of a 
majestic presence. His soul was bold and daring, 
and elevated by lofty desires. He had a sagacity 
that penetrated the thoughts of men, and a magnifi- 
cent spirit that won all hearts. Such is the picture 
which ancient writers give of Don Roderick, when, 
with all the stern and simple virtues unimpaired, 
which he had acquired in adversity and e.xile, and 
Hushed with the triumph of a pious revenge, he as- 
cended the Gothic throne. 

Prosperity, however, is the real touchstone of the 
human heart ; no sooner did Roderick find himself 
in possession of the crown, than the love of power 
and the jealousy of rule were awakened in his 
breast. His first measure was against Witiza, who 



was brought in chains into his presence. Roderick 
beheld the ca|5tive monarch with an unpitying eye, 
remembering only his wrongs and cruelties to his 
father. "Let the evils he has inflicted on others be 
visited upon his own head," said he; "as he did 
unto Theodofredo, even so be it done unto him." So 
the eyes of Witiza were put out, and he was thrown 
into the same dungeon at Cordova in which Theo- 
dofredo had languished. There he passed the brief 
remnant of his days in perpetual darkness, a prey to 
wretchedness and remorse. 

Roderick now cast an uneasy and suspicious eye 
upon Evan and Siseburto, the two sons of Witiza. 
Fearful lest they should foment some secret rebel- 
lion, he banished them the kingdom. They took 
refuge in the Spanish dominions in Africa, where 
they were received and harboured by Requila, gov- 
ernor of Tangier, out of gratitude for favours which 
he had received from their late father. There they 
remained to brood over their fallen fortunes, and to 
aid in working out the future woes of Spain. 

Their uncle Oppas, bishop of Seville, who had 
been made co-partner, by Witiza, in the archepis- 
copal chair at Toledo, would have likewise fallea 
under the suspicion of the king ; but he was a man 
of consummate art, and vast e.Kterior sanctity, and 
won upon the good graces of the monarch. He was 
suffered, therefore, to retain his sacred office at Se- 
ville ; but the see of Toledo was given in charge to 
the venerable Urbino ; and the law of Witiza was 
revoked that dispensed the clergy from their vows 
of celibacy. 

The jealousy of Roderick for the security of his 
crown was soon again aroused, and his measures 
were prompt and severe. Having been informed 
that the governors of certain castles and fortresses 
in Castile and Andalusia had conspired against him, 
he caused them to be put to death and their strong- 
holds to be demolished. He now went on to imitate 
the pernicious policy of his predecessor, throwing 
down walls and towers, disarming the people, and 
thus incapacitating them from rebellion. A few 
cities were permitted to retain their i'l^rtifications, 
but these were intrusted to alcaydes m whom he 
had especial confidence; the greater part of the 
kingdom was left defenceless ; the nobles, who had 
been roused to temporary manhood during the re- 
cent stir of war, sunk back into the inglorious state 
of inaction which had disgraced them during the 
reign of Witiza, passing their time in feasting and 
dancing to the sound of loose and wanton min- 
strelsy.* It was scarcely possible to recognize in these 
idle wassailers and soft voluptuaries the descendants 
of the stern and frugal warriors of the frozen north ; 
who had braved flood and mountain, and heat and 
cold, and had battled their way to empire across 
half a world in arms. 

They surrounded their youthful monarch, it is 
true, with a blaze of militaiy pomp. Nothing could 
surpass the splendour of their arms, which were em- 
bossed and enamelled, and enriched with gold and 
jewels and curious devices ; nothing could be more 
gallant and glorious than their array; it was all 
plume and banner and silken pageantry, the gorgeous 
trappings for tilt and tourney and courtly revel ; but 
the iron soul of war was wanting. 

How rare it is to learn wisdom from the misfor- 
tunes of others. With the fate of Witiza full before 
his eyes, Don Roderick indulged in the same per- 
nicious errors, and was doomed, in like manner, to 
prepare the way for his own perdition. 

* Mariana. Hist. Esp. L6. c. ai. 



293 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER III. 



OF THE LOVES OF RODERICK 
ELYATA. 



AND THE PRINCESS 



As yet the heart of Roderick, occupied by the 
strugg-les of his early life, by wariike enterprises and 
by the inquietudes of newly-gotten power, had been 
insensible to the charms of women ; but in the pres- 
ent voluptuous calm, the amorous propensities of 
his nature assumed their sway. There are divers 
accounts of the youthful beauty who first found 
favour in his eyes, and was elevated by him to the 
throne. We follow in our legend the details of an 
Arabian Chronicler,* authenticated by a Spanish 
poet.t Let those who dispute our facts, produce 
better authority for their contradiction. 

Among the few fortified places that had not been 
dismantled by Don Roderick, was the ancient city 
of Denia, situated on the Mediterranean coast, and 
defended on a rock-built castle that overlooked the 
sea. 

The Alcayde of the castle, with many of the people 
of Denia, was one day on his knees in the chapel, 
imploring the Virgin to allay a tempest which was 
strewing the coast with wrecks, when a sentinel 
brought word that a Moorish cruiser was standing 
for the land. The Alcayde gave orders to ring the 
alarm bells, light signal fires on the hill tops, and 
rouse the country, for the coast was subject to cr-uel 
maraudings from the Barbary cruisers. 

In a little while the horsemen of the neighbour- 
hood were seen pricking along the beach, armed 
with such weapons as they could find, and the Al- 
cayde and his scanty garrison descended from the 
hill. In the mean time the Moorish bark came roll- 
ing and pitching towards the land. As it drew near, 
the rich carving and gilding with which it was dec- 
orated, its silken bandaroles and banks of crimson 
oars, showed it to be no warlike vessel, but a suinp- 
tuous galiot destined for state and ceremony. It 
bore the marks of the tempest ; the masts were 
broken, the oars shattered, and fragments of snowy 
sails and silken awnings were fluttering in the blast. 

As the galiot grounded upon the sand, the im- 
patient rabble rushed into the surf to capture and 
make spoil ; but were awed into admiration and 
respect by the appearance of the illustrious company 
on board. There were Moors of both sexes sump- 
tuously arrayed, and adorned with precious jewels, 
bearing the demeanour of persons of lofty rank. 
Among them shone conspicuous a youthful beauty, 
magnificently attired, to whom all seemed to pay 
reverence. 

Several of the Moors surrounded her with drawn 
swords, threatening death to any that approached ; 
others sprang from the bark, and throwing them- 
selves on their knees before the Alcayde, implored 
him, by his royal honour and courtesy as a knight, to 
protect a royal virgin from injury and insult. 

"You behold before you," said they, "the only 
daughter of the king of Algiers, the betrothed bride 
of the son of the king of Tunis. We were conduct- 
ing her to the court of her expecting bridegroom, 
when a tempest drove us from our course, and com- 
pelled us to take refuge on your coast. Be not more 
cruel than the tempest, but deal nobly with that 
which even sea and storm have spared." 

The Alcayde listened to their prayers. He con- 
ducted the princess and her train to the castle, where 
every honour due to her rank was paid her. Some 
of her ancient attendants interceded for her libera- 



♦Pedida de Esp.iua por Abulcacim Tarif Abentarique, lib. 
t Lope de Vega. 



tion, promising countless sums to be paid by her 
father for her ransom ; but the Alcayde turned a 
deaf ear to all their golden offers. " She is a royal 
captive," said he; "it belongs to my sovereign alone 
to dispose of her." After she had reposed, therefore, 
for some days at the castle, and recovered from the 
fatigue and terror of the seas, he caused her to be 
conducted, with all her train, in magnificent state to 
the court of Don Roderick. 

The beautiful Elyata* entered Toledo more like a 
triumphant sovereign than a captive. A chosen 
band of christian horsemen, splendidly armed, ap- 
peared to wait upon her as a mere guard of honour. 
She was surrounded by the Moorish damsels of her 
train, and followed by her own Moslem guards, all 
attired with the magnificence that had been intended 
to grace her arrival at the court of Tunis. The 
princess was arrayed in bridal robes, woven in the 
most costly looms of the orient ; her diadem sparkled 
with diamonds, and was decorated with the rarest 
plumes of the bird of paradise, and even the silken 
trappings of her palfry, which swept the ground, 
were covered with pearls and precious stones. As 
this brilliant cavalcade crossed the bridge of the 
Tagus, all Toledo poured forth to behold it, and 
nothing was heard throughout the city but praises of 
the wonderful beauty of the princess of Algiers. 
King Roderick came forth, attended by the chivalry 
of his court, to receive the royal captive. His re- 
cent voluptuous life had disposed him for tender and 
amorous affections, and at the first sight of the beau- 
tiful Elyata he was enraptured with her charms. 
Seeing her face clouded with sorrow and anxiety, he 
soothed her with gentle and courteous words, and 
conducting her to a royal palace, "behold," said he, 
" thy habitation, where no one shall molest thee ; 
consider thyself at home in the mansion of thy 
father, and dispose of any thing according to thy 
will." 

Here the princess passed her time, with the female 
attendants who had accompanied her from Algiers ; 
and no one but the king was permitted to visit her, 
who daily became more and more enamoured of his 
lovely captive, and sought by tender assiduity to gain 
her affections. The distress of the princess at her 
captivity was soothed by this gentle treatment. She 
was of an age when sorrow cannot long hold sway 
over the heart. Accompanied by her youthful at- 
tendants, she ranged the spacious apartments of the 
palace, and sported among the groves and alleys of 
its garden. Every day the remembrance of the 
paternal home grew less and less painful, and the 
king became more and more amiable in her eyes, and 
when, at length, he offered to share his heart and 
throne with her, she listened with downcast looks 
and kindling lilushes, but with an air of resignation. 
One obstacle remained to the complete fruition of 
the monarch's wishes, and this was the religion of 
the princess. Roderick forthwith employed the arch- 
bishop of Toledo to instruct the beautiful Elyata in 
the mysteries of the christian faith. The female in- 
tellect is quick in perceiving the merits of new doc- 
trines; the archbishop, therefore, soon succeeded in 
converting, not merely the princess, but most of her 
attendants, and a day was appointed for their public 
baptism. The ceremony was performed with great 
pomp and solemnity, in the presence of all the nobil- 
ity and chivalry of the court. The princess and her 
damsels, clad m white, walked on foot to the cathe- 
dral, while numerous beautiful children, arrayed as 
angels, strewed their path with flowers ; and the 
archbishop meeting them at the portal, received them, 
as it were, into the bosom of the church. The prin- 



* By some she is called Zara. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



C99 



cess abandoned her Moorish appellation of Elyata, 
and was baptized by the name of Exilona, by which 
she was thenceforth called, and has generally been 
known in history. 

The nuptials of Roderick and the beautiful con- 
vert took place shortly afterwards, and were cele- 
brated with great magnificence. There were jousts, 
and tourneys, and banquets, and other rejoicings, 
which lasted twenty days, and were attended by the 
principal nobles from all parts of Spain. After 
these were over, such of the attendants of the prin- 
cess as refused to embrace Christianity and desired 
to return to Africa, were dismissed with munificent 
presents ; and an embassy was sent to the king of 
Algiers, to inform him of the nuptials of his daughter, 
and to proffer.him the friendship of King Roderick.* 



CHAPTER IV. 

OF COUNT JULIAN. 



For a time Don Roderick lived happily with 
his young and beautiful queen, and Toledo was 
the seat of festivity and splendour. The principal 
nobles throughout the kingdom repaired to his court 
to pay him homage, and to receive his commands ; 
and none were more devoted in their reverence than 
those who were obnoxious to suspicion from their 
connexion with the late king. 

Among the foremost of these was Count Julian, a 
man destined to be infamously renowned in the dark 
story of his country's woes. He was of one of the 
proudest Gothic families, lord of Consuegra and 
Algeziras, and connected by marriage with Witiza 
and the Bishop Oppas ; his wife, the Countess 
Frandina, being their sister. In consequence of this 
connexion, and of his own merits, he had enjoyed 
the highest dignities and commands, being one of 
the Espatorios, or royal sword-bearers ; an office of 
the greatest confidence about the person of the 
sovereign. t He had, moreover, been entrusted with 
the military government of the Spanish possessions 
on the African coast of the strait, which at that time 
were threatened by the Arabs of the East, the fol- 
lowers of Mahomet, who were advancing their vic- 
torious standard to the extremity of Western Africa. 
Count Julian established his seat of government at 
Ceuta, the frontier bulwark and one ot the far-famed 
gates of the Mediterranean Sea. Here he boldly 
faced, and held in check, the torrent of Moslem 
invasion. 

Don Julian was a man of an active, but irregular 
genius, and a grasping ambition ; he had a love for 
power and grandeur, in which he was joined by his 
haughty countess; and they could ill brook the 
downfall of their house as threatened by the fate of 
Witiza. They had hastened, therefore, to pay their 
court to the newly elevated monarch, and to assure 
him of their fidelity to his interests. 

Roderick was readily persuaded of the sincerity of 
Count Julian ; he was aware of his merits as a 
soldier and a governor, and continued him in his im- 

* ** Ccmo esta Infanta era muy hermosa, y el Rey [Don Rodrigo] 
dispuesta y gentil hombre, entro por medio el amor yaficion.y 
junto con el regalo con que la avia mandado hospedar y servir ful 
causa que el rey persuadio esta Infanta, que si se tornava a su ley de 
christiano la tomaria por muger, y que la haria sefiora de sus Rev- 
no^. Con esta persuasion ella fue contenta, y aviendose vuelto 
Christiana, se caso con ella, y se celebraron sus bodas con muchas 
fiestas y regozijos, como era razon." — Abulcassim, conq'st de 
Espan, cap. 3. 

t Condes Espatorios ; so called from the drawn swords of ample 
size and breadth, with which they kept guard in the anti-chambers 
of the Gothic Kintjs. Comes Spathariorum, custodnm corporis 
Regis Profeclus. Hunc et Propospatharium appellatum existimo. 
— Patr. Pant, de Offic. Goth. 



portant command : honouring him with many other 
marks of implicit confidence. Count Julian sought 
to confirm this confidence by every proof of devotion. 
It was a custom among the Goths to rear many of 
the children of the most illustrious families in the 
royal household. They served as pages to the king, 
and handmaids and ladies of honour to the qjeen, 
and were instructed in all manner of accomplish- 
ments befitting their gentle blood. When about to 
depart for Ceuta, to resume his cominand, Don Julian 
brought his daughter Florinda to present her to the 
sovereigns. She was a beautiful virgin that had not 
as yet attained to womanhood. " 1 confide her to 
your protection," said he to the king, " to be unto 
her as a father ; and to have her trained in the paths 
of virtue. 1 can leave with you no dearer pledge of 
mv loyalty." 

'King Roderick received the timid and blushing 
maiden into his paternal care ; promising to watch 
over her happiness with a parent's eye, and that she 
should be enrolled among the most cherished at- 
tendants of the queen. With this assurance of the 
welfare of his child. Count Julian departed, well 
pleased, for his government at Ceuta. 



CHAPTER V. 

fTHE STORY OF FLORINDA. 

Thf. beautiful daughter of Count Julian was re- 
ceived with great favour by the Queen Exilona and 
admitted among the noble damsels that attended 
upon her person. Here she lived in honour and ap- 
parent security, and surrounded by innocent de- 
lights. To gratify his queen, Don Roderick had 
built for her rural recreation a palace without the walls 
of Toledo, on the banks of the Tagus. It stood in 
the midst of a garden, adorned after the luxurious 
style of the East. The air was perfumed by fra- 
grant shrubs and flowers ; the groves resounded 
with the song of the nightingale, while the gush of 
fountains and water-falls, and the distant murmur 
of the Tagus, made it a delightful retreat during the 
sultry days of summer. The charm of perfect pri- 
vacy also reigned throughout the place, for the gar- 
den walls were high, and numerous guards kept 
watch without to protect it from all intrusion. 

In this delicious abode, more befitting an oriental 
voluptuary than a Gothic king, Don Roderick was 
accustomed to while away much of that time which 
should have been devoted to the toilsome cares of 
government. The very security and peace which he 
had produced throughout his dominions by his pre- 
cautions to abolish the means and habitudes of war, 
had effected a disastrous change in his character. The 
hardy and heroic qualities which had conducted him 
to the throne, were softened in the lap of indulgence. 
Surrounded by the pleasures of an idle and effemi- 
nate court, and beguiled by the example of his de- 
generate nobles, he gave way to a fatal sensuality 
that had lain dormant in his nature during the vir- 
tuous days of his adversity. The mere love of female 
beauty had first enamoured him of Exilona, and the 
same passion, fostered by voluptuous idleness, now 
betrayed him into the commission of an act fatal to 
himself and Spain. The following is the story of 
his error as gathered from an old chronicle and 
legend. 

In a remote part of the palace was an apartment 

devoted to the queen. It was like an eastern harem, 

shut up from the foot of man, and where the king 

himself but rarely entered. It had its own courts, 

i and gardens, and fountains, where the queen was 



300 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



wont to recreate herself with her damsels, as she had 
been accustomed to do in the jealous privacy of her 
father's palace. 

One sultry day, the king, instead of taking his 
siesta, or mid-day slumber, repaired to this apart- 
ment to seek the society of the queen. In passing 
through a small oratory, he was drawn by the sound 
of female voices to a casement overhung with myr- 
tles and jessamines. It looked into an interior gar- 
den or court, set out with orange-trees, in the midst 
of which was a marble fountain, surrounded by a 
grassy bank, enamelled with flowers. 

It was the high noontide of a summer day, when, 
in sultry Spain, the landscape trembles to the eye, 
and all nature seeks repose, except the grasshopper, 
that pipes his lulling note to the herdsman as he 
sleeps beneath the shade. 

Around the fountain were several of the damsels 
of the queen, who, confident of the sacred privacy of 
the place, were yielding in that cool retreat to the 
indulgence prompted by the season and the hour. 
Some lay asleep on the flowery bank ; others sat on 
the margin of the fountain, talking and laughing, as 
they bathed their feet in its limpid waters, and King 
Roderick beheld delicate limbs shining through the 
wave, that might rival the marble in whiteness. 

Among the damsels was one who had come from 
the Barbary coast with the queen. Her complexion 
had the dark tinge of Mauritanea, but it was clear 
and transparent, and the deep rich rose blushed 
through the lovely brown. Her eyes were black and 
full of fire, and flashed from under long silken eye- 
lashes. 

A sportive contest arose among the maidens as to 
the comparative beauty of the Spanish and Moorish 
forms ; but the Mauritanian damsel revealed limbs 
of voluptuous symmetry that seemed to defy all 
rivalry. 

The Spanish beauties were on the point of giving up 
the contest, when they bethought themselves of the 
young Florinda, the daughter of Count Julian, who 
lay on the grassy bank, abandoned to a summer 
slumber. The soft glow of youth and health mantled 
on her cheek ; her fringed eyelashes scarcely covered 
their sleeping orbs ; her moist and ruby lips were 
lightly parted, just revealing a gleam of her ivory 
teeth, while her innocent bosom rose and fell be- 
neath her boddice, like the gentle swelling and sink- 
ing of a tranquil sea. There was a breathing ten- 
derness and beauty in the sleeping virgin, that seemed 
to send forth sweetness like the flowers around her. 

" Behold," cried her companions exultingly, " the 
champion of Spanish beauty ! " 

In their playful eagerness they half disrobed the in- 
nocent Florinda before she was aware. She awoke 
in time, however, to escape from their busy hands ; 
but enough of her charms had been revealed to con- 
vince the monarch that they were not to be rivalled 
by the rarest beauties of Mauritanea. 

From this day the heart of Roderick was inflamed 
with a fatal passion. He gazed on the beautiful 
Florinda with fervid desire, and sought to read in her 
looks whether there was levity or wantonness in her 
bosom ; but the eye of the damsel ever sunk beneath 
his gaze, and remained bent on the earth in virgin 
modesty. 

It was in vain he called to mind the sacred trust 
reposed in him by Count Julian, and the promise he 
had given to watch over his daughter with paternal 
care ; his heart was vitiated by sensual indulgence, 
and the consciousness of power had rendered him 
selfish in his gratifications. 

Being one evening in the garden where the queen 
was diverting herself with her damsels, and coming 
to the fountain where he had beheld the innocent 



maidens at their sport, he could no longer restrain 
the passion that raged within his breast. Seating 
himself beside the lountain, he called Florinda to 
him to draw forth a thorn which had pierced his 
hand. The maiden knelt at his feet, to examine his 
hand, and the touch of her slender fingers thrilled 
through his veins. As she knelt, too, her amber 
locks fell in rich ringlets about her beautiful head, her 
innocent bosom palpitated beneath the crimson bod- 
dice, and her timid blushes increased the effulgence 
of her charms. 

Having examined the monarch's hand in vain, she 
looked up in his face with artless perplexity. 

" Senior," said she, " I can find no thorn, nor any 
sign of wound." 

Don Roderick grasped her hand and pressed it to 
his heart. " It is here, lovely Florinda ! " said he. 
" It is here ! and thou alone canst pluck it forth ! " 

" My lord ! " exclaimed the blushing and astonished 
maiden. 

" Florinda ! " said Don Roderick, " dost thou love 
me ?" 

" Senior," said she, " my father taught me to love 
and reverence you. He confided me to your care as 
one who would be as a parent to me, when he should 
be far distant, serving your majesty with life and 
loyalty. May God incline your majesty ever to pro- 
tect me as a father." So saying, the maiden dropped 
her eyes to the ground, and continued kneeling : but 
her countenance had become deadly pale, and as she 
knelt she trembled. 

"Florinda," said the king, "either thou dost not, 
or thou wilt not understand me. 1 would have thee 
love me, not as a father, nor as a monarch, but as 
one who adores thee. Why dost thou start ? No 
one shall know our loves ; and, moreover, the love 
of a monarch inflicts no degradation like the love of 
a common man — riches and honours attend upon it. 
I will advance thee to rank and dignity, and place 
thee above the proudest feinales of my court. Thy 
father, too, shall be more exalted and endowed than 
any noble in my realm." 

The soft eye of Florinda kindled at these words. 
" Senior," said she, " the line I spring from can re- 
ceive no dignity by means so vile ; and my father 
would rather die than purchase rank and power by 
the dishonour of his child. But I see," continued 
she, " that your majesty speaks in this manner only 
to try me. You may have thought me light and 
simple, and unworthy to attend upon the queen. I 
pray your majesty to pardon me, that I have taken 
your pleasantry in such serious part." 

In this way the agitated maiden sought to evade 
the addresses of the monarch, but still her cheek was 
blanched, and her lip quivered as she spake. 

The king pressed her hand to his lips with fervour. 
" May ruin seize me," cried he, " if I speak to prove 
thee. My heart, my kingdom, are at thy command. 
Only be mine, and thou shalt rule absolute mistress 
of myself and my domains." 

The damsel rose from the earth where she had 
hitherto knelt, and her whole countenance glowed 
with virtuous indignation. " My lord," said she, " I 
am your subject, and in your power ; take my life if 
it be your pleasure, but nothing shall tempt me to 
commit a crime which would be treason to the queen, 
disgrace to my father, agony to my mother, and per- 
dition to myself." With these words she left the 
garden, and the king, for the moment, was too much 
awed by her indignant virtue to oppose her departure. 

We shall pass briefly over the succeeding events 
of the stor)' of Florinda, about which so much has 
been said and sung by chronicler and bard : for the 
sober page of history should be carefully chastened 
from all scenes that might inflame a wanton imagi- 



LEGEN'DS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



301 



nation ; leavinj^ them to poems and romances, and 
such Uke highly seasoned works of fantasy and rec- 
reation. 

Let it suffice to say, that Don Roderick pursued 
his suit to the beautiful I'"lorinda, his passion being 
more and more inflamed by the resistance of the 
virtuous damsel. At length, forgetting what was 
due to helpless beauty, to his own honour as a kniglit, 
and his word as a sovereign, he triumphed over her 
weakness by base and unmanly violence. 

There are not wanting those who affirm that the 
hapless Florinda lent a yielding ear to the solicita- 
tions of the monarch, and her name has been treated 
with opprobrium in several of the ancient chronicles 
and legendary ballads that have transmitted, from 
generation to generation, the story of the woes of 
Spain. In very truth, however, she appears to have 
been a guiltless victim, resisting, as far as helpless 
female could resist, the arts and intrigues of a power- 
ful monarch, who had nought to check the indulgence 
of his will, and bewailing her disgrace with a poig- 
nancy that shows how dearly she had prized her 
honour. 

In the first paroxysm of her grief she wrote a letter 
to her father, blotted with her tears and almost in- 
coherent from her agitation. " Would to God, my 
father," said she, "that the earth had opened and 
swallowed me ere I had been reduced to write these 
lines. I blush to tell thee, what it is not proper to 
conceal. Alas, my father ! thou hast entrusted thy 
lamb to the guardianship of the lion. Thy daughter 
has been dishonoured, the royal cradle of the Goths 
polluted, and our lineage insulted and disgraced. 
Hasten, my father, to rescue your child from the 
power of the spoiler, and to vindicate the honour of 
your house." 

When Florinda had written these lines, she sum- 
moned a youthful esquire, who had been a page in 
the service of her father. " Saddle thy steed," said 
she, " and if thou dost aspire to knightly honour, or 
hope for lady's grace ; if thou hast fealty for thy 
lord, or devotion to his daughter, speed swiftly upon 
my errand. Rest not, halt not, spare not the spur, 
but hie thee day and niglit until thou reach the sea ; 
take the first bark, and haste with sail and oar to 
Ceuta, nor pause until thou give this letter to the 
count my father." The youth put the letter in his 
bosom. " Trust me, lady," said he, " I will neither 
halt, nor turn aside, nor cast a look behind, until I 
reach Count Julian." He mounted his fleet steed, 
sped his way across the bridge, and soon left behind 
him the verdant valley of the Tagus. 



CHAPTER VI. 



DON RODERICK RECEIVES AN EXTRAORDINARY 
EMBASSY. 

The heart of Don Roderick was not so depraved 
by sensuality, but that the wrong he had been guilty 
of toward the innocent Florinda, and the disgrace he 
had inflicted on her house, weighed heavy on his 
spirits, and a cloud began to gather on his once clear 
and unwrinkled brow. 

Heaven, at this time, say the old Spanish chroni- 
cles, permitted a marvellous intimation of the wrath 
with which it intended to visit the monarch and 
his people, in punishment of their sins ; nor are we, 
say the same orthodox writers, to startle and with- 
hold our faith when we meet in the page of discreet 
and sober histoiy with these signs and portents, 
which transcend the probabilities of ordinary life ; 
for the revolutions of empires and the downfall of 



mighty kings are awful events, that shake the physi- 
cal as well as the moral world, and are often an- 
nounced by forerunning marvels and prodigious 
omens. 

With such like cautious preliminaries do the wary 
but credulous historiographers of yore usher in a 
marvellous event of prophecy and enchantment, 
linked in ancient story with the fortunes of Don Rod- 
erick, but which modern ctbubters would fain hold 
up as an apocryphal tradition of Arabian origin. 

Now, so it happened, according to the legend, that 
about this time, as King Roderick was seated one 
day on his throne, surrounded by his nobles, in the 
ancient city of Toledo, two men of venerable appear- 
ance entered the hall of audience. Their snowy 
beards descended to their breasts, and their gray 
hairs were bound with ivy. They were arrayed in 
white garments of foreign or antiquated fashion, 
which swept the ground, and were cinctured with 
girdles, wrought with the signs of the zodiac, from 
which were suspended enormous bunches of keys of 
every variety of form. Having approached the 
throne and made obeisance : " Know, O king," said 
one of the old men, " that in days of yore, when 
Hercules of Lybia, surnamed the strong, had set up 
his pillars at the ocean strait, he erected a tower near 
to this ancient city of Toledo. He built it of prodi- 
gious strength, and finished it with magic art, shut- 
ting up within it a fearful secret, never to be pene- 
trated without peril and disaster. To protect this 
terrible mvstery he closed the entrance to the editice 
with a ponderous door of iron, secured by a great 
lock of steel, and he left a command that every king 
who should succeed him should add another lock to 
the portal ; denouncing woe and destruction on him 
who should eventually unfold the secret of the tower. 

" The guardianship of the portal was given to our 
ancestors, and has continued in our family, from gen- 
eration to generation, since the days of Hercules. 
Several kings, from time to time, have caused the 
gate to be thrown open, and have attempted to enter, 
but have paid dearly for their temerity. Some have 
perished within the threshold, others have been over- 
whelmed with horror at tremendous sounds, which 
shook the foundations of the earth, and have hast- 
ened to reclose the door and secure it with its thou- 
sand locks. Thus, since the days of Hercules, the 
inmost recesses of the pile have never been pene- 
trated by mortal man, and a profound mystery con- 
tinues to prevail over this great enchantment. This, 
O king, is all we have to relate ; and our errand is to 
entreat thee to repair to the tower and affix thy lock 
to the portal, as has been done by all thy predeces- 
sors." Having thus said, the ancient men made a 
profound reverence and departed from the presence 
chamber.* 

Don Roderick remained for some time lost in 
thought after the departure of the men ; he tlien dis- 
missed all his court excepting the venerable Urbino, 
at that time archbishop of Toledo. The long white 
beard of this prelate bespoke his advanced age, and 
his overhanging eyebrows showed him a man full of 
wary counsel. 

" Father," said the king, "I have an earnest desire 
to penetrate the mystery of this tower." The wor- 
thy prelate shook his hoary head, " Beware, my son," 
said he, "there are secrets hidden from man for his 
good. Your predecessors for many generations have 
respected this mystery, and have increased in might 
and empire. A knowledge of it, therefore, is not 
material to the welfare of your kingdom. Seek not 



* Periida de Espana por Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique. 1. i, c. f . 
Cronica del Rey Don Rodrigo por el moro Rasis, 1. i , c. i. Bleda, 
cron. cap. vii. 



302 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



then to indulge a rash and unprofitable curiosity, 
which is interdicted under such awful menaces." 

" Of what importance," cried the king, "are the 
menaces of Hercules, the Lybian .' was he not a pa- 
gan ; and can his enchantments have ought avail 
against a believer in our holy faith .' Doubtless in 
this tower are locked up treasures of gold and jew- 
els, amassed in days of old, the spoils of mighty 
kings, the riches of the pagan world. My coffers 
are exhausted ; 1 have need of supply ; and surely it 
would be an acceptable act in the eyes of heaven, to 
draw forth this wealth which lies buried under pro- 
fane and necromantic spells, and consecrate it to 
religious purposes." 

The venerable archbishop still continued to re- 
monstrate, but Don Roderick heeded not his counsel, 
for he was led on by his malignant star. " Father," 
said he, " it is in vain you attempt to dissuade me. 
My resolution is fixed. To-morrow 1 will explore 
the hidden mystery, or rather the hidden treasures 
of this tower." 



CHAPTER VII. 



STORY OF THE MARVELLOUS AND PORTENTOUS 
TOWER. 

The morning sun shone brightly upon the cliflf- 
built towers of Toledo, when King Roderick issued 
out of the gate of the city at the head of a numerous 
train of courtiers and cavaliers, and crossed the 
bridge that bestrides the deep rocky bed of the 
Tagus. The shining cavalcade wound up the road 
that leads among the mountains, and soon came in 
sight of the necromantic tower. 

Of this renowned edifice marvels are related by 
the ancient Arabian and Spanish chroniclers, " and 
1 doubt much," adds the venerable Agapida, " wheth- 
er many readers will not consider the whole as a 
cunningly devised fable, sprung from an oriental 
imagination ; but it is not for me to reject a fact 
which is recorded by all those writers who are the 
fathers of our national liistory ; a fact, too, which is 
as well attested as most of the remarkable events in 
the story of Don Roderick. None but light and in- 
considerate minds," continues the good friar, " do 
hastily reject the marvellous. To the thinking mind 
the whole world is enveloped in mystery, and every 
thing is full of type and portent. To such a mind 
the necromantic tower of Toledo will appear as one 
of those wondrous monuments of the olden time ; 
one of those Egyptian and Chaldaic piles, storied 
with hidden wisdom and mystic prophecy, which 
have been devised in past ages, when man yet en- 
joyed an intercourse with high and spiritual natures, 
and when human foresight partook of divination." 

This singular tower was round and of great height 
and grandeur, erected upon a lofty rock, and sur- 
rounded by crags and precipices. The foundation 
was supported by four brazen lions, each taller than 
a cavalier on horseback. The walls were built of 
small pieces of jasper and various coloured marbles, 
not larger than a man's hand ; so subtilely joined, 
however, that, but for their difterent hues, they might 
be taken for one, entire stone. They were arranged 
with marvellous cunning so as to represent battles 
and warlike deeds of times and heroes long since 
passed away, and the whole surface was so admirably 
polished that the stones were as lustrous as glass, 
and reflected the rays of the sun with such resplen- 
dent brightness as to dazzle all beholders.* 



* From the minute account of the good friar, drawn from the 
ancient chronicles, it wotild appear that the walls of the tower 
were pictured in mosaic work. 



King Roderick and his courtiers arrived wonder- 
ing and amazed at the foot of the rock. Here there 
was a narrow arched way cut through the living 
stone : the only entrance to the tower. It was 
closed by a massive iron gate covered with rusty 
locks of divers workmanship and in the fashion of 
dift'erent centuries, which had been affixed by the 
predecessors of Don Roderick. On either side of 
the portal stood the two ancient guardians of the 
tower, laden with the keys appertaining to the locks. 

The king alighted, and approaching the portals, 
ordered the guardians to unlock the gate. The 
hoary-headed men drew back with terror. " Alas ! " 
cried they, " what is it your majesty requires of 
us. Would you have the mischiefs of this tower 
unbound, and let loose to shake the earth to its 
foundations? " 

The venerable archbishop Urbino likewise im- 
plored him not to disturb a mystery which had been 
held sacred from generation to generation within 
the memory of man, and which even Cssar himself, 
when sovereign of Spain, had not ventured to in- 
vade. The youthful cavaliers, however, were eager 
to pursue the adventure, and encouraged him in his 
rash curiosity. 

" Come what come may," exclaimed Don Roder- 
ick, " I am resolved to penetrate the mystery of this 
tower." So saying, he again commanded the guar- 
dians to unlock the portal. The ancient men obeyed 
with fear and trembling, but their hands shook with 
age, and when they applied the keys the locks were 
so rusted by time, or of such strange workmanship, 
that they resisted their feeble efforts, whereupon 
the young cavaliers pressed forward and lent their 
aid. Still the locks were so numerous and difficult, 
that with all their eagerness and strength a great 
part of the day was exhausted before the whole ot 
them could be mastered. 

When the last bolt had yielded to the key, the 
guardians and the reverend archbishop again en- 
treated the king to pause and reflect. "Whatever 
is within this tower," said they, " is as yet harmless 
and lies bound under a mighty spell : venture not 
then to open a door which may let forth a flood of 
evil upon the land." But the anger of the king was 
roused, and he ordered that the portal should be 
instantly thrown open. In vain, however, did one 
after another exert his strength, and equally in vain 
did the cavaliers unite their forces, and apply their 
shoulders to the gate ; though there was neither bar 
nor bolt remaining, it was perfectly immovable. 

The patience of the king was now exhausted, and 
he advanced to apply his hand ; scarcely, however, 
did he touch the iron gate, when it swung slowly 
open, uttering, as it were, a dismal groan, as it 
turned reluctantly upon its hinges. A cold, damp 
wind issued forth, accompanied by a tempestuous 
sound. The hearts of the ancient guardians quaked 
within th^m, and their knees smote together ; but 
several of the youthful cavaliers rushed in, eager to 
gratify their curiosity, or to signalize themselves in 
this redoubtable enterprise. They had scarcely ad- 
vanced a few paces, however, when they recoiled, 
overcome by the baleful air, or by some fearful 
vision.* Upon this, the king ordered that fires 
should be kindled to dispel the darkness, and to cor- 
rect the noxious and long imprisoned air ; he then 
led the way into the interior ; but, though stout of 
heart, he advanced with awe and hesitation. 

After proceeding a short distance, he entered a 
hall, or anti-chamber, on the opposite side of which 
was a door, and before it, on a pedestal, stood a gi- 
gantic figure, of the colour of bronze, and of a ter- 



* Bleda. cronica. cap. 7. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



303 



rible aspect. It held a huge mace, which it whirled 
incessantly, giving such cruel and resounding blows 
upon the earth as to prevent all further entrance. 

The king piused at sight of this appalling figure, 
for whether it were a hving being, or a statue of 
magic artifice, he could not tell. On its breast was 
a scroll, whereon was inscribed in large letters, " I 
do my duty."* After a little while Roderick plucked 
up heart, and addressed it with great solemnity : 
"Whatever thou bp," said he, "know that I come 
not to violate this sanctuary, but to inquire into the 
mystery it contains; I conjure thee, therefore, to let 
me pass in safety." 

Upon this the figure paused with uplifted mace, 
and the king and his train passed unmolested through 
the door. 

They now entered a vast chamber, of a rare and 
sumptuous architecture, difficult to be described. 
The walls were incrusted with the most precious 
gems, so joined together as to form one smooth and 
perfect surface. The lofty dome appeared to be self- 
supported, and was studded with gems, lustrous as 
the stars of the firmament. There was neither 
wood, nor any other common or base material to 
be seen throughout the edifice. There were no win- 
dows or other openings to admit the day^yet a ra- 
diant light was spread throughout the place, which 
seemed to shine from the walls, and to render every 
object distinctly visible. 

In the centre of this hall stood a table of alabas- 
ter of the rarest workmanship, on which was in- 
scribed in Greek characters, that Hercules Alcides, 
the Theban Greek, had founded this tower in the 
year of the world three thousand and six. Upon 
the table stood a golden casket, richly Jet round 
with precious stones, and closed with a lock of 
mother-of-pearl, and on the lid were inscribed the 
following words : 

" In this coffer is contained the mystery of the 
tower. The hand of none but a king can open it ; 
but let him beware ! for marvellous events will be 
revealed to him, which are to take place before his 
death." 

King Roderick boldly seized upon the casket. 
The venerable archbishop laid his hand upon his 
arm, and made a last remonstrance. " Forbear, my 
son ! " said he, " desist while there is yet time. 
Look not into the mysterious decrees of Providence. 
God has hidden them in mercy from our sight, and 
it is impious to rend the veil by which they are con- 
cealed." 

" What have I to dread from a knowledge of the 
future ? " replied Roderick, with an air of haughty 
presumption. " If good be destined me, I shall 
enjoy it by anticipation : if evil, I shall arm my- 
self to meet it." So saying he rashly broke the 
lock. 

Within the coffer he found nothing but a linen 
cloth, folded between two tablets of copper. On 
unfolding it he beheld painted on it figures of men 
on horseback, of fierce demeanour, clad in turbans 
and robes of various colours, after the fashion of the 
Araljs. with scimitars hanging from their necks and 
cross-bows at their saddle backs, and they carried 
banners and pennons with divers devices. Above 
them was inscribed in Greek characters, " Rash 
monarch ! behold the men who are to hurl thee 
from thy throne, and subdue thy kingdom ! " 

At sight of these things the king was troubled in 
spirit, and dismay fell upon his attendants. While 
they were yet regarding the paintings, it seemed as 
if the figures began to move, and a faint sound of 
warlike tumult arose from the cloth, with the clash 



* Idem. 



of cymbal and bray of trumpet, the neigh of steed 
and shout of army ; but all was heard indistinctly, 
as if afar off, or in a reverie or dream. The more 
they gazed, the plainer became the motion, and the 
louder the noise ; and the linen cloth rolled forth, 
and amplified, and spread out, as it were, a mighty 
banner, and filled the hall, and mingled with the air, 
until its texture was no longer visible, or appeared 
as a transparent cloud. And the shadowy figures 
became all in motion, and the din and uproar be- 
came fiercer and fiercer ; and whether the whole 
were an animated picture, or a vision, or an array 
of embodied spirits, conjured up by supernatural 
power, no one present could tell. They beheld before 
them a great field of battle, where christians and 
Moslems were engaged in deadly conflict. They 
heard the rush and tramp of steeds, the blast of 
trump and clarion, the clash of cymbal, and the 
stormy din of a thousand drums. There was the 
clash of swords, and maces, and battle-axes, with 
the whistling of arrows and the hurtling of darts 
and lances. The christians quailed before the foe ; 
the infidels pressed upon them and put them to utter 
rout ; the standard of the cross was cast down, the 
banner of Spain was trodden under foot, the air re- 
sounded with shouts of triumph, with yells of fuiy, 
and with the groans of dying men. Amidst the fly- 
ing squadrons King Roderick beheld a crowned war- 
rior, whose back was towards him, but whose ar- 
mour and device were his own, and who was 
mounted on a white steed that resembled his own 
war horse Orelia. In the confusion of the flight, the 
warrior was dismounted and was no longer to be 
seen, and Orelia galloped wildly through the field of 
battle without a rider. 

Roderick staid to see no more, but rushed from 
the fatal hall, followed by his terrified attendants. 
They fled through the outer chamber, where the 
gigantic figure with the whirling mace had disap- 
peared from his pedestal, and on issuing into the 
open air, they found the two ancient guardians of the 
tower lying dead at the portal, as though they had 
been crushed by some mighty blow. All nature, 
which had been clear and serene, was now in wild 
uproar. The heavens were darkened by heavy clouds ; 
loud bursts of thunder rent the air, and the earth 
was deluged with rain and rattling hail. 

The king ordered that the iron portal should be 
closed, but the door was immovable, and the cava- 
liers were dismayed by the tremendous turmoil and 
the mingled shouts and groans that continued to 
prevail within. The king and his train hastened 
back to Toledo, pursued and pelted by the tempest. 
The mountains shook and echoed with the thunder, 
trees were uprooted and blown down, and the Tag'us 
raged and roared and flowed above its banks. It 
seemed to the aflVighted courtiers as if the phantom 
legions of the tower had issued forth and mingled 
with the storm, for amidst the claps of thunder and 
the howling of the wind, they fancied they heard 
the sound of the drums and trumpets, the shouts of 
armies and the rush of steeds. Thus beaten by 
tempest and overwhelmed with horror, the king and 
his courtiers arrived at Toledo, clattering across the 
bridge of the Tagiis, and entering the gate in head- 
long confusion as though they had been pursued by 
an enemy. 

In the morning the heavens were again serene, 
and all nature was restored to tranquillity. The king, 
therefore, issued forth with his cavaliers, and took 
the road to the tower, followed by a great multitude, 
for he was anxious once more to close the iron door, 
and shut up those evils that threatened to overwhelm 
the land. But lo ! on coming in sight of the tower, 
a new wonder met their eyes. An eagle appeared 



304 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



high in the air, seeming to descend from heaven.' 
He bore in his beak a burning brand, and Hghting 
on the summit of the tower, fanned the fire with his 
wings. In a little while the edifice burst forth into 
a blaze as though it had been built of rosin, and the 
flames mounted into the air with a brilliancy more 
dazzling than the sun ; nor did they cease until every 
stone was consumed and the whole was reduced to a 
heap of ashes. Then there came a vast flight of 
birds, small of size and sable of hue, darkening the 
sky like a cloud ; and they descended and wheeled 
in circles round the ashes, causing so great a wind 
with their wings that the whole was borne up into 
the air, and scattered throughout all Spain, and 
wherever a particle of that ashes fell it was as a 
stain of blood. It is furthermore recorded by an- 
cient men and writers of former days, that all those 
on whom this dust fell were afterwards slain in battle, 
when the country was conquered by the Arabs, and 
that the destruction of this necromantic tower was 
a sigTi and token of the approaching perdition of 
Spain. 

" Let all those," concludes the cautious friar, 
"who question the verity of this most marvellous oc- 
currence, consult those admirable sources of our 
history, the chronicle of the Moor, Rasis, and the 
work entitled, the Fall of Spain, written by the Moor, 
Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique. Let them consult, 
moreover, the venerable historian Bleda, and the 
cloud of other Catholic Spanish writers, who have 
treated of this event, and they will find I have related 
nothing that has not been printed and published un- 
der the inspection and sanction of our holy mother 
church. God alone knoweth the truth of these things ; 
I speak nothing but what has been handed down to 
me from times of old." 



CHAPTER VIIL 



COUNT JULIAN — HIS FORTUNES IN AFRICA.- 
HEARS OF THE DISHONOUR OF HIS CHILD- 
CONDUCT THEREUPON. 



-HE 
■HIS 



The course of our legendary narration now re- 
turns to notice the fortunes of Count Julian, after his 
departure from Toledo, to resume his government 
on the coast of Barbary. He left the Countess 
Frandina at Algeziras, his paternal domain, for the 
province under his command was threatened with 
invasion. In fact, when he arrived at Ceuta he 
found his post in imminent danger from the all-con- 
quering Moslems. The Arabs of the east, the fol- 
lowers of Mahomet, having subjugated several of 
the most potent oriental kingdoms, had established 
their seat of empire at Damascus, where, at this 
time, it was filled by Waled Almanzor, surnamed 
" The Sword of God." From thence the tide of 
Moslem conquest had rolled on to the shores of the 
Atlantic, so that all Almagreb, or Western Africa, 
had submitted to the standard of the prophet, with 
the exception of a portion of Tingitania. lying along 
the straits ; being the province held by the Goths of 
Spain, and commanded by Count Julian. The Arab 
invaders were a hundred thousand strong, most of 
them veteran troops, seasoned in warfare and accus- 
tomed to victory. They were led by an old Arab 
General, ]\Iuza ben Nosier, to whom was confided 
the government of Almagreb ; most of which he had 
himself conquered. The ambition of this veteran 
was to make the Moslem conquest complete, by ex- 
pelling the christians from the African shores ; with 
this view his troops menaced the few remaining 
Gothic fortresses of Tingitania, while he himself set 



down in person before the walls of Ceuta. The 
Arab chieftain had been rendered confident by con- 
tinual success, and thought nothing could resist his 
arms and the sacred standard of the prophet. Im- 
patient of the tedious delays of a siege, he led his 
troops boldly against the rock-built towers of Ceuta, 
and attempted to take the place by storm. The 
onset was fierce, and the struggle desperate; the 
swarthy sons of the desert were light and vigorous, 
and of fiery spirit, but the Goths, inured to danger 
on this frontier, retained the stubborn valour of their 
race, so impaired among their brethren in Spain. 
They were commanded, too, by one skilled in war- 
fare and ambitious of renown. After a vehement 
conflict the Moslem assailants were repulsed from all 
points, and driven from the walls. Don Julian sal- 
lied forth and harassed them in their retreat, and so 
severe was the carnage that the veteran Muza was 
fain to break up his camp and retire confounded from 
the siege. 

The victory at Ceuta resounded throughout Tingi- 
tania, and spread universal joy. On every side were 
heard shouts of exultation mingled with praises of 
Count Julian. He was hailed by the people, wher- 
ever he went, as their deliverer, and blessings were 
invoked upon his head. The heart of Count Julian 
was lifted up, and his spirit swelled within him ; but 
it was with noble and virtuous pride, for he was con- 
scious of having merited the blessings of his country. 

In the midst of his exultation, and while the re- 
joicings of the people were yet sounding in his ears, 
the page arrived who bore the letter from his un- 
fortunate daughter. 

" What tidings from the king ? " said the count, 
as the page knelt before him : " None, my lord." re- 
plied the youth, " but I bear a letter sent m all haste 
by the Lady Florinda." 

He took the letter from his bosom and presented 
it to his lord. As Count Julian read it his coun- 
tenance darkened and fell. " This," said he, bit- 
terly, " is my reward for serving a tyrant ; and these 
are the honours heaped on me by my country while 
fighting its battles in a foreign land. May evil over- 
take me, and intamy rest upon my name, if 1 cease 
until I have full measure of revenge,." 

Count Julian was vehement in his passions, and 
took no counsel in his wrath. His spirit was haughty 
in the extreme, but destitute of true magnanimity, 
and when once wounded, turned to gall and venom. 
A dark and malignant hatred entered into his soul, 
not only against Don Roderick, but against all 
Spain : he looked upon it as the scene of his dis- 
grace, a land in which his family was dishonoured, 
and, in seeking to avenge the wrongs he liad suf- 
fered from his sovereign, he meditated against his 
native country one of the blackest schemes of treason 
that ever entered into the human heart. 

The plan of Count Julian was to hurl King Rod- 
erick from his throne, and to deliver all Spain into 
the hands of the infidels. In concerting and execut- 
ing this treacherous plot, it seemed as if his whole 
nature was changed ; every lofty and generous senti- 
ment was stifled, and he stooped to the meanest 
dissimulation. His first object was, to extricate his 
famdy trom the power of the king, and to remove it 
from Spain before his treason should be known ; his 
next, to deprive the country of its remaining means 
of defence against an invader. 

With these dark purposes at heart, but with an 
open and serene countenance, he crossed to Spain 
and repaired to the court at Toledo. Wherever he 
came he was hailed with acclamation, as a victorious 
general, and appeared in the presence of his sover- 
eign radiant with the victory at Ceuta. Concealing 
from King Roderick his knowledge of the outrage 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



305 



upon his house, he professed nothing but the most 
devoted loyalty and affection. 

The l<ing loaded him with favours ; seeking to ap- 
pease his own conscience by heaping honours upon the 
father in atonement of the deadly wrong inflicted 
upon his child. He regarded Count Julian, also, as 
a man able and experienced in warfare, and took his 
advice in all matters relating to the military affairs 
of the kingdom. The count magnified the dangers 
that threatened the frontier under his command, and 
prevailed upon the king to send thither the best 
horses and armsiremaining from the time of Witiza, 
there being no need of them in the centre of Spain, 
in its present tranquil state. The residue, at his sug- 
gestion, was stationed on the frontiers of Gallia ; so 
that the kingdom was lel't almost wholly without de- 
fence against any sudden irruption from the south. 

Having thus artfully arranged his plans, and all 
things being prepared for his return to Africa, he 
obtained permission to withdraw his daughter from 
ihe court, and leave her with her mother, the Count- 
5ss Frandina, who, he pretended, lay dangerously ill 
it Algeziras. Count Julian issued out of the gate ol 
:he city, followed by a shining band of chosen fol- 
owers, while beside him, on a palfrey, rode the pale 
ind weeping Florinda. The populace hailed and 
jlessed him as he passed, but his heart turned from 
:hem with loathing. As he crossed the bridge of the 
Tagus he looked back with a dark brow upon Toledo, 
ind raised his mailed hand and shook it at the royal 
lalace of King Roderick, which crested the rocky 
leight. " A father's curse," said he, " be upon thee 
md thine ! may desolation fall upon thy dwelling, 
ind confusion and defeat upon thy realm ! " 

In his journeyings through the country, he looked 
round him with a malignant eye ; the pipe of the 
shepherd, and the song of the husbandman, were as 
discord to his soul ; every sight and sound of human 
happiness sickened him at heart, and, in the bitter- 
ness of his spirit, he prayed that he might see the 
whole scene of prosperity laid waste with fire and 
sword by the invader. 

The story of domestic outrage and disgrace had 
already been made known to the Countess Frandina. 
When the hapless Florinda came in presence of her 
mother, she fell on her neck, and hid her face in her 
bosom, and wept ; but the countess shed never a 
tear, for she was a woman haughty of spirit and 
strong of heart. She looked her husband sternly in 
the face. " Perdition light upon thy head," said 
she, " if thou submit to this dishonour. For my own 
part, woman as 1 am, I will assemble the followers 
of my house, nor rest until rivers of blood have 
washed away this stain." 

"Be satisfied," replied the count, " vengeance is 
on foot, and will be sure and ample." 

Being now in his own domains, surrounded by his 
relatives and friends. Count Julian went on to com- 
plete his web of treason. In this he was aided by 
his brother-in-law, Oppas, the bishop of Seville : a 
man dark and perfidious as the night, but devout in 
demeanour, and smooth and plausible in council. 
This artful prelate had contrived to work himself 
into the entire confidence of the king, and had even 
prevailed upon him to permit his nephews, Evan 
and Siseburto, the exiled sons of Witiza, to return 
into Spain. They resided in Andalusia, and were 
now looked to as fit instruments in the present trai- 
torous conspiracy. 

By the advice of the bishop, Count Julian called a 
secret meeting of his relatives and adherents on a 
wild rocky mountain, not far from Consuegra, and 
which still bears the Moorish appellation of " La 
Sierra de Calderin," or the mountain of treason.* 



■ Bleda. Cap. 5. 



20 



When all were assembled. Count Julian appeared 
among them, accompanied by the bishop and by the 
Countess Frandina. Then gathering around him 
those who were of his blood and kindred, he revealed 
the outrage that had been offered to their house. He 
represented to them that Roderick was their legiti- 
mate enemy ; that he had dethroned Witiza, their 
relation, and had now stained the honour of one of 
the most illustrious daughters of their line. The 
Countess Frandina seconded his words. She was a 
woman majestic in person and eloquent of tongue, 
and being inspired by a mother's feelings, her speech 
aroused the assembled cavaliers to fury. 

The count took advantage of the excitement of the 
moment to unfold his plan. The main object was to 
dethrone Don Roderick, and give the crown to the 
sons of the late King Witiza. By this means they 
would visit the sins of the tyrant upon his head, and, 
at the same time, restore the regal honours to their 
line. For this purpose their own force would be 
sufficient, but they might procure the aid of Muza 
ben Nosier, the Arabian general, in Mauritania, who 
would no doubt gladly send a part of his troops into 
Spain to assist in the enterprise. 

The plot thus suggested by Count Julian received 
the unholy sanction of Bishop Oppas, who engaged 
to aid it secretly with all his influence and means; 
for he had great wealth and possessions, and many 
retainers. The example of the reverend prelate de- 
termined all who might otherwise have wavered, and 
they bound themselves by dreadful oaths to be true to 
the conspiracy. Count Julian undertook to proceed to 
Africa, and seek the camp of Muza, to negotiate for 
his aid, while the bishop was to keep about the per- 
son of King Roderick, and lead him into the net pre- 
pared for him. 

All things being thus arranged. Count Julian 
gathered together his treasure, and taking his wife 
and daughter and all his household, abandoned the 
country he meant to betray; embarking at Malaga 
for Ceuta. The gate in the wall of that city, through 
which they went forth, continued for ages to bear 
the name of I'uerta dc la Cava, or the gate of the 
harlot ; for such was the opprobrious and unmerited' 
appellation bestowed by the Moors on the unhappy 
Florinda.* 



CHAPTER IX. 



SECRET VISIT OF COUNT JULIAN TO THE ARAB 
CAMP. — FIRST EXPEDITION OF TARIC EL 
TUERTO. 

When Count Julian had placed his family in se- 
curity in Ceuta. surrounded by soldiery devoted to 
his fortunes, he took with him a few confidential fol- 
lowers, and departed in secret for the camp of the 
Arabian Emir, Muza ben Nosier. The camp 
was spread out in one of those pastoral valleys 
which lie at the feet of the Barbary hills, with the 
great range of the Atlas mountains towering in the 
distance. In the motley army here assembled were 
warriors of every tribe and nation, that had been 
united by pact or conquest in the cause of Islam. 
There were those who had followed Muza from the 
fertile regions of Egypt, across the deserts of Barca, 
and those who had joined his standard from among 
the sun-burnt tribes of Mauritania. There were 
Saracen and Tartar, Syrian and Copt, and swarthy 
Moor; sumptuous warriors from the civilized cities 
of the east, and the gaunt and predatory rovers of 
the desert. The greater part of the army, however, 
was composed of Arabs ; but differing greatly from 



* Bleda. Cap. 4. 



SOG 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the first rude hordes that enlisted under the banner 
of Mahomet. Almost a century of continual wars 
with the cultivated nations of the east had rendered 
them accomplished warriors ; and the occasional so- 
journ in luxurious countries and ]5opuIous cities, had 
acquainted them with the arts and habits of civilized 
life. Still the roving, restless, and predatory habits 
of the genuine son of Ishmael prevailed, in defiance 
of every change of clime or situation. 

Count Julian found the Arab conqueror Muza sur- 
rounded by somewhat of oriental state and splendour. 
He was advanced in life, but of a noble presence, 
and concealed his age by tinging his hair and beard 
with henna. The count assumed an air of soldier- 
like frankness and decision when he came into his 
presence. "Hitherto," said he, "we have been 
enemies, but I come to thee in peace, and it rests 
with thee to make me the most devoted of thy 
friends. I have no longer country or king. Roder- 
ick the Goth is an usurper, and my deadly foe ; he 
has wounded my honour in the tenderest point, and 
my country affords me no redress. Aid me in my 
vengeance, and I will deliver all Spain into thy 
hands : a land far exceeding in fertility and wealth 
all the vaunted regions thou hast conquered in 
Tingitania." 

The heart of Muza leaped with joy at these words, 
for he was a bold and ambitious conqueror, and, 
having overrun all western Africa, had often cast a 
wistful eye to the mountains of Spain, as he beheld 
them brightening beyond the waters of the strait. 
Still he possessed the caution of a veteran, and feared 
to engage in an enterprise of such moment, and to 
carry his arms into another division of the globe, 
without the approbation of his sovereign. Having 
drawn from Count Julian the particulars of his plan, 
and of the means he possessed to carry it into effect, 
he laid them before his confidential counsellors and 
officers, and demanded their opinion. " These v.'ords 
of Count Julian," said he, "may be false and deceit- 
ful ; or he may not possess the power to fulfil his 
promises. The whole may be a pretended treason 
to draw us on to our destruction. It is more natural 
that he should be treacherous to us than to his 
country." 

Among the generals of Muza, was a gaunt swarthy 
veteran, scarred with wounds ; a very Arab, whose 
great delight was roving and desperate enterprise, 
and who cared for nothing beyond his steed, his 
lance, and scimitar. He was a native of Damascus ; 
his name was Taric ben Zeyad, but. from having 
lost an eye, he w-as known among the Spaniards 
by the appellation of Taric el Tuerto, or Taric, the 
one-eyed. 

The hot blood of this veteran Ishmaelite was in a 
ferment when he heard of a new country to invade, 
and vast regions to subdue, and he dreaded lest the 
cautious hesitation of Muza should permit the glori- 
ous prize to escape them. " You speak doubtingly," 
said he, " of the words' of this christian cavalier, but 
their truth is easily to be ascertained. Give me four 
galleys and a handful of men, and I will depart with 
this Count Julian, skirt the christian coast, and bring 
thee back tidings of the land, and of his means to 
put it in our power." 

The words of the veteran pleased Muza ben 
Nosier, and he gave his consent ; and Taric de- 
parted with four galleys and five hundred men, 
guided by the traitor Julian.* This first expedition 
of the Arabs against Spain took place, according to 
certain historians, in the year of our Lord seven 
hundred and twelve ; though others differ on this 



point, as indeed they do upon almost every point in 
this early period of Spanish history. The date to 
which the judicious chroniclers incline, is that of 
seven hundred and ten, in the month of July. It 
would appear from some authorities, also, that the 
galleys of Taric cruised along the coasts of Anda- 
lusia and Lusitania, under the feigned character of 
merchant barks, nor is this at all improbable, while 
they were seeking merely to observe the land, and 
get a knowledge of the harbours. Wherever they 
touched. Count Julian despatched emissaries to as- 
semble his friends and adherents at an appointed 
place. They gathered together secretly at Gezira 
Alhadra, that is to say, the Green Island, where 
they held a conference with Count Julian in presence 
of Taric ben Zeyad.* Here they again avowed their 
readiness to flock to his standard whenever it should 
be openly raised, and made known their various 
preparations for a rebellion. Taric was convinced, 
by all that he had seen and heard, that Count Julian 
had not deceived them, either as to his disposition 
or his means to betray his country. Indulging his 
Arab inclinations, he made an inroad into the land, 
collected great spoil and many captives, and bore 
off his plunder in triumph to Muza. as a specimen 
of the riches to be gained by the conqiest of the 
christian land.t 



CHAPTER X. 



• Beuter. Croii. Gen. de Espafia, L. i, c. 
dc Africa, L. 2, <.. lo. 



28. Marmol. Descrip. 



LETTER OF MUZA. TO THE C.A.LIPH. — SECOND EX- 
PEDITION OF TARIC EL TUERTO. 

On hearing the tidings brought by Taric el Tuerto, 
and beholding the spoil he had collected, Muza wrote 
a letter to the Caliph Waled Almanzor, setting forth 
the traitorous proffer of Count Julian, and the proba 
bility, through his means, of making a successful in 
vasion of Spain. "A new land," said he, " spreads 
itself out before our delighted eyes, and invites our 
conquest. A land, too, that equals Syria in the fer- 
tility of its soil, and the serenity of its sky; Yemen 
or Arabia the happy, in its delightful temperature 
India in its flowers and spices ; Hegiaz in its fruits 
and flowers ; Cathay in its precious minerals, and 
Aden in the excellence of its ports and harbours, 
is populous also, and wealthy ; having many splendid 
cities and majestic monuments of ancient art. What 
is to prevent this glorious land from becoming the 
inheritance of the faithful ? Already we have over- 
come the tribes of Berbery, of Zab, of Uerar, of Za- 
ara, Mazamuda and Sus, and the victorious standard 
of Islam floats on the towers of Tangier. But four 
leagues of sea separate us from the opposite coast. 
One word from my sovereign, and the conquerors of 
Africa will pour their legions into Andalusia, rescue 
it from the domination of the unbeliever, and subdue 
it to the law of the Koran."! 

The caliph was overjoyed with the contents of the 
letter. "God is great !" exclaimed he, "and Ma- 
homet is his prophet ! It has been foretold hy the 
ambassador of God that his law should extend to th 
ultimate parts of the west, and be carried by the 
sword into new and unknown regions. Behok 
another land is opened for the triumphs of the faith- 
ful. It is the will of AJlah. and be his sovereign wil 
obeyed." So the caliph sent missives to Muza 
authorizing him to undertake the conquest. 

Upon this there vi-as a great stir of preparation 
and numerous vessels were assembled and equippec 



* Bleda. Cron. c. 5. t Conde. Hist. Dom .\rab. part i, c. 8. 
{ Conde, part i. c. 8. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



307 



at Tangier to convey the invading army across the 
straits. Twelve thousand men were chosen for this 
expedition : most of them light Arabian troops, 
seasoned in warfare, and fitted for hardy and rapid 
enterprise. Among them were many horsemen, 
mounted on fleet Arabian steeds. The whole was 
put under the command of the veteran, Taric el 
Tuerto. or the one-eyed, in whom Muza reposed im- 
plicit confidence as in a second self. Taric accepted 
the command with joy ; his martial fire was roused 
at the idea of having such an army under his sole 
command, and such a country to overrun, and he 
secretly determined never to return unless vic- 
torious. 

He chose a dark night to convey his troops across 
the straits of Hercules, anrl by break of day they be- 
gan to disembark at Tarifa before the country had 
time to take the alarm. A few christians hastily as- 
sembled from the neighbourhood and opposed their 
landing, but were easily put to flight. Taric stood 
on the sea-side, and watched until the last squadron 
had landed, and all the horses, armour, and muni- 
tions of war, were brought on shore ; he then gave 
orders to set fire to the ships. The Moslems were 
struck with terror when they beheld their fleet wrap- 
ped in flames and smoke, and sinking beneath the 
waves. " How shall we escape," e.Kclaimed they, 
"if the fortune of war should be against us?" 
" There is no escape for the coward ! " cried Taric, 
" the brave man thinks of none ; your only chance is 
victory." " But how without ships shall we ever re- 
turn to our homes ? " •' Your home," replied Taric, 
" is before you ; but you must win it with your 
swords." 

While Taric was yet talking with his followers, 
says one of the ancient chroniclers, a christian 
female was descried waving a white pennon on a 
reed, in signal of peace. On being brought into the 
presence of Taric, she prostrated herself before him. 
"Senior," said she, " I am an ancient woman; and 
it is now full sixty years past and gone since, as I 
was keeping vigils one winter's night by the fireside, 
I heard mv father, who was an exceeding old man, 
read a prophecy said to have been written by a holy 
friar ; and this was the purport of the prophecy, that 
a time would arrive when our country would be in- 
vaded and conquered by a people from Africa of a 
strange garb, a strange tongue, and a strange re- 
ligion. They were to be led by a strong and valiant 
captain, who would be known by these signs : on his 
right shoulder he would have a hairy mole, and his 
right arm would be much longer than the left, and 
of such length as to enable him to cover his knee 
with his hand without bending his body. 

Taric listened to the old beldame with grave at- 
tention, and when she had concluded, he laid bare 
his shoulder, and lo ! there was the mole as it had 
been described ; his right arm, also, was in verity 
found to exceed the other in length, though not to 
the degree that had been mentioned. Upon this the 
Arab host shouted for joy, and felt assured of con- 
quest. 

The discreet Antonio Agapida, though he records 
this circumstance as it is set down in ancient chron- 
icle, yet withholds his belief from the pretended 
prophecy, considering the whole a cunning device of 
Taric to increase the courage of his troops. " Doubt- 
less." says he, " there was a collusion between this 
ancient sybil and the craftv son of Ishmael ; for 
these infidel leaders were full of damnable inventions 
to work upon the superstitious fancies of their fol- 
lowers, and to inspire them with a blind confidence 
in the success of their arms." 

Be this as it may, the veteran Taric took advan- 
tage of the excitement of his soldiery, and led them 



forward to gain possession of a strong-hold, which 
was, in a manner, the key to all the adjacent country. 
This was a lofty mountain or promontory almost 
surrounded by the sea, and connected with the main 
land by a narrow isthmus. It was called the rock 
of Calpe, and, like the opposite rock of Ceuta, com- 
manded' the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. 
Here in old times, Hercules had set up one of his 
pillars, and the city of Heraclea had been built. 

As Taric advanced against this promontory, he 
was opposed by a hasty levy of the christians, who 
had assembled under the banner of a Gothic noble 
of great power and importance, whose domains lay 
along the mountainous coast of the Mediterranean. 
The name of this christian cavalier was Theodomir, 
but he has universally been called Tadmir by the 
Arabian historians, and is renowned as being the 
first commander that made any stand against the 
inroad of the Moslems. He was about forty years 
of age ; hardy, prompt, and sagacious ; and had all 
the Gothic nobles been equally vigilant and shrewd 
in their defence, the banner of Islam would never 
have triumphed over the land. 

Theodomir had but seventeen hundred men under 
his command, and these but rudely armed ; yet he 
made a resolute stand against the army of Taric, and 
defended the pass to the promontory with great 
valour. He was, at length, obliged to retreat, and 
Taric advanced and planted his standard on the 
rock of Calpe, and fortified it as his strong-hold, and 
as the means of securing an entrance into the land. 
To commemorate his nrst victory, he changed the 
name of the promontory, and called it Gibel Taric, 
or the mountain of Taric, but in process of time the 
name has gradually been altered to Gibraltar. 

In the meantime, the patriotic chieftain Theodomir, 
having collected his routed forces, encamped with 
them on the skirts of the mountains, and summoned 
the country round to join his standard. He sent off 
missives in all speed to the king, imparting in brief 
and blunt terms the news of the invasion, and crav- 
ing assistance with equal frankness. " Senior," said 
he, in his letter, " the legions of Africa are upon 'is, 
but whether they come from heaven or earth I knuv/ 
not. They seem to have fallen from the clouds, lor 
they have no ships. We have been taken by sur- 
prise, overpowered by numbers, and obliged to re- 
treat ; and they have fortified themselves in our 
territory. Send us aid, senior, w'ith instant speed, 
or rather, come yourself to our assistance."* 



CHAPTER XI. 



MEASURES OF DON RODERICK ON HEARING OF 
THE INVASION. — E.KPEDITIJN OF ATAULPHO. 
— VISION OF TARIC. 

When Don Roderick heard that legions of tur- 
baned troops had poured into the land from Africa, 
he called to mind the visions and predictions of the 
necromantic lower, and great fear came upon him. 
But, though sunk from his former hardihood and 
virtue, though enervated by indulgence, and degraded 
in spirit by a consciousness of crime, he was resolute 
of soul, and roused himself to meet the coming 
danger. He summoned a hasty levy of horse and 
foot, amounting to forty thousand ; but now were 
felt the effects of the crafty counsel of Count Julian, 
for the best of the horses and armor intended for the 
public service, had been sent into Africa, and were 
really in possession of the traitors. Many nobles, il 



* Conde. Parti, c. g. 



308 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



is true, took the field with the sumptuous array with 
which they had been accustomed to appear at tour- 
naments and jousts, but most of their vassals were 
destitute of weapons, and cased in cuirasses of 
leather, or suits of armour almost consumed by rust. 
They were without discipline or animation ; and 
their horses, like themselves, pampered by slothful 
peace, were little fitted to bear the heat, the dust, 
and toil, of long campaigns. 

This army Don Roderick put under the command 
of his kinsman Ataulpho, a prince of the royal blood 
of the Goths, and of a noble and generous nature ; 
and he ordered him to march with all speed to meet 
the foe, and to recruit his forces on the way with the 
troops of Theodomir. 

In the meantime, Taric el Tuerto had received 
large reinforcement; from Africa, and the adherents 
of Count Julian, and all those discontented with the 
sway of Don Roderick, had flocked to his standard; 
for many were deceived by the representations of 
Count Julian, and thought that the Arabs had come 
to aid him in placing the sons of Witiza upon the 
throne. Guided by the count, the troops of Taric 
penetrated into various parts of the country, and laid 
waste the land ; bringing back loads of spoil to their 
strong-hold at the rock of Calpe. 

The prince Ataulpho marched with his army 
through Andalusia, and was joined by Theodomir 
with his troops; he met with various detachments 
of the enemy toraging the country, and had several 
bloody skirmishes ; but he succeeded in driving 
them before him, and they retreated to the rock of 
Calpe, where Taric lay gathered up with the main 
body of his army. 

The prince encamped not far from the bay which 
spreads itself out before the promontory. In the 
evening he despatched the veteran Theodomir, with 
a trumpet, to demand a parley of the Arab chieftain, 
who received the envoy in his tent, surrounded by 
his captains. Theodomir was frank and abrupt in 
speech, for the most of his life had been passed far 
from courts. He delivered, in round terms, the 
message of the Prince Ataulpho ; upbraiding the 
Arab general with his wanton invasion of the land, 
and summoning him to surrender his army or to 
e.xpect no mercy. 

The single eye of Taric el Tuerto glowed like a 
coal of fire at this message. "Tell your com- 
mander," replied he, " that I have crossed the 
strait to conquer Spain, nor will I return until I have 
accomplished my purpose. Tell him I have men 
skilled in war, and armed in proof, with whose 
aid I trust soon to give a good account of his rabble 
host." 

A murmur of applause passed through the assem- 
blage of Moslem captains. Theodomir glanced on 
them a look of defiance, but his eye rested on a 
renegado christian, one of his own ancient comrades, 
and a relation of Count Julian. " As to you, Don 
Greybeard," said he, " you who turn apostate in 
your declining age, I here pronounce you a traitor 
to your God, your king, and country; and stand 
ready to prove it this instant upon your body, if field 
be granted me." 

The traitor knight was stung with rage at these 
words, for truth rendered them piercing to the heart. 
He would have immediately answered to the chal- 
lenge, but Taric forbade it, and ordered that the 
christian envoy should be conducted from the camp. 
" 'Tis well," replied Theodomir, " God will give me 
the field which you deny. Let yon hoary apostate 
look to himself to-morrow in the battle, for I pledge 
myself to use my lance upon no other foe until it has 
shed his blood upon the native soil he has betrayed." 
So saying, he left the camp, nor could the Moslem 



chieftains help admiring the honest indignation of 
this patriot knight, while they secretly despised his 
renegado adversary. 

The ancient Moorish chroniclers relate many aw- 
ful portents, and strange and mysterious visions, 
which appeared to the commanders of either army 
during this anxious night. Certainly it was a night 
of fearful suspense, and Moslem and christian looked 
forward with doubt to the fortune of the coming 
day. The Spanish sentinel walked his pensive 
round, listening occasioiinlly to the vague sounds 
from the distant rock o:' Calpe, and eyeing it as the 
mariner eyes the thunder cloud, pregnant with terror 
and destruction. The Arabs, too, from their lofty 
cliffs beheld the numerous camp-fires of the chris- 
tians gradually lighted up, and saw that they were a 
powerful host ; at the same time the night breeze 
brought to their ears the sullen roar of the sea which 
separated them from Africa. When they considered 
their perilous situation, an army on one side, with a 
whole nation aroused to reinforce it, and on the 
other an impassable sea, the spirits of many of 
the warriors were cast down, and they repented the 
day when they had ventured into this hostile land. 

Taric marked their despondency, but said noth- 
ing. Scarce had the first streak of morning light 
trembled along the sea, however, when he sum- 
moned his principal warriors to his tent. "Be of 
good cheer," said he, " Allah is with us, and has 
sent his prophet to give assurance of his aid. Scarce 
had I retired to my tent last night, when a man of a 
majestic and venerable presence stood before me. 
He was taller by a palm than the ordinary race of 
men, his flowing beard was of a golden hue, and 
his eyes were so bright that they seemed to send 
forth flashes of fire. 1 have heard the Emir Baha- 
met, and other ancient men, describe the prophet, 
whom they had seen many times while on earth, 
and such was his form and lineament. ' Fear noth- 
ing, O Taric, from the morrow,' said he, ' I will be 
with thee in the fight. Strike boldly, then, and con- 
quer. Those of thy Ibllowers who survive the battle 
will have this land for an inheritance ; for those who 
fall, a mansion in paradise is prepared, and immortal 
houris await their coming-.' He spake and vanish- 
ed ; I heard a strain of celestial melody, and my 
tent was filled with the odours of Arabia the happy.'' 
" Such," says the Spanish chroniclers, " was another 
of the arts by which this arch son of Ishmael sought 
to animate the hearts of his Ibllowers ; and the pre- 
tended vision has been recorded by the Arabian 
writers as a veritable occurrence. Marvellous, in- 
deed, was the effect produced by it upon the infidel 
soldiery, who now cried out with eagerness to be led 
against the foe." 



CHAPTER XII. 



BATTLE OF CALPE, — FATE OF ATAULPHO. 

The gray summits of the rock of Caljie bright- 
ened with the first rays of morning, as the christian 
army issued forth from its encampment. The Prince 
Ataulpho rode from squadron to squadron, animat- 
ing his soldiers for the battle. " Never should we 
sheath our swords," said he, "while these infidels 
have a footing in the land. They are pent up within 
yon rocky mountain ; we must assail them in their 
rugged hold. We have a long day before us ; let 
not the setting sun shine upon one of their host who 
is not a fugitive, a captive, or a corpse." 

The words of the prince were received with shouts, 
and the army moved towards the promontory. As 
they advanced, they heard the clash of cymbals and 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



309 



the bray of trumpets, and the rocky bosom of the 
mountain glittered with helms and spears and scim- 
itars ; for the Arabs, inspired with fresh confidence 
by the words of Taric, were sallying forth, with 
flaunting banners, to the combat. 

The gaunt Arab chieftain stood upon a rock as 
his Iroops marched by ; his buckler was at his back, 
and he brandished in his hand a double-pointed 
spear. Calling upon the several leaders by their 
names, lie exhorted them to direct their attacks 
against the christian captains, and especially against 
Ataulpho, " for the chiefs being slain," said he, " their 
followers will vanish from before us like the morning 
mist." 

The Gothic nobles were easily to be distinguished 
by the splendour of their arms, but the Prince 
Ataulpho was conspicuous above all the rest for the 
youthful grace and majesty of his appearance, and 
the braverv of his array. He was mounted on a 
superb Andalusian charger, richly caparisoned with 
crimson velvet, embroidered with gold. His surcoat 
was of like colour and adornment, and the plumes 
that waved above his burnished helmet, were of the 
purest white. Ten mounted pages, magnificently 
attired, followed him to the field, but their duty was 
not so much to fight as to attend upon their lord, 
and to furnish him with steed or weapon. 

The christian troops, though irregular and undis- 
ciplined, were full of native courage ; for the old 
warrior spirit of their Gothic sires still glowed in 
their bosoms. There were two battalions of infantry, 
but Ataulpho stationed them in the rear, " for God 
forbid," said he, "that foot-soldiers should have the 
place of honour in the battle, when I have so many 
valiant cavaliers." As the armies drew nigh to each 
other, however, it w-as discovered that the advance 
of the Arabs was composed of infantry. Upon this 
the cavaliers checked their steeds, and requested 
that the foot soldier)- might advance and disperse 
this losel crew, holding it beneath their dignity to 
contend with pedestrian foes. The prince, however, 
commanded them to charge; upon which, putting 
spurs to their steeds, they rushed upon the foe. 

The Arabs stood the shock manfully, receiving 
the horses upon the points of their lances ; many 
of the riders were shot down with bolts from cross- 
bows, or stabbed with the poniards of the Moslems. 
The cavaliers succeeded, however, in breaking into 
the midst of the battalion and throwing it into con- 
fusion, cutting down some with their swords, trans- 
piercing others with their spears, and trampling 
many under the hoofs of their horses. At this mo- 
ment, thev were attacked by a band of Spanish 
horsemen, the recreant partisans of Count Julian. 
Their assault bore hard upon their countiymen, who 
were disordered by the contest with the foot-sol- 
diers, and many a loyal christian kniglit fell beneath 
the sword of an unnatural foe. 

The foremost among these recreant warriors was 
the renegado cavalier whom Theodomir had chal- 
lenged in the tent of Taric. He dealt his blows 
about him with a powerful arm and with malignant 
fury, for nothing is more deadly than the hatred of 
an apostate. In the midst of his career he was 
espied by the hardy Theodomir, who came spurring 
to the encounter : " Traitor," cried he, •' I have kept 
my vow. This lance has been held sacred from all 
other foes to make a passage for thy perjured soul." 
The renegado had been renowned for prowess before 
he became a traitor to his country, but guilt will sap 
the courage of the stoutest heart. When he beheld 
Theodomir rushing upon him, he would have turned 
and fied ; pride alone withheld him ; and, though an 
admirable master of defence, he lost all skill to ward 
the attack of his adversary'. At the first assault the 



lance of Theodomir pierced him through and 
through ; he fell to the earth, gnashed his teeth as 
he rolled in the dust, but yielded his breath without 
uttering a word. 

The battle now liecame general, and lasted 
throughout the morning with varying success. The 
stratagem of Taric. however, began to produce its 
effect. The christian leaders and most conspicuous 
cavaliers were singled out and severally assailed by 
overpowering numbers. They fought desperately, 
and performed miracles of prowess, but fell, one by 
one, beneath a thousand wounds. Still the battle 
lingered on throughout a great part of the day, and 
as the declining sun shone through the clouds of 
dust, it seemed as if the conflicting hosts were wrap- 
ped in smoke antl fire. 

The Prince Ataulpho saw that the fortune of battle 
was against him. He rode about the field calling 
out the names of the bravest of his knights, but tew 
answered to his call ; the rest lay mangled on the 
field. With this handful of warriors he endeavoured 
to retrieve the day. when he was assailed by Ten- 
deros, a partisan of Count Julian, at the head ot a 
body of recreant christians. At sight of this new 
adversary, fire flashed from the eyes of the prince, 
for Tenderos had been brought up in his father's 
palace. " Well dost thou, traitor ! " cried he, " to 
attack the son of thy lord, who gave thee bread ; 
thou, who hast betrayed thy country and thy God ! " 

So saying, he seized a lance from one of his pages, 
and charged furiously upon the apostate ; but Ten- 
deros met him in mid career, and the lance of the 
prince was shivered upon his shield. Ataulpho then 
grasped his mace, which hung at his saddle bow, 
and a doubtful fight ensued. Tenderos was power- 
ful of frame and superior in the use of his weapons, 
but the curse of treason seemed to paralyse his arm. 
He wounded Ataulpho slightly between the greaves 
of his armour, but the prince dealt a blow with 
his mace that crushed through helm and scull and 
reached the brains ; and Tenderos fell dead to earth, 
his armour rattling as he fell. 

At the same moment, a javelin hurled by an Arab 
transpierced the horse of Ataulpho, which sunk be- 
neath him. The prince seized the reins of the steed 
of Tenderos, but the laithful animal, as though he 
knew him to be the foe of his late lord, reared and 
plunged and refused to let him mount. The prince, 
however, used him as a shield to ward off the press 
of foes, while with his sword he defended himself 
against those in front of him. Taric ben Zeyad ar- 
rived at the scene of conflict, and paused for a mo- 
ment in admiration of the surpassing prowess of the 
prince ; recollecting, however, that his fall would be 
a death blow to his army, he spurred upon him, and 
wounded him severely with his scimitar. Before he 
could repeat his blow, Theodomir led up a body of 
christian cavaliers to the rescue, and Taric was part- 
ed from his prey by the tumult of the fight. The 
prince sank to the earth, covered with wounds and 
exhausted by the loss of blood. A faithful page 
drew him from under the hoofs of the horses, and, 
aided by a veteran soldier, an ancient vassal of 
Ataulpho, conveyed him to a short distance from the 
scene of battle, by the side of a small stream that 
gushed out from among rocks. 1 hey stanched the 
blood that flowed from his wounds, and washed the 
dust from his face, and lay him beside the fountain. 
The page sat at his head, and supported it on his 
knees, and the veteran stood at h:s feet, with his 
brow bent and his eyes full of sorrow. The prince 
gradually revived, and opened his eyes. " How 
fares the battle ? " said he. " The struggle is hard," 
replied the soldier, " but the day may yet be ours." 

The prince felt that the hour of his death was at 



310 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



hand, and ordered that they should aid him to rise j 
upon his knees. They supported him between them, | 
and he prayed fervently for a short time, when, find- 
ing his strength declining, he beckoned the veteran to 
sit down beside him on the rock. Continuing to 
kneel, he confessed himself to that ancient soldier, 
having no priest or friar to perform that office in this 
hour of extremity. When he had so done, he sunk 
again upon tlie earth and pressed it with his lips, as 
if he would take a fond farewell of his beloved coun- 
try. The page would then have raised his head, but 
found that his lord had yielded up the ghost. 

A number of Arab warriors, who came to the 
fountain to slake their thirst, cut off the head of the 
prince and bore it in triumph to Taric, crying, " Be- 
hold the head of the christian leader." Taric im- 
mediately ordered that the head should be put upon 
the end of a lance, together with the surcoat of the 
prince, and borne about the field of battle, with the 
sound of trumpets, atabals, and cymbals. 

When the christians beheld the surcoat, and knew^ 
the features of the prince, they were struck with 
horror, and heart and hand failed them. Theodo- 
mir endeavoured in vain to rally them ; they threw 
by their weapons and fled ; and they continued to 
fly, and the enemy to pursue and slay them, until 
the darkness of the night. The Moslems then re- 
turned and plundered the christian camp, where 
Ihey found abundant spoil. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



TERROR OF THE COUNTRY.— RODERICK ROUSES 
HIMSELF TO ARMS. 



The scattered fugitives of the christian army 
spread terror throughout the land. The inhabit- 
ants of the towns and villages gathered around 
them as they applied at their gates for food, or lay 
themselves down faint and wounded beside the pub- 
lic fountains. When they related the tale of their de- 
feat, old men shook their heads and groaned, and 
the women uttered cries and lamentations. So 
strange and unlooked-for a calamity filled them with 
consternation and despair ; for it was long since the 
alarm of war had sounded in their land, and this 
was a warfare that carried chains and slavery, and 
all kinds of horrors in its train. 

Don Roderick was seated with his beauteous 
queen, Exilona, in the royal palace which crowned 
the rocky summit of Toledo, when the hearer of ill- 
tidings came galloping over the bridge of the Tagus. 
" What tidings from the army ? " demanded the 
king, as the panting messenger was brought into 
his presence. " Tidings of great woe," exclaimed 
the soldier. " The prince has fallen in battle. I 
saw his head and surcoat upon a Moorish lance, and 
the army was overthrown and fled." 

At hearing these words, Roderick covered his face 
with his hands, and for some time sat in silence; 
and all his courtiers stood mute and aghast, and no 
one dared to speak a word. In that awful space of 
time passed before his thoughts all his errors and 
his crimes, and all the evils that had been predicted 
in the necromantic tower. His mind was filled with 
horror and confusion, for the hour of his destruction 
seemed at hand ; but he subdued his agitation by his 
strong and haughty spirit ; and when he uncovered 
his face no one could read on his brow the trouble 
and agony of his heart. Still every hour brought 
fresh tidings of disaster. Messenger after messen- 
ger came spurring into the city, distracting it with 
new alarms. The infidels, they said, were strength- 



ening themselves in the land : host after host were 
pouring in from Africa : the seaboard of Andalusia 
glittered with spears and scimitars. Bands of tur- 
baned horsemen had overrun the plains of Sidonia, 
even to the banks of the Guadiana. Fields were 
laid waste, towns and cities plundered, the inhabit- 
ants carried into captivity, and the whole country 
lay in smoking desolation. 

Roderick heard all these tidings with an un- 
daunted aspect, nor did he ever again betray sign 
of consternation ; but the anxiety of his soul was 
evident in his warlike preparations. He issued or- 
ders that every noble and prelate of his kingdom 
should put himself at the head of his retainers and 
take the field, and that every man capable of bear- 
ing arms should hasten to his standard, bringing 
whatever horse and mule and weapon he possessed ; 
and he appointed the plain of Cordova for the place 
where the army was to assemble. Throwing by, 
then, all the trappings of his late slothful and volup- 
tuous life, and arming himself for warlike action, he 
departed from Toledo at the head of his guard, com- 
posed of the flower of the youthful nobility. His 
queen, Exilona, accompanied him, for she craved 
permission to remain in one of the cities of Anda- 
lusia, that she might be near her lord in this time of 
peril. 

Among the first who appeared to hail the arrival 
of the king at Cordova, was the Bishop Oppas, the 
secret partisan of the traitor Julian. He brought 
with him his two nephews, Evan and Siseburto, the 
sons of the late king Witiza, and a great host of 
vassals and retainers, all well armed and appointed ; 
for they had been furnished by Count Julian with a 
part of the arms sent by the king to Africa. The 
bishop was smooth of tongue, and profound in his 
hypocrisy ; his pretended zeal and devotion, and the 
horror with which he spoke of the treachery of his 
kinsman, imposed upon the credulous spirit of the 
king, and he was readily admitted into his most se- 
cret councils. 

The alarm of the infidel invasion had spread 
throughout the land, and roused the Gothic valour 
of the inhabitants. On receiving the orders of 
Roderick, every town and hamlet, every mountain 
and valley, had sent forth its fighting men, and the 
whole country was on the march towards Andalusia. 
In a little while there were gathered together, on the 
plain of Cordova, near fifty thousand horsemen, and 
a countless host of foot-soldiers. The Gothic nobles 
appeared in burnished armour, curiously inlaid and 
adorned, with chains and jewels of gold, and orna- 
ments of precious stones, and silken scarfs, and s-ir- 
coats of brocade, or velvet richly embroidered ; be- 
traying the luxury and ostentation into which they 
had declined from the iron hardihood of their war- 
like sires. As to the common people, some had 
lances and shields and swords and cross-bows, but 
the greater part were unarmed, or provided merely 
with slings, and clubs studded with nails, and with 
the iron implements of husbandry ; and many had 
made shields for themselves from the doors and win- 
dows of their habitations. They were a prodigious 
host, and appeared, say the Arabian chroniclers, like 
an agitated sea, but, though brave in spirit, they 
possessed no knowledge of warlike art, and were in- 
effectual through lack of arms and discipline. 

Several of the most ancient and experienced cava- 
liers, beholding the state of the army, advised Don 
Roderick to await the arrival of more regular troops, 
which were stationed in Iberia, Cantabria, and Gallia 
Gothica ; but this counsel was strenuously opposed 
by the Bishop Oppas ; who urged the king to march 



immediately against the infidels. " .A.s yet," said he, 
"their number is but limited, but every day new 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



311 



hosts arrive like flocks of locusts, from Africa. They 
will augment faster than we ; they are living, too, at 
our expense, and, while we pause, both armies are 
consuming the substance of the land." 

King Roderick listened to the crafty counsel of the 
bishop, and determined to advance without delay. 
He mounted his war horse, Orelia, and rode among 
his troops assembled on that spacious plain, and 
wherever he appeared he was received with accla- 
mations ; for nothing so arouses the spirit of the 
soldier as to behold his sovereign in arms. He ad- 
dressed them in words calculated to touch their 
hearts and animate their courage. " The Saracens," 
said he, " are ravaging our land, and their object is our 
conquest. Should they prevail, your very e.xistence 
as a nation is at an end. They will overturn your 
altars ; trample on the cross; lay waste your cities; 
carry off your wives and daughters, and doom your- 
selves and sons to hard and cruel slavery. No safety 
remains for you but in the prowess of your arms. 
For my own part, as I am your king, so will I be 
your leader, and will be the foremost to encounter 
every toil and danger." 

The soldiery answered their monarch with loud 
acclamations, and solemnly pledged themselves to 
hght to the last gasp in defence of their country and 
their faith. The king then arranged the order of 
their march : all those who were armed with cuirasses 
and coats of mail were placed in the front and real"; 
the centre of the army was composed of a promis- 
cuous throng, without body armour, and but scantily 
provided with weapons. 

When they were about to march, the king called 
to him a noble cavalier named Ramiro, and deliver- 
ing him the royal standard, charged him to guard it 
well for the honour of Spain ; scarcely, however, had 
the good knight received it in his hand, when he fell 
dead from his horse, and the staff of the standard 
was broken in twain. Many ancient courtiers who 
were present, looked upon this as an evil omen, and 
counselled the king not to set forward on his march 
that day ; but, disregarding all auguries and por- 
tents, he ordered the royal lianner to be put upon a 
lance and gave it in charge of another standard bear- 
er : then commanding the trumpets to be sounded, 
he departed at the head of his host to seek the enemy. 

The field where this great army assembled was 
called, from the solemn pledge given by the nobles 
and the soldiery, Kl cainpo de la verdad ; or, The 
field of Truth ; a name, says the sage chronicler 
Abul Cassim, which it bears even to the present day.* 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MARCH OF THE GOTHIC ARMY — ENCAMPMENT ON 
THE BANKS OF THE GUADALETE. — MYSTERIOUS 
PREDICTIONS OF A PALMER — CONDUCT OF PE- 
LISTES THEREUPON. 

The hopes of Andalusia revived as this mighty 
host stretched in lengthening lines along its fertile 
plains ; from morn until night it continued to pour 
along, with sound of drum and trumpet ; it was led 
on by the proudest nobles and bravest cavaliers in 
the land, and, had it possessed ar.ms and discipline, 
might have undertaken the conquest of the world. 

After a few days' march, Don Roderick arrived in 
sight of the Moslem army, encamped on the banks 
of the Guadalete,t where that beautiful stream winds 
through the fertile land of Xeres. The infidel host 



* La Perdida de Espafta, cap, g. Bleda Lib. 2, c. 8. 
t This name was given to it subsequently by the Arabs. It 
signifies the River of Death. Vide Pedruza, Hist. Granad. p. 3. c. i. 



was far inferior in number to the christians, but then 
it was composed of hardy and dexterous troops, 
seasoned to wai-, and admirably armed. The camp 
shone gloriously in the setting sun, and resounded 
with the clash of cymbal, the note of the trumpet, 
and the neighing of fiery Arabian steeds. There 
were swarthy troops from ex'ery nation of the African 
coast, together with legions from Syria and Egypt, 
while the light Bedouins were careering about the 
adjacent plain. What grieved and incensed the 
spirits of the christian warriors, however, was to be-: 
hold, a little apart from the Moslem host, an en- 
campment of Spanish cavaliers, with the banner of 
Count Julian waving above their tents. They were 
ten thousand in number, valiant and hardy men, the 
most experienced of Spanish soldiery, most of them 
having served in the African wars ; they were well 
armed and appointed also, with the weapons of 
which the count had beguiled his sovereign ; and it 
was a grievous sight to behold such good soldiers 
arrayed against their country and their faith. 

The christians pitched their tents about the hour 
of vespers, at a short league distant from the enemy, 
and remained gazing with anxiety and awe upon 
this barbaric host that had caused such terror and 
desolation in the land : for the first sight of a hostile 
encampment in a country disused to war, is terrible 
to the newly enlisted soldier. A marvellous occur- 
rence is recorded by the Arabian chroniclers as hav- 
ing taken place in the christian camp, but discreet 
Spanish writers relate it with much modification, 
and consider it a stratagem of the wily Bishop 
Oppas, to sound the loyalty of the christian cava- 
liers. 

As several leaders of the army were seated with 
the bishop in his tent, conversing on the dubious 
fortunes of the approaching contest, an ancient pil- 
grim appeared at the entrance. He was bowed 
down with years, his snowy beard descended to his 
girdle, and he supported his tottering steps with a 
palmer's staff. The cavaliers rose and received him 
with great reverence as he advanced within the tent. 
Holding up his withered hand, '• woe, woe to Spain 1 " 
exclaimed he, " for the vial of the wrath of heaven is 
about to be poured out. Listen, warriors, and take 
warning. Four months since, having performed my 
pilgrimage to the sepulchre of our Lord in Palestine,- 
I was on my return towards my native land. Wearied 
and way-worn, I lay down one night to sleep beneath 
a palm tree, by the side of a fountain, when I was 
awakened by a voice saying unto me, in soft accents, 
' Son of sorrow, why sleepest thou .' ' I opened my 
eyes and beheld one of fair and beauteous coun- 
tenance, in shining apparel, and with glorious wings, 
standing by the fountain ; and I said, ' who art thou, 
who callest upon me in this deep hour of the night .'' ' 

" ' Fear not,' replied the stranger, ' 1 am an angel 
from heaven, sent to reveal unto thee ihe fate of thy 
country. Behold, the sins of Roderick have come up 
before God, and his anger is kindled against him, 
and he has given him up to be invaded and destroyed. 
Hasten then to Spain, and seek the camp of thy 
countrymen. Warn them that such only shall be 
saved as shall abandon Roderick ; but those who 
adhere to him shall share his punishment, and shall 
fall under the sword of the invader.' 

The pilgrim ceased, and passed forth from the 
tent ; certain of the cavaliers followed him to detain 
him, that they might converse further with him 
about these matters, but he was no where to be 
found. The sentinel before the tent said, " 1 saw no 
one come forth, but it was as if a blast of wind 
passed by me, and there was a rustling as of dry 
leaves." 

The cavahers remained looking upon each other 



312 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



with astonishment. The Bisliop Oppas sat with his 
eyes fi.xed upon the ground, and shadowed by his 
overhanging brow. At length, breal<ing silence, in 
a low and faltering voice: "Doubtless," said he, 
" this message is from God ; and since he has taken 
compassion upon us, and given us notice of his im- 
pending judgment, it behoves us to hold grave coun- 
cil, and determine how best we may accomplish his 
will and avert his displeasure." 

The chiefs still remained silent as men confound- 
ed. Among them was a veteran noble named Pelistes. 
He had distinguished himself in the African wars, 
fighting side by side with Count Julian, but the lat- 
ter had never dared to tamper with his faith, for he 
knew his stern integrity. Pelistes had brought with 
him to the camp his only son, who had never drawn 
a sword except in tourney. When the young man 
saw that the veterans held their peace, the blood 
mantled in his cheek, and, overcoming his modesty, 
be broke forth with a generous warmth : " 1 know 
not, cavaliers," said he, "what is passing in your 
minds, but I believe this pilgrim to be an envoy 
from the devil ; for none else could have given such 
dastard and perfidious counsel. For my own part, 
I stand ready to defend my king, my country, and 
my faith ; 1 know no higher duty than this, and if 
God thmks fit to strike me dead in the performance 
of it, his sovereign will be done ! " 

When the young man had risen to speak, his 
father had fi.xed his eyes upon him with a grave and 
stern demeanour, leaning upon a two-handed sword. 
As soon as the youth had finished, Pelistes embraced 
him with a father's fondness. " Thou hast spoken 
well, my son," said he ; " if I held my peace at the 
counsel of this losel pilgrim, it was but to hear thy 
opinion, and to learn whether thou wert worthy of 
thy lineage and of the training 1 had given thee. 
Hadst thou counselled otherwise than thou hast 
done, hadst thou shown thyself craven and disloyal ; 
so help me God, I would have struck off thy head 
with this weapon which I hold in my hand. But 
thou hast counselled like a loyal and a christian 
knight, and 1 thank God for having given me a son 
worthy to perpetuate the honours of my line. As to 
this pilgrim, be he saint or be he devil, I care not ; 
this much I promise, that if I am to die in defence 
of my country and my king, my life shall be a costly 
purchase to the foe. Let each man make the same 
resolve, and I trust we shall yet prove the pilgrim a 
lying prophet." The words of Pelistes roused the 
spirits of many of the cavaliers ; others, however, 
remained full of anxious foreboding, and when this 
fcarlul prophecy was rumoured about the camp, as 
it presently was by the emissaries of the bishop, it 
spread awe and dismay among the soldiery. 



CHAPTER XV. 



SKIRMISHING OF THE ARMIES. — PELISTES AND 
HIS SON. — PELISTES AND THE BISHOP. 

On the following day the two armies remained 
regarding each other with wary, but menacing aspect. 
About noontide King Roderick sent forth a chosen 
force of five hundred horse and two hundred foot. 
the best armed of his host, to skirmish with the 
enemy, that, by gaining some partial advantage, 
they might raise the spirits of the army. They were 
kd on by Theodomir, the same Gothic noble who 
ihad signalized himself by first opposing the invasion 
</f the Moslems. 

The christian squadrons paraded with flying pen- 
mons in the valley which lay between the armies. 



The Arabs were not slow in answering their defiance. 
A large body of horsemen sallied forth to the en- 
counter, together with three hundred of the followers 
of Count Julian. There was hot skirmishing about 
the field and on the banks of the river; many gal- 
lant feats were displayed on either side, and many 
valiant warriors were slain. As the night closed in, 
the trumpets from either camp summoned the troops 
to retire from the combat. In this day's action the 
christians suffered greatly in the loss of their distin- 
guished cavaliers; for it is the noblest spirits who 
venture most, and lay themselves open to danger ; 
and the Moslem soldiers had instructions to single 
out the leaders of the adverse host. All this is said 
to have been devised by the perfidious Bishop Oppas, 
who had secret communications with the enemy, 
while he inlluenced the councils of the king ; and 
who trusted that by this skirmishing warfare the 
power of the christian troops would be cut off, and 
the rest disheartened. 

On the following morning a larger force was 
ordered out to skirmish, and such of the soldiery as 
were unarmed were commanded to stand ready to 
seize the horses and strip off the armour of the killed 
and wounded. Among the most illustrious of the 
warriors who fought that day was Pelistes, the 
Gothic noble who had so sternly checked the tongue 
of the Bishop Oppas. He led to the field a large 
Ifody of his own vassals and retainers, and of cava- 
liers trained up in his house, who had followed him 
to the wars in Africa, and who looked up to him ■ 
more as a father than a chieftain. Beside him was 
his only son, who now for the first time was fleshing 
his sword in battle. The conflict that day was 
more general and bloody than the day preceding ; 
the slaughter of the christian warriors was immense, 
from their lack of defensive armour ; and as nothing 
could prevent the flower of the Gothic chivalry from 
spurring to the combat, the field was strewed with 
the bodies of the youthful nobles. None suffered 
more, however, than the warriors of Pelistes. Their 
leader himself was bold and hardy, and prone to ex- 
pose himself to danger; but years and experience 
had moderated his early fire ; his son, however, was 
eager to distinguish himself in this, his first essay, 
and rushed with impetuous ardour into the hottest 
of the battle. In vain his father called to caution 
him ; he was ever in the advance, and seemed un- 
conscious of the perils that surrounded him. The 
cavaliers and vassals of his father followed him with 
devoted zeal, and many of them paid for their loyalty 
with their lives. When the trumpets sounded in the 
evening for retreat, the troops of Pelistes were the 
last to reach the camp. They came slowly and 
mournfully, and much decreased in number. Their 
veteran commander was seated on his war-horse, 
but the blood trickled from the greaves of his armour. 
His valiant son was borne on the shields of his vas- 
sals ; when they laid him on the earth near to where 
the king was standing, they found that the heroic 
youth h.ad expired of his wounds. The cavaliers 
surrounded the body and gave utterance to their 
grief, but the father restrained his agony, and looked 
on with the stern resignation of a soldier. 

Don Roderick surveyed the field of battle with a 
rueful eye, for it was covered with the mangled 
bodies of his most illustrious warriors ; he saw, too, 
with anxiety, that the common people, unused to 
war and unsustained by discipline, were harassed by 
incessant toils and dangers, and were cooling in 
their zeal and courage. 

The crafty Bishop Oppas marked the internal 
trouble of the king, and thought a favourable mo- 
ment had arrived to sway him to his purpose. He 
called to his mind the various portents and prophe- 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



313 



cies which had forerun their present danger. " Let 
not my lord the t;ing," said he, " nialce Hght of these 
mysterious revelations, which appear to be so dis- 
astrously fultilling. The hand of heaven appears to 
be against us. Destruction is impending over our 
heads. Our troops are rude and unskilful ; but 
slightly armed, and much cast down in spirit. Bet- 
ter is it tiiat we should make a treaty with the 
enemy, and, by granting part of his demands, pre- 
vent the utter ruin of our country. If such counsel 
be acceptable to my lord the king, I stand ready to 
depart upon an embassy to the Moslem camp." 

Upon hearing these words, Pelistes, who had 
stood in mournful silence, regarding the dead body 
of his son, burst forth with honest indignation. " By 
this good sword," said he, " the man who yields 
such dastard counsel deserves death from the hand 
of his countryman rather than from the foe ; and, 
were it not for the presence of the king, may I for- 
feit salvation if I would not strike him dead upon 
the spot." 

The bishop turned an eye of venom upon Pelistes. 
"My lord," said he, "I, too, bear a weapon, and 
know how to wield it. Were the king not present, 
you would not dare to menace, nor should you ad- 
vance one step without my hastening to meet you." 

The king interposed between the jarring nobles, 
and rebuked the impetuosity of Pelistes, but at the 
same time rejected the counsel of the bishop. " The 
event of this conflict," said he, " is in the hand of 
God ; but never shall my sword return to its scab- 
bard while an infidel invader remains within the 
land." 

He then held a council with his captains, and it 
was determined to offer the enemy general battle 
on the following day. A herald was despatched 
defying Taric ben Zeyad to the contest, and the 
defiance was gladly accepted by the Moslem chief- 
tain.* Don Roderick then formed the plan of ac- 
tion, and assigned to each commander his several 
station, after which he dismissed his officers, and 
each one sought his tent, to prepare by diligence or 
repose for the ne.'ct day's eventful contest. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

TRAITOROUS MES.SAGE OF COUNT JULIAN. 

Taric ben Zeyad had been surprised by the 
valour of the christian cavaliers in the recent bat- 
tles, and at the number and apparent devotion of 
the troops which accompanied the king to the field. 
The confident defiance of Don Roderick increased 
his surprise. When the herald had retired, he 
turned an eye of suspicion on Count Julian. " Thou 
hast represented thy countrymen," said he, " as 
sunk in effeminacy and lost to all generous impulse ; 
yet I find them fighting with the courage and the 
strength of lions. Thou hast represented thy king 
as detested by his subjects and surrounded by secret 
treason, but I behold his tents whitening the hills 
and dales, while thousands are hourly flocking to his 
standard. Woe unto thee if thou hast dealt deceit- 
fully with us, or betrayed us with guileful words." 

Don Julian retired to his tent in great trouble of 
mind, and fear came upon him that the Bishop Op- 
pas might play him false ; for it is the lot of traitors 
ever to distrust each other. He called to him the 
same page who had brought him the letter from 
Florinda, revealing the story of her dishonour. 

" Thou knowest, my trusty page," said he, " that 
I have reared thee in my household, and cherished 
thee above all thy companions. If thou hast loyalty 
and affection for thy lord, now is the time to serve 

* Bleda, Ciouica. 



him. Hie thee to the christian camp, and find thy 
way to the tent of the Bishop Oppas. If any one 
ask thee who thou art, tell them thou art of the 
household of the bishop, and bearer of missives from 
Cordova. When thou art admitted to the presence 
of the bishop, show him this ring, and he will com- 
mune with thee in secret. Then tell him Count 
Julian greets him as a brother, and demands how the 
wrongs of his daughter Florinda are to be redressed. 
Mark well his reply, and bring it word for word. 
Have thy lips closed, but thine eyes and ears open ; 
and observe every thing of note in the camp of the 
king. So, speed thee on thy errand — away, away ! " 
the page hastened to saddle a Barbaiy steed, 
fleet as the wind, and of a jet black colour, so as 
not to be easily discernible in the night. He girded 
on a sword and dagger, slung an Arab bow with n 
quiver of arrows at his side, and a buckler at his 
shoulder. Issuing out of the cainp, he sought the 
banks of the Guadalete, and proceeded silently along 
its stream, which reflected the distant fires of the 
christian camp. As he passed by the place which 
had been the scene of the recent conflict, he heard, 
from time to time, the groan of some expiring war- 
rior who had crawled among the reeds on the mar- 
gin of the river ; and sometimes his steed stepped 
cautiously over the mangled bodies of the slain. 
The young page was unused to the sights of war, 
and his heart beat quick within him. He was hailed 
by the sentinels as lie approached the christian 
camp, and, on giving the reply taught him by Count 
Julian, was conducted to the tent of the Bishop 
Oppas. 

The bishop had not yet retired to his couch. 
When he beheld the ring of Count Julian, and heard 
the words of his message, he saw that the page was 
one in whom he might confide. " Hasten back to 
thy lord," said he, " and tell him to have faith in me 
and all shall go well. As yet 1 have kept my troops 
out of the combat. They are all fresh, well armed, 
and well appointed. The king has confided to my- 
self, aided by the princes Evan and Siseburto, the 
command of a wing of the army. To-morrow, at 
the hour of noon, when both armies are in the heat 
of action, we will pass over with our forces to the 
Moslems. But I claim the compact made with Taric 
ben Zeyad, that my nephews be placed in domjnion 
over Spain, and tributary only to the Caliph of Da- 
mascus." With this traitorous message the page de- 
parted. He led his black steed by the bridle to pre- 
sent less mark for observation, as he went stumbling 
along near the expiring fires of the camp. On pass- 
ing the last outpost, when the guards were half 
slumbering on their arms, he was overheard and 
summoned, but leaped lightly into the saddle and 
put spurs to his steed. An arrow whistled by his 
ear, and two more stuck in the target which he 
had thrown upon his back. The clatter of swift 
hoofs echoed behind him, but he had learnt of the 
Arabs to fight and fly. Plucking a shaft from his 
quiver, and turning and rising in his stirrups as his 
courser galloped at full speed, he drew the arrow to 
the head and launched it at his pursuer. The twang 
of the bow-string was followed by the crash of ar- 
mour, and a deep groan, as the horseman tumbled to 
the earth. The page pursued his course without 
further inolestation, and arrived at the Moslem camp 
before the break of day. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

LAST DAY OF THE BATTLE. 

A LIGHT had burned throughout the night in the 
tent of the king, and anxious thoughts and dismal 



314 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



visions troubled his repose. If he fell into a slumber, 
he beheld in his dreams the shadowy ])hantoms of 
the necromantic towtr, or the injured Florinda, pale 
and dishevelled, imprecating the vengeance of heaven 
upon his head. In the mid-watches of the night, 
when all was silent except the footsteps of the 
sentinel, pacing before his tent, the king rose from 
his couch, and walking forth looked thoughtfully 
upon the martial scene before him. The pale cres- 
cent of the moon hung over the Moorish camp, 
and dimly lighted up the windings of the Guadalete. 
The heart ol the king was heavy and oppressed ; but 
he felt only for himself, says Antonio Agapida ; he 
thought nothing of the perils impending over the 
thousands of devoted subjects in the camp below 
him ; sleeping, as it were, on the margin of their 
graves. The faint clatter of distant hoofs, as if in 
rapid flight, reached the monarch's ear, but the 
horsemen were not to be descried. At that very hour, 
and along the shadowy banks of that river, here and 
there gleaming with the scanty moonlight, passed 
the fugitive messenger of Count Julian, with the plan 
of the next day's treason. 

The day had not yet dawned, when the sleepless 
and impatient monarch summoned his attendants 
and arrayed himsslf for the field. He then sent for 
the venerable Bishop Urbino, who had accompanied 
him to the camp, and, laying aside his regal crown, he 
knelt with head uncovered, and confessed his sins 
before the holy man. After this a solemn mass was 
performed in the royal tent, and the eucharist ad- 
ministered to the monarch. When these ceremonies 
were concluded, he besought the archbishop to depart 
forthwith lor Cordova, there to await the issue of the 
battle, and to be ready to bring forward reintbrce- 
ments and supplies. The archbishop saddled his 
mule and departed just as the faint blush of morn- 
ing began to kindle in the east. Already the camp 
resounded with the thiilling call of the trumpet, the 
clank of armour, and the tramp and neigh of steeds. 
As the archbishop passed through the camp, he 
looked with a compassionate heart on this vast mul- 
titude, of whom so many were soon to perish. The 
warriors pressed to kiss his hand, and many a cava- 
lier full of youth and fire received his benediction, 
who was to lie stiff and cold before the evening. 

When the troops were marshalled for the field, 
Don Roderick prepared to sally forth in the state 
and pomp with which the Gothic kings were wont 
to go to battle. He was arrayed in robes of gold 
brocade ; his sandals were embroidered with pearls 
and diamonds ; he had a sceptre in his hand, and he 
wore a regal crown resplendent with inestimable 
jewels. Thus gorgeously apparelled, he ascended a 
lofty chariot of ivoiy, the axle-trees of which were of 
silver, and the wheels and pole covered with plates 
of burnished gold. Above his head was a canopy 
of cloth of gold embossed with armorial devices, and 
studded with precious stones.* This sumptuous 
chariot was drawn by milk-white horses, with capar- 
isons of crimson velvet, embroidered with pearls. A 
thousand youthful cavaliers surrounded the car ; all 
of the noblest blood and bravest spirit ; all knighted 
by the king's own hand, and sworn to defend him to 
the last. 

When Roderick issued forth in this resplendent 
state, says an Arabian writer, surrounded by his 
guards in gilded armour and waving plumes and 
scarfs and surcoats of a thousand dyes, it was as it 
the sun were emerging in the dazzling chariot of the 
day from amidst the glorious clouds of morning. 

As the royal car rolled along in front of the squad- 
rons, the soldiers shouted with admiration. Don 
Roderick waved his sceptre and addressed them 

• Entrand. Chron. an. Chris. 714. 



from his lofty throne, reminding them of the hor- 
ror and desolation which had already been spread 
through the land by the invaders. He called upon 
them to summon up the ancient valour of their race 
and avenge the blood of their brethren. " One day 
of glorious fighting," said he, " and this infidel horde 
will be driven into the sea or will perish beneath 
your swords. Forward bravely to the fight ; your 
families are behind you praying for your success ; 
the invaders of your country are before you ; God 
is above to bless his holy cause, and your king leads 
you to the field." The army shouted with one ac- 
cord, " Forward to the foe, and death be his portion 
who shuns the encounter ! " 

The rising sun began to shine along the glistening 
waters of the Guadalete as the Moorish army, squad- 
ron after squadron, came sweeping down a gentle 
declivity to the sound of martial music. Their tur- 
bans and robes, of various dyes and fashions, gave a 
splendid appearance to their host ; as they marched, 
a cloud of dust arose and partly hid them from the 
sight, but still there would break forth flashes of steel 
and gleams of burnished gold, like rays of vivid 
lightning ; while the sound of drum and trumpet, 
and the lash of Moorish cymbal, were as the warlike 
thunder within that stormy cloud of battle. 

As the armies drew near each other, the sun dis- 
appeared among gathering clouds, and the gloom of 
the day was increased by the columns of dust which 
rose from either host. At length the trumpets sound- 
ed for the encounter. The battle commenced with 
showers of arrows, stones, and javelins. The chris- 
tian foot-soldiers fought to disadvantage, the greater 
part being destitute of helm or buckler. A battalion 
of light Arabian horsemen, led by a Greek renegado 
named Maguel el Rumi, careered in front of the 
christian line, launching their darts, and then wheel- 
ing off beyond the reach of the missiles hurled after 
them. Theodomir now brought up his seasoned 
troops into the action, seconded by the veteran Pe- 
listes, and in a little while the battle became furious 
and promiscuous. It was glorious to behold the old 
Gothic valour shining forth in this hour of fearful 
trial. Wherever the IMoslems fell, the christians 
rushed forward, seized upon their horses, and strip- 
ped them of their armour and their weapons. They 
fought desperately and successfully, for they fought 
for their country and their faith. The battle raged 
for several hours ; the field was strown with slain, 
and the Moors, overcome by the multitude and fury 
of their foes, began to falter. 

When Taric beheld his troops retreating before 
the enemy, he threw himself before them, and, rising 
in his stirrups, " Oh Moslems ! conquerors of Afri- 
ca ! " cried he, " whither would you fly .' The sea is 
behind you, the enemy before ; you have no hope 
but in your valour and the help of God. Do as I do 
and the day is ours ! " 

With these words he put spurs to his horse and 
sprung among the enemy, striking to right and left, 
cutting down and destroying, while his steed, fierce 
as himself, trampled upon the foot-soldiers, and tore 
them with his teeth. At this moment a mighty shout 
arose in various parts of the field ; the noontide hour 
had arrived. The Bishop Oppas with the two 
princes, who had hitherto kept their bands out of 
the fight, suddenly went over to the enemy, and 
turned their weapons upon their astonished coun- 
trymen. From that moment the fortune of the day 
was changed, and the field of battle became a scene 
of wild confusion and bloody mass.acre. The chris- 
tians knew not whom to contend with, or whom to 
trust. It seemed as if madness had seized upon 
their friends and kinsmen, and that their worst ene- 
mies were among themselves. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



315 



^j The courage of Don Roderick rose with his dan- 

ger. Throwing- off the cumbrous robes of royalty 
and descending from liis car, he sprang upon his 
steed Orclia, grasped his lance and buckler, and en- 
deavoured to rally his retreating troops. He was 
surrounded and assailed by a multitude of his own 
traitorous subjects, but delended himself with won- 
drous prowess. The enemy thickened around him ; 
his loyal band of cavaliers were slain, bravely fight- 
ing in his defence ; the last that was seen of the king 
was in the midst of the enemy, dealing death at 
ever)' blow. 

A complete panic fell upon the christians; they 
threw away their arms and fled in all directions. 
They were pursued with dreadful slaughter, until 
the darkness of the night rendered it impossible to 
distinguish friend from foe. Taric then called off his 
troops from the pursuit, and took possession of the 
royal camp ; and the couch which had been pressed 
so uneasily on the preceding night by Don Roderick, 
novy yielded sound repose to his conqueror.* 



CHAPTER XVni. 



THE FIELD OF BATTLE AFTER THE DEFEAT. — 
THE FATE OF RODERICK. 

On the morning after the battle, the Arab leader, 
Taric ben Zeyad, rode over the bloody field of the 
Guadalete, strewed with the ruins of those splendid 
armies, which had so lately passed like glorious 
pag;eants along the river banks. There Moor and 
christian, horseman and horse, lay gashed with hid- 
eous wounds; and the river, still red with blood, was 
filled with the bodies of the slain. The gaunt Arab 
was as a wolf roaming through the fold he had 
laid waste. On every side his eye revelled on 
the ruin of the country, on the wrecks of haughty 
Spain. There lay the flower of her youthful chivalry, 
mangled and destroyed, and the strength ot her yeo- 
manry prostrated in the dust. The Gothic noble lay 
confounded with his vassals ; the peasant with the 
prince ; all ranks and dignities were mingled in one 
bloody massacre. 

When Taric had surveyed the field, he caused the 
spoils of the dead and the plunder of the camp to 
be brought before him. The booty was immense. 
There were massy chains, and rare jewels of gold ; 
pearls and precious stones ; rich silks and brocades, 
and all other lu.xurious decorations in which the 
Gothic nobles had indulged in the latter times of 
their degeneracy. A vast amount of treasure was 
likewise found, which had been brought by Roderick 
for the expenses of the war. 

Taric then ordered that the bodies of the Moslem 
warriors should be interred ; as for those of the chris- 
tians, they were gathered in heaps, and vast pyres of 
wood were formed on which they were consumed. 
The flames of these pyres rose high m the air, and 
were seen afar off in the night ; and when the chris- 
tians beheld them from the neighbouring hills, they 
beat their breasts and tore their hair, and lamented 
over them as over the funeral fires of their country. 
The carnage of that battle infected the air tor two 
whole months, and bones were seen lying in heaps 
upon the field for more than forty years ; nay, when 
ages had past and gone, the husbandman, turning up 
the soil, would still find fragments of Gothic cuiras- 
ses and helms, and Moorish scimitars, the relics of 
that dreadful fight. 

For three days the Arabian horsemen pursued the 



*^This battle is called indiscriminately by historians the battle 
of Guadalete, or of Xeres, from the neighbourhood of that city. 



flying christians ; hunting them over the face of the 
country ; so that but a scanty number of that mighty 
host escaped to tell the tale of their disaster. 

Taric ben Zeyad considered his victory incomplete 
so long as the Gothic monarch survived ; he pro- 
claimed great rewards, therefore, to whomsoever 
should bring Roderick to him, dead or alive. A dil- 
igent search was accordingly made in every direction, 
but for a long time in vain ; at length a soldier 
brought to Taric the head of a christian warrior, on 
which was a cap decorated witli feathers and precious 
stones. The Arab leader received it as the head of 
the unfortunate Roderick, and sent it, as a trophy ol 
his victory, to Muza ben Nosier, who, in like manner, 
transmitted it to the caliph at Damascus. The 
Spanish historians, however, have always denied its 
identity. 

A mysteiy has ever hung, and ever must continue 
to hang, over the fate of King Roderick, in that dark 
and doleful day of Spain. Whether he went down 
amidst the storm of battle, and atoned for his sins 
and errors by a patriot grave, or whether he survived 
to repent of them in hermit exile, must remain 
matter of conjecture and dispute. The learned 
Archbishop Rodrigo, who has recorded the events 
of this disastrous field, affirms that Roderick fell be- 
neath the vengeful blade of the traitor Julian, and 
thus expiated with his blood his crime against the 
hapless Florinda ; but the archbishop stands alone 
in his record of the fact. It seems generally admit- 
ted that Orelia, the favourite war-horse, was found 
entangled in a marsh on the borders of the Guada- 
lete, with the sandals and mantle and royal insig- 
nia of the king lying close by him. The river at 
this place ran broad and deep, and was encumbered 
with the dead bodies of warriors and steeds ; it has 
been supposed, therefore, that he perished in the 
stream ; but his body was not found within its 
waters. 

When several years had passed away, and men's 
minds, being restored to some degree of tranquillity, 
began to occupy themselves about the events of this 
dismal day, a rumour arose that Roderick had es- 
caped from the carnage on the banks of the Guada- 
lete, and was still alive. It was said, that having 
from a rising ground caught a view of the whole 
field of battle, and seen that the day was lost, and 
his army flying in all directions, he likewise sought 
his safety in flight. It is added, that the Arab horse- 
men, while scouring the mountains in quest of fu- 
gitives, found a shepherd arrayed in the royal robes, 
and brought him before the conqueror, believing him 
to be the king himself. Count Julian soon dispelled 
the error. On being questioned, the trembling rustic 
declared that while tending his sheep in the folds 
of the mountains, there came a cavalier on a horse 
wearied and spent and ready to sink beneath the 
spur. That the cavalier with an authoritative voice 
and menacing air commanded him to exchange gar- 
ments with him, and clad himself in his rude garb of 
sheep-skin, and took his crook and his scrip of pro- 
visions, and continued up the rugged defiles of the 
mountains leading towards Castile, until he was lost 
to view.* 

This tradition was fondly cherished by many, who 
clung to the belief in the existence of their monarch 
as their main hope for the redemption of Spain. It 
was even affirmed that he had taken refuge, with 
many of his host, in an island of the " Ocean sea," 
from whence he might yet return once- more to ele- 
vate his standard, and battle for the recovei7 of his 
throne. 



* Illeda, Cron. L. 2. c. 9. Abulcasim Tarif Abentarique, L. i. 



316 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Year after year, however, elapsed, and nothing' 
was heard of Don Roderick ; yet, lil<e Sebastian of 
Portugal, and Arthur of England, his name con- 
tinued to be a rallying point for popular faith, and 
the mystery of his end to give rise to romantic fa- 
bles. At length, when generation after generation 
had sunk into the grave, and near two centuries had 
passed and gone, traces were said to be discovered 
that threw a h'ght on the final fortunes of the unfor- 
tunate Roderick. At that time, Don Alphonso the 
Great, King of Leon, had wrested the city of Viseo 
in Lusitania from the hands of the Moslems. As 
his soldiers were ranging about the city and its en- 
virons, one of them discovered in a field, outside of 
the walls, a small chapel or hermitage, with a sepul- 
chre in front, on which was inscribed this epitaph in 
Gothic characters : 

HIC REQUIESCIT RUDERICUS, 
ULTIMUS REX GOTHORUM. 

Here lies Roderick, 
The last king of the Goths. 

It has been believed by many that this was the 
veritable tomb of the monarch, and that in this her- 
mitage he had finished his days in solitary penance. 
The warrior, as he contemplated the supposed tomb 
of the once haughty Roderick, forgot all his faults 
and errors, and shed a soldier's tear over his mem- 
ory ; but when his thoughts turned to Count Julian, 
his patriotic indignation broke forth, and with his 
dagger he inscribed a rude malediction on the stone. 

" Accursed," said he, " be the impious and head- 
long vengeance of the traitor Julian. He was a mur- 
derer of his king ; a destroyer of his kindred ; a be- 
trayer of his country. May his name be bitter in 
every mouth, and his memory infamous to all gener- 
ations ! " 

Here ends the legend of Don Roderick. 



Magno, aviendo ganado la ciudad de Viseo, encontro 
en una iglesia el epitafio que en romance dize — aqui 
yaze Rodrigo, ultimo Rey de los Godos. — Berganza, 
L. I. c. 13. 



ILLUSTRATIOIMS OF THE FOREGOING LEGEND. 



THE TOMB OF RODERICK. 

The venerable Sebastiano, Bishop of Salamanca, 
declares that the inscription on the tomb at Viseo 
in Portugal, existed in his time, and that he had seen 
it. A particular account of the exile and hermit life 
of Roderick is furnished by Berganza, on the au- 
thority of Portuguese chronicles. 

Algunos historiadores Portugueses asseguran, que 
el Rey Rodrigo, perdida la battalia, huyo a tierra de 
Merida, y se recogio en el monasterio de Cauliniano, 
en donde, arrepentido de sus culpas, procuro confes- 
sarlas con muchas lagrimas. Deseando mas retiro, 
y escogiendo por compafiero a un monge llamado 
Roman, y elevando la Imagen de Nazareth, que Cy- 
riaco monge de nacion griego avra traido de Jeru- 
salem al monasterio de Cauliniano, se subio a un 
monte muy aspero, que estaba sobre el mar, junto 
al lugar de Pederneyra. Vivio Rodrigo en compania 
de el monge en el hueco de una gruta por espacio 
de un ano ; despues se passo d la ermita de san 
Miguel, que estaba cerca de Viseo, en donde murio 
y fue sepultado. 

Puedese ver esta relacion en las notas de Don 
Thomas Tamayo sobre Paulo deacano. El chroni- 
con dc san Millan, que Uega hasta el aiio 883, deze 
que, hasta su tiempo, si ignora el fin del Rey Rod- 
rigo. Pocos aiios despues el Rey Don Alonzo el 



THE CAVE OF HERCULES. 

As the story of the necromantic tower is one of 
the most famous as well as least credible points in 
the history of Don Roderick, it may be well to for- 
tify or buttress it by some account of another marvel 
of the city of Toledo. This ancient city, which 
dates its existence almost from the time of the flood, 
claiming as its founder Tubal, the son of Japhet, and 
grandson of Noah,* has been the warrior hold of 
many generations, and a strange diversity of races. 
It bears traces of the artifices and devices of its 
various occupants, and is full of mysteries and sub- 
jects for antiquarian conjecture and perplexity. It 
is built upon a high rocky promontory, with the 
Tagus brawling round its base, and is overlooked 
by cragged and precipitous hills. These hills abound 
with clefts and caverns ; and the promontory itselt, 
on which the city is built, bears traces of vaults and 
subterraneous habitations, which are occasionally 
discovered under the ruins of ancient houses, or be- 
neath the churches and convents. 

These are supposed by some to have been the 
habitations or retreats of the primitive inhabitants ; 
for it was the custom of the ancients, according to 
Pliny, to make caves in high and rocky places, and 
live in them through fear of floods ; and such a pre- 
caution, says the worthy Don Pedro de Roxas, in 
his history of Toledo, was natural enough among 
the first Toledans, seeing that they founded their 
city shortly after the deluge, while the memory of it 
was still fresh in their minds. 

Some have supposed these secret caves and vaults 
to have been places of concealment of the inhabit- 
ants and their treasure, during times of war and 
violence ; or rude temples for the performance of 
religious ceremonies in times of persecution. There 
are not wanting other, and grave writers, who give 
them a still darker purpose. In these caves, say 
they, were taught the diabolical mysteries of magic ; 
and here were performed those infernal ceremonies 
and incantations horrible in the eyes of God and 
man. " History," says the worthy Don Pedro de 
Roxas, " is full of accounts that the magi taught and 
performed their magic and their superstitious rites 
in profound caves and secret places ; because as this 
art of the devil was prohibited from the very origin 
of Christianity, they always sought for hidden places 
in which to practise it." In the time of the Moors 
this art, we are told, was publicly taught at their 
universities, the same as astronomy, philosophy, and 
mathematics, and at no place was it cultivated with 
more success than at Toledo. Hence this city has 
ever been darkly renowned for mystic science ; inso- 
much that the magic art was called by the French, 
and by other nations, the Arte Toledana. 

Of all the marvels, however, of this ancient pic- 
turesque, romantic, and necromantic city, none in 
modern times surpass the cave of Hercules, if we 
may take the account of Don Pedro de Roxas for 
authentic. The entrance to this cave is within the 
church of San Gines, situated in nearly the highest 
part of the city. The portal is secured by massy 
doors, opening within the walls of the church, but 
which are kept rigorously closed. The cavern ex- 
tends under the city and beneath the bed of the 
Tagus to the distance of three leagues beyond. It 
is, in some places, of rare architecture, built of small 



* Salazar, Hist. Gran. Cardinal, Prologo, vol. I. plan i. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



317 



stones curiously wrought, and supported by columns 
and arches. 

In the year i <^46 an account of this cavern was 
given to the archbishop and cardinal Don Juan 
Martinez Siliceo, who, desirous of examining it, 
ordered the entrance to be cleaned. A number of 
persons furnished with provisions, lanterns, and 
cords, then went in, and having proceeded about 
half a league, came to a place where there was a kind 
of chapel or temple, having a table or altar, with 
several statues of bronze in niches or on pedestals. 

While they were regarding this mysterious scene 
of ancient worship or incantation, one of the statues 
fell, with a noise that echoed through the cavern, 
and smote the hearts of the adventurers with terror. 
Recovering from their alarm they proceeded on- 
ward, but were soon again dismayed by a roaring 
and rushing sound that increased as they advanced. 
It was made by a furious and turbulent stream, the 
dark waters of which were too deep and broad and 
rapid to be crossed. By this time their hearts were 
so chilled with awe, and their thoughts so bewil- 
dered, that they could not seek any other passage by 
which they might advance; so they turned back 
and hastened out of the cave. It was night-fall 
when they sallied forth, and they were so much 
affected by the terror they had undergone, and by 
the cold and damp air of the cavern, to which they 
were the more sensible from its being in the summer, 
that all of them fell sick and several of them died. 
Whether the archbishop was encouraged to pursue 
his research and gratify his curiosity, the history 
does not mention. 

Alonzo Telles de Meneses, in his history of the 
world, records, that not long before his time a boy 
of Toledo, being threatened with punishment by his 
master, fled and took refuge in this cave. P'ancying 
his pursuer at his heels, he took no heed of the 
obscurity or coldness of the cave, but kept groping 
and blundering forward, until he came forth at three 
leagues distance from the city. 

Another and very popular story of this cave, cur- 
rent among the common people, was, that in its 
remote recesses lay concealed a great treasure of 
gold, left there by the Romans. Whoever would 
reach this precious hoard must pass through several 
caves or grottoes ; each having its particular terror, 
and all under the guardianship of a ferocious dog, 
who has the key of all the gates, and watches day 
and night. At the approach of any one he shows 
his teeth, and makes a hideous growling ; but no 
adventurer after wealth has had courage to brave a 
contest with this terrific cerberus. 

The most intrepid candidate on record was a 
poor man who had lost his all, and had those grand 
incentives to desperate enterprise, a wife and a large 
family of children. Hearing the story of this cave, 
he determined to venture alone in search of the 
treasure. He accordingly entered, and wandered 
many hours, bewildered, about the cave. Often 
would he have returned, but the thoughts of his 
wife and children urged him on. At length he ar- 
rived near to the place where he supposed the 
treasure lay hidden ; but here, to his dismay, he be- 
held the floor of the cavern strown with human 
bones ; doubtless the remains of adventurers like 
himself, who had been torn to pieces. 

Losing all courage, he now turned and sought his 
way out of the cave. Horrors thickened upon him 
as he fled. He beheld direful phantoms glaring and 
gibbering around him, and heard the sound of pur- 
suit in the echoes of his footsteps. He reached his 
home overcome with affright ; several hours elapsed 
before he could recover speech to tell his story, and 
he died on the following day. 



The judicious Don Pedro de Roxas holds the 
account of the buried treasure for fabulous, but the 
adventure of this unlucky man for very possible ; 
being led on by avarice, or rather the hope of re- 
trieving a desperate fortune. He, moreover, pro- 
nounces his dying shortly after coming forth as 
very probable ; because the darkness of the cave ; 
its coldness ; the (right at finding the bones ; the 
dread of meeting the imaginary dog, all joining to 
operate upon a man who was past the prime of his 
days, and enfeebled by poverty and scanty food, 
might easily cause his death. 

Alany have considered this cave as intended 
originally for a sally or retreat from the city in case 
it should be taken ; an opinion rendered probable, 
it is thought, by its grandeur and great extent. 

The learned Salazar de Mendoza, however, in his 
history of the grand cardinal of Spain, affirms it as 
an established fact, that it was first wrought out of 
the rock by Tubal, the son of Japhct, and grandson 
of Noah, and afterwards repaired and greatly aug- 
mented by Hercules the Egyptian, who made it his 
habitation after he had erected his pillars at the 
straits (if Gibraltar. Here, too, it is said, he read 
magic to his followers, and taught them those su- 
pernatural arts by which he accomplished his vast 
achievements. Others think that it was a temple 
dedicated to Hercules ; as was the case, according 
to Pomponius Mela, with the great cave in the 
rock of Gibraltar; certain it is, that it has always 
borne the name of " The Cave of Hercules." 

There are not wanting some who have insinuated 
that it was a work dating from the time of the 
Romans, and intended as a cloaca or sewer of the 
city ; but such a grovelling insinuaiion will be treated 
with proper scorn by the reader, after the nobler 
purposes to which he has heard this marvellous 
cavern consecrated. 

From all the circumstances here adduced from 
learned and reverend authors, it will be perceived 
that Toledo is a city fruitful of marvels, and that 
the necromantic tower of Hercules has more solid 
foundation than most edifices of similar import in 
ancient history. 

The writer of these pages will venture to add the 
result of his personal researches respecting the far- 
famed cavern in question. Rambling about Toledo 
in the year 1826, in company with a small knot of 
antiquity hunters, among whom was an eminent 
British painter,* and an English nobleman.f who 
has since distinguished himself in Spanish historical 
research, we directed our steps to the church of 
San Gines, and inquired for the portal of the secret 
cavern. The sacristan was a voluble and communi- 
cative man, and one not likely to be niggard of his 
tongue about any thing he knew, or slow to boast of 
any marvel pertaining to his church ; but he pro- 
fessed utter ignorance of the existence of any such 
portal. He remembered to have heard, however, 
that immediately under the entrance to the church 
there was an arch of mason-work, apparently the 
upper part of some subterranean portal ; but that 
all had been covered up and a pavement laid down 
thereon ; so that whether it lead to the magic cave 
or the necromantic tower remains a mystery, and 
so must remain until some monarch or archbishop 
shall again have courage and authority to break the 
spell. 



* Mr. D. W— kie. 



t Lord Mah- 



318 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



LEGEND OF THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.* 



CHAPTER I. 



CONSTERNATION OF SPAIN. — CONDUCT OF THE 
CONQUERORS. — MISSIVES BETWEEN TARIC AND 
MUZA. 

The overthrow of King Roderick and his army 
on the banks of the Guadalete, threw open all south- 
ern Spain to the inroads of the Moslems. The 
whole country fled before them ; villages and ham- 
lets were hastily abandoned ; the inhabitants placed 
their aged and infirm, their wives and children, and 
their most precious effects, on mules and other 
beasts of burden, and, driving before them their flocks 
and herds, made for distant parts of the land ; for 
the fastnesses of the mountains, and for such of the 
cities as yet possessed walls and bulwarks. Many 
gave out, faint and weary, by the way, and fell into 
the hands of the enemy ; others, at the distant sight 
of a turban or a Moslem standard, or on hearing the 
clangour of a trumpet, abandoned their flocks and 
herds and hastened their flight with their families. 
If their pursuers gained upon them, they threw by 
their household goods and whatever was of burthen, 
and thought themselves fortunate to escape, naked 
and destitute, to a place of refuge. Thus the roads 
were covered with scattered flocks and herds, and 
vi-ith spoil of all kind. 

The Arabs, however, were not guilty of wanton 
cruelty or ravage ; on the contrary, they conducted 
themselves with a moderation but seldom witnessed 
in more civilized conquerors. Taric el Tuerto, 
though a thorough man of the sword, and one whose 
whole thoughts were warlike, yet evinced wonderful 
judgment and discretion. He checked the predatory 
habits of his troops with a rigorous hand. They 
were forbidden, under pain of severe punishment, 
to molest any peaceable and unfortified towns, or 
any unarmed and unresisting people, who remained 
quiet in their homes. No spoil was permitted to be 
made excepting in fields of battle, in camps of routed 
foes, or in cities taken by the sword. 

Taric had little need to exercise his severity ; his 
orders were obeyed through love, rather than fear, 
for he was the idol of his soldiery. They admired 
his restless and daring spirit, which nothing could 
dismay. His gaunt and sinewy form, his fiery eye, 
his visage seamed with scars, were suited to the har- 
dihood of his deeds ; and when mounted on his foam- 
ing steed, careering the field of battle with quivering 
lance or flashing scimitar, his Arabs would greet him 
with shouts of enthusiasm. But what endeared him 
to them more than all was his soldier-like contempt 
of gain. Conquest was his only passion ; glory the 
only reward he coveted. As to the spoil of the con- 
quered, he shared it freely among his followers, and 
squandered his own portion with open - handed 
generosity. 

While Taric was pushing his triumphant course 
through Andalusia, tidings of his stupendous victory 
on the banks of the Guadalete were carried to Muza 
ben Nozier. Messengers after messengers arrived, 
vieing who should most extol the achievements of 
the conqueror and the grandeur of the conquest. 

* In this legend most of the facts respecting the Ar.ib inroads 
into Spain are on the authority of Arabian writers ; who had the 
most accurate means of information. 'I'hnse relative to the Spaniards 
are chiefly from old Spanish chronicles. It is to be remarked that 
the .Arab accounts have most the air of verity, and the events as 
they relate them, are in the ordinary course of common life. The 
Spanist) accounts, on the contrary, are full of the marvellous ; for 
there were no greater romancers than the monkish chroniclers. 



" Taric," said they, " has overthrown the whole 
force of the unbelievers in one mighty battle. Their 
king is slain ; thousands and tens of thousands of 
their warriors are destroyed ; the whole land lies at 
our mercy ; and city after city is surrendering to the 
victorious arms of Taric. " 

The heart of Muza ben Nozier sickened at these 
tidings, and, instead cf rejoicing at the success of the 
cause of Islam, he trembled with jealous fear lest the 
triumphs of Taric in .Spain should eclipse his own 
victories in Africa. He despatched missives to the 
Caliph Waled Almanzor, informing him of these new 
concjuests, but taking the whole glory to himself, and 
making no mention of the services of Taric ; or at 
least, only mentioning him incidentally as a subordi- 
nate commander. "The battles," said he, "have 
been terrible as the day of judgment ; but by the aid 
of Allah we have gained the victoiy." 

He then prepared in all haste to cross over into 
Spain and assume the command of the conquering 
army ; and he wrote a letter in advance to interrupt 
Taric in the midst of his career. " Wherever this 
letter may find thee," said he, " I charge thee halt 
with thy army and await my coming. Thy force is 
inadequate to the subjugation of the land, and by 
rashly venturing, thou mayst lose every thing. I will 
be with thee speedily, with a reinforcement of troops 
competent to so great an enterprise." 

The letter overtook the veteran Taric while in the 
full glow of triumphant success ; having overrun 
some of the richest parts of Andalusia, and just re- 
ceived the surrender of the city of Ecija. As he read 
the letter the blood mantled in his sunburnt cheek 
and fire kindled in his eye, for he penetrated the mo- 
tives of Muza. He suppressed his wrath, however, 
and turning with a bitter expression of forced com- 
posure to his captains, " Unsaddle your steeds," said 
he, " and plant your lances in the earth ; set up your 
tents and take your repose : for we must await the 
coming of the Wall with a mighty force to assist us 
in our conquest." 

The Arab warriors broke forth with loud murmurs 
at these words : " What need have we of aid," cried 
they, "when the whole country is flying before us; 
and what better commander can we have than Taric 
to lead us on to victory .' " 

Count Julian, also, who was present, now hastened 
to give his traitorous counsel. 

" Why pause," cried he, " at this precious moment.' 
The great army of the Goths is vanquished, and their 
nobles are slaughtered or dispersed. Follow up your 
blow before the land can recover from its panic. 
Overrun the provinces, seize upon the cities, make 
yourself master of the capital, and your conquest is 
complete."* 

The advice of Julian was applauded by all the Arab 
chieftains, who were impatient of any interruption 
in their career of conquest. Taric was easily per- 
suaded to what was the wish of his heart. Disre- 
gardmg the letter of Muza, therefore, he prepared to 
pursue his victories. For this purpose he ordered a 
review of his troops on the plain of Ecija. Some 
were mounted on steeds which they had brought 
from Africa ; the rest he supplied with horses taken 
from the christians. He repeated his general orders, 
that they should inflict no wanton injury, nor plunder 
any place that offered no resistance. They were for- 
bidden, also, to encumber themselves with booty, or 
even with provisions ; but were to scour the country 
with all speed, and seize upon all its fortresses and 
strong-holds. 

He then divided his host into three several armies. 
One he placed under the command of the Greek 



*Conde, p. I. c. lo. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



319 



renegado, Majfued el Rumi, a man of desperate 
courage ; and sent it against tlie ancient city of Cor- 
dova. Anotlier was sent against the city of Malaga, 
and was led by Zayd ben Kesadi, aided by the Bishop 
Oppas. The third was led by Taric himself, and 
with this he determined to make a wide sweep 
through the kingdom.* 



CHAPTER II. 



CAPTURE OF GRANADA.— SUBJUGATION OF THE 
ALPUXARRA MOUNTAINS. 

The terror of the arms of Taric ben Zeyad went 
before him ; and, at the same time, the report of his 
lenity to those who submitted without resistance. 
Wherever he appeared, the towns, for the most part, 
sent forth some of their principal inhabitants to 
proffer a surrender ;• for they were destitute of torti- 
fications, and their fighting men had perished in 
battle. They were all received into allegiance to the 
caliph, and were protected from pillage or molesta- 
tion. 

After marching some distance through the country, 
he entered one day a vast and beautiful plain, inter- 
spersed with villages, adorned with groves and gar- 
dens, watered by winding rivers, and surrounded by 
lofty mountains. It was the famous vega, or plain 
of Granada, destined to be for ages the favourite 
abode of the Moslems. When the Arab conquerors 
beheld this delicious vega, they were lost in admira- 
tion ; for it seemed as if the prophet had given them 
a paradise on earth, as a reward for their services in 
his cause. 

Taric approached the city of Granada, which had 
a formidable aspect, seated on lofty hills and fortihed 
with Gothic walls and towers, and with the red 
castle or citadel, built in times of old by the PhcEni- 
cians or the Romans. As the Arab chieftain eyed 
the place, he was pleased with its stern warrior look, 
contrasting with the smiling beauty of its vega, and 
the freshness and voluptuous abundance of its hills 
and valleys. He pitched his tents before its walls, 
and made preparations to attack it with all his force. 

The city, however, bore but the semblance of 
power. The flower of its youth had perished in the 
battle of the Guadalete ; many of the principal in- 
habitants had fled to the mountains, and few re- 
mained in the city excepting old men, women and 
children, and a number of Jews, which last were 
well disposed to take part with the conquerors. 
The city, therefore, readily capitulated, and was 
received into vassalage on favourable terms. The 
inhabitants were to retain their property, their laws, 
and their religion ; their churches and priests were 
to be respected ; and no other tribute was required 
of them than such as they had been accustomed to 
pay to their Gothic kings. 

On taking possession of Granada, Taric garrison- 
ed the towers and castles, and left as alcayde or 
governor a chosen warrior named Betiz Aben Habuz, 
a native of Arabia Felix, who had distinguished him- 
self by his valour and abilities. This alcayde subse- 
quently made himself king of Granada, and built a 
palace on one of its hills ; the remains of which may 
be seen at the present day.t 

* Cronica de Espafia, de Alonzo el Sabio. P. 3. c. i. 

t The house shown as the ancient residence of Aben Habuz is 
called la Casci del Gallo. or the house of the weathercock; so 
named, says Pedraza, in his history of Granada, from a bronze 
figure of an Arab horseman, armed with lance and buckler, which 
once surmounted it, and wiiich varied with every wind. On this 
warlike weathercock was inscribed, in Arabic characters. 

Dice el sabio Aben Habuz 
Que asi se defiende el Andaluz. 



Even the delights of Granada had no power to 
detain the active and ardent Taric. To the east of 
the city he beheld a lofty chain of mountains, tower- 
ing to the sky, and crowned with shining snow. 
These were the "Mountains of the Sun and Air;" 
and the perpetual snows on their summits gave birth 
to streams that fertilized the plains. In their bosoms, 
shut up among cliffs and precipices, were many small 
valleys of great beauty and abundance. The in- 
habitants were a bold and hardy race, who looked 
upon their mountains as everlasting fortresses that 
could never be taken. The inliabitants of the sur- 
rounding countiy had fled to these natural fast- 
nesses for refuge, and driven thither their flocks 
and herds. 

Taric felt that the dominion he had acquired of 
the plains would be insecure until he had penetrated 
and subdued these haughty mountains. Leaving 
Aben Habuz, therefore, m command of Granada, 
he marched with his army across the vega, and 
entered the folds of the Sierra, which stretch to- 
wards the south. The inhabitants fled with affright 
on hearing the Moorish trumpets, or beholding the 
approach of the turbaned horsemen, and plunged 
deeper into the recesses of their mountains. As the 
army advanced, the roads became more and more 
rugged and difficult ; sometimes climbing great rocky 
heights, and at other times descending abruptly into 
deep ravines, the beds of winter torrents. The 
mountains were strangely wild and sterile ; broken 
into cliffs and precipices of variegated marble. At 
their feet were little valleys enamelled with groves 
and gardens, interlaced with silver streams, and 
studded with villages and hamlets ; but all deserted 
by their inhabitants. No one appeared to dispute 
the inroad of the Moslems, who continued their 
march with increasing conlidence, their pennons ^ 
fluttering from rock and cliff, and the valleys echoing 
to the din of trumpet, drum, and cymbal. At length 
they came to a defile where the mountains seemed 
to have been rent asunder to make way for a foam- 
ing torrent. The narrow and broken road wound 
along the dizzy edge of precipices, until it came to 
where a bridge was thrown across the chasm. It 
was a fearful and gloomy pass; great beetling cliffs 
overhung the road, and the torrent roared below. 
This awful defile has ever been famous in the war- 
like history of those mountains, by the name, in 
former times, of the Barranco de Tocos, and at 
present of the bridge of Tablete. The Saracen 
army entered fearlessly into the pass ; a part had 
already crossed the bridge, and was slowly toiling 
up the rugged road on the opposite side, when great 
shouts arose, and every cliff appeared suddenly 
peopled with furious foes. In an instant a deluge 
of missiles of every sort was rained upon the as- 
tonished Moslems. Darts, arrows, javelins, and 
stones, came whistling down, singling out the most 
conspicuous cavaliers ; and at times great masses 
of rock, bounding and thundering along the mount- 
ain side, crushed whole ranks at once, or hurled 
horses and riders over the edge of the precipices. 

It was in vain to attempt to brave this mountain 
warfare. The enemv were beyond the reach ol 
missiles, and safe from pursuit ; and the horses of 
the Arabs were here an incumbrance rather than an 
aid. The trumpets sounded a retreat, and the army 



(In this way, says Aben Habuz the wise. 
The Andalusian his foe defies.) 

The Casa del Gallo, even until within twenty years, possessed 
two great halls beautifully decorated with morisco reliefs. '• '".^" 
caught fire and was so damaged as to require to be nearly rebuilt. 
It is now a manufactory of coarse canvas, and has nothing of the 
Moorish character remaining. It commands a beautiful view of 
the city and the vega. 



320 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



retired in tumult and confusion, liarassed by the 
enemy until extricated from the defile. Taric, who 
had beheld cities and castles surrendering without a 
blow, was enraged at being braved by a mere horde 
of mountain boors, and made another attempt to 
penetrate the mountains, but was again waylaid and 
opposed with horrible slaughter. 

The fiery son of Ishmael foamed with rage at being 
thus checked in his career and foiled in his revenge. 
He was on the point of abandoning the attempt, and 
returning to the vega, when a christian boor sought 
his camp, and was admitted to his presence. The 
miserable wretch possessed a cabin and a little patch 
of ground among the mountains, and offered, if these 
should be protected from ravage, to inform the Arab 
commander of a way by which troops of horse might 
be safely introduced into the bosom of the Sierra, 
and the whole subdued. The name of this caitiff 
was Fandino, and it deserves to be perpetually re- 
corded with ignominy. His case is an instance how 
much it is in the power, at times, of the most insig- 
nificant being to do mischief, and how all the valour 
of the magnanimous and the brave, may be defeated 
by the treason of tlie selfish and the despicable. 

Instructed by this traitor, the Arab commander 
caused ten thousand foot-soldiers and four thousand 
horsemen, commanded by a valiant captain, named 
Ibrahim Albuxarra, to be conveyed by sea to the 
little port of Adra, at the Mediterranean foot of the 
mountains. Here they landed, and, guided by the 
traitor, penetrated to the heart of the Sierra, laying 
every thing waste. The brave mountaineers, thus 
hemmed in between two armies, destitute of fortresses 
and without hope of succour, were obliged to capitu- 
late ; but their valour was not without avail, for 
never, even in Spain, did vanquished people sur- 
render on prouder or more honourable terms. We 
have named the wretch who betrayed his native 
mountains ; let us, equally, record the name of him 
whose pious patriotism saved them from desolation. 
It was the reverend Bishop Centerio. While the 
warriors rested on their ar.-ns in grim and menacing 
tranquillity among the cliffs, this venerable prelate 
descended to the Arab tents in the valley, to conduct 
the capitulation. In stipulating for the safety of his 
people, he did not forget that they were brave men, 
and that they still had weapons in their hands. He 
obtained conditions accordingly. It was agreed that 
they should be permitted to retain their houses, lands, 
and personal effects ; that they should be uninolested 
in their religion, and their temples and priests re- 
spected ; and that they should pay no other tribute 
than such as they had been accustomed to render to 
their kings. Should they prefer to leave the country 
and to remove to any part of Christendom, they were 
to be allowed to sell their possessions ; and to take 
with them the money, and all their other effects.* 

Ibrahim Albuxarra remained in command of the 
territory, and the whole sierra, or chain of mountains, 
took his name, which has since been slightly cor- 
rupted into that of the Alpuxarras. The subjuga- 
tion of this rugged region, however, was for a long 
time incomplete ; many of the christians maintained 
a wild and hostile independence, living in green 
glens and scanty valleys among the heights ; and the 
sierra of the Alpuxarras has, in all ages, been one 
of the most difficult parts of Andalusia to be sub- 
dued. 

CHAPTER III. 

EXPEDITION OF MAGUED AGAINST CORDOVA.— 
DEFENCE OF THE PATRIOT PELISTES. 

While the veteran Taric was making this wide 
circuit through the land, the expedition under Ma- 
• Pedraza, Hist. Granad. p. 3. c. 2. Bleda cronica, L. 2. c. 10. 



gued the renegado proceeded against the city of Cor- 
dova. The inhabitants of that ancient place had 
beheld the great army of Don Roderick spreading 
like an inundation over the plain of the Guadalquivir, 
and had felt confident that it must sweep the infidel 
invaders from the land. What then was their dis- 
may, when scattered fugitives, wild with horror and 
affright, brought tlicm tidings of the entire over- 
throw of that migluy host, and the disappearance of 
the king ! In the midst of their consternation, the 
Gothic noble, Pelistes, arrived at their gates, hag- 
gard with fatigue of body, and anguish of mind, and 
leading a remnant of his devoted cavaliers, who had 
survived the dreadful battle of the Guadalete. The 
people of Cordova knew the valiant and steadfast 
spirit of Pelistes, and rallied round him as a last 
hope. " Roderick is fallen," cried they, " and we 
have neither king nor captain ; be unto us as a sov- 
ereign ; take command of our city, and protect us in 
this hour of peril I " 

The heart of Pelistes was free from ambition, and 
was too much broken bv grief to be flattered by the 
offer of command ; but he felt above every thing for 
the woes of his country, and was ready to assume 
any desperate service in her cause. " Your city," said 
he, " is surrounded by walls and towers, and may 
yet check the progress of the foe. Promise to stand 
by me to the last, and I will undertake your defence." 
The inhabitants all promised implicit obedience and 
devoted zeal ; for what will not the inhabitants of a 
wealthy city promise and profess in a moment of 
alarm. The instant, however, that they heard of the 
approach of the Moslem troops, the wealthier citizens 
packed up their effects and fled to the mountains, or 
to the distant city of Toledo. Even the monks col- 
lected the riches of their convents and churches, and 
fled. Pelistes, though he saw himself thus deserted 
by those who had the greatest interest in the safety 
of the city, yet determined not to abandon its de- 
fence. He had still his faithful though scanty band 
of cavaliers, and a number of i'ugitives of the army ; 
in all amounting to about four hundred men. He 
stationed guards, therefore, at the gates and in the 
towers, and made every preparation for a desperate 
resistance. 

In the meantime, the army of Moslems and apos- 
tate christians advanced, under the command of the 
Greek renegado, Magued, and guided by the traitor 
Julian. While they were yet at some distance from 
the city, their scouts brought to them a shepherd, 
whom they had surprised on the banks of the Gua- 
dalquivir. The trembling hind was an inhabitant of 
Cordova, and revealed to them the state of the place, 
and the weakness of its garrison. 

"And the walls and gates," said Magued, "are 
they strong and well guarded ? " 

" The walls are high, and of wondrous strength," 
replied the shepherd, " and soldiers hold watch at 
the gates by day and night. But there is one place 
where the city may be secretly entered. In a part 
of the wall, not far from the Ijridge, the battlements 
are broken, and there is a breach at some height 
from the ground. Hard by stands a fig-tree, by the 
aid of which the wall may easily be scaled." 

Having received this information, Magued halted 
with his army, and sent forward several renegado 
christians, partisans of Count Julian, who entered 
Cordova as if flying before the enemy. On a dark 
and tempestuous night, the Moslems approached to 
the end of the bridge which crosses the Guadalquivir, 
and remained in ambush. Magued took a small 
party of chosen men, and, guided by the shepherd, 
forded the stream and groped silently along the wall 
to the place where stood the fig-tree. The traitors, 
who had fraudulently entered the city, were ready 
on the wall to render assistance. Magued ordered . 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



321 



his followers to make use of the long folds of their 
turbai)S instead of cords, and succeeded without 
difficulty in clambering into the breach. 

Drawing their scimitars, they now hastened to the 
gate which opened towards the bridge ; the guards, 
suspecting no assault from within, were taken by 
surprise, and easily ov'erpowered ; the gate was 
throw.i open, and the army that had remained in 
ambush, rushed over the bridge, and entered with- 
out opposition. 

The alarm had by this time spread throughout the 
city ; but already a torrent of armed men was pour- 
ing through the streets. Pelistes sallied forth with 
his cavaliers and such of the soldiery as he could 
collect, and endeavoured to repel the foe ; but every 
effort was in vain. The christians were slowly 
driven from street to street, and square to square, 
disputing every inch of ground ; until, finding an- 
other body of the enemy approaching to attack them 
in rear, they took refuge m a convent, and succeeded 
in throwing to and barring the ponderous doors. 
The Moors attempted to force the gates, but were 
assailed with such showers of missiles from the win- 
dows and battlements that they were obliged to re- 
tire. Pelistes examined the convent, and found it 
admirably calculated for defence. It was of great 
extent, with spacious courts and cloisters. The 
gates were massive, and secured with bolts and 
bars; the walls were of great thickness; the win- 
dows high and grated ; there was a great tank or 
cistern of water, and the friars, who had fled from 
the city, had left behind a good supply of provisions. 
Here, then, Pelistes proposed to make a stand, and 
to endeavour to hold out until succour should arrive 
from some other city. His proposition was received 
with shouts by his loyal cavaliers ; not one of whom 
but was ready to lay down his life in the service of 
his commander. 



CHAPTER IV. 



DEFENCE OF THE CONVENT OF ST. GEORGE BY 
PELISTES. 

For three long and anxious months did the good 
knight Pelistes and his cavaliers defend their sacred 
asylum against the repeated assaults of the infidels. 
The standard of the true faith was constantly dis- 
played from the loftiest tower, and a fire blazed 
there throughout the night, as signals of distress to 
the surrounding country. The watchman from his 
turret kept a wary look out over the land, hoping in 
every cloud of dust to descry the glittering helms of 
christian warriors. The country, however, was for- 
lorn and abandoned, or if perchance a human being 
was perceived, it was some Arab horseman, career- 
ing the plain of the Guadalquivir as fearlessly as if it 
were his native desert. 

By degrees the provisions of the convent were 
consumed, and the cavaliers had to slay their horses, 
one by one, for food. They suffered the wasting 
miseries of famine without a murmur, and always 
met their commander with a smile. Pelistes, how- 
ever, read their sufferings in tlieirwan and emaciated 
countenances, and felt more for them than for him- 
self. He was grieved at heart that such loyalty and 
valour should only lead to slavery or death, and re- 
solved to make one desperate attempt for their de- 
lirerance. Assembling them one day in the court 
of the convent, he disclosed to them his purpose. 

" Comrades and brothers in arms," said he, " it is 
needless to conceal danger from brave men. Our 
case is desperate ; our countrymen either know not 
21 



or heed not our situation, or have not the means to 
help us. There is but one chance of escape ; it is 
lull of peril, and, as your leader, I claim the right to 
brave it. To-morrow at break of dav I will sally 
forth and make for the city gates at the moment of 
their being opened ; no one will suspect a solitary 
horseman ; I shall be taken for one of those recreant 
christians who have basely mingled with the enemy. 
If I succeed in getting out of the city I will hasten 
to Toledo for assistance. In all events I shall be 
back in less than twenty days. Keep a vigilant look- 
out toward the nearest mountain. If you behold five 
lights blazing upon its summit, be assured I am at 
hand with succour, and prepare yourselves to sally 
forth upon the city as I attack the gates. Should I 
fail in obtaining aid, I will return to die with you." 

When he had finished, his warriors would fain 
have severally undertaken th'' enterprise, and they 
remonstrated against his exposing himself to such 
peril ; but he was not to be shaken from his puqiose. 
On the following morning, ere the break of day, his 
horse was led forth, caparisoned, into the court of 
the convent, and Pelistes appeared in complete 
armour. Assembling his cavaliers in the chapel, he 
prayed with them for some time before the .altar of 
the holy Virgin. Then rising and standing in the 
midst of them, "God knows, my companions," said 
he, " whether we have any longer a country ; if not, 
better were w-e in our graves. Loyal and true have 
ye been to me, and loyal have ye been to my son, 
even to the hour of his death ; and grieved am I 
that I have no other means of proving my love for 
you, than by adventuring my worthless life for your 
deliverance. All I ask of you before I go. Is a solemn 
promise to defend yourselves to the last like brave 
men and christian cavaliers, and never to renounce 
your faith, or throw yourselves on the mercy of the 
renegado Magued, or the traitor Julian." They all 
pledged their words, and took a solemn oath to the 
same effect before the altar. 

Pelistes then embraced them one by one, and gave 
them his benediction, and as" he did so his heart 
yearned over them, for he felt towards them, not 
merely as a coinpanion in arms and as a commander, 
but as a father ; and he took leave of them as if he 
had been going to his death. The warriors, on their 
part, crowded round him in silence, kissing his hands 
and the hem of his surcoat, and many of the stern- 
est shed tears. 

The gray of the dawning had just streaked the 
east, when Pelistes took lance in hand, hung his 
shield about his neck, and mounting his steed, issued 
quietly forth from a postern of the convent. He 
paced slowly through the vacant streets, and the 
tramp of his steed echoed afar in that silent hour ; 
but no one suspected a warrior, moving thus singly 
and tranquilly in an armed city, to be an enemy. He 
arrived at the gate just at the hour of opening ; a 
foraging party was entering with cattle and with 
beasts of burden, and he passed unheeded through 
the throng. As soon as he was out of sight of the 
soldiers who guarded the gate, he quickened his pace, 
and at length, galloping at full speed, succeeded in 
gaining the mountains. Here he paused, and alighted 
at a solitar)- farm-hou;e to breathe his panting sleed ; 
but had scarce put foot to ground when he heard the 
distant sound of pursuit, and beheld a horseman spur- 
ring up the mountain. 

Throwing himself again upon his steed, he aban- 
doned the road and galloped across the rugged 
heights. The deep dry channel of a torrent checked 
his career, and his horse stumbling upon the margin, 
rolled with his rider to the bottom. Pelistes was 
sorely bruised by the fill, and his whole visage was 
bathed in blood. His horse, too, was maimed and 



322 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



unable to stand, so that there was no hope of escape. 
The enemy drew near, and proved to be no other 
than Magued, the renegado general, who had per- 
'■eived him as he issued forth from the city, and had 
followed singly in pursuit. " Well met, sefior al- 
cayde ! " exclaimed he, " and overtaken in good 
time. Surrender yourself my prisoner." 

Pelistes made no other reply than by drawing his 
sword, bracing his shield, and preparing for defence. 
Magued, though an apostate, and a tierce warrior, 
possessed some sparks of knightly magnanimity. 
Seeing his adversary dismounted, he disdained to 
take him at a disadvantage, but, alighting, tied his 
horse to a tree. 

The conflict that ensued was desperate and doubt- 
ful, for seldom had two warriors met so well matched 
or of equal prowess. Their shields were hacked to 
pieces, the ground was strewed with fragments of 
their armour, and stamed with their blood. They 
paused repeatedly to take breath ; regarding each 
other with wonder and admiration. Pelistes, how- 
ever, had been previously injured by his fall, and 
fought to great disadvantage. The renegado per- 
ceived it, and sought not to slay him, but to take 
him alive. Shifting his ground continually, he wea- 
ried his antagonist, who was growing weaker and 
weaker from the loss of blood. At length Pelistes 
seemed to summon up all his remaining strength to 
make a signal blow ; it was skilfully parried, and he 
fell prostrate upon the ground. The renegado ran 
up, and putting his foot upon his sword, and the 
point of his scimitar to his throat, called upon him 
to ask his life ; but Pelistes lay without sense, and 
as one dead. Magued then unlaced the helmet of 
his vanquished enemy, and seated himself on a rock 
beside him, to recover breath. In this situation the 
warriors were found by certain Moorish cavaliers, 
who marvelled much at the traces of that stern and 
bloody combat. 

Finding there was yet life in the christian knight, 
they laid him upon one of their horses, and aiding 
Magued to remount his steed, proceeded slowly to 
the city. As the convoy passed by the convent, the 
cavaliers looked forth and beheld their commander 
borne along bleeding and a captive. Furious at the 
sight, they sallied forth to the rescue, but were re- 
pulsed by a superior force and driven back to the 
great portal of the church. The enemy entered pell 
mell with them, fighting from aisle to aisle, from al- 
tar to altar, and m the courts and cloisters of the 
convent. The greater part of the cavaliers died 
bravely, sword in hand ; the rest were disabled with 
wounds and made prisoners. The convent, which 
was lately their castle, was now made their prison, 
and in aftertimes, in commemoration of this event, 
was consecrated by the name of St. George of the 
Captives. 



CHAPTER V. 



MEETING BETWEEN THE PATRIOT PELISTES AND 
THE TRAITOR JULIAN. 

The loyalty and prowess of the good knight Pe- 
listes had gained him the reverence even of his ene- 
mies. He was for a long time disabled by his 
wounds, during which he was kindly treated by the 
Arab chieftams, who strove by every courteous 
means, to cheer his sadness and make him forget 
that he was a captive. When he was recovered 
from his wounds they gave him a magnificent ban- 
quet, to testify their admiration of his virtues. 

Pelistes appeared at the banquet clad in sable ar- 



mour, and with a count'Miance pale and dejected, for 
the ills of his country evermore preyed upon his 
heart. Among the assembled guests was Count 
Julian, who held a high command in the Moslem 
army, and was arrayed in garments of mingled 
christian and morisco fashion. Pelistes had been a 
close and bosom friend of Julian in former times, 
and had served with him in the wars in Africa, but 
when the Count advanced to accost him with his 
wonted amity, he turned away in silence and deigned 
not to notice him ; neither, during the whole of the 
repast, did he address to him ever a word, but 
treated him as one unknown 

When the banquet was nearly at a close, the dis- 
course turned upon the events of the war, and the 
Mojlem chieftains, in great courtesy, dwelt upon the 
merits of many of the christian cavaliers who had 
fallen in battle, and all extolled the valour of those 
who had recently perished in the defence of the con- 
vent. Pelistes remained silent for a time, and 
checked the grief which swelled within his bosom 
as he thought of his devoted cavaliers. At length, 
lifting up his voice, " Happy are the dead," said he, 
" for they rest in peace, and are gone to receive the 
reward of their piety and valour ! I could mourn 
over the loss of my companions in arms, but they 
have fallen with honour, and are spared the wretch- 
edness I feel in witnessing the thraldom of my coun- 
try. I have seen my only son, the pride and hope 
of my age, cut down at my side ; I have beheld 
kindred friends and followers falling one by one 
around me, and have become so seasoned to those 
losses that I have ceased to weep. Yet there is one 
man over whose loss I will never cease to grieve. 
He was the loved companion of my youth, and the 
steadfast associate of my graver years. He was one 
of the most loyal of christian knights. As a friend 
he was loving and sincere ; as a warrior his achieve- 
ments were above all praise. What has become of 
him, alas ! I know not. If fallen in battle, and I 
knew where his bones were laid, whether bleaching 
on the plains of Xeres, or buried in the waters of 
the Guadalete, I would seek them out and enshrine 
them as the relics of a sainted patriot. Or if, like 
many of his companions in arms, he should be driven 
to wander in foreign lands, I would join him in his 
hapless exile, and we would mourn together over the 
desolation of our country." 

Even the hearts of the Arab warriors were touched 
by the lament of the good Pelistes, and they said 
" Who was this peerless friend in whose praise thou 
art so fervent ? " 

" His name," replied Pelistes, " was Count Julian." 

The Moslem warriors stared with surprise. " NO' 
ble cavalier," exclaimed they, " has grief disordered 
thy senses ? Behold thy friend living and standing 
before thee, and yet thou dost not know him ! This, 
this is Count Julian ! " 

Upon this, Pelistes turned his eyes upon the count, 
and regarded him for a time with a lofty and stern 
demeanour ; and the countenance of Julian darken 
ed, and was troubled, and his eye sank beneath the^ 
regard of that loyal and honourable cavalier. And 
Pelistes said, " In the name of God, I charge thee, 
man unknown ! to answer. Dost thou presume to 
call thyself Count Julian .-' " 

The count reddened with anger at these words. 
"Pelistes," said he, "what means this mockery; 
thou knowest me well ; thou knowest me for Count 
Julian." 

" I know thee for a base impostor ! " cried Pelistes, 
" Count Julian was a noble Gothic knight ; but the 
appearest in mongrel Moorish garb. Count Julian 
was a christian, faithful and devout ; but I behold in 
thee a renegado and an infidel. Count Julian wai 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



323 



ever loyal to his king, and foremost in his countr)''s 
cause ; were he living he would be the first to put 
shield on neck and lance in rest, to clear the land of 
her invaders ; but thou art a hoary traitor ! thy 
hands are stained with the royal blood of the Goths 
and thou hast betrayed thy country and thy God. 
Therefore, I again repeat, man unknown ! if thou 
sayest thou art Count Julian, thou liest ! My friend, 
alas, is dead ; and thou art some fiend frorr. hell, 
which hast taken possession of his body to dis- 
honour his memory and render him an abhorrence 
among men ! " So saying, Pelistes turned his back 
upon the traitor, and went forth from the banquet ; 
leaving Count Julian overwhelmed with confusion, 
and an object of scorn to all the Moslem cavaliers. 



CHAPTER VI. 

HOW TARIC EL TUERTO CAPTURED THE CITY OF 
TOLEDO THROUGH THE AID OF THE JEWS, AND 
HOW HE FOUND THE FA.MOUS TALISM.\NIC 
TABLE OF SOLOMON. 

While these events were passing in Cordova, the 
one-eyed Arab general, Taric el Tuerto, having sub- 
dued the city and vega of Granada, and the Mount- 
ains of the Sun and Air, directed his march into 
the interior of the kingdom to attack the ancient 
city of Toledo, the capital of the Gothic kings. So 
great was the terror caused by the rapid conquests 
of the invaders, that at the very rumour of their ap- 
proach, many of the inhabitants, though thus in the 
very citadel of the kingdom, abandoned it and fled 
to the mountains with their families. Enough re- 
mained, however, to have made a formidable de- 
fence ; and, as the city was seated on a lofty rock, 
surrounded by massive walls and towers, and almost 
girdled by the Tagus, it threatened a long resist- 
ance. The Arab warriors pitched their tents in the 
vega, on the borders of the river, and prepared for a 
tedious siege. 

One evening, as Taric was seated in his tent medi- 
tating on the mode in which he should assail this 
rock-built city, certain of the patroles of the camp 
brought a stranger before him. " As we were going 
our rounds," said they, "we beheld this man 
lowered down with cords from a tower, and he de- 
livered himself into our hands, praying to be con- 
ducted to thy presence, that he might reveal to thee 
certain things important for thee to know." 

Taric fixed his eyes upon the stranger : he was a 
Jewish rabbi, with a long beard which spread upon 
his gabardine, and descended even to his girdle. 
" What hast thou to reveal.' " said he to the Israel- 
ite. "What I have to reveal," replied the other, 
" is for thee alone to hear; command then, I entreat 
thee, that these men withdraw." When they were 
alone he addressed Taric in Arabic : " Know, O 
leader of the host of Islam," said he, " that I am 
sent to thee on the part of the children of Israel 
resident in Toledo. W'e have been oppressed and 
insulted by the christians in the time of their pros- 
perity, and now that they are threatened with siege, 
they have taken from us all our provisions and our 
money ; they have compelled us to work like slaves, 
repairing their walls; and they oblige us to bear 
arms and guard a part of the towers. We abhor 
their yoke, and are ready, if thou wilt receive us as 
subjects and permit us the free enjoyment of our 
religion and our property, to deliver the towers we 

' tguard into thy hands, and to give thee safe entrance 

' into the city." 

The Arab chief was overjoyed at this proposition. 



and he rendered much honour to the rabbi, and gave 
orders to clothe him in a costly robe, and to perfume 
his beard with essences of a pleasant odour, so that 
he was the most sweet smelling of his tribe ; and he 
said, " Make thy- words good, and put me in posses- 
sion of the city, and I will do all and more than thou 
hast required, and will bestow countless wealth upon 
thee and thy brethren." 

Then a plan was devised between them by w^hich 
the city was to be betrayed and given up. " But how 
shall t be secured," said he, " that all thy tribe will 
fulfil what thou hast engaged, and that this is not a 
stratagem to get me and my people into your power .'" 

" This shall be thy assurance," replied the rabbi : 
" Ten of the principal Israelites will come to this tent 
and remain as hostages." 

" It is enough," said Taric ; and he made oath to 
accomplish all that he had promised ; and the Jew- 
ish hostages came and delivered themselves into his 
hands. 

On a dark night, a chosen band of Moslem war- 
riors approached the part of the walls guarded by 
the Jews, and were secretly admitted into a postern 
gate and concealed within a tower. Three thousand 
Arabs were at the same time placed in ambush 
among rocks and thickets, in a place on the op- 
posite side of the river, commanding a view of the 
city. On the following morning Taric ravaged the 
gardens of the valley, and set fire to the farm-houses, 
and then breaking up his camp marched off as if 
abandoning the siege. 

The people of Toledo gazed with astonishment 
from their walls at the retiring squadrons of the ene- 
my, and scarcely could credit their unexpected de- 
liverance ; before night there was not a turban nor 
a hostile lance to be seen in the vega. They attrib- 
uted it all to the special intervention of their patron 
saint, Leocadia ; and the following day being palm 
Sunday, they sallied forth in procession, man, woman, 
and child, to the church of that blessed saint, which 
it situated without the walls, that they might return 
thanks for her marvellous protection. 

When all Toledo had thus poured itself forth, and 
was marching with cross and relic and solemn chaunt 
towards the chapel, the Arabs, who had been con- 
cealed in the tower, rushed forth and barred the 
gates of the city. While some guarded the gates, 
others dispersed themselves about the streets, sla\ing 
all who made resistance ; and others kindled a fire 
and made a column of smoke on the top of the cita- 
del. At sight of this signal, the Arabs, in ambush, 
beyond the river, rose with a great shout, and at- 
tacked the multitude who were thronging to the 
church of St. Leocadia. There was a great massa- 
cre, although the people were without arms, and 
made no resistance ; and it is said, in ancient chron- 
icles, that it was the apostate Bishop Oppas who 
guided the Moslems to their prey, and incited them 
to this slaughter. The pious reader, says Fray An- 
tonio Agapida, will be slow to believe such turpi- 
tude ; but there is nothing more venomous than the 
rancour of an apostate priest ; for the best things in 
this world, when corrupted, become the worst and 
most baneful. 

Many of the christians had taken refuge within the 
church, and h.ad barred the doors, but Oppas com- 
manded that fire should be set to the portals, threat- 
ening to put every one within to the sword. Hap- 
pily the veteran Taric arrived just in time to stay the 
fury of this reverend renegado. He ordered the 
trumpets to call off the troops from the carnage, 
and extended grace to all the surviving inhabitants. 
They were pennitted to remain in quiet possession 
of their homes and effects, paying only a moderate 
tribute ; and they were allowed to exercise the rites 



324 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of their religion in the existing churches, to the num- 
ber of seven, but were prohibited from erecting any 
others. Those who preferred to leave the city, were 
suffered to depart in safety, but not to take with them 
any of their wealth. 

Immense spoil was found by Taric in the alcazar, 
or royal castle, situated on a rocky eminence, in the 
highest part of the city. Among the regalia treas- 
ured up in a secret chamber, were twenty-five regal 
crowns of fine gold, garnished with jacy'nths, ame- 
thysts, diamonds, and other precious stones. These 
were the crowns of the different Gothic kings who 
had reigned in Spain ; it having been the usage, on 
the death of each king, to deposit his crown in this 
treasury, inscribing on it his name and age.* 

When Taric was thus in possession of the city, the 
Jews came to him in procession, with songs and 
dances and the sound of timbrel and psaltery, hailing 
him as their lord, and reminding him of his promises. 

The son of Ishmael kept his word with the chil- 
dren of Israel ; they were protected in the possession 
of all their wealth and the exercise of their religion, 
and were, moreover, rewarded with jewels of gold 
and jewels of silver, and much monies.! 

A subsequent expedition was led by Taric against 
Guadalaxara, which surrendered w'ithout resistance ; 
he moreover captured the city of Medina Cell, where 
he found an inestimable table which had formed a 
part of the spoil taken at Rome by Alaric, at the 
time that the sacred city was conquered by the 
Goths. It was composed of one single and entire 
emerald, and possessed talismanic powers ; for tra- 
ditions affirm that it was the work of genii, and had 
been wrought by them for King Solomon the wise, 
the son of David. This marvellous relic was care- 
fully preserved by Taric, as the most precious of all 
his spoils, being intended by him as a present to the 
caliph ; and in commemoration of it the city was 
called by the Arabs, Medina Almeyda ; that is to 
say, "The City of the Table."! 

Having made these and other conquests of less 
importance, and having collected great quantities of 
gold and silver, and rich stuffs and precious stones, 
Taric returned with his booty to the royal city of 
Toledo. 



CHAPTER VII. 



M.UZA BE.N NOZIER ; HIS ENTRANCE INTO SPAIN, 
AND CAPTURE OF CARMONA. 

Let us leave for a season the bold Taric in his 
triumphant progress from city to city, while we turn 
our eyes to Muza ben Nozier, the renowned emir of 
Almagreb, and the commander-in-chief of the Mos- 
lem forces of the west. When that jealous chieftain 
had despatched his letter commanding Taric to pause 
and await his coming, he immediately made every 
preparation to enter Spain with a powerful reinforce- 
ment, and to take command of the conquering army. 
He left his eldest .son, Abdalasis, in Caervan, with 
authority over Almagreb, or Western Africa. This 
Abdalasis was in the flower of his youth, and be- 
loved by the soldiery for the magnanimity and the 
engaging affability which graced his courage. 

* Conde. Hist, de las Arabes en Espafia. c. 12. 

t The stratagem of the Jews of Toledo is recorded briefly by 
.Bishop Lucas de Tuy, in his chronicle, but is related at large 
m the chronicle of the .Moor Rasis. 

t According to Arabian legends, this table was a mirror reveal- 
in)5 all great events ; insomuch that by looking on it the possessor 
might behold battles and sieges and feats of chivalry, and all ac- 
tions worthy of renown ; and might thus ascertain the truth of all 
historic transactions. It was a mirror of history therefore ; and 
had very probably aided King Solomon in acquiring that prodigi- 
ous knowledge and wisdom for which he was renowned. 



Muza ben Nozier crossed the strait of Hercules 
with a chosen force of ten thousand horse and eight 
thousand foot ; Arabs and Africans. He was ac- 
companied by his two sons, Meruan and Abdelola, 
and by numerous illustrious Arabian cavaliers of the 
tribe of the Koreish. He landed his shining legions 
on the coast of Andalusia, and pitched his tents 
near to the Guadiana. There first he received in- 
telligence of the disobedience of Taric to his orders, 
and that, without waiting his arrival, the impetuous 
chieftain had continued his career, and with his light 
Arab squadrons had overrun and subdued the no- 
blest provinces and cities of the kingdom. 

The jealous spirit of Muza was still more exasper- 
ated by these tidings ; he looked upon Taric no 
longer as a friend and coadjutor, but as an invidi- 
ous rival, the decided enemy of his glory ; and he 
determined on his ruin. His first consideration, 
however, was to secure to himself a share in the 
actual conquest of the land before it should be en- 
tirely subjugated. 

Taking guides, therefore, from among his chris- 
tian captives, he set out to subdue such parts of the 
country as had not been visited by Taric. The first 
place which he assailed was the ancient city of Car- 
mona ; it was not of great magnitude, but was for- 
tified with high walls and massive towers, and many 
of the fugitives of the late army had thrown them- 
selves into it. 

The Goths had by this time recovered from their 
first panic ; they had become accustomed to the 
sight of Moslem troops, and their native courage 
had been roused bv danger. Shortly after the Arabs 
had encampetl before their walls, a band of cavaliers 
made a sudden sally one morning before the break 
of day, fell upon the enemy by surprise, killed above 
three hundred of them in their tents, and effected 
their retreat into the city ; leaving twenty of their 
number dead, covered with honourable wounds, and 
in the very centre of the camp. 

On the following day they made another sally, and 
fell on a different quarter of the encampment ; but 
the Arabs were on their guard, and met them with 
superior numbers, .^.fter righting fiercely for a time, 
they were routed, and fled full speed for the city, 
with the Arabs hard upon their traces. The guards 
within feared to open the gate, lest with their friends 
they should admit a torrent of enemies. Seeing 
themselves thus shut out, the fugitives determined 
to die like brave soldiers rather than surrender. 
Wheeling suddenly round, they opened a path through 
the host of their pursuers, fought their way back to 
the camp, and raged about it with desperate fury 
until they were all slain, after having killed above 
eight hundred of the enemy.* 

Muza now ordered that the place should be taken 
by storm. The Moslems assailed it on all sides, but 
were vigorously resisted ; many were slain by showers 
of stones, arrows, and boiling pitch, and many who 
had mounted with scaling ladders were thrown head- 
long from the battlements. The alcayde, Galo, aid- 
ed solely by two men, defended a tower and a por- 
tion of the wall ; killing and wounding with a cross- 
bow more than eighty of the enemy. The attack 
lasted above half a day, when the Moslems were re- 
pulsed with the loss of fifteen hundred men. 

Muza was astonished and exasperated at meeting 
with such formidable resistance from so small a city ; 
for it was one of the few places, during that memo- 
rable conquest, where the Gothic valour shone forth 
with its proper lustre. While the Moslem army lay 
encamped before the place, it was joined by Magued 
the renegado, and Count Julian the traitor, with one 



♦Abulcasim. Perdida de Espafia, L. i. c. 13. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



325 



thousand horsemen ; most of them recreant chris- 
tians, base betrayers of their country', and more 
savage in their warfare than the Arabs of the desert. 
To find favour in the eyes of Muza, and to evince his 
devotion to the cause, the count undertook, by wily 
stratagem, to put this gallant city in his power. 

One evening, just at twilight, a number of chris- 
tians, habited as travelling merchants, arrived at one 
of the gates, conducting a train of mules laden with 
arms and warlike munitions. " Open the gate quick- 
ly," cried they, "we bring supplies for the garrison, 
but the Arabs have discovered, and are in pursuit of 
us." The gate was thrown open, the merchants 
entered with their beasts of burden, and were joy- 
fully received. Meat and drink were placed before 
them, and after they had refreshed themselves they 
retired to the c|uarters allotted to them. 

These pretended merchants were Count Julian and 
a number of his partisans. At the hour of midnight 
they stole forth silently, and assembling together, 
proceeded to what was called the Gate of Cordova. 
Here setting suddenly upon the unsuspecting guards, 
they put them to the edge of the sword, and throw- 
ing open the gates, admitted a great body of the 
Arabs. The inhabitants were roused from their 
sleep by sound of drum and trumpet, and the clat- 
tering of horses. The Arabs scoured the streets; 
a horrible massacre was commenced, in which none 
were spared but such of the females as were young 
and beautiful, and fitted to grace the harems of the 
conquerors. The arrival of iMuza put an end to the 
pillage and the slaughter, and he granted favourable 
terms to the survivors. Thus the valiant little city 
of Carmona, after nobly resisting the open assaults 
of the infidels, fell a victim to the treachery of apos- 
tate christians.* 



CHAPTER VIII. 



MUZA MARCHES AGAINST THE CITY OF SEVILLE. 

After the capture of Carmona, Muza descended 
into a noble plain, covered with fields of grain, 
with orchards and gardens, through which glided 
the soft flowing Guadalquivir. On the borders of 
the river stood the ancient city of Seville, surround- 
ed by Roman walls, and defended by its golden tower. 
Understanding from his spies that the city had lost 
the flower of its youth in the battle of the Guadalete, 
Muza anticipated but a faint resistance. A consider- 
able force, however, still remained within the place, 
and what they wanted in numbers they made up in 
resolution. For some days they withstood the as- 
saults of the enemy, and defended their walls with 
great courage. Their want of warlike munitions, 
however, and the superior force and skill of the be- 
sieging army, left them no hope of being able to hold 
out long. There were two youthful cavaliers of un- 
common valour in the city. They assembled the 
warriors and addressed them. " We cannot save the 
city," said they, " but at least we may save our- 
selves, and preserve so many strong arms for the 
service of our country. Let us cut our way through 
the infidel force and gain some secure fortress, from 
whence we may return with augmented numbers for 
the rescue of the city." 

The advice of the young cavaliers was adopted. 
In the dead of the night the garrison assembled to 
the number of about three thousand ; the most part 
mounted on horseback. Suddenly sallying from one 

• Cron. gen. de Espafia por Alonzo el Sabio. P. 3. c. i. 



of the gates, they rushed in a compact body upon the 
camp of the Saracens, which was negligently guarded, 
for the Moslems expected no such act of desperation. 
The camp was a scene of great carnage and con- 
fusion ; many were slain on both sides ; the tw'O 
valiant leaders of the christians fell covered with 
wounds, but the main body succeeded in forcing 
their way through the centre of the army, and in 
making their retreat to Beja in Lusitania. 

Muza was at a loss to know the meaning of this 
desperate sallv. In the morning he perceived the 
gates of the city wide open. A number of ancient 
and venerable men presented themselves at his tent, 
offering submission and imploring mercy, for none 
were left in the phce but the old, the infirm, and the 
miserable. Muza listened to them with compassion, 
and granted their prayer, and the only tribute he ex- 
acted was three measures of wheat and three of 
barley from each house or family. He placed a gar- 
rison of Arabs in the city, and left there a number of 
Jews to form a body of population. Having thus 
secured two important places in Andalusia, he passed 
the boundaries of the province, and advanced with 
great martial pomp into Lusitania. 



CHAPTER IX. 



MUZA BESIEGES THE CITY OF MERIDA. 

The army of Muza was now augmented to about 
eighteen thousand horsemen, but he took with him 
but few foot-soldiers, leaving them to garrison the 
conquered towns. He met with no resistance on his 
entrance into Lusitania. City after city laid its keys 
at his feet, and implored to be received in peaceful 
vassalage. One city alone prepared for vigorous 
defence, the ancient Merida, a place of great e.Ktent, 
uncounted riches, and prodigious strength. A noble 
Goth named Sacarus was the governor ; a man of 
consummate wisdom, patriotism, and valour. Hear- 
ing of the approach of the invaders, he gathered 
within the walls all the people of the surrounding 
country, with their horses and mules, their flocks 
and herds and most precious effects. To insure for 
a long time a supply of bread, he filled the mag- 
azines with grain, and erected windmills on the 
churches. This done, he laid waste the surrounding 
country to a great extent, so that a besieging army 
would have to encamp in a desert. 

When Muza came in sight of this magnificent city, 
he was struck with admiration. He remained for 
some time gazing in silence upon its mighty walls 
and lordly towers, its vast e.vtent, and the stately 
palaces and temples with which it was adorried. 
" Surely," cried he, at length, " all the people of the 
earth have combined their power and skill to embel- 
lish and aggrandize this city. Allah Achbar ! Happy 
will he be who shall have the glory of making such 
a conquest ! " 

Seeing that a place so populous and so strongly 
fortified would be likely to inaintain a long and for- 
midable resistance, he sent messengers to Africa to 
his son Abdalasis, to collect all the forces that could 
be spared from the garrisons of Mauritania, and to 
hasten and reinforce him. 

While Muza was forming his encampment, desert- 
ers from the city brought him word that a chosen 
band intended to sally forth at midnight and surprise 
his camp. The Arab commander immediately took 
measures to receive them with a counter surprise. 
Having formed his plan, and communicated it to his 
principal officers, he ordered that, throughout the 
day, there should be kept up an appearance of negli- 



32(5 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



gent confusion in his encampment. The outposts 
were feebly guarded ; fires were lighted in various 
places, as if preparing for feasting; bursts of music 
and shouts of revelry resounded from different quar- 
ters, and the whole camp seemed to be rioting in 
careless security on the plunder of the land. As 
the night advanced, the fires were gradually extin- 
guished, and silence ensued, as if the soldiery had 
sunk into deep sleep after the carousal. 

In the meantime, bodies of troops had been se- 
cretly and silently marched to reinforce the outposts ; 
and the renegado Magued, with a numerous force, 
had formed an ambuscade in a deep stone quarry by 
which the christians would have to pass. These 
preparations being made, they awaited the approach 
of the enemy in breathless silence. 

About midnight, the chosen force intended for the 
sally assembled, and the command was confided to 
Count Tendero, a Gothic cavalier of tried prowess. 
After having heard a solemn mass and received the 
benediction of the priest, they marched out of the 
gate with all possible silence. They were suffered 
to pass the ambuscade in the quarry without moles- 
tation : as they approached the Moslem camp, every 
thing appeared quiet, for the foot-soldiers were con- 
cealed in slopes and hollows, and every Arab horse- 
man lay in his armour beside his steed. The sen- 
tinels on the outposts waited until the christians 
were close at hand, and then fled in apparent con- 
sternation. 

Count Tendero gave the signal for assault, and 
the christians rushed confidently forward. In an 
instant an uproar of drums, trumpets, and shrill 
war-cries hurst forth from every side. An army 
seemed to spring up from the earth ; squadrons of 
horse came thundering on them in front, while the 
quarry poured forth legions of armed warriors in 
their rear. 

The noise of the terrific conflict that took place 
was heard on the city walls, and answered by shouts 
of e.xultation, for the christians thought it rose from 
the tenor and confusion of the Arab camp. In a 
little while, however, they wer? undeceived by fugi- 
tives from the fight, aghast with terror, and covered 
with wounds. " Hell itself," cried they, "is on the 
side of these infidels ; the earth casts forth warriors 
and steeds to aid them. We have fought, not with 
men, but devils ! " 

The greater part of the chosen troops who had 
sallied, were cut to pieces in that scene of massacre, 
for they had been confounded by the tempest of 
battle which suddenly broke foith around them 
Count Tendeio fought with desperate valour and 
fell covered with wounds. His body was found the 
next morning, lying among the slain, and trans- 
pierced with half a score of lances. The renegado 
Magued cut off his head and tied it to the tail of his 
horse, and repaired with this savage trophy to the 
tent of Muza; but the hostility of the Arab general 
was of a less malignant kind. He ordered that the 
head and body should be placed together upon a 
bier and treated with becoming reverence. 

In the course of the day a train of priests and 
friars came forth from the city to request permis- 
sion to seek for the botly of the count. Muza de- 
livered it to them, with many soldier-like encomiums 
on the valour of that good cavalier. The priests 
covered it with a pall of cloth of gold, and bore it 
back in melancholy procession to the city, where it 
was received with loud lamentations. 

The siege was now pressed with great vigour, and 
repeated assaults were made, but in vain. Muza 
saw at length, that the walls were too high to be 
scaled, and the gates too strong to be burst open 
without the aid of engines, and he desisted from 



the attack until machines for the purpose could be 
constructed. The governor suspected from this 
cessation of active warfare, that the enemy flattered 
themselves to reduce the place by famine; he caused, 
therefore, large baskets of bread to be thrown from 
the wall, and sent a messenger to Muza to inform 
him that if his army should be in want of bread, he 
would supply it, having sufficient corn in his grana- 
ries for a ten years' siege. * 

The citizens, however, did not possess the un- 
daunted spirit of their governor. When they found 
that the Moslems were constructing tremendous 
engines for the destruction of their walls, they lost 
all courage, and, surrounding the governor in a 
clamorous multitude, compelled him to send forth 
persons to capitulate. 

The ambassadors came into the presence of Muza 
with awe, for they expected to find a fierce and 
formidable warrior in one who had filled the land 
with terror ; but to their astonishment, they beheld 
an ancient and venerable man, with white hair, a 
snowy beard, and a pale emaciated countenance. 
He had passed the previous night without sleep, 
and had been all day in the field ; he v\as exhausted, 
therefore, by watchfulness and fatigue, and his gar- 
ments were covered with dust. 

"What a devil of a man is this," murmured the 
ambassadors, one to another, " to undertake such a 
siege when on the verge of the grave. Let us de- 
fend our city the best way we can ; surely we can 
hold out longer than the life of this gray-beard." 

They returned to the city, therefore, scoftnig at an 
invader who seemed fitter to lean on a crutch than 
wield a lance ; and the terms offered by Muza, which 
would otherwise have been thought favourable, were 
scornfully rejected by the inhabitants. A few days 
put an end to this mistaken confidence. Ahdalasis, the 
son of Muza, arrived from Africa at the head of his 
reinforcement ; he brought seven thousand horsemen 
and a host of Barbary archers, and made a glorious 
display as he marched into the camp. The arrival 
of this youthful warrior was hailed with great ac- 
clamations, so much had he won the hearts of the 
soldiery by the frankness, the suavity, and generos- 
ity of his conduct. Immediately after his arrival a 
grand assault was made upon the city, and several 
of the huge battering engines being finished, they 
were wheeled up and began to thunder against the 
walls. 

The unsteady populace were again seized with 
terror, and, surrounding their governor with fresh 
clamours, obliged him to send forth ambassadors a 
second time to treat of a surrender. When admit- 
ted to the presence of Muza, the ambassadors could 
scarcely believe their eyes, or that this was the same 
withered, white-headed old man of whom they had 
lately spoken with scoffing. His hair and beard 
were tinged of a ruddy brown ; his countenance was 
refreshed by repose and flushed with indignation, 
and he appeared a man in the matured vigour of his 
days. The ambassadors were struck with awe : 
" .Surely," whispered they, one to the other, " this 
must be either a devil or a magician, who can thus 
make himself old and young at pleasure." 

Muza received them haughtily. "Hence," said 
he, "and tell your people I grant them the same 
terms I have already proffered, provided the city be 
instantly surrendered ; but. by the head of Mahomet, 
if there be any further delay, not one mother's son 
of ye shall receive mercy at my hands ! " 

The deputies returned into the city pale and dis- 
mayed. "Go forth! go forth!" cried they, "and 
accept whatever terms are offered ; of what avail is 



* Bleda cronica, L. a. c. ii. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



327 



it to fight against men who can renew their youth 
at pleasure. Behold, we left the leader of the infi- 
dels an old and feeble man, and to-day we find him 
youthful and vigorous."* 

The place was, therefore, surrendered forthwith, 
and Muza entered it in triumph. His terms were 
merciful. Those who chose to remain were pro- 
tected in persons, possessions, and religion ; he took 
the property of those only who abandoned the city 
or had fallen in battle ; together with all arms and 
horses, and the treasures and ornaments of the 
churches. y\mong these sacred spoils was found a 
cup made of a single pearl, which a king of Spain, 
in ancient times, had brought from the temple ol 
Jerusalem when it was destroyed by Nebucadonozer. 
This precious relic was sent by Muza to the caliph, 
and was placed in the principal mosque of the city 
of Damascus.t 

Muza knew how to esteem merit even in an ene- 
my. When Sacarus, the governor of Merida. ap- 
peared before him, he lauded him greatly for the 
skill and courage he had displayed in the defence of 
his city ; and, taking off his own scimitar, which was 
of great value, girded it upon him with his own 
hands. "Wear this," said he, "as a poor memo- 
rial of my admiration ; a soldier of such virtue and 
valour is worthy of far higher honours." 

He would have engaged the governor in his serv- 
ice, or have persuaded him to remain in the city, as 
an illustrious vassal of the caliph, but the noble- 
minded Sacarus refused to bend to the yoke of the 
conquerors; nor could he bring himself to reside 
contentedly in his country, when subjected to the 
domination of the infidels. Gathering together all 
those who chose to accompany him into exile, he 
embarked to seek some country where he might live 
in peace and in the free exercise of his religion. 
What shore these ocean pilgrims landed upon has 
never been revealed ; but tradition vaguely gives us 
to believe that it was some unknown island far in 
the bosom of the Atlantic.}; 



CHAPTER X. 



EXPEDITION OF ABDALASIS AGAINST SEVILLE 
AND THE "LAND OF TADMIR." 

After the capture of Merida, Muza gave a grand 
banquet to his captains and distinguished warriors, 
in that magnificent city. At this martial feast were 
many Arab cavaliers who had been present in vari- 
ous battles, and they vied with each other in re- 
counting the daring enterprises in which tliey had 
been engaged, and the splendid triumphs they had 
witnessed. While they talked with ardour and ex- 
ultation, Abdalasis, the son of Muza, alone kept si- 
lence, and sat with a dejected countenance. At 
length, when there was a pause, he turned to his 
father and addressed him with modest earnestness. 
"My lord and father," said he, "I blush to hear 
your warriors recount the toils and dangers they 
have passed, while I have done nothing to entitle me 
to then- companionship. When I return to Hgypt 
and present myself before the caliph, he will ask me 
of my services in Spain ; what battle 1 have gained ; 
what town or castle I have taken. How shall I an- 
swer him ? If you love me, then, as your son, give 



* Conde, p. I. c. 13. Ambrosio de Morales. N. E. — In the 
chronicle of Spain, composed by order of Alonzo the Wise, this 
anecdote is given as having happened at the siege of Seville. 

t Marmol. descrip. de Africa, T. i. L. 2. 

X Abulcasim, Perdidn de Espafia, L. i. c. 13. 



me a command, intrust to me an enterprise, and 
let me acquire a name worthy to be mentioned 
among men." 

The eyes of Muza kindled with joy at finding Ab- 
dalasis thus ambitious of renown in arms. " Allah 
be praised ! " exclaimed he, " the heart of my son 
is in the right place. It is becoming in youth to look 
upward and be aspiring. Thy desire, Abdalasis, 
shall be gratified." 

An opportunity at that very time presented itself 
to prove the prowess and discretion of the youth. 
During the siege of Merida, the christian troops 
which had taken refuge at Beja had reinforced them- 
selves from Peilafior, and suddenly returning, had 
presented themselves before the gates of the city of 
Seville.* Certain of the christian inhabitants threw 
open the gates and admitted them. The troops 
rushed to the alcazar, took it by surprise, and put 
many of the Moslem garrison to the sword ; the 
residue made their escape, and fled to the Arab 
camp before Merida, leaving Seville in the hands of 
the christians. 

The veteran Muza, now that the siege of Merida 
was at an end, was meditating the recapture and 
punishment of Seville at the very time when Abda- 
lasis addressed him. " Behold, my son," exclaimed 
he, "an enterprise worthy of thy ambition. Take 
with thee all the troops thou hast brought from Af- 
rica ; reduce the city of Seville again to subjection, 
and plant thy standard upon its alcazar. But stop 
not there : carry thy conquering sword into the 
southern parts of Spain ; thou wilt find there a har- 
vest of glory yet to be reaped." 

Abdalasis lost no time in departing upon this 
enterprise. He took with him Count Julian, Magued 
el Rumi, and the Bishop Oppas, that he might bene- 
fit by their knowledge of the country. When he 
came in sight of the fair city of Seville, seated like a 
queen in the midst of its golden plain, with the 
Guadalquivir flowing beneath its walls, he gazed up- 
on it with the admiration of a lover, and lamented in 
his soul that he had to visit it as an avenger. His 
troops, however, regarded it with wrathful eyes, 
thmking only of its rebellion and of the massacre of 
their countrymen in the alcazar. 

The principal people of the city had taken no part 
in this gallant but fruitless insurrection ; and now, 
when they beheld the army of Abdalasis encamped 
upon the banks of the Guadalquivir, would fain have 
gone forth to make explanations, and intercede for 
mercy. The populace, however, forbade any one to 
leave the city, and, barring the gates, prepared to 
defend themselves to the last. 

The place was attacked with resistless fury. The 
gates were soon burst open ; the Moslems rushed in, 
panting for revenge. They confined not their 
slaughter to the soldiery in the alcazar, but roamed 
through every street, confoundmg the innocent with 
the guilty in one bloody massacre, and it was with 
the utmost difficulty that Abdalasis could at length 
succeed in staying their sanguinary career.! 

The son of Muza proved himself as mild in con- 
quest as he had been intrepid in assault. The 
moderation and benignity of his conduct soothed the 
terrors of the vanquished, and his wise precautions 
restored tranquillity. Having made proper regula- 
tions for the protection of the inhabitants, he left a 
strong garrison in the place to prevent any future 
insurrection, and then departed on the further prose- 
cution of his enterprise. 

Wherever he went his arms were victorious ; and 
his victories were always characterised by the same 



♦ Espinosa. Antq. y Grand, de Seville. L. 2. c. 3. 
+ Conde, P. I, c. 14. 



328 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



magnanimity. At length he arrived on the confines 
of that beautiful region comprising lofty and pre- 
cipitous mountains and rich and delicious plains, 
afterwards known by the name of the kingdom of 
Murcia. All this part of the country was defended 
by the veteran Theodomir, who, by skilful manage- 
ment, had saved a remnant of his forces after the 
defeat on the banks ot the Guadalete. 

Theodomir was a stanch warrior, but a wary and 
prudent man. He had experienced the folly of op- 
posing the Arabs in open field, where their cavalry 
and armour gave them such superiority ; on their 
approach, therefore, he assembled all his people 
capable of bearing arms, and took possession of the 
cliffs and mountain passes. "Here," said he, "a 
simple goatherd, who can hurl down rocks and 
stones, is as good as a warrior, armed in proof." In 
this way he checked and harassed the Moslem army 
in all its movements ; showering down missiles upon 
it from overhanging precipices, and waylaying it in 
narrow and rugged defiles, where a few raw troops 
could make stand against a host. 

Theodomir was in a fair way to baffle his foes and 
oblige them to withdraw from his territories ; un- 
fortunately, however, the wary veteran had two sons 
with him, young men of hot and heady valour, who 
considered all this prudence of their father as savour- 
ing of cowardice, and who were anxious to try their 
prowess in the open field. " What glory," said they, 
" is to be gained by destroying an enemy in this 
way, from the covert of rocks and thickets ? " 

" You talk like young men," replied the veteran. 
" GI017 is a prize one may fight for abroad, but 
safety is the object when the enemy is at the door." 

One day, however, the young men succeeded in 
drawing down their father into the plain. Abdalasis 
immediately seized on the opportunity and threw 
himself between tlie Goths and their mountain fast- 
nesses. Theodomir saw too late the danger into 
which he was betrayed. " What can our raw troops 
do," said he, "against those squadrons of horse 
that move like castles ? Let us make a rapid re- 
treat to Orihuela and defend ourselves from behind 
its walls." 

"Father," said the eldest son, "it is too late to 
retreat ; remain here with the reserve while my 
brother and 1 advance. Fear nothing ; am not 1 
your son, and would I not die to defend you .'' " 

" In truth," replied the veteran, " I have my doubts 
whether you are my son. But if I remain here, and 
you should all be killed, where then would be my 
protection ? Come," added he, turning to the second 
son, " I trust that thou art virtually my son ; let us 
hasten to retreat before it is too late." 

"Father," replied the youngest, " I have not a 
doubt that I am honestly and thoroughly your son, 
and as such 1 honour you ; but I owe duty likewise 
to my mother, and when I sallied to the war she 
gave me her blessing as long as I should act with 
valour, but her curse should I prove craven and fly 
the field. Fear nothing, father; 1 will defend you 
while living, and even after you are dead. You 
shall never fail of an honourable sepulture among 
your kindred." 

"A pestilence on ye both," cried Theodomir, 
" for a brace of misbegotten madmen ! what care I, 
think ye, where ye lay my body when I am dead. 
One day's existence in a hovel is worth an age of in- 
terment in a marble sepulchre. Come, my friends," 
said he, turning to his principal cavaliers, " let us 
leave these hot-headed striplings and make our 
retreat ; if we tarry any longer the enemy will be 
upon us." 

Upon this the cavaliers and proud hidalgoes drew 
up scornfully and tossed their heads : " What do 



you see in us," said they, " that you think we will 
show our backs to the enemy ? Forward ! was ever 
the good old Gothic watch-word, and with that will 
we live and die ! " 

While time was lost in these disputes, the Moslem 
army kept advancing, until retreat was no longer 
practicable. The battle was tumultuous and bloody. 
Theodomir fought like a lion, but it was all in vain : 
he saw his two sons cut down and the greater part 
of their rash companions, while his raw mountain 
troops fled in all directions. 

Seeing there was no longer any hope, he seized the 
bridle of a favourite page who was near him, and 
who was about spurring for the inountains. " Part 
not from me," said he, " but do thou at least attend 
to my counsel, my son ; and, of a truth, I believe 
thou art my son ; for thou art the offspring of one of 
my handmaids who was kind unto me." And indeed 
the youth marvellously resembled him. Turning 
then the reins of his own steed, and giving him the 
spur, he fled amain from the field, followed by the 
page ; nor did he stop until he arrived within the 
walls of Orihuela. 

Ordering the gates to be barred and bolted, he 
prepared to receive the enemy. There were but few 
men in the city capable of bearing arms, most of the 
youth having fallen in the field. He caused the 
women, therefore, to clothe themselves in male at- 
tire, to put on hats and helmets, to take long reeds 
in their hands instead of lances, and to cross their 
hair upon their chins in semblance of beards. With 
these troops he lined the walls and towers. 

It was about the hour of twilight that Abdalasis 
approached with his army, but he paused when he 
saw the walls so numerously garrisoned. Then 
Theodomir took a flag of truce in his hand, and put 
a herald's tabard on the page, and they two sallied 
lorth to capitulate, and were graciously received by 
Abdalasis. 

"I come," said Theodomir, "on the behalf of the 
commander of this city to treat for terms worthy of 
your magnanimity and of his dignity. You perceive 
that the city is capable of withstanding a long siege, 
but he is desirous of sparing the lives of his soldiers. 
Promise that the inhabitants shall be at liberty to 
depart unmolested with their property, and the city 
will be delivered up to you to-morrow morning with- 
out a blow ; otherwise we are prepared to fight until 
not a man be left." 

Abdalasis was well pleased to get so powerful a 
place upon such easy terms, but stipulated that the 
garrison should lay down their arms. To this Theo- 
domir readily assented, with the exception, however, 
of the governor and his retinue, which was granted 
out of consideration for his dignity. The articles of 
capitulation were then drawn out, and, when Abda- 
lasis had affixed his name and seal, Theodomir took 
the pen and wrote his signature. " Behold in me," 
said he, " the governor of the city ! " 

Abdalasis was pleased with the hardihood of the 
commander of the place in thus venturing personally 
into his power, and entertained the veteran with 
still greater honour. When Theodomir returned to the 
city, he made known the capitulation, and charged 
the inhabitants to pack up their effects during the 
night and be ready to sally forth in the morning. 

At the dawn of day the gates were thrown open, 
and Abdalasis looked to see a great force issuing 
forth, but, to his surprise, beheld merely Theodomir 
and his page in battered armour, followed by a mul- 
titude of old men, women, and children. 

Abdalasis waited until the whole had come forth, 
then turning to Theodomir, "Where," cried he, 
" are the soldiers whom I saw last evening lining 
the walls and towers .•' " 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



329 



" Soldiers have I none," replied the veteran. " As 
to my garrison, behold it before you. With these 
women did I man my walls, and this, my page, is 
my herald, guard, and retinue." 

Upon this the Bishop Oppas and Count Julian 
exclaimed that the capitulation was a base fraud 
and ought not to be complied with ; but Abdalasis 
relished the stratagem of the old soldier, and order- 
ed that the stipulations of the treaty should be faith- 
fully performed. Nay, so high an opinion did he 
conceive of the subtle wisdom of this commander, 
that he permitted him to remain in authority over 
the surrounding country on his acknowledging 
allegiance and engaging to pay tribute to the caliph ; 
and all that part of Spain, comprising the beautiful 
provinces of Murcia and Valencia, was long after 
known by the Arabic name of its defender, and is 
still recorded in Arabian chronicles as " The land 
of Tadmir."* 

Having succeeded in subduing this rich and fruit- 
ful region, and having gained great renown for his 
generosity as well as valour, Abdalasis returned with 
the chief part of his army to the city of Seville. 



CHAPTER XI. 



MUZA ARRIVES AT TOLEDO. — INTERVIEW BE- 
TWEEN HIM AND TARIC. 

When Muza ben Nozier had sent his son Ab- 
dalasis to subdue Seville, he departed for Toledo to 
call Taric to account for his disobedience to his or- 
ders ; for, amidst all his own successes, the prosper- 
ous career of that commander preyed upon his mind. 
What can content the jealous and ambitious heart } 
As Muza passed through the land, towns and cities 
submitted to him without resistance ; he was lost in 
wonder at the riches of the country and the noble 
monuments of art with which it was adorned ; 
when he beheld the bridges, constructed in ancient 
times by the Romans, they seemed to him the work, 
not of men, but of genii. Yet all these admirable 
objects only made hmi repine the more that he had 
not had the exclusive glory of invading and subduing 
the land ; and exasperated him the more against 
Taric, for having apparently endeavoured to monop- 
olize the conquest. 

Taric heard of his approach, and came forth to 
meet him at Talavera, accompanied by many of the 
most distinguished companions of his victories, and 
with a train of horses and mules laden with spoils, 
with which he trusted to propitiate the favour of his 
commander. Their meeting took place on the banks 
of the rapid river Tietar, which rises in the mount- 
ains of Placencia and throws itself into the Tagus. 
Muza, in former days, while Taric had acted as his 
subordinate and indefatigable officer, had cherished 
and considered him as a second self; but now that he 
had started up to be a rival, he could not conceal 
his jealousy. When the veteran came into his pres- 
ence, he regarded him for a moment with a stern 
and indignant aspect. " Why hast thou disobeyed 
my orders ? " sai<l he. " I commanded thee to await 
my arrival with reinforcements, but thou hast rashly 
overrun the country, endangering the loss of our 
armies and tlie ruin of our cause." 

" I have acted," replied Taric, " in such manner as 
I thought would best serve the cause of Islam, and 
in so doing 1 thought to fulfil the wishes of Muza. 
Whatever I have done has been as your servant ; be- 



hold your share, as commander-in-chief, of the Sf)oils 
which I have collected." So saying, he produced an 
immense treasure in silver and gold and costly stuffs, 
and precious stones, and spread it before Muza. 

The anger of the Arab commander was still more 
kindled at the sight of this booty, for it proved how 
splendid had been the victories of Taric ; but he re- 
strained his wrath for the present, and they proceed- 
ed together in moody silence to Toledo. When he 
entered this royal city, however, and ascended to 
the ancient palace of the Gothic kings, and reflected 
that all this had been a scene of triumph to his rival, 
he could no longer repress his indignation. He de- 
manded of Taric a strict account of all the riches he 
had gathered in Spain, even of the presents he had 
reserved for the caliph, and, above all, he made him 
yield up his favourite trophy, the talismanic table ot 
Solomon. When all this was done, he again up- 
braided him bitterly with his disobedience of orders, 
and with the rashness of his conduct. " What blind 
confidence in fortune thou hast shown," said he, 
" in overrunning such a country and assailing such 
powerful cities with thy scanty force ! What 
madness, to venture every thing upon a desperate 
chance, when thou knewest I was coming with a 
force to make the victory secure. All thy success has 
been owing to mere luck, not to judgment nor gener- 
alship." 

He then bestowed high praises upon the other 
chieftains for their services in the cause of Islam, 
but they answered not a word, and their counte- 
nances were gloomy and discontented ; for they felt 
the injustice done to their favourite leader. As to 
Taric, though his eye burned like fire, he kept his 
passion within bounds. " I have done the best I 
could to serve God and the caliph," said he emphat- 
ically ; " my conscience acquits me, and I trust my 
sovereign will do the same." 

" Perhaps he may," replied Muza, bitterly, " but, 
in the meantime, I cannot confide his interests to a 
desperado who is heedless of orders and throws 
every thmg at hazard. Such a general is unworthy 
to be intrusted with the fate of armies." 

So saying, he divested Taric of his command, and 
gave it to Magued the renegade. The gaunt Taric 
still maintained an air of stern composure. His only 
words were, " The caliph will do me justice ! " Muza 
was so transported with passion at this laconic de- 
fiance that he ordered him to be thrown into prison, 
and even threatened his lile. 

Upon this. JNIagued el Rumi, though he had risen 
by the disgrace of Taric, had the generosity to speak 
out warmly in his favour. " Consider," said he to 
Muza, " what may be the consequences of this se- 
verity. Taric has many friends in the army ; his 
actions, too, have been signal and illustrious, and 
entitle him to the highest honours and rewards, in- 
stead of disgrace and imprisonment." 

The anger of Muza, however, was not to be ap- 
peased ; and he trusted to justify his measures by 
despatching missives to the caliph, complaining of 
the insubordination of Taric, and his rash and head- 
long conduct. The result proved the wisdom of the 
caution given by Mag^ied. In the course of a little 
while Muza received a humiliating letter from the 
caliph, ordering him to restore Taric to the com- 
mand of the soldiers " whom he had so gloriously 
conducted ;" and not to render useless " one of the 
best swords in Islam ! " * 

It is thus the envious man brings humiliation and 
reproach upon himself, in endeavouring to degrade a 
meritorious rival. When the tidings came ot the 
justice rendered by the caliph to the merits of the 



* Conde. P. I. Cronica del moro Rasis, Cron. gen. Espafla por 
Alonzo el Sabjo. P. 3. c. i. 



* Conde. Part i. c. 15. 



330 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



veteran, there was general joy throughout the army, 
and Muza read in the smiHng countenances of every 
one around him a severe censure upon his conduct. 
He concealed, however, his deep humiliation, and af- 
fected to obey the orders of his sovereign with great 
alacrity ; he released Taric from prison, feasted him 
at his own table, and then publicly replaced him at 
the head of his troops. The army received its fa- 
vourite veteran with shouts of joy, and celebrated 
with rejoicings the reconciliation of the command- 
ers ; but the shouts of the soldiery were abhorrent 
to the ears of Muza. 



CHAPTER XII. 



MUZA PROSECUTES THE SCHEME OF CONQUEST. 
— SIEGE OF SARAGOSSA.— COMPLETE SUBJUGA- 
TION OF SPAIN. 

The dissensions, which for a time had distracted 
the conquering army, being appeased, and the Ara- 
bian generals being apparently once more reconciled, 
Muza, as commander-in-chief, proceeded to complete 
the enterprise by subjugating the northern parts of 
Spain. The same expeditious mode of conquest that 
had been sagaciously adopted by Taric, was still 
pursued. The troops were lightly armed, and freed 
from every superfluous incumbrance. Each horse- 
man, beside his arms, carried a small sack of provis- 
ions, a copper vessel in which to cook them, and 
a skin which served him for surcoat and for bed. 
The infantiy carried nothing but their arms. To 
each regiment or squadron was allowed a limited 
number of sumpter mules and attendants; barely 
enough to carry their necessary baggage and sup- 
plies'; nothing was permitted that could needlessly 
diminish the number of fighting men, delay their 
rapid movements, or consume their provisions. Strict 
orders were again issued, prohibiting, on pain of 
death, all plunder excepting the camp of an enemy, 
or cities given up to pillage.* 

The armies now took their several lines of march. 
That under Taric departed towards the northeast ; 
beating up the country towards the source of the 
Tagus; traversing the chain of Iberian or Arrago- 
nian mountains, and pouring down into the plains 
and valleys watered by the Ebro. It was wonderful 
to see, in so brief a space of time, such a vast and 
difficult counti7 penetrated and subdued ; and the 
invading army, like an inundating flood, pouring its 
streams into the most remote recesses. 

While Taric was thus sweeping the country' to the 
northeast, Muza departed in an opposite direction ; 
yet purposing to meet him, and to join their forces in 
the north. Bending his course westwardly, he made 
a circuit behind the mountains, and then, advancing 
into the open country, displayed his banners before 
Salamanca, which surrendered without resistance. 
From hence he continued on towards Astorga, re- 
ceiving the terrified submission of the land ; then 
turning up the valley of the Douro, he ascended the 
course of that famous river towards the east ; crossed 
the Sierra de Moncayo, and, arriving on the banks 
of the Ebro, marched down along its stream, until 
he approached the strong city of Saragossa, the cita- 
del of all that part of Spain. In this place had taken 
refuge many of the most valiant of the Gothic war- 
riors ; the remnants of armies, and fugitives from 
conquered cities. It was one of the last rallying 
points of the land. When Muza arrived, Taric had 
already been for some time before the place, laying 



close siege ; the inhabitants were pressed by famine, 
and had suffered great losses in repeated combats ; 
but there was a spirit and obstinacy in their resist- 
ance surpassing any thing that had yet been witness- 
ed by the invaders. 

Muza now took command of the siege, and ordered 
a general assault upon the walls. The Moslems 
planted .their scaling ladders, and mounted with 
their accustomed intrepidity, but were vigorously 
resisted ; nor could all their efforts obtain them a 
footing upon the battlements. While they were thus 
assailing the walls. Count Julian ordered a heap of 
combustibles to be placed against one of the gates, 
and set on fire. The inhabitants attempted in vain 
from the barbican to extinguish the flames. They 
burnt so fiercely, that in a little while the gate fell 
from the hinges. Count Julian galloped into the city 
mounted upon a powerful charger, himself and his 
steed all covered with mail He was followed by 
three hundred of his partisans, and supported by 
Magued, the renegade, with a troop of horse. 

The inhabitants disputed every street and_ public 
square ; they made barriers of dead bodies, fighting 
behind these ramparts of their slaughtered country- 
men. Every window and roof was filled with com- 
batants ; the very women and children joined in the 
desperate fight, throwing down stones and missiles 
of all kinds, and scalding water upon the enemy. 

The battle raged until the hour of vespers, when 
the principal inhabitants held a pariey, and capitula- 
ted for surrender. Muza had been incensed at their 
obstinate resistance, which had cost the lives of so 
many of his soldiers ; he knew, also, that in the city 
were collected the riches of many of the towns ot 
eastern Spain. He demanded, therefore, beside the 
usual terms, a heavy sum to be paid down by the 
citizens, called the contribution of blood ; as by this 
they redeemed themselves from the edge of the 
sword. The people were obliged to comply. They 
collected all the jewels of their richest families, and 
all the ornaments of their temples, and laid them at 
the feet of Muza ; and placed in his power many of 
their noblest youths as hostages. A strong garrison 
was then appointed, and thus the fierce city of Sara- 
gossa was subdued to the yoke of the conqueror. 

The Arab generals pursued their conquests even 
to the foot of the Pyrenees ; Taric then descended 
along the course of the Ebro, and continued along 
the Mediterranean coast ; subduing the famous city 
of Valencia, with its rich and beautiful domains, and 
carrying the success of his arms even to Denia. 

Muza undertook with his host a wider range of 
conquest. He overcame the cities of Barcelona, 
Gerona, and others that lay on the skirts of the east- 
ern mountains ; then crossing into the land of the 
Franks, he captured the city of Narbonne ; in a tem- 
ple of which he found seven equestrian images of 
silver, which he brought off as trophies of his vic- 
tory * Returning into Spain, he scoured lis north- 
ern regions along Gallicia and the Asturias ; passed 
triumphantly through Lusitania, and arrived once 
more in Andalusia, covered with laurels and enriched 
with immense spoils. 

Thus was completed the subjugation of unhappy 
Spain. All its cities and fortresses, and strong-holds, 
were in the hands of the Saracens, excepting some of 
the wild mountain tracts that bordered the Atlantic, 
and extended towards the north. Here, then, the story 
of the conquest might conclude, but that the indefat- 
igable chronicler. Fray Antonio Agapida, goes on 
to record the fate of those persons who were most 
renowned in the enterprise. We shall follow his 
steps, and avail ourselves of his information, labori- 



' Conde, P. i. c. 13. 



* Conde. P. i. c. 16. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



331 



ously collected from various sources ; and, truly, the 
stor)' of each of the actors in this great historical 
drama, bears with it its striking moral, and is full of 
admonition and instruction. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



FEUD BETWEEN THE ARAB GENERALS.— THEY ARE 
SUMMONED TO APPEAR BEFORE THE CALIPH 
AT DAMASCUS. — RECEPTION OF TARIC. 

The heart of Miiza ben Nozierwas now lifted up, 
for he considered his glory complete. He held a 
sway that might have gratified the ambition of the 
proudest sovereign, for all western Africa and the 
newly acquired peninsula of Spain were obedient to his 
rule ; and he was renowned throughout all the lands 
of Islam as the great conqueror of the west. But 
sudden humiliation awaited him in the very moment 
of his highest triumph. 

Notwithstanding the outward reconciliation of 
Muza and Taric, a deep and implacable hostility con- 
tinued to exist between them ; and each had busy 
partisans who distracted the armies by their feuds. 
Letters were incessantly despatched to Damascus by 
either party, exalting the merits of their own leader and 
decrying his rival. Taric was represented as rash, 
arbitrary, and prodigal, and as injuring the discipline 
of the army, by sometimes treating it with extreme 
rigour, and at other times giving way to licentiousness 
and profusion. Muza was lauded as prudent, saga- 
cious, dignified, and systematic in his dealings. The 
friends of Taric, on the other hand, represented him 
as brave, generous, and high-minded ; scrupulous in 
reserving to his sovereign his rightful share ot the 
spoils, but distributing the rest bounteously among 
his soldiers, and thus increasing their alacrity in the 
service. " Muza, on the contrarv'." said they, " is 
grasping and insatiable ; he levies intolerable contri- 
butions and collects immense treasure, but sweeps 
it all into his own coffers." 

The caliph was at length wearied out by these 
complaints, and feared that the safety of the cause 
might be endangered by the dissensions of the rival 
generals. He sent letters, therefore, ordering them 
to leave suitable persons in charge of their several 
commands, and appear, forthwith, before him at 
Damascus. 

Such was the greeting from his sovereign that 
awaited Muza on his return from the conquest of 
northern Spain. It was a grievous blow to a man 
of his pride and ambition ; but he prepared instantly 
to obey. He returned to Cordova, collecting by the 
way all the treasures he had deposited in various 
places. At that city he called a meeting of his princi- 
pal officers, and of the leaders of the faction of 
apostate christians, and made them all do homage 
to his son Abdalasis, as emir or governor of Spain. 
He gave this favourite son much sage advice for the 
regulation of his conduct, and left with him his 
nephew, Ayub, a man greatly honoured by the Mos- 
lems for his wisdom and discretion ; exhorting Ab- 
dalasis to consult him on all occasions and consider 
him as his bosom counsellor. He made a parting 
address to his adherents, full of cheerful confidence ; 
assuring them that he would soon return, loaded 
with new favours and honours by his sovereign, 
and enabled to reward them all for their faithful 
services. 

When Muza sallied forth from Cordova, to repair 
to Damascus, his cavalgada appeared like the sump- 
tuous pageant of some oriental potentate ; for he had 
numerous guards and attendants splendidly armed 
and arrayed, together with four hundred hostages, 



who were youthful cavaliers of the noblest families 
of the Goths, and a great number of captives of 
both sexes, chosen for their beauty, and intended as, 
presents for the caliph. Then there was a vast train 
of beasts of burden, laden with the plunder of Spain ; 
for he took with him all the wealth he had collected 
in his conquests ; and all the share that had been 
set apart for his sovereign. With this display of 
trophies and spoils, showing the magnificence of the 
land he had conquered, he looked with confidence 
to silence the calumnies of his foes. 

As he traversed the valley of the Guadalquivir he 
often turned and looked back wistfully upon Cor- 
dova ; and, at the distance of a league, when about 
to lose sight of it, he checked his steed upon the 
summit of a hill, and gazed for a long time upon its 
palaces and towers. " O Cordova ! " exclaimed he, 
" great and glorious art thou among cities, and 
abundant in all delight^. With grief and sorrow do 
I part from thee, for sure I am it would give me 
length of days to abide within thy pleasant walls ! " 
When he had uttered these words, say the Arabian 
chronicles, he resumed his wayfaring; but his eyes 
were bent upon the ground, and frequent sighs be- 
spoke the heaviness of his heart. 

Embarking at Cadiz he passed over to Africa 
with all his people and effects, to regulate his gov- 
ernment in that countr)-. He divided the command 
between his sons, Abdelola and Meruan, leaving the 
former in Tangier, and the latter in Cairvan. Thus 
having secured, as he thought, the power and pros- 
perity of his family, by placing all his sons as his 
lieutenants in the country he had conquered, he 
departed for Syria, bearing with him the sumptuous 
spoils of the west. 

While Muza was thus disposing of his commands, 
and moving cumbrously under the weight of wealth, 
the veteran Taric was more speedy and alert in 
obeying the summons of the caliph. He knew the 
importance, where complaints were to be heard, of 
being first in presence of the judge ; beside, he was 
ever ready to march at a moment's warning, and 
had nothing to impede him in his movements. The 
spoils he had made in his conquests had either been 
shared among his soldiers, or yielded up to Muza, or 
squandered away with open-handed profusion. He 
appeared in Syria with a small train of war-worn 
followers, and had no other trophies to show than 
his battered armour, and a body seamed with scars. 
He was received, however, with rapture by the mul- 
titude, who crowded to behold one of those conquer- 
ors of the west, whose wonderful achievements were 
the theme of every tongue. They were charmed 
with his gaunt and martial air, his hard sunburnt 
features, and his scathed eye. " All hail," cried they, 
" to the sword of Islam, the terror of the unbelievers ! 
Behold the true model of a warrior, who despises gain 
and seeks for nought but glory ! " 

Taric was graciously received by the caliph, who 
asked tidings of his victories. He gave a soldier- 
like account of his actions, frank and full, without 
any feigned modesty, yet without vain-glory. " Com- 
mander of the faithful," said he, " I bring thee no 
silver, nor gold, nor precious stones, nor captives, 
for what spoils I did not share with my soldiers I 
gave up to Muza as my commander. How I have 
conducted myself the honourable warriors of thy 
host will tell thee ; nay, let our enemies, the chris- 
tians, be asked if I have ever shown myself cowardly 
or cruel or rapacious." 

"What kind of people are these christians.'" de- 
manded the caliph. 

" The Spaniards," replied Taric, " are lions in 
their castles, eagles in their saddles, but mere women 
when on foot. When vanquished they escape like 



332 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



goats to the mountains, for they need not see the 
ground they tread on." 

"And tell me of the Moors of Barbary. 

"They are like Arabs in the fierceness and dex- 
terity of their attacl<s, and m their knowledge of the 
stratagems of war; they resemble them, too, m 
feature, in fortitude, and hospitality; but they are 
the most perfidious people upon earth, and never 
regard promise or plighted faith." 

•' And the people of Afranc ; what sayest thou of 

them.' " • , ■ u * 

"They arc infinite in number, rapid m the onset, 
fierce in battle, but confused and headlong in flight." 

"And how fared it with thee among these peo- 
ple ? Did ihey sometimes vanquish thee ? " 

" Never, by Allah ! " cried Taric, with honest 
warmth, " never did a banner of mine fly the field. 
Though the enemy were two to one, my Moslems 
never shunned the combat!". 

The caliph was well pleased with the martial 
bluntness of the veteran, and showed him great 
honour ; and wherever Taric appeared he was the 
idol of the populace. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MUZA ARRIVES AT DAMASCUS.— HIS INTERVIEW 
WITH THE CALIPH.— THE TABLE OF SOLOMON. 
— A RIGOROUS SENTENCE. 

Shortly after the arrival of Taric el Tuerto at 
Damascus, the caliph fell dangerously ill, insomuch 
that his life was despaired of. During his illness, 
tidings were brought that Muza ben Nozier had en- 
tered Syria with a vast cavalcade, bearing all the 
riches and trophies gained in the western conquests. 
Now Suleiman ben Abdelmelec, brother to the 
caliph was successor to the throne, and he saw 
that his brother had not long to live, and wished to 
grace the commencement of his reign by this triumph- 
ant display of the spoils of Christendom ; he sent 
messengers, therefore, to Muza, saying, " The caliph 
is ill and cannot receive thee at present ; I pray thee 
tarry on the road until his recovery." Muza, how- 
ever, paid no attention to the messages of Suleiman, 
but rather hastened his march to arrive before the 
death of the caliph. And Suleiman treasured up his 
conduct in his heart. , , . i. -^u 

Muza entered the city in a kind of triumph, with 
a long train of horses and mules and camels laden 
with tl-easure, and with the four hundred sons of Goth- 
ic nobles as hostages, each decorated with a diadem 
and a ''irdle of gold ; and with one hundred christian 
damsels, whose beauty dazzled all beholders. As 
he passed through the streets he ordered purses ot 
<Told to be thrown among the populace, who rent 
The air with acclamations. " Behold," cried they 
" the veritable conqueror of the unbelievers ! Behold 
the true model of a conqueror, who brings home 
wealth to his country ! " And they heaped bene- 
dictions on the head of Muza. 

The caliph Waled Almanzor rose from his couch 
of illness to receive the emir ; who, when he repaired 
to the palace, filled one of its great courts with 
treasures of all kinds ; the halls, too, were thronged 
with the youthful hostages, magnificently attired, and 
with christian damsels, lovely as the houries ol 
paradise. When the caliph demanded an accoiint 
of the conquest of Spain, he gave it with great elo- 
quence ; but, in describing the various victories, he 
made no mention of the name ol Taric, but spoke 
as if every thing had been eff'ected by himself. He 
then presented the spoils of the chrisiians as if they 



had been all taken by his own hands ; and when he 
delivered to the caliph the miraculous table ot Solo- 
mon he dwelt with animation on the virtues ot that 
inestimable talisman. 

Upon this, Taric, who was present, could no 
lonj^er hold his peace. " Commander of the faith- 
ful '" said he, " examine this precious table, if any 
part be wanting." The caliph examined the table, 
which was composed of a single emerald, and he 
found that one foot was supplied by a loot of gold. 
The cahph turned to Muza and said, "Where is the 
other foot of the table ? " Muza answered, " I know 
not ; one foot was wanting when it came into my 
hands." Upon this, Taric drew from beneath his 
robe a foot of emerald of like workmanship to the 
others, and fitting exactly to the table. " Behold, U 
commander of the faithful ! " cried he, "a proof ol 
the real finder of the table ; and so is it with tne 
greater part of the spoils exhibited by Muza as 
trophies of his achievements. It was I who gamed 
them, and who captured the cities in which they were 
found. If you want proof, demand of these chris- 
tian cavaliers here present, most of whom 1 cap- 
tured ; demand of those Moslem warriors who aided 
me in my battles." , > .* t 

Muza was confounded for a moment, but attempt- 
ed to vindicate himself. " I spake," said he, "as the 
chief of your armies, under whose orders and ban- 
ners this conquest was achieved. The actions ot 
the soldier are the actions ot the commander. In a 
great victory it is not supposed that the chiet of the 
army takes all the captives, or kills all the slain, or 
gathers all the booty, though all are enumerated 
in the records of his triumph." The caliph, how- 
ever, was wroth, and heeded not his words. " \ou 
have vaunted your own deserts,' said he " and have 
forgotten the deserts of others ; nay, you have sought 
to debase another who has loyally served his sover- 
eign ■ the reward of your envy and covetousness be 
upon your own head ! " So saying, he bestowed a 
great part of the spoils upon Taric and the other 
chiefs, but gave nothing to Muza; and the veteran 
retired amidst the sneers and murmurs ot those 

present. , ,. , j 

In a few days the Caliph Waled died, and was 
succeeded by his brother Suleiman. The new sover- 
eign cherished deep resentment against Muza for 
havin'r presented himself at court contrary to his 
commaml, and he listened readily to the calumnies 
of his enemies ; for Muza had been too illustrious in 
his deeds not to have many enemies. All now took 
courage when they found he was out of lavour, and 
they heaped slanders on his head; charging him 
with embezzling much of the share ot the booty be- 
longing to the sovereign. The new caliph lent a 
willing ear to the accusation, and commanded him 
to render up all that he had pillaged Irom Spain 
The loss of his riches might have been borne with 
fortitude by Muza, but the stigma upon his fame 
filled his heart with bitterness. " 1 have been a 
faithful servant to the throne from my youth up- 
wards," said he, " and now am I degraded m my old 
ao-e I care not for wealth, i care not for life, but 
lei me not be deprived of that honour which God 
has bestowed upon me ! " , , , ■ 

The caliph was still more exasperated at his re- 
pining, and stripped him of his commands; conhs- 
cated his effects ; fined him two hundred thousand 
pesants of gold, and ordered that he should be 
scourged and exposed to the noontide sun, and after- 
wards thrown into prison.* The populace, also, re- 
viled and scoff'ed at him in his misery, and as they 
beheld him led forth to the public gaze, and tainUng 



* Conde, P. I. c. 17. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



333 



in the sun, they pointed at him with derision and 
exclaimed — " Behold the envious man and the im- 
postor ; this is he who pretended to have conquered 
the land of the unbelievers ! " 



CHAPTER XV. 



CONDUCT OF ABDALASIS AS EMIR OF SPAIN. 

While these events were happening in Syria, the 
youthful Abdalasis, the son of Muza, remained as 
emir or governor of Spain. He was of a generous 
and benignant disposition, but he was open and con- 
fiding, and easily led away by the opinions of those 
he loved. Fortunately his father had left with him, 
as a bosom counsellor, the discreet Ayub, the neph- 
ew of Muza ; aided by his advice, he for some time 
administered the public affairs prudently and pros- 
perously. 

Not long after the departure of his father, he re- 
ceived a letter from him, written while on his jour- 
ney to Syria ; it was to the following purport : 

" Beloved son ; honour of thy lineage ; Allah guard 
thee from all harm and peril ! Listen to the words 
of thy father. Avoid all treachePi' though it should 
promise great advantage, and trust not in him who 
counsels it, even though he should be a brother. 
The company of traitors put far from thee ; for how 
canst thou be certain that he who has provetl false 
to others will prove true to thee ? Beware, O my 
son, of the seductions of love. It is an idle passion 
which enfeebles the heart and blinds the judgment ; 
it renders the mighty weak, and makes slaves of 
princes. If thou shouldst discover any foible of a 
vicious kind springing up in thy nature, pluck it 
forth, whatever pang it cost thee. Every error, while 
new, may easily be weeded out, but if suffered to 
take root, it flourishes and bears seed, and produces 
fruit an hundred fold. Follow these counsels, O son 
of my affections, and thou shalt live secure." 

Abdalasis meditated upon this letter, for some 
part of it seemed to contain a myster)' which he 
could not comprehend. He called to him his cousin 
and counsellor, the discreet Ayub. " What means 
my father," said he, " in cautioning me against treach- 
ery and treason ? Does he think my nature so base 
that it could descend to such means ? " 

Ayub read the letter attentively. " Thy father," 
said he, "would put thee on thy guard against the 
traitors Julian and Oppas, and those of their party 
who surround thee. What love canst thou expect 
from men who have been unnatural to their kindred, 
and what loyalty from wretches who have betrayed 
their country ? " 

Abdalasis was satisfied with the interpretation, 
and he acted accordingly. He had long loathed all 
communion with these men, for there is nothing 
which the open ingenuous nature so much abhors as 
duplicity and treason. Policy, too, no longer re- 
quired their agency ; they had rendered their infa- 
mous service, and had no longer a country to betray ; 
but they might turn and betray their employers. 
Abdalasis, therefore, removed them to a distance 
from his court, and placed them in situations where 
they could do no harm, and he warned his com- 
manders from being in any wise influenced by their 
counsels, or aided by their arms. 

He now confided entirely in his Arabian troops, 
and in the Moorish squadrons from Africa, and with 
their aid he completed the conquest of Lusitania to 
the ultimate parts of the Algarbe, or west, even to 
the shores of the great Ocean sea.* From hence he 

* Algarbe, or .'Vlgarbia, in Arabic signifies the west, as Axarkia 
is the east, Algufia the north, and Aqulbia the south. This will 
serve to explain some of the geographical names on the peninsula, 
which are of .\rabian origin. 



sent his generals to overrun all those vast and rug- 
ged sierras, which rise like ramparts along the ocean 
borders of the peninsula ; and they carried the stand- 
ard of Islam in triumph even to the mountains of 
Biscay, collecting all manner of precious spoil. 

" It is not enough, O Abdalasis," said Ayub, 
" that we conquer and rule this country with the 
sword ; if we wish our dominion to be secure, we 
must cultivate the arts of peace, and study to secure 
the confidence and promote the welfare of the people 
we have conquered." Abdalasis relished counsel 
which accorded so well with his own beneficent 
nature. He endeavoured, therefore, to allay the 
ferment and confusion of^ the conquest; forbade, 
under rigorous punishment, all wanton spoil or op- 
pression, and protected the native inhabitants in the 
enjoyment and cultivation of their lands, and the 
pursuit of all useful occupations. By the advice of 
Ayub, also, he encouraged great numbers of indus- 
trious Moors and Arabs to emigrate from Africa, 
and gave them houses and lands; thus introducing 
a peaceful Mahometan population into the conquered 
provinces. 

The good effect of the counsels of Ayub were 
soon apparent. Instead of a sudden but transient 
influ.x of wealth, made by the ruin of the land, which 
left the country desolate, a regular and permanent 
revenue sprang up, produced by reviving prosperity, 
and gathered without violence. Abdalasis ordered 
it to be faithfiiUy collected, and deposited in coffers 
by public officers appointed in each province for the 
purpose ; and the whole was sent by ten deputies to 
Damascus to be laid at the feet of the caliph ; not as 
the spoils of a vanquished country, but as the peace- 
ful trophies of a wisely administered government. 

The common herd of warlike adventurers, the 
mere men of the sword, who had thronged to Spain 
for the purpose of ravage and rapine, were disap- 
pointed at being thus checked in their career, and 
at seeing the reign of terror and violence drawing to 
a close. What manner of leader is this, said they, 
who forbids us to make spoil of the enemies of Islam, 
and to enjoy the land we have wrested from the un- 
believers.' The partisans of Julian, also, whispered 
their calumnies. " Behold," said they, " with what 
kindness he treats the enemies of your faith ; all the 
christians who have borne arms against you, and 
withstood your entrance into the land, are favoured 
and protected ; but it is enough for a christian to 
have befriended the cause of the Moslems to be 
singled out by Abdalasis for persecution, and to be 
driven with scorn from his ])resence." 

These insinuations fermented the discontent of 
the turbulent and rapacious among the Moslems, 
but all the friends of peace and order and good 
government applauded the moderation of the youth- 
ful emir. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
LOVES OF ABDALASIS AND EXILONA. 

Abdalasis had fixed his seat of government at 
Seville, as permitting easy and frequent commimica- 
tions with the coast of Africa. His palace was of 
noble architecture, with delightful gardens extend- 
ing to the banks of the Guadalquivir. In a part of 
this palace resided many of the most beautiful chris- 
tian females, who were detained as captives, or 
rather hostages, to insure the tranquillity ol the coun- 
try. Those who were of noble rank were enter- 
tained in luxury and magnificence ; slaves were ap- 
pointed to attend upon them, and they were arrayed 
in the richest apparel and decorated with the most 



334 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



precious jewels. Those of tender age were taught 
all graceful accomplishments ; and even where tasks 
were imposed, they were of the most elegant and 
agreeable kind. They embroidered, they sang, they 
danced, and passed their times in pleasing revelry. 
Many were lulled by this easy and voluptuous exist- 
ence ; the scenes of horror through which they had 
passed were gradually effaced from their minds, and 
a desire was often awakened of rendering themselves 
pleasing in the eyes of their conquerors. 

After his return from his campaign in Lusitania, 
and during the intervals of public duty, Abdalasis 
solaced himself in the repose of this palace, and in 
the society of these christian captives. He remarked 
one among them who ever sat apart ; and neither 
joined in the labours nor sports of her companions. 
She was lofty in her demeanour, and the others 
always paid her reverence ; yet sorrow had given a 
softness to her charms, and rendered her beauty 
touching to the heart. Abdalasis found her one 
day in the garden with her companions ; they had 
adorned their heads with flowers, and were singing 
the songs of their country, but she sat by herself and 
wept. The youthful emir was moved by her tears, 
and accosted her in gentle accents. "O fairest of 
women ! " said he, " why dost thou weep, and why 
is thy heart troubled ? " " Alas ! " replied she, 
" have I not cause to weep, seeing how sad is my 
condition, and how great the height from which 1 
have fallen ? In me you behold the wretched Exilo- 
na, but lately the wife of Roderick, and the queen of 
Spain, now a captive and a slave ! " and, having said 
these words, she cast her eyes upon the earth, and 
her tears began to flow afresh. 

The generous feelings of Abdalasis were aroused 
at the S'ght of beauty and royalty in tears. He gave 
orders that Exilona should be entertained in a style be- 
fitting her former rank; he appointed a train of female 
attendants to wait upon her, and a guard of honour to 
protect her from all intrusion. All the time that he 
could spare from public concerns was passed in her 
society; and he even neglected his divan, and suf- 
fered his counsellors to attend in vain, while he lin- 
gered in the apartments and gardens of the palace, 
listening to the voice of Exilona. 

The discreet Ayub saw the danger into which he 
was falling. " Oh Abdalasis," said he, " remem- 
ber the words of thy father. ' Beware, my son,' 
said he, ' of the seductions of love. It renders the 
mighty weak, and makes slaves of princes ! ' " A 
blush kindled on the cheek of Abdalasis, and he was 
silent for a moment. •' Why," said he, at length, 
" do you seek to charge me with such weakness. It 
is one thing to be infetuated by the charms of a 
woman, and another to be touched by her misfor- 
tunes. It is the duty of my station to console a 
princess who has been reduced to the lowest humili- 
ation by the triumphs of our arms. In doing so I do 
but listen to the dictates of true magnanimity." 

Ayub was silent, but his brow was clouded, and 
for once Abdalasis parted in discontent from his 
counsellor. In proportion as he was dissatisfied 
with others or with himself, he sought the society of 
Exilona, for there was a charm in her conversation 
that banished every care. He daily became more 
and more enamoured, and Exilona gradually ceased 
to weep, and began to listen with secret pleasure to 
the words of her Arab lover. When, however, he 
sought to urge his passion, she recollected the light 
estimation in which her sex was held by the follow- 
ers of Mahomet, and assumed a countenance grave 
and severe. 

" Fortune," said she, " has cast me at thy feet, 
behold 1 am thy captive and thy spoil. But though 
my person is in thy power, my soul is unsubdued, 



and know that, should I lack force to defend my 
honour, I have resolution to wash out all stain upon 
it with my blood. I trust, however, in thy courtesy 
as a cavalier to respect me in my reverses, remem- 
bering what I have been, and that though the crown 
has been wrested from my brow, the royal blood ' 
still warms within my veins."* 

The lofty spirit of Exilona, and her proud repulse, 
served but to increase the passion of Abdalasis. He 
besought her to unite her destiny with his, and 
share his state and power, promising that she should 
have no rival nor copartner in his heart. Whatever 
scruples the captive queen might originally have felt 
to a union with one of the conquerors of her lord, < 
and an enemy of her adopted faith, they were easily 
vanquished, and she became the bride of .Abdalasis. 
He would fain have persuaded her to return to the 
faith of her fathers ; but though of Moorish origin, 
and brought up in the doctrines of Islam, she was 
too thorough a convert to Christianity to consent, 
and looked back with disgust upon a religion that 
admitted a plurality of wives. 

When the sage Ayub heard of the resolution of 
Abdalasis to espouse Exilona he was in despair. 
"Alas, my cousin!" said he, "what infatuation 
possesses thee ? Hast thou then entirely forgotten 
the letter of thy father.' ' Beware, my son,' said he, 
'of love; it is an idle passion, which enfeebles the 
heart and blinds the judgment.' " But Abdalasis 
interrupted him with impatience. " My father," 
said he, " spake but of the blandishments of wanton 
love ; against these 1 am secured, by my virtuous 
passion for Exilona." 

Ayub would fain have impressed upon him the 
dangers he ran of awakening suspicion in the caliph, 
and discontent among the Moslems, by wedding the 
queen of the conquered Roderick, and one who was 
an enemy to the religion of Mahomet ; but the 
youthful lover only listened to his passion. Their 
nuptials were celebrated at Seville with great pomp 
and rejoicings, and he gave his bride the name of 
Omalisam ; that is to say, she of the precious jew- 
els:! but she continued to be known among the 
christians by the name of Exilona, 



CHAPTER XVII. 



-DEATH OF 



FATE OF ABDALASIS AND EXILONA.- 
MUZA. 

Possession instead of cooling the passion of 
Abdalasis, only added to its force ; he became blind- 
ly enamoured of his beautiful bride, and consulted 
her will in all things; nay, having lost all relish for 
the advice of the discreet Ayub, he was even guided 
by the counsels of his wife in the affairs of govern- 
ment. Exilona, unfortunately, had once been a 
queen, and she could not remember her regal glories 
without regret. She saw that Abdalasis had great 
power in the land ; greater even than had been pos- 
sessed by the Gothic kings ; but she considered it 
as wanting in true splendour until his brows should 
be encircled with the outward badge of royalty. 
One day, when they were alone in the palace of 
Seville, and the heart of Abdalasis was given up to 
tenderness, she addressed him in fond yet timid ac- 
cents. " Will not my lord be offended," said she, 
" if 1 make an unwelcome request ? " Abdalasis 
regarded her with a smile. " What canst thou ask 



* Faxardo. corona, Gothica. T. I, P. 492. Joan, M.->r. de reb. 
Hisp. L. 6, c. 27. 
+ Conde, p, 1. c. 17. 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



335 



of me, Exilona," said he, " that it would not be a 
happiness for me to grant ? " Then Exilona pro- 
duced a crown of gold, sparkling with jewels, which 
had belonged to the king, Don Roderick, and said, 
" Behold, thou art king in authority, be so in thy 
outward state. There is majesty and glory in a 
crown; it gives a sanctity to power." Then put- 
ting the crown upon his head, she held a mirror be- 
Ibre him that he might behold the majesty of his ap- 
pearance. Abdalasis chid her fondly, and put the 
crown away from him, but Exilona persisted in her 
prayer. " Never," said she, " has there been a king 
in Spain that did not wear a crown." So Abdalasis 
suffered himself to be beguiled by the blandishments 
of his wife, and to be invested with the crown and 
sceptre and other signs of royalty.* 

It is affirmed by ancient and discreet chroniclers, 
that Abdalasis only assumed this royal state in the 
privacy of his palace, and to gratify the eye of his 
youthful bride ; but where was a secret ever confined 
within the walls of a palace ? The assumption of the 
insignia of the ancient Gothic kings was soon ru- 
moured about, and caused the most violent suspi- 
cions. The Moslems had already felt jealous of the 
ascendancy of this beautiful woman, and it was now 
confidently asserted that Abdalasis, won by her per- 
suasions, had secretly turned christian. 

The enemies of Abdalasis, those whose rapacious 
spirits had been kept in check by the beneficence of 
his rule, seized upon this occasion to ruin him. They 
sent letters to Damascus accusing him of apostasy, 
and of an intention to seize upon the throne in right 
of his wife, Exilona, as widow of the late King Rod- 
erick. It was added, that the christians were pre- 
pared to flock to his standard as the only means of 
regaining ascendancy in their country. 

These accusations arrived at Damascus just after 
the accession of the sanguinary Suleiman to the 
throne, and in the height of his persecution of the 
unfortunate Muza. The caliph waited for no proofs 
in confirmation; he immediately sent private orders 
that Abdalasis should be put to death, and that the 
same fate should be dealt to his two brothers who 
governed in Africa, as a sure means of crushing the 
conspiracy of this ambitious family. 

The mandate for the death of Abdalasis was sent 
to Abhilbar ben Obeidah and Zeyd ben Nabegat, 
both of whom had been cherished friends of Muza, 
and had lived in intimate favour and companionship 
with his son. When they read the fatal parchment, 
the scroll fell from their trembling hands. " Can 
such hostility exist against the family of Muza ? " e.'C- 
claimed they. " Is this the reward for such great 
and glorious services ? " The cavaliers remained for 
some time plunged in horror and consternation. The 
order, however, was absolute, and left them no discre- 
tion. "Allah is great," said they, "and commands 
us to obey our sovereign." So they prepared to ex- 
ecute the bloody mandate with the blind fidelity of 
Moslems. 

It was necessary to proceed with caution. The 
open and magnanimous character of Abdalasis had 
won the hearts of a great part of the soldiery, and 
his magnificence pleased the cavaliers who formed 
his guard ; it was feared, therefore, that a sanguinary 
opposition would be made to any attempt upon his 
person. The rabble, however, had been imbittered 
against him from his having restrained their depre- 
dations, and because they thought him an apostate 
in his heart, secretly bent upon betraying them to the 
christians. While, therefore, the two officers made 
vigilant dispositions to check any movement on the 
part of the soldiery, they let loose the blind fury of 

* Cron. gen. de Alonzo el Sabio, p. 3. Joan. mar. dc reb. Hisp. 
Jib. 6. c. 27. Conde, p. i. c. ig. 



the populace by publishing the fata! mandate. In a 
moment the city was in a ferment, and there was a 
ferocious emulation who should be first to execute 
the orders of the caliph. 

Abdalasis was at this time at a palace in the coun- 
try not far from Seville, commanding a delightful 
view of the fertile plain of the Guadalquivir. Hither 
he was accustomed to retire from the tumult of the 
court, and to pass his time among groves and foun- 
tains and the sweet repose of gardens, in the society 
of Exilona. It was the dawn of day, the hour of 
early prayer, when the furious populace arrived at 
this retreat. Abdalasis was offering up his orisons 
in a small mosque which he had erected for the use 
of the neighbouring peasantry. Exilona was in a 
chapel in the interior of the palace, where her confes- 
sor, a holy friar, was performing mass. They were 
both surprised at their devotions, and dragged forth 
by the hands of the rabble. A few guards, who at- 
tended at the palace, would have made defence, but 
they were overawed by the sight of the written man- 
date of the caliph. 

The captives were borne in triumph to Seville. 
All the beneficent virtues of Abdalasis were forgot- 
ten ; nor had the charms of Exilona any effect in 
softening the hearts of the populace. The brutal 
eagerness to shed blood, which seems inherent in 
human nature, was awakened, and woe to the vic- 
tims when that eagerness is quickened by religious 
hate. The illustrious couple, adorned with all the 
graces of youth and beauty, were hurried to a scaf- 
fold in the great square of Seville, and there beheaded 
amidst the shouts and execrations of an infatuated 
multitude. Their bodies were left exposed upon the 
ground, and would have been devoured by dogs, had 
they not been gathered at night by some friendly 
hand, and poorly interred in one of the courts of their 
late dwelling. 

Thus terminated the loves and lives of Abdalasis 
and Exilona, in the year of the incarnation seven 
hundred and fourteen. Their names were held sa- 
cred as martyrs to the christian faith ; but many 
read in their untimely fate a lesson against ambition 
and vain-glory ; having sacrificed real power and 
substantial rule to the glittering bauble of a crow'n. 

The head of Abdalasis was embalmed and en- 
closed in a casket, and sent to Syria to the cruel 
Suleiman. The messenger who bore it overtook the 
caliph as he was performing a pilgrimage to Mecca. 
Muza was among the courtiers in his train, having 
been released from prison. On opening the casket 
and regarding its contents, the eyes of the tyrant 
sparkled with malignant satisfaction. Calling the 
unhappy father to his side: "Muza," said he, "dost 
thou know this head?" The veteran recognized the 
features of his beloved son, and turned his face away 
with anguish. " Yes ! well do I know it," replied 
he; "and may the curse of God light upon him who 
has destroyed a better man than himself ! " 

Without adding another word, he retired to Mount 
Deran, a prey to devouring melancholy. He shortly 
after received tidings of the death of his two sons 
whom he had left in the government of western Af- 
rica, and w-ho had fallen victims to the jealous sus- 
picions of the caliph. His advanced age was not 
proof against these repeated blows, and this utter 
ruin of his late prosperous family, and he sank into 
his grave sorrowing and broken-hearted. 

Such was the lamentable end of the conqueror of 
Spain ; whose great achievements were not sufficient 
to atone, in the eye of his sovereign, lor a weakness 
to which all men ambitious of renown are subject ; 
and whose triumphs eventually brought persecution 
upon himself, and untimely death upon his children. 

Here ends the legend of the Subjugation of Spain. 



336 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



LEGEND OF COUNT JULIAN AND HIS 
FAMILY. 



In the preceding legends is darkly shadowed out 
a true story of the woes of Spain. It is a story full 
of wholesome admonition, rebuking the insolence of 
human pride and the vanity of human ambition, and 
showing the futility of all greatness that is not 
strongly based on virtue. We have seen, in brief 
space of time, most of the actors in this historic 
drama disappearing, one by one, from the scene, and 
going down, conqueror and conquered, to gloomy 
and unhonoured graves. It remains to close this 
eventful histoi-y by holding up, as a signal warning, 
the fate of the traitor, whose perfidious scheme of 
vengeance brought ruin on his native land. 

Many and various are the accounts given in an- 
cient chronicles of the fortunes of Count Julian and 
his family, and many are the traditions on the sub- 
ject still extant among the populace of Spain, and 
perpetuated in those countless ballads sung by peas- 
ants and muleteers, which spread a singular chann 
over the whole of this romantic land. 

He who has travelled in Spain in the true way m 
which the country ought to be travelled ; sojourning 
in its remote provinces ; rambling among the rugged 
defiles and secluded valleys of its mountains ; and 
making himself fiimiliar with the people in their out- 
of-the-wav hamlets, and rarely-visited neighbour- 
lioods, will remember many a group of travellers 
and muleteers, gathered of an evening around the 
door or the spacious hearth of a mountain venta, 
wrapped in their brown cloaks, and listening with 
grave and profound attention to the long historic 
ballad of some rustic troubadour, either recited with 
the true ore rot undo and modulated cadences ot 
Spanish elocution, or chaunted to the tinkling of a 
guitar. In this way he may have heard the doleful 
end of Count Julian and his family recounted in tra- 
ditionary rhymes, that have been handed down from 
generation to generation. The particulars, however, 
of the following wild legend are chiefly gathered 
from the writings of the pseudo Moor, Rasis ; how 
far they may be safely taken as historic facts it is im- 
possible now to ascertain ; we must content our- 
selves, therefore, with their answering to the exac- 
tions of poetic justice. 

As yet every thing had prospered with Count 
Julian. He had gratified his vengeance; he had 
been successful in his treason, and had acquired 
countless riches from the ruin of his country. But 
it is not outward success that constitutes prosperity. 
The tree flourishes with fruit and foliage while blasted 
and withering at the heart. Wherever he went. Count 
Julian read hatred in everv eye. The christians curs- 
ed him as the cause of all 'their woe ; the Moslems de- 
spised and distrusted him as a traitor. Men whisper- 
ed together as he approached, and then turned away 
in scorn ; and mothers snatched away their children 
with horror if he offered to caress them. He with- 
ered under the execration of his fellow-men, and, 
last, and worst of all, he began to loathe himselt. 
He tried in vain to persuade himself that he had but 
taken a justifiable vengeance ; he felt that no per- 
sonal wrong can justify the crime of treason to one's 
country. 

For a time, he sought in luxurious indulgence to 
soothe or forget the miseries of the mind. He as- 
sembled round him ever>- pleasure and gratification 
that boundless wealth could purchase, but all in vain. 
He had no relish for the dainties of his board; music 
had no charm wherewith to lull his soul, and re- 



morse drove slumber from his pillow. He sent to 
Ceuta for his wife Frandina, his daughter Florinda, 
and his youthful son Alarbot ; hoping in the bosom 
of his family to find that sympathy and kindness 
which he could no longer meet with in the world. 
Their presence, however, brought him no alleviation. ■, 
Florinda, the daughter of his heart, for whose sake 
he had undertaken this signal vengeance, was sink- 
ing a victim to its eff'ects. Wherever she went, she 
found herself a bye-word of shame and reproach. 
The outrage she had suffered was imputed to her as 
wantonne.ss, and her calamity was magnified mto a 
crime. The christians never mentioned her name 
without a curse, and the Moslems, the gainers by her 
misfortune, spake of her only by the appellation of 
Cava, the vilest epithet they could apply to woman. 

But the opprobrium of the world was nothing to 
the upbraiding of her own heart. She charged her- 
self with all the miseries of these disastrous wars ; 
the deaths of so manv gallant cavaliers; the con- 
quest and perdition of her country. The anguish of 
her mind preyed upon the beauty of her person. 
Her eye, once soft and tender in its expression, be- 
came wild and haggard ; her cheek lost its bloom, 
and became hollow and pallid, and at times there 
was desperation in her words. When her lather 
souc^ht to embrace her she withdrew with shudder- 
ing^from his arms, for she thought of his treason 
and the ruin it had brought upon Spain. Her 
wretchedness increased after her return to her native 
country, until it rose to a degree of frenzy. One 
day when she was walking with her parents m the 
garden of their palace, she entered a tower, and, 
having barred the door, ascended to the battlements. 
From thence she called to them in piercing accents, 
expressive of her insupportable anguish and desper- 
ate determination. " Let this city," said she, " be 
henceforth called Malacca, in memorial of the most 
wretched of women, who therein put an end to her 
days." So saying, she threw herself headlong from 
the tower and was dashed to pieces. The city, adds 
the ancient chronicler, received the name thus given 
it, though afterwards softened to Malaga, which it 
still retains in memory of the tragical end of Florinda. 
The Countess Frandina abandoned this scene of 
woe, and returned to Ceuta, accompanied by her in- 
fant son. She took with her the remains ot her un- 
fortunate daughter, and gave them honourable sep- 
ulture in a mausoleum of the chapel belonging to 
the citadel. Count Julian departed for Carth.agena, 
where he remained plunged in horror at this doleful 
event. . , 

About this time, the cruel Suleiman, having de- 
stroyed the family of Muza, had sent an Arab gen- 
eral, named Alahor, to succeed Abdalasis as emir or 
governor of Spain. The new emir was of a cruel 
and suspicious nature, and commenced his svvay 
with a stern severity that soon made those under his 
command look back with regret to the easy rule of 
Abdalasis. He regarded with an eye of distrust the 
renegado christians who had aided in the conquest, 
and who bore arms in the service of the Moslems ; 
but his deepest suspicions fell upon Count Julian._ 
" He has been a traitor to his own countrymen, 
said he, " how can we be sure that he will not prove 
traitor to us ? " , u j 

A sudden insurrection of the christians who had 
taken refuge in the Asturian mountains, quickened 
his suspicions, and inspired him with fears of some 
dangerous conspiracy against his power. In the 
height of his anxiety, he bethought him ol a.i Ara- 
bian sage named Yuza, who had accompanied hini 
from Al°rica. This son of science was withered in 
form, and looked as if he had outlived the usua 
term of mortal life. In the course of his studies and 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



331 



travels in the east, he had collected the knowledge 
;ind experience of ages ; being skilled in astrolog)', 
and, it is said, in necromancy, and possessing the 
marvellous gift of prophecy or divination. To this 
e.xpounder of mysteries Alahor applied to learn 
whether any secret treason menaced his safety. 

The astrologer listened with deep attention, and 
overwhelming brow, to all the surmises and suspi- 
cions of the emir, then shut himself up to consult 
his books and commune with those supernatural in- 
telligences subservient to his wisdom. At an ap- 
pointed hour the emir sought him in his cell. It was 
filled with the smoke of perfumes ; squares and cir- 
cles and various diagrams were described upon the 
floor, and the astrologer was poring over a scroll of 
parchment, covered with cabalistic characters. He 
received Alahor with a gloomy and sinister aspect ; 
pretending to have discovered fearful portents in the 
heavens, and to have had strange dreams and mys- 
tic visions. 

"O emir," said he, "be on your guard ! treason 
is around you and in your path ; your life is in peril. 
Beware of Count Julian and his family." 

"Enough," said the emir. " They shall all die ! 
Parents and children — all shall die ! " 

He forthwith sent a summons to Count Julian to 
attend him in Cordova. The messenger found him 
plunged in affliction for the recent death of his 
daughter. The count excused himself, on account 
of this misfortune, from obeying the commands of 
the emir in person, but sent several of his adherents. 
His hesitation, and the circumstance of his having 
sent his family across the straits to Africa, were 
construed by the jealous mind of the emir into proofs 
of guilt. He no longer doubted his being concern- 
ed in the recent insurrections, and that he had sent 
his family away, preparatory to an attempt, by force 
of arms, to suljvert the Moslem domination. In his 
fury he put to death Siseburto and Evan, the neph- 
ews of Bishop Oppas, and sons of the former king, 
Witiza, suspecting them of taking part in the trea- 
son. Thus did they expiate their treachery to their 
country in the fatal battle of the Guadalete. 

Alahor next hastened to Carthagena to seize upon 
Count Julian. So rapid were his movements that 
the count had barely time to escape with fifteen 
cavaliers, with whom he took refuge in the strong 
castle of Marcuello, among the mountains of Arra- 
gon. The emir, enraged to be disappointed of his 
prey, embarked at Carthagena and crossed the 
straits to Ceuta, to make captives of the Countess 
Frandina and her son. 

The old chronicle from which we take this part of 
our legend, presents a gloomy picture of the count- 
ess in the stern fortress to which she had fled for 
rd'uge ; a picture heightened by supernatural hor- 
rors. These latter, the sagacious reader will admit 
or reject according to the measure of his faith and 
judgment ; always remembering that in dark and 
eventful times, like those in question, involving the 
destinies of nations, the downfall of kingdoms, and 
the crimes of rulers and mighty men, the hand of 
fate is sometimes strangely visible, and confounds 
the wisdom of the worldly wise, by intimations and 
portents above the ordinary course of things. With 
this proviso, we make no scruple to follow the ven- 
^ erable chronicler in his narration. 

Now so it happened, that the countess of Frandina 
was seated late at night in her chamber in the cita- 
del of Ceuta, which stands on a lofty rock, overlook- 
ing the sea. She was revolving in gloomy thought 
the late disasters of her family, when she heard a 
mournful noise like that of the sea breeze moaning 
about the castle walls. Raising her eyes, she be- 
held her brother, the Bishop Oppas, at the entrance 



of the chamber. She advanced to embrace him. but 
he forbade her with a motion of his hand, and she 
observed that he was ghastly pale, and that his eyes 
glared as with lambent flames. 

"Touch me not, sister," said he, with a mournful 
voice, " lest thou be consumed by the fire which 
rages within me. Guard well thy son, for blood- 
hounds are upon his track. His innocence might 
have secured him the protection of heaven, but our 
crimes have involved him in our common ruin." He 
ceased to speak and was no longer to be seen. His 
coming and going were alike without noise, and the 
door of the chamber remained fast bolted. 

On the following morning a messenger arrived 
with tidings that the Bishop Oppas had been made 
prisoner in battle by the insurgent christians of the 
Asturias, and had died in fetters in a tower of the 
mountains. The same messenger brought word 
that the Emir Alahor had put to death several of the 
friends of Count Julian ; had obliged him to fly for 
his life to a castle in Arragon, and was embarking 
with a formidable force for Ceuta. 

The Countess Frandina, as has already been 
shown, was of courageous heart, and danger made 
her desperate. There were fifty Moorish soldiers in 
the garrison ; she feared that they would prove 
treacherous, and take part with their countrymen. 
Summoning her officers, therefore, she informed 
them of their danger, and commanded them to put 
those Moors to death. The guards sallied forth to 
obey her orders. Thirty-five of the Moors were in 
the great square, unsuspicious of any danger, when 
they were severally singled out by their executioners, 
and at a concerted signal, killed on the spot. The re- 
maining fifteen took refuge in a tower. They saw the 
armada of the emir at a distance, and hoped to be 
able to hold out until its arrival. The soldiers of 
the countess saw it also, and made extraordinary 
efforts to destroy these internal enemies before they 
should be attacked from without. They made re- 
peated attempts to storm the tower, but were as 
often repulsed with severe loss. They then under- 
mined it, supporting its foundations by stanchions 
of wood. To these they set fire and withdrew to a 
distance, keeping up a constant shower of missiles 
to prevent the Moors from sallying forth to extin- 
guish the flames. The stanchions were rapidly con- 
sumed, and when they gave way the tower fell to the 
ground. Some of the Moors were crushed among 
the ruins; others were flung to a distance and 
dashed among the rocks ; those who survived were 
instantly put to the sword. 

The fleet of the emir arrived at Ceuta about the 
hour of vespers. He landed, but found the gates 
closed against him. The countess herself spoke to 
him from a tower, and set him at defiance. The 
emir mimediately laid siege to the city. He con- 
sulted the astrologer Yuza, who told him that for 
seven days his star would have the ascendant over 
that of the youth Alarbot, but after that time the 
youth would be safe from his power, and would 
effect his ruin. 

Alahor immediately ordered the city to be assailed 
on every side, and at length carried it by storm. 
The countess took refuge with her forces in the cita- 
del and made desperate defence, but the walls were 
sapped and mined, and she saw that all resistance 
would soon be unavailing. Her only thoughts now 
were to conceal her child. " Surely," said she, " they 
will not think of seeking him among the dead." She 
led him therefore into the dark and dismal chapel. 
" Thou art not afraid to be alone in this darkness, 
my child," said she. 

" No, mother," replied the boy, "darkness gives 
silence and sleep." She conducted him to the tomb 



33S 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING'. 



of Florinda. " Fearest thou the dead, my child ? " 
" No, mother, the dead can do no harm, and what 
should I fear from my sister?" 

The countess opened the sepulchre. Listen, my 
son " said she. " There are fierce and cruel people 
who have come hither to murder thee. Stay here m 
company with thy sister, and be quiet as thou dost 
value thy life ! " The boy, who was ot a courageous 
nature, did as he was bidden, and remamed there 
all that day, and all the night, and the next day until 
the third hour. . , i 

In the meantime the walls of the citadel were 
sapped, the troops of the emir poured in at the 
breach, and a great part of the garrison was put to 
the sword. The countess was taken prisoner and 
brought before the emir. She appeared m his pres- 
ence witli a haughty demeanour, as if she had l^een 
a queen receiving homage; but when he demanded 
her son, she faltered and turned pale and replied, 
" Mv son is with the dead." 

"Countess," said the emir, "I am not to be de- 
ceived ; tell me where you have concealed _the boy, 
or tortures shall wring from you the secret. 

"Emir," replied the countess, "may the greatest 
torments be my portion, both here and herealter it 
what I speak be not the_ truth. My darling child 
lies buried with the dead." . 

The emir was confounded by the solemnity of her 
words; but the withered astrologer Yuza, who 
stood bv his side regardmg the countess from be- 
neath his bushed eyebrows, perceived trouble in her 
countenance and equivocation in her words. " Leave 
this matter to me," whispered he to Alahor, ' 1 will 
produce the child." , . .u i 

He ordered strict search to be made by the sol- 
dierv and he obliged the countess to be always 
present. When th;y came to the chapel, her cheek 
turned pale and her lip quivered. " This said the 
subtile astrologer. " is the place ot concealment ! 

The search throughout the chapel, however, was 
equally vain, and the soldiers were about to depart, 
w-hen Vuza remarked a slight gleam ot joy in the eye 
of the countess. " We are leaving ourprey behind, 
thou'^ht he, " the countess is e.xulting. 

He now called to mind the words of her assevera- 
tion that her child was with the dead. Turning 
suddenly to the soldiers he ordered them to search 
the sepulchres. "If you find him not, said he 
" drag forth the bones of that wanton Cava, that 
they may be burnt, and the ashes scattered to the 

The soldiers searched among the tombs and found 
that of Florinda partly open. Within lay the boy in 
the sound sleep ot childhood, and one of the soldiers 
took him gently in his arms to bear him to the emir. 
When the countess beheld that her child was dis- 
covered, she rushed into the presence ot Alahor, 
and, forgetting all her pride, threw herself upon her 
knees before him. 

" Mercy ' mercy ! " cried she in piercing accents, 
■' mercy on my son— my only child ! O emir ! listen 
to a mother's prayer, and my lips shall kiss thy leet. 
As thou art merciful to him, so may the most high 
God have mercy upon thee, and heap blessings on 

thy head." ,. ■ , . 

" Bear that frantic woman hence, said the emir, 
" but guard her well." 

The countess was dragged away by the soldierv 
without regard to her struggles and her cries, and 
confined in a dungeon of the citadel. 

The child was now brought to the emir. He had 
been awakened by the tumult, but gazed fearlessly 
on the stern countenances of the soldiers. H^d the 
heart of the emir been capable of pity, it would have 
been touched by the tender youth and mnocent 



beauty of the child ; but his heart was as the nether 
millstone, and he was bent upon the destruction ot 
the whole family of Julian. Calling to him the as- 
trolo"-er, he gave the child into his charge with a 
secret command. The withered son of the desert 
took the boy by the hand, and led him up the wind- 
ing staircase of a tower. When they reached the 
summit Yuza placed him on the battlements. 

" Clin^ not to me, mv child," said he, " there is 
no danger." " Father,' I fear not " said the un- 
daunted boy, " yet it is a wondrous height ! 

The child looked around with delighted eyes. 
The breeze blew his curling locks trom about his , 
face and his cheek glowed at the boundless pros- ) 
necf for the tower was reared upon that lofty 
promontory on which Hercules founded one of his 
DiUars The surges of the sea were heard far below, 
beating upon the rocks, the sea-gull screamed and 
wheeled about the foundations of the tower, and the 
sails of lofty caraccas were as mere specks on the 
bosom of the deep. , , ui 

" Dost thou know yonder land beyond the blue , 

water ?" said Yuza. . ■ ,, i i „f 

" It is Spain," replied the boy, " it is the land ot 
my father and my mother." , , , •. 

"Then stretch forth thy hands. and bless it, my 
child," said the astrologer. „ j i .. 

The boy let go his hold of the wall, and, as he 
stretched forth his hands, the aged son of Ishmae , 
exerting all the strength of his withered limbs stid- 
denly pushed him over the battlements. He ell 
heacllong from the top of that tall tower, and no a 
bone in his tender frame but was crushed upon the 
rocks beneath. . 

Alahor came to the foot of the wmding stairs. 
" Is the boy safe ? " cried he. , . u i i 

" He is safe," replied Yuza ; " come and behold 
the truth with thine own eyes." , , , , ,, ^ 

The emir ascended tlie tower and looked over the 
battlements, and beheld the body of the child, a 
shapeless mass, on the rocks far below, and the sea- 
gulls hovering about ; and he gave orders that it 
ihould be thrown into the sea, which was done. 

On the following morning, the countess was led 
forth from her dungeon into the public square. -She 
knew of the death of her child, and that her own 
death was at hand, but she neither wept nor suppli- 
cated Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes were 
haeo-ard with watching, and her cheek was as the 
monumental stone, but there were the remains of 
commanding beauty in her countenance, and the 
majesty of her presence awed even the rabble into 

"^"T multitude of Christian prisoners were then 
brought forth ; and Alahor cried out-" Behold the 
wife of Count Julian; behold one of that traitorous 
family which has brought ruin upon yourselves and 
upon' your country." And he ordered that they 
should stone her to death. But the christians drew 
back with horror from the deed, and said- In the 
hand of God is vengeance, let not her blood be upon 
our heads." Upon this the emir swore with horrid 
imprecations that whoever of the captives refused 
I should himself be stoned to death. So the cruel or- 
der was executed, and the Countess Frandina per- 
ished bv the hands of her countrymen. Having thus 
accomplished his barbarous errand, the emir em- 
barked for Spain, and ordered the citadel ot Ceuta 
to be set on fire, and crossed the straits at night by 
the light of its towering flames. 

The death of Count Julian, which took place not 
long after, closed the tragic story ot his family. How 
he died remains involved in doubt. Some assert 
that the cruel Alahor pursued him to his retreat 
amono- the mountains, and, havmg taken him pris- 



LEGENDS OF THE CONQUEST OF SPAIN. 



339 



oner. !ieh:\ided him ; others that the Moors confined 
him in a dunge jn, and put an end to his Hie with 
hngering torments ; while others affirm that the 
tower of the castle of Marcuello, near Huesca, in 
Arragon. in which he took refuge, fell on him and 
crushed him to pieces. All agree that his latter end 
was miserable in the extreme, and his death violent. 
The curse of heaven, which had thus pursued him 
to the grave, was extended to the very place which 
had given him shelter ; for we are told that the cas- 
tle is no longer inhabited on account of the strange 
and liorrible noises that are heard in it; and that 
\isions of armed men are seen above it in the air ; 
which are supposed to be the troubled spirits of the 
apostate christians who favoured the cause of the 
traitor. 

In aftertimes a stone sepulchre was shown, outside 
of the chapel of the castle, as the tomb of Count 
Julian ; but the traveller and the pilgnm avoided it, 
or bestowed upon it a malediction ; and the name of 
Julian has remained a bye-word and a scorn in the 
land for the warning of all generations. Such ever 
be the lot of him who betrays his country. 

Here end the legends of the conquest of Spain. 

Written in the Alkainbra, June lo, 1829. 



NOTE TO THE PRECEDING LEGEND. 



El licenciado Ardevines (Lib. 2. c. 8.) dize que 
dichos Duendos caseros, o los del aire, hazen apar- 



acer exercitos y peleas, como lo que se cuenta pot 
tradicion (y aun algunos personas lo deponen como 
testigos de vista) de la torre y castello de Marcuello, 
lugaral pie de las montanas de .dragon (aora inhab- 
itable, por las grandes y espantables ruidos. que en el 
se oyen) donde se retraxo el Conde Don Julian, 
causa de la perdicion de Espana ; sobre el qual Cas- 
tillo, deze se ven en el aire ciertas visiones, como de 
soldados, que el vulgo dize son los cavalleros y gente 
que le favorecian. 

Vide "el Ente Dislucidado, por Fray Antonio de 
Fuentalapeua capuchin. Seccion 3. Subseccion 5. 
Instancia 8. Num. 644." 

As readers unversed in the Spanish language may 
wish to know the testimony of the worthy and dis- 
creet capuchin friar, Antonio de Fuentalapefia, we 
subjoin a translation of it. 

"The licentiate Ardevines, (Book 11., chap. 8,) 
says, that the said house-fairies, (or familiar spirits,) 
or those of the air, cause the apparitions of armies 
and battles ; such as those which are related in tra- 
dition, (and some persons even depose to the truth 
of them as eye-witnesses) of the town and castle of 
Marcuello, a fortress at the foot of the mountains of 
Arragon, (at present uninhabitable, on account of 
the great and frightful noises heard in it) the place 
of retreat of Count Don Julian, the tause of the per- 
dition of Spain. It is said that certain apparitions 
of soldiers are seen in the air, which the vulgar say 
are those of the courtiers and the people who aided 
him." 



Tales of a Traveller. 



PART FIRST. 



STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 

I'll tell you more ; there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword, 

A pike in's neck, and a gun in"s nose, a huge gun. 

And letters of mart in's mouth , from the Duke of Florence. 

Ctcanthes, This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony, I do confess it. 
Do you think I'd tell you truths ? 

Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 



[The following adventures were related to me by 
the same nervous gentleman who told me the romantic 
tale of The Stout Gentlem.\n, published in Brace- 
bridge Hall. 

It is very singular, that although I expressly stated 
that story to have been told to me, and described the 
very person who told i"., still it has been received as an 
adventure that happened to myself. Now, I protest I 
never met with any adventure of the kind. I should 
not have grieved at this, had it not been intimated by 
the author of Waverley, in an introduction to his ro- 
mance of Peveril of the Peak, that he was himself the 
-Stout Gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been 
importuned by letters and questions from gentlemen, 
and particularly from ladies without number, touching 
what I had seen of the great unknown. 

Now, all this is e.\tremely tantalizing. It is like be- 
ing congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn 
a blank ; for I have just as great a desire as any one of 
the public to penetrate the mystery of that very singu- 
lar personage, whose voice fills every corner of the 
world, without any one being able to tell from whence 
it comes. He who keeps up such a wonderful and 
whimsical incognito : whom nobody knows, and yet 
whom every body thinks he can swear to. 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a 
man of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has 
been excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting 
about in his neighbourhood that he is the fortunate 
personage. Insomuch, that he has become a charac- 
ter of considerable notoriety in two or three country 
towns ; and has been repeatedly teased to exhibit him- 
self at blue-stocking parties, for no other reason than 
that of being " the gentleman who has had a glimpse 
of the author of Waverley." 

Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nerv- 
ous as ever, since he has discovered, on such good 
authority, who the stout gentleman was ; and will 
never forgive himself for not having made a more 
resolute effort to get a full sight of him. He has anx- 
iously endeavoured to call up a recollection of what 
he saw of that portly personage ; and has ever since 
kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of more than or- 
dinary dimensions, whom he has seen getting into 
stage coaches. All in vain ! The features he had 
caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race 
of stout gentlemen ; and the great unknown remains 
as great an unknown as ever.] 



A HUNTING DINNER. 



I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy 
fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept Bachelor's Hall 
in jovial style, in an ancient rook-haunted family 
mansion, in one of the middle counties. He had 
been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his young 
days ; but having travelled much, studied the sex in 
various countries with distinguished success, and re- 
turned home profoundly instructed, as he supposed, 
in tlie ways of woman, and a perfect master of the 
art of pleasing, he had the mortification of being 
jilted by a little boarding school girl, who was 
scarcely versed in the accidence of love. 

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an 
incredible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust, 
put himself under the government of his housekeeper, 
and took to fox-hunting like a perfect Jehu. What- 
ever poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow 
out of love as he grows old ; and a pack of fox 
hounds may chase out of his heart even the memory 
of a boarding school goddess. The Baronet was 
when I saw him as merry and mellow an old bachelor 
as ever followed a hound ; and the love he had once 
felt for one woman had spread itself over the whole 
sex ; so that there was not a pretty face in the whole 
country round, but came in for a share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our 
host having no ladies in his household to summon 
us to the drawing room, the botde maintained its 
true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy 
the tea-kettle. The old hall in which we dined 
echoed to bursts of robustious fox-hunting merri- 
ment, that made the ancient antlers shake on the 
walls. By degrees, however, the wine and wassail 
of mine host began to operate .upon bodies al- 
ready a little jaded liy the chase. The choice spirits 
that 'flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, spark- 
led for a time, then gradually went out one after an- 
other, or only emitted now and then a faint gleam 
from the socket. Some of the briskest talkers, who 
had given tongue so bravely at the first burst, tell 
fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but certain 
of those long-winded prosers, who, like short-legged 
hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom of con- 
versation, but are sure to be in at the death. Even 
these at length subsided into silence ; and scarcely 
any thing was heard but the nasal communications 
of two or three veteran masticators, who, having 

(341) 



348 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



been silent while awake, were indemnifying the com- 



I had remarked this last personage throughout 

- I dinner-time for one of thos.= incessant questioners, 

^Tt ',engtthe"r;nouncement of tea and coffee in who seem to hav. ^^^^^^ng tu^eaUHy^appe^ 



said the in- 



self to get more out of the shell. 

" Do you believe in ghosts, then ? 
quisitive gentleman. ,. , , . ■ , T.;=v,mrin • 

^ ■■Faith but 1 do,"rephed '^^ JOjm' /";^"l^" 1 
"I was brought up in the fear and behel of them , 
we had a Benshec in our own fanii y, honey. 

•' A Benshee— and what's that? cried the ques- 

"°" Why an old lady ghost that tends upon your 
real Milesian families, and wails at their window to 
let them know when some ot them are to die. _ 

•• A mighty pleasant piece ot inlormation, cr ed 
an elderly gentleman, with a knowing loo>^.a"a^=^ 
flexible nose, to which he could g,ye a whimsical 
1 twist when he wished to be waggish. 

•■ By my soul, but I'd haye you know it s a piece 
of disiinciion to be waited upon by a Benshee. Its 
a proof that one has pure blood m one s yeins Lai 
egad, now we're talking of ghosts, there never w^s 
a house or a night better fitted than the present for 
a gZst adventure. Faith, Sir John, bayen.t you 
such a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest 

'"■■Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might 
accommodate you even on that point. ' 

"Oh I should like it of all things, my je^vel. 
Some dark oaken room, with ugly wo-begonepor- 



01 tne earoncLb uiu-ia=....^i.>-v. . V,. j u„„„= 

gan to think of departing for their several honies 
But here a sudden difficultyaro.se. While we had 
been prolonging our repast, a l^^^'y^vinter storni 
had set in, w^ith snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such 
bitter blasts of wind, that they threatened to pene- 
trate to the very bone. . 

■• It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, to 
think of putting one's head out of doors m such 
weather. So, |entlemen. 1 hold you my guests tor 
This night at least, and will have your quarters pre- 

''"t'Xutt'elther, which became more and 
more tempestuous, rendered the hospitable sugges- 
tion unanswerable. The only question was. whether 
such an unexpected accession of company, to an al- 
ready crowded house, would not put the housekeeper 
to her trumps to accommodate them. 

■■ Pshaw," cried mine host, " did you ever know 
of a Bachelor's Hall that was not elastic and able to 

accommodate twice as many as it could hold ? So 

out of a good-humoured pique the housekeeper was 

summoned to consultation before us all The oUl 

lady appeared, in her gala suit of faded brocade 

which rustled with flurry and agitation for in spite 

of mine host's bravado, she was a little perplexed. 

Rut in a bachelor's house, and with bachelor guests, 

fh«: mauers are readily managed. There is no lady Some aar. --",;——;--■," -,o°ut which 

of the house to stand upon squeamish PO'^^ about r^its^na^ y^^^ ^^ delightlul stones of 

Ste%rabbVl"artflf'^t%iSrnrent:^"1.'=b^ A"'^ ^^^^ ^ ^'^ '^P' ^ '^^ 

^Sr's housekeeper is used to sfuftsatuleme^n^^^ 



ove and murder. And then a dim lamp / Ub'^ 
with a rusty sword across it, and a spectre alljn 
white to draw aside one's curtains at m'dji'ght- . 
■• In truth," said an old gentleman at one end 
of the table, "you put me in mmd of an anec- 

'^"•'■^Oh, a ghost story! a ghost story!" was vo- 
ciferated round the board, every one edging his chair 

'^ The "aTtendon of the whole company was now 
turned upon the speaker He was an old gentle- 
man, one side of whose face was no match tor the 
other The eyelid drooped and hung down ike an 
unhingelwindow shuttL. Indeed, the whole s,de 
of his" head was dilapidated, and seemed hke the 
win>- of a house shut up and haunted. I U wan ant 
that^side was well stuffed with ghost stones. 
There was a universal demand for tlie tale. 
■■ Nay," said the old gentleman. " it s a mere anec- 
dote-and a very commonplace one ; but such as 

x..^ ..„,.. atci uii...^. ..-" "■■(, . ' .Knil h-.vp If U is a Story that 1 once heal cl 

wit and' a great deal of excellent humour w-as ex- « V^ ^^^^'^'l^^^; '„ / ,'^3 a bo'y. But whether as 
pended upon the perplexif.es of mine host and h'S h^^"^"^^'^ J^^^^^^^^ „r to another I cannot 

housekeeper, by certain married gentlemen of the hav^"°^'^PP ^^ „^^^^,_ h's very likely it happened 
company! who considered themselves priyilegedm eco^^^^^^^^ for h" was a man very apt to meet with 
joking with a bachelor's establishment. From this ]°~'^^;^^^^^^^_ I have heard him tell ot others 
the b.?nter turned as to what quarters each would stra-^^?^^ '^XZ.i.ar. At any rate, we will suppose 
find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated much vnoie sm.ul^^^^^,, 
a mansion. „f ^.-nn-nnns " What kind of man was your uncle.? saia ine 



After much worrying to and f™. and divers consuh 
tations about the red room, and the blue roo", and 
the chintz room, and the damask room, and the little 
room with the bow window, the matter was finally 

When all this was done, we were once more sum- 
moned to the standing rural amusement of eatmg 
The time that had been consumed in dozing alter 
dinner, and in the refreshment and consultation ot 
the cedar parlour, was sufficient, in the opinion ot 
the rosy- faced butler, to engender a reasonable appe- 
tite for supper. A slight repast had therefore been 
tricked up from the residue of dinner, consis ing of 
cold sirloin of beef; hashed venison ; a deviUed lep 
of a turkey or so, and a few other of those light arti- 
cles taken by country gentlemen to ensure sound 
sleen and heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one s 



■• by my soul, but I should not be surprised if some 
of those good-looking gentlefolks that hang along 
the walls, should walk about the rooms of this stormy 
nio-ht • or if I should find the ghost of one of these 
long-waisted ladies turning into niy bed in mistake 
for her grave in the church-yard." 

■Do you believe in ghosts, then? said a thin 



•'■Why, he"was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body , 
a great raveller, and fond of telling his adveTitures 
?' Pray, how old might he have been when this 

''"'"Whe^'n' what happened?" cried the gentleman 
with the flexible nose, impatiently— '' B-gad, you 
have not given any thing a chance to happen- 



■""Do you believe in ghosts- '^en ?" said a th a^. -^ - ,^^ ..,.„^^ ^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ,^.^ 

hatchet-faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like ^ Jcoitkn neNe ,^ 
lobster. ' 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



3-43 



The inquisitive gentleman being- for the moment 
silenced, the old gentleman with the haunted head 
proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 



Many years since, a long time before the French 
revolution, my uncle had passed several months at 
Paris. The English and French were on better 
terms, in those days, than at present, and mingled 
cordially together in society. The English went 
abroad to spend money then, and the French were 
always ready to help them : they go abroad to save 
money at present, and that they can do without 
French assistance. Perhaps the travelling English 
were fewer and choicer then, than at present, when 
the whole nation has broke loose, and inundated the 
continent. At any rate, they circulated more readily 
and currently in foreign society, and my uncle, 
during his residence in Paris, made many ver)' inti- 
mate acquaintances among the French noblesse. 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey 
in the winter-time, in that part of Normandy called 
the Pays de Caux, when, as evening was closing in, 
he perceived the turrets of an ancient chateau rising 
out of the trees of its walled park, each turret with 
its high conical roof of gray slate, like a candle with 
an extinguisher on it. 

"To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " 
cried iny uncle to a meagre, but fiery postillion, who, 
with tremendous jack boots and cocked hat, was 
floundering on before him. 

" To Monseigneur the Marquis de ," said the 

postillion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to 
my uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble 
name pronounced. My uncle recollected the Marquis 
for a particular friend in Paris, who had often ex- 
pressed a wish to see him at his paternal chateau. 
My uncle was an old traveller, one that knew how 
to turn things to account. He revolved for a few 
moments in his mind how agreeable it would be to 
his friend the Marquis to be surprised in this sociable 
way by a pop visit ; and how much more agreeable 
to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, 
and have a relish of the Marquis's well-known kitch- 
en, and a smack of his superior champagne and 
burgundy ; rather than take up with the miserable 
lodgement, and miserable fare of a country inn. In 
a few minutes, therefore, the meagre postillion was 
cracking his whip like a very devil, or like a true 
Frenchman, up the long straight avenue that led to 
the chateau. 

You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as 
every body travels in France now-a-days. This was 
one of the oldest; standing naked and alone, in the 
midst of a desert of gravel walks and cold stone ter- 
races; with a cold-looking formal garden, cut into 
angles and rhomboids ; and a cold lealless park, 
divided geometrically by straight alleys ; and two or 
three noseless, cold-looking statues without any cloth- 
ing ; and fountains spouting cold water enough to 
make one's teeth chatter. At least, such was the 
feeling they imparted on the wintry day of my uncle's 
visit ; though, in hot summer weather, I'll warrant 
there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 

The smacking of the postillion's whip, which grew 
more and more intense the nearer they approached, 
frightened a flight of pigeons out of the dove-cote, 
and rooks out of the roofs ; and finally a crew of 
ser\'ants out of the chateau, with the Marquis at their 
head. He was enchanted to see my uncle ; for his 



chateau, like the house of our worthy host, had not 
manv more guests at the time than it could accommo- 
date. So he kissed my uncle on each cheek, after 
the French fashion, and ushered him into the castle. 

The Marquis did the honours of his house with the 
urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud of 
his old family chateau ; for part of it was extremely 
old. There was a tower and chapel that had been 
built almost before the memory of man ; but the rest 
was more modern ; the castle having been nearly de- 
molished during the wars of the League. The Mar- 
quis dwelt upon this event with great satisfaction, 
and seemed really tn entertain a grateful feeling 
towards Henry 1V^, for having thought his paternal 
mansion worth battering down. He had many sto- 
ries to tell of the prowess of his ancestors, and sev- 
eral skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows to show ; 
and divers huge boots and buft' jerkins, that had been 
worn by the Leaguers. Above all, there was a two- 
handled sword, which he could hardly wield ; but 
which he displayed as a proof that there had been 
giants in his family. 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such 
great warriors. When you looked at their bluff 
visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in their por- 
traits, and then at the little Marquis, with his spindle 
shanks ; his sallow lanthern visage, flanked with a 
pair of powdered ear-locks, or ailes de pigeon, that 
seemed ready to fly away with it ; you would hardly 
believe him to be of the same race. But when you 
looked at the eyes that sparkled out like a beetle's 
from each side of his hooked nose, you saw at once 
that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. 
In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, how- 
ever his body way dwindle. It rather rarifies, and 
grows more inflammable, as the earthy particles 
diminish ; and I have seen valour enough in a little 
fiery-hearted French dwarf, to have furnished out a 
tolerable giant. 

When once the Marquis, as he was wont, put on 
one of the old helmets that were stuck up in his hall ; 
though his head no more filled it than a dry pea its 
pease cod ; yet his eyes sparkled from the bottom of 
the iron cavern wiih the brilliancy of carbuncles ; and 
when he poised the ponderous two-handled sword 
of his ancestors, you would have thought you saw 
the doughty little David wielding the sword of t'lO- 
liah, which was unto him like a weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on 
this description of the Marquis and his chateau ; but 
you must excuse me ; he was an old friend of my 
uncle's, and whenever my uncle told the stoiy, he 
was always fond of talking a great deal about his 
host — Poor little Marquis ! He was one of that 
handful of gallant courtiers, who made such a de- 
voted, but hopeless stand in the cause of their sov- 
ereign, in the chateau of the Tuilleries, against the 
irruption of the mob, on the sad tenth of August. 
He displayed the valour of a preux French chevalier 
to the last ; flourished feebly his little court sword 
with a sa-sa ! in face of a whole legion of sans- 
culottes ; but was pinned to the wall like a butterfly, 
by the pike of a poissarde, and his heroic soul was 
borne up to heaven on his ailes de pi-^ejn. 

But all this has nothing to do with my stor)' ; to 
the point then : — When the hour arrived for retiring 
for th'j night, my uncle was shown to his room, in a 
venerable old tower. It was the oldest part of the 
chateau, and had in ancient times been the Donjon 
or stronghold ; of course the chamber was none of 
the best. The Marquis had put him there, how- 
ever, because he knew him to be a traveller of taste, 
and fond of antiquities ; and also because the better 
apartments were already occui)ied. Indeed, he per- 
fectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mention- 



314 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ino- the great personages who had once inhabited 
them, all of whom were in some way or other con- 
nected with the family. If you would take his word 
for it, John Baliol, or, as he called him, Jean de Bail- 
leul had died of chagrin in this very chamber on 
hearing of the success of his rival, Robert the Bruce, 
at the battle of Bannockburn ; and when he added 
that the Duke de Guise had slept in it during the 
wars of the League, my uncle was fain to fehcitate 
himself upon being honoured with such distinguished 

quarters. , , u 

The night was shrewd and wmdy, and the cham- 
ber none of the warmest. An old, long-faced, long- 
bodied servant in quaint lively, who attended upon 
my uncle, threw down an armful ol wood beside the 
fire-place, gave a queer look about the room, and 
then wished him ban repos, with a grimace and a 
shrug that would have been suspicious from any other 
than an old French servant. The chamber had in- 
deed a wild, crazy look, enough to strike any one who 
had read romances with apprehension and forebod- 
ing The windows were high and narrow, and had 
once been loop-holes, but had been rudely enlarged 
as well as the extreme thickness ot the walls would 
permit ; and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every 
breeze. You would have thought, on a wmdy night, 
some of the old Leaguers were tramping and clank- 
ing about the apartment in their huge boots and 
rattling spurs. A door which stood ajar, and like a 
true French door would stand ajar, in spite of every 
reason and eflbrt to the contrary, opened upon a 
long, dark corridor, that led the Lord knows whither, 
and seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves 
in, when they turned out of their graves at midnight. 
The wind would spring up into a hoarse murmur 
through this passage, and creak the door to and fro, 
as if some dubious ghost were balancing m its mind 
whether to come in or not. In a word, it was pre- 
cisely the kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, 
if ghost there were in the chateau, would single out 
for its lavourile lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to 
meet with strange adventures, apprehended none at 
the time. He made several attempts to shut the 
door, but in vain. Not that he apprehended any- 
thing, for he was too old a traveller to be daunted 
by a wild-looking apartment ; but the night, as I 
have said, was cold and gusty, something like the 
present, and the wind howled about the old turret, 
pretty much as it does round this old mansion at 
this moment; and the breeze from the long dark 
corridor came in as damp and chilly as if trom a 
dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could not 
close the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, 
which soon sent up a flame in the great wide- 
mouthed chimney that illumined the whole chamber, 
and made the shadow of the tongs on the opposite 
wall, look like a long-legged giant. My uncle now 
clambered on top of the half score ot mattresses 
which form a French bed, and which stood in a 
deep recess; then tucking himself snugly in, and 
burying himself up to the chin in the bed-clothes, 
he lay looking at tlie fire, and listening to the wind, 
and chuckling to think how knowingly he had come 
over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodgings : 
and so he fell asleep. 

He had not taken above half of his hrst nap, when 
he was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the 
turret over his chamber, which struck midnight. It 
was just such an old clock as ghosts are tond of. It 
had a deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly and 
tediously that my uncle thought it would never have 
done. He counted and counted till he was confi- 
dent he counted thirteen, and then it stopped. 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last 



faggot was almost expiring, burning in small blue 
flames, which now and then lengthened up into 
little white gleams. My uncle lay with his eyes hall 
closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his 
nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began 
to mino-le up the present scene with the crater ot 
Vesuvius, the French opera, the Coliseum at Rome, 
Dolly's chop-house in London, and all the farrago 
of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is 
crammed— in a word, he was just falling asleep. 

Suddenly he was aroused by the sound ol loot- 
steps that appeared to be slowly pacing along the 
corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him say 
himself, was a man not easily frightened ; so he lay 
quiet, supposing that this might be some other 
guest, or some servant on his way to bed. 1 he 
footsteps, however, approached the door ; the door 
gently opened ; whether of its own accord, or whether 
pushed open, my uncle could not distinguish :— a 
figure all in white ghded in. It was a female, tall 
and stately in person, and of a most commanding 
air Her dress was of an ancient tashion, ample in 
volume and sweeping the floor. She walked up to 
the fire-place without regarding my uncle ; who 
raised his nightcap with one hand, and stared ear- 
nestly at her. She remained for some time stanrlmg 
by the fire, which flashing up at intervals cast blue 
and white gleams of light that enabled my uncle to 
remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastiv pale, and perhaps rendered 
still more so by the blueish light of the fire It pos- 
sessed beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care 
and anxiety. There was the look ot one accus- 
tomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble could 
not cast down nor subdue ; for there was still the 
predominating air of proud, unconquerable resolu- 
tion Such, at least, was the opinion formed by my 
uncie, and he considered himself a great physiogno- 

The figure remained, as I said, for some time by 
the fire, putting out first one hand, then the other, 
then each foot alternately, as if warming itsell ; lor 
your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are apt to be 
cold My uncle furthermore remarked that it wore 
hi.-h-heeled shoes, after an ancient lashion with 
paste or diamond buckles, that sparkled as though 
they were alive. At length the figure turned gently 
round, casting a glassy look about the '^Partment 
which, as it passed over my uncle, made his blood 
run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones 
It then stretched its arms toward heaven, clasped 
its hands, and wringing them in a supplicating man- 
ner, glided slowly out of the room. . 

Mv uncle lay' for some time meditating on this 
visitation, for (as he remarked when he told me the 
stonO though a man of firmness, he was also a man 
of reflection, and did not reject a thing because it 
was out of the regular course of events. However 
bein<^, as I have before said, a great traveller, and 
accustomed to strange adventures, he drew his 
nio-htcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to 
the door, hoisted the bed-clothes high over his 
shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was 
awakened by the voice of some one at his bed-side. 
He turned round and beheld the old French servant, 
with his ear-locks in tight buckles on each side ot 
a lon<^ lanthorn face, on which habit had deeply 
wrinkled an everlasting smile. He made a thousand 
erimaces and asked a thousand pardons lor disturb- 



^nmaces auu ci=i'.i-ij -^ ^,,^^^ t- 

ni'^ Monsieur, but the morning was considerably 
ad''vanced. While my uncle was dressing, he called 
vaeuely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. 
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the 
habit of rambhng about this part of the chateau at 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



345 



night. The old valet shrugged his shoulders as 
high as his head, laid one hand on his bosom, tlirew 
open the otlier with every finger extended; made a 
most whimsical grimace, which he meant to be com- 
plimentary : 

" It was not tor him to know any thing of iis 
braves fortunes of Monsieur." 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be 
learnt in this quarter. After breakfast he was walk- 
ing with the Marquis through the modern apart- 
ments of the cliateau ; sliding over the well-waxed 
floors of silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in gild- 
ing and brocade ; until they came to a long picture 
gallery, containing many portraits, some in oil and 
some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his 
host, who had ail the family pride of a nobleman of 
the ancicn regrtne. There was not a grand name in 
Normandy, and hardly one in France, that was not, 
in some way or other, connected with his house. 
My uncle stood listening with inward impatience, 
resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the 
other, as the little .Marquis descanted, with his usual 
hre and vivacity, on the achievements of his ances- 
tors, whose portraits hung along the wall ; from the 
martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the 
gallantries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, 
with tair smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruf- 
fles, and pink and blue silk coats and breeches ; not 
forgetting the conquests of the lovelv shepherdesses, 
with hoop petticoats and waists no' thicker than an 
hour glass, who appeared ruling over their sheep 
and their swains with dainty crooks decorated with 
fluttering ribbands. 

In the midst of his friend's discourse mv uncle's 
eyes rested on a full-length portrait, which struck 
him as being the very counterpart of his visitor of the 
preceding night. 

" Methinks," said he, pointing to it, " I have seen 
the original of this portrait." 

" Pardonnez moi," replied the Marquis politely, 
" that can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more 
than a hundred years. That was the beautiful 
Duchess de Longueville, who figured during the 
minority of Louis the Fourteenth.'' 

" And was there any thing remarkable in her 
history ? " 

Never was question more unlucky. The little 
Marquis immediately threw himself into the attitude 
of a man about to tell a long story. In fact, my 
uncle had pulled upon himself the whole history of 
the civil war of the Fronde, in which the beautiful 
Duchess had |)layed so distinguished a part. Turen- 
ne, Coligni, Mazarin, were called up from their 
graves to grace his narration ; nor were the affairs 
of the Barricadoes, nor the chivalry of the I'ert- 
cocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish him- 
self a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his 
merciless memory, when suddenly the little man's 
recollections took a more interesting turn. He was 
relating the imprisonment of the Duke de Longue- 
ville, with the Princes Conde and Conti, in the 
chateau of Vincennes, and the ineffectual efforts of 
the Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their 
rescue. He had come to that part where she 
was invested by the royal forces in the chateau of 
Dieppe, and in imminent danger of falling into 
their hands. 

"The spirit of the Duchess." proceeded the Mar- 
quis, " rose with her trials. It was astonishing to 
see so delicate and beautiful a being buffet so 
resolutely with hardships. She determined on a 
desperate means of escape. One dark unruly night, 
she issued secretly out of a small postern gate of 
the castle, which the enemy had neglected to guard. 



She was followed by her female attendants, a few 
domestics, and some gallant cavaliers who still re- 
mained faithful to her fortunes. Her object was to 
gain a small port about two leagues distant, where 
she had privately provided a vessel for her escape in 
case of emergency. 

The little band of fugitives were obliged to per- 
form the distance on foot. When they arrived at 
the port the wind was high and stormy, the tide con- 
trary, the vessel anchored far off in the road, and no 
means of getting on board, but by a fishing shallop 
that lay tossing like a cockle shell on the edge of the 
surf. The Duchess determined to risk the attempt. 
The seamen endeavoured to dissuade her, but the 
imminence of her danger on shore, and the magnan- 
imity of her spirit urged her on. She had to be 
borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such 
was the violence of the wind and waves, that he fal- 
tered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burthen 
fall into the sea. 

" The Duchess was nearly drowned ; but partly 
through her own struggles, partly bv the exertion's 
of the seamen, she got to land. As soon as she had 
a little recovered strength, she insisted on renewing 
the attempt. The storm, however, had by this time 
become so violent as to set all efforts at defiance. 
To delay, was to be discovered and taken prisoner. 
As the only resource left, she procured horses ; 
mounted with her female attendants en croupe be- 
hind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her ; 
and scoured the country to seek some temporary 
asylum. 

" While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, 
laying his forefinger on my uncle's breast to arouse 
his flagging attention, " while the Duchess, poor 
lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this dis- 
consolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. Her 
approach caused some uneasiness ; for the clatter- 
ing of a troop of horse, at dead of night, up the 
avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, 
and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to 
occasion alarm. 

"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the 
teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the name of 
the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled. The 
household turned out with flambeaux to receive her, 
and never did torches gleam on a more weather- 
beaten, travel -stained band than came tramping 
into the court. Such pale, care-worn faces, such 
bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her 
females presented, each seated behind her cavalier ; 
while half drenched, half drowsy pages and attend- 
ants seemed ready to fall from their horses with 
sleep and fatigue. 

" The Duchess was received with a hearty wel- 
come by my ancestors. She was ushered into the 
Hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and 
blazed to cheer herself and her train ; and every spit 
and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare ample 
refreshments for the wayfarers. 

" She had a right to our hospitalities," continued 
the little Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight 
degree of stateliness, "for she was related to our 
family. I'll tell you how it was : Her fiithcr, Henry 
de Bourbon, Prince of Conde — " 

" But did the Duchess pass the night in the cha- 
teau .' " said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at 
the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis's 
genealogical discussions. 

" Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the 
apartment you occupied last night; which, at that 
time, was a kind of state apartment. Her followers 
were quartered in the chambers opening upon the 
neighbouring corridor, and her favourite page slept 
m an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor 



346 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



walked the great chasseur, who had announced her 
arrival, and wlio acted as a kind of sentinel or 
{juard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fel- 
low, and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell 
upon his deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he 
seemed capable of defending the castle with his sin- 
gle arm. , ■ ■ 

" It was a rough, rude night ; about this time oi 
the year. — Apropos^novj I think of it, last night was 
the anniversary of her visit. 1 may well remember 
the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgot- 
ten by our house. There is a singular tradition con- 
cerning it in our family." Here the Marquis hesi- 
tated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy 
eyebrows. " There is a tradition— that a strange 
occurrence took place that night— a strange, myste- 
rious, inexplicable occurrence." 

Here he checked himself and paused. 
"Did it relate to that lady.'" inquired my uncle, 
eageriy. 

" It was past the hour of midnight, resumed the 
Marquis — "when the whole chateau — " 

Here he paused again — my uncle made a move- 
ment of anxious curiosity. 

"Excuse me," said the Marquis— a slight blush 
streaking his sullen visage. " There are some cir- 
cumstances connected with our family history which 
I do not like to relate. That was a rude period. A 
time of great crimes among great men: for you 
know liigh blood, when it runs wrong, will not run 
tamely like blood of the r««a/7/<-— poor lady !— But 
I have a little family pride, that— excuse me— we 
will change the subject if you please." — 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous 
and magnificent introduction had led him to expect 
something wonderful in the story to which it served 
as a kind of avenue. He had no idea of being 
cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable 
squeamishness. Besides, being a traveller, in quest 
of information, he considered it his duty to inquire 
into everv thing. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 
" Well," said mv uncle, a little petulantly, " what- 
ever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." 
The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with 
surprise. 

" She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber. 
The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug 
and a smile; taking it no doubt for an awkward 
piece of English pleasantry, which politeness re- 
quired him to be charmed with. My uncle went on 
gravely, however, and related the whole circum- 
stance. The Marquis heard him through with pro- 
found attention, holding his snuff-box unopened in 
his hand. When the story was finished he tapped 
on the lid of his box deliberately ; took a long so- 
norous pinch of snuff — 

" Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked toward the 
other end of the gallery. — 



" Bah ! " said the narrator. " my uncle was too 
much accustomed to strange sights not to know a 
ghost from a housekeeper ! " 

There was a murmur round the table half of mer- 
riment, half of disappointment. I was inclined to 
think the old gentleman had really an afterpart of 
his story in reserve ; but he sipped his wine and said 
nothing more ; and there was an odd expression 
about his dilapidated countenance that left me in 
doubt whether he were in drollery or earnest. 

"Egad," said the knowing gentleman with the 
flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puts me in 
mind of one that used to be told of an aunt ot mine, 
by the mother's side ; though I don't know that it 
w'ill bear a comparison ; as the good lady was not 
quite so prone to meet with strange adventures. 
But at any rate, you shall have it." 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 



Here the narrator paused. The company waited 
for some time for him to resume his narrative ; but 
he continued silent. 

"Well," said the inquisitive gendeman, "and 
what did your uncle say then ? " 

"Nothing," replied the other. 

" And what did the Marquis say farther.' " 

" Nothing." 

" And is that all ? " 

" That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of 
wine. 

" I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with 
the waggish nose — " I surmise it was the old house- 
keeper walking her rounds to see that all was right." 



My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, 
and great resolution ; she was what might be termed 
a very manly woman. My uncle was a thin, puny 
little man, very meek and acquiescent, and no match 
for my aunt. It was observed that he dwindled and 
dwindled gradually away, from the day of his mar- 
ria"-e. His wife's powerful mind was too much for 
hiiii ; it wore him out. My aunt, however, took all pos- 
sible care of him, had half the doctors in town to pre- 
scribe for him, made him take all their prescriptions, 
ivilfy nillv, and dosed him with physic enough to 
cure a whole hospital. All was in vain. My uncle 
crrew worse and worse the more dosing and nursing 
he underwent, until in the end he added another to 
the long list of matrimonial victims, who have bc;en 
killed with kindness. 

" And was it his ghost that appeared to her? 
asked the inquisitive gendeman, who had questioned 
the former storv-teller. 

" You shall hear," replied the narrator:— My aunt 
took on mightily for the death of her poor dear hus- 
band ! Perhaps she felt some compunction at bav- 
in"- given him so much physic, and nursed him into 
his grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow 
could do to honour his memory. She spared no ex- 
pense in either the quantity or quality of her mourn- 
ing weeds ; she wore a miniature of him about her 
neck, as large as a little sun dial ; and she had a full- 
length portrait of him always hanging in her bed 
chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the 
skies ; and it was determined, that a woman who 
behaved so well to the memory of one husband, de- 
served soon to get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take 
up her residence in an old country seat in Derby- 
shire, which had long been in the care of merely a 
steward and housekeeper. She took most ot her 
servants with her, intending to make it her principal 
abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild part ot the 
country, among the gray Derbyshire hills; with a 
murderer hanging in chains on a bleak height in lull 
view. 

The servants from town were halt frightened out 
of their wits, at the idea of living in such a dismal, 
pagan-looking place ; especially when they got to- 
gether in the servants' hall in the evening, and com- 
pared notes on all the hobgoblin stories they had 
picked up in the course of the day. They were 
afraid to venture alone about the forlorn black-look- 
ing chambers. My ladies' maid, who was troubled 
with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone in 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



347 



such a "gashly, rumm.ig'ing old building ; " and tlie 
tootman, who was a l<ind-hearted young fellow, did 
all in his power to cheer her up. 

My aunt, herself, seemed to be struck with the 
lonely appearance of the house. Before she went to 
bed, therefore, she examined well the fastenings of 
the doors and windows, locked up the plate with 
her own hands, and carried the keys, together with 
a little box of money and jewels, to her own room : 
for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all 
things herself Having put the keys under her pil- 
low, and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet 
arranging her hair ; for, being, in spite of her grief 
for my uncle, rather a buxom widow, she was a little 
particular about her person. She sat for a little 
while looking at her face in the glass, first on one 
side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do, when 
they would ascertain if they have been in good looks ; 
for a roystering country squire of the neighbourhood, 
with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called 
that day to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something 
move behind her. She looked hastily round, but 
there was nothing to be seen. Nothing but the 
grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, which 
had been hung against the wall. She gave a heavy 
sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed to do, 
whenever she spoke of him in company ; and went 
on adjusting her night-dress. Her sigh was re- 
echoed ; or answered by a long-drawn breath. She 
looked round again, but no one was to be seen. She 
ascribed these sounds to the wind, oozing through 
the rat holes of the old mansion ; and proceeded 
leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all at once, 
she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the 
portrait move. 

"The back of her head being towards it ! " said 
the story-teller with the ruined head, giving a know- 
ing wink on the sound side of his visage — " good ! " 

" Yes, sir ! " replied drily the narrator, " her back 
being towards the portrait, but her eye fixed on its 
reflection in the glass." 

Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the 
eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circum- 
stance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden 
shock. To assure herself cautiously of the fact, she 
put one hand to her forehead, as if rubbing it ; 
peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle 
with the other hand. The light of the taper gleamed 
on the eye, and was reflected from it. She was sure 
it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a wink, 
as she had sometimes known her husband to do 
when living ! It struck a momentary chill to her 
heart ; for she was a lone woman, and felt herself 
fearfully situated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was 
almost as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir, 
(turning to the old story-teller,) became instantly 
calm and collected. She went on adjusting her dress. 
She even hummed a favourite air, and did not make 
a single false note. She casu.ally overturned a dress- 
ing box ; took a candle and picked up the articles 
leisurely, one by one, from the floor ; pursued a roll- 
ing pin-cushion that was making the best of its way 
under the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an 
instant into the corridor, as if in doubt whether to 
go ; and then walked quietly out. 

She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to 
arm themselves with the first weapons that came to 
hand, placed herself at their head, and returned al- 
most immediately. 

Her hastily levied army presented a formidable 
force. The steward had a rusty blunderbuss ; the 
coachman a loaded whip ; the footman a pair of 
horse pistols ; the cook a huge chopping knife, and 



the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the 
van with a red-hot poker ; and, in my opinion, she 
was the most formidable of the party. The waiting 
maid brought up the rear, dreading to stay alone in 
the servants' hall, smelling to a broken bottle of 
volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the ghost- 
eses. 

"Ghosts!" said my aunt resolutely, "I'll singe 
their whiskers for them ! " 

They entered the chamber. All was still and un- 
disturbed as when she left it. They approached the 
portrait of my uncle. 

" Pull me down that picture ! " cried my aunt. 

A heavy groan, and a sound like the chattering 
of teeth, was heard from the portrait. The servants 
shrunk back. The maid uttered a faint shriek, and 
clung to the footman. 

" Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of the 
foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess 
behind it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they 
hauled forth a round-shouldered, black-bearded var- 
let, with a knife as long as my arm, but trembling 
all over like an aspen leaf. 

" Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose ! " 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"A knight of the post," replied the narrator. 
" who had been smitten with the worth of the 
wealthy widow ; or rather a marauding Tarquin, 
who had stolen into her chamber to violate her 
purse and rifle her strong box when all the house, 
should be asleep. In plain tenns," continued he, 
" the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neigh- 
bourhood, who had once been a servant in the house, 
and had been employed to assist in arranging it for 
the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he 
had contrived his hiding-place for his nefarious pur- 
poses, and had borrowed an eye from the portrait by 
way of a reconnoitering hole." 

" And what did they do with him — did they hang 
him .'' " resumed the questioner. 

"Hang him? — how could they?" exclaimed a 
beetle-browed barrister, with a haw'k's nose — " the 
offence was not capital — no robbery nor assault had 
been committed — no forcible entry or breaking into 
the premises — " 

" My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman of 
spirit, and apt to take the law into her own hands. 
She had her own notions of cleanliness also. She 
ordered the fellow to be drawn through the horse- 
pond to cleanse away all offences, and then to be 
well rubbed down with an oaken towel." 

" .'\nd what became of him afterwards? " said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

" I do not exactly know — I believe he was sent on 
a vovage of improvement to Botany Bay." 

" And your aunt — " said the inquisitive gentleman 
— "I'll warrant she took care to make her maid 
sleep in the room with her after that." 

" No, sir, she did better — she gave her hand short- 
ly after to the roystering squire ; for she used to 
observe it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep 
alone in the country-. " 

"She was right," obsen-ed the inquisitive gentle- 
man, nodding his head sagaciously — "but I am 
sorry they did not hang that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator 
had brought his tale to the most satisfactory con- 
clusion ; though a country clergyman present re- 
gretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in the 
different stories, had not been married together. 
They certainly would have been well matched. 

" But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive 
gentleman, " that there was any ghost in this last 
story." 



348 

"Oh if it's gliosis you want, honey," cried the 
Irish Cixptain of dragoons, "if it's ghosts you want 
vou shall have a whole regiment of them. And 
since these gentlemen have been givmg the adven- 
tures of their uncles and aunts, taith and I 11 e en 
give you a chapter too, out of my own lamily history. 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON; 

OR, THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. 



My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a 
profession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All 
my forefathers have been dragoons and died upon 
the field of honour except myself, and I hope my 
posterity may be able to say the same; however, I 
don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grand- 
father, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had served 
in the Low Countries. In fact, he was one of that 
very army, which, according to my uncle Toby, 
" swore so terribly in Flanders." He could swear a 
good stick himself; and, moreover, was the very man 
that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim men- 
tions, of radical heat and radical moisture ; or, in 
other words, the mode of keeping out the damps of 
ditch water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, 
it's nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell 
it to show you that niv grandfather was a man not 
easily to be humbugged. He had seen service ; or, 
according to his own phrase, "he had seen the 
divil "—and that's saying everything. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way 
to England, for which he intended to embark at 
Ostend ;— bad luck to the place for one where I was 
kept by storms and head winds for three long days, 
and the divil of a jolly companion or pretty face to 
comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandlather 
was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend— 
no matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, 
towards nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges. Very 
like you all know Bruges, gentlemen, a queer, old- 
fashioned Flemish town, once they say a great place 
for trade and money-making, in old times, when the 
Mynheers were in their glory ; but almost as large 
and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the present 
day. Well, gentlemen, it was the time of the annual 
fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals 
swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swarm- 
ed with Dutch merchants; and there was hardly 
any getting along for goods, wares, and merchan- 
dises, and peasants in big breeches, and women in 
half a score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, 
slashing way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow- 
staring about him at the motley crowd, and the old 
houses with gable ends to the street and storks' 
nests on the chimneys ; winking at the ya vrouws 
who showed their faces at the windows, and joking 
the women right and left in the street; all of whom 
laughed and took it in amazing good part; tor 
though he did not know a word of their language, 
yet he had always a knack of making himself under- 
stood among the women. 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual 
fair, all the town was crowded ; every inn and tavern 
full,' and my grandfather applied in vain from one to 
the other for admittance. At length he rode up to 
an old rackety inn that looked ready to fall to pieces, 
and which all the rats would have run away from, if 
they could have found room in any other house to 
put their heads. It was just such a queer building 



as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that 
reached up into the clouds; and as many garrets, 
one over the other, as the seven heavens of Ma- 
homet. Nothing had saved it from tumbling down 
but a stork's nest on the chimney, which always , 
brings good luck to a house in the Low Countries : 
and°at the very time of my grandfather's arrival, 
there were two of these long-legged birds of grace, 
standing like ghosts on the chimney top. taith, 
but they've kept the house on its legs to this very 
day • for you may see it any time you pass through 
Brutres, as it stands there yet ; only it is turned into 
a brwery— a brewery of strong Flemish beer ; at 
least it was so when I came that way after the battle 
of Waterloo. . 

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he 
approached. It might not altogether have struck 
his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the 
door, 



HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK. 

My grandfather had learnt enough of the language 
to know that the sign promised good liquor. ''This 
is the house for me," said he, stopping short before 
the door. . 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was 
an event in an old inn, frequented only by the peace- 
ful sons of traffick. A rich burgher ol Antwerp a 
stately ample man, in a broad Flemish hat, and who 
was the great man and great patron of the establish- 
ment, sat smoking a clean long pipe on one side of 
the door; a fat little distiller ot Geneva from Schie- 
dam, sat smoking on the other, and the bottle-nosed 
host stood in the door, and the comely hostess, in 
crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess daugh- 
ter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pendants 
in her ears, was at a side window. 

"Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, 
with a sulky glance at the stranger. 

" Der duyvel ! " sad the fat little distiller of Schie- 
dam. . , , r u 
The landlord saw with the quick glance ol a pub- 
lican that the new guest was not at all. at all, to the 
taste of the old ones; and to tell the truth, he did 
not himself like my grandfather's saucy eye. He 
shook his head—" Not a garret in the house but was 
full." „ , 
" Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 
" Not a garret ! " echod the daughter. 
The burgher of Antwerp and the little distiller of 
Schiedam continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, 
eyed the enemy askance from under their broad hats, 
but said nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. 
He threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his 
hat on one side, stuck one arm akimbo, slapped his 
broad thigh with the other hand— 

" Faith and troth ! " said he, " but I'll sleep in this 
house this very night ! " 

My grandfather had on a tight pair of buckskins 
—the slap went to the landlady's heart. 

He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, 
and making his way past the staring Mynheers into 
the public room. May be you've been m the bar- 
room of an old Flemish inn— faith, but a handsome 
chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; with a brick 
floor a great fire-place, with the whole Bible history 
in glazed tiles; and then the mantel-piece, pitching 
itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole 
regiment of cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs pa- 
raded on it ; not to mention hall a dozen great Delft 
platters hung about the room by way ot pictures ; 
and the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing 
bar-maid inside of it with a red calico cap and yellow 
ear-drops. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



349 



My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, 
as he cast an eye round the room : " Faith, this is 
the very house I've been looking alter," said he. 

There was some farther show of resistance on the 
part of the garrison, but my grandfather was an old 
soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not easily re- 
pulsed, especially after he had got into the fortress. 
So he blarney'd the landlord, kissed the landlord's 
wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar- 
maid under the chiii ; and it was agreed on all hands 
that it would be a thousand pities, and a burning 
shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold dragoon 
into the streets. So they Ifid their heads together, 
that is to say, my grandfather and the landlady, and 
it was at length agreed to accommodate him with 
an old chamber that had for some time been shut up. 

"Some say it's haunted!" whispered the land- 
lord's daughter, " but you're a bold dragoon, and I 
dare say don't fear ghosts." 

" The divil a bit ! " said my grandfather, pinching 
her plump cheek ; " but if I should be troubled by 
ghosts, I've been to the Red Sea in my time, and 
have a pleasant way of laying them, my darling ! " 

And then he whispered something to the girl 
which made her laugh, and give liim a good-hu- 
moured bo.\ on the ear. In short, there was nobody 
knew better how to make his way among the petti- 
coats than my grandfather. 

In a little while, as was his usual way, he took 
complete possession of the house : swaggering all 
over it ; — into the stable to look after his horse ; 
into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had 
something to say or do with every one ; smoked 
with the Dutchmen ; drank with the Germans ; 
slapped the men on the shoulders, tickled the women 
under the ribs : — never since the days of Ally Croaker 
had such a rattling blade been seen. The landlord 
stared at him with astonishment ; the landlord's 
daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he 
came near ; and as he turned his back and swag- 
gered along, his tight jacket setting off his broad 
shoulders and plump buckskins, and his long sword 
trailing by his sitle, the maids whispered to one an- 
other — " What a proper man ! " 

At supper my grandfather took command of the 
table d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped 
everybody, not forgetting himself; talked with every 
one, whether he understood their language or not ; 
and made his way into the intimacy of the rich 
burgher of Antwerp, who had never been known to 
be sociable with any one durmg his life. In fact, he 
revolutionized the whole establishment, and gave it 
such a rouse, that the veiy house reeled with it. He 
outsat every one at table excepting the little fat dis- 
tiller of Schiedam, who had sat soaking for a long 
time before he broke forth ; but when he did, he was 
a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affection 
for my grandfather ; so they sat dnnking, and smok- 
ing, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish 
songs, without understanding a word each other 
said, until the little Hollander was lairly swampt 
with his own gin and water, and carried off to bed, 
whooping and hiccuping, and trolling the burthen 
of a Low Dutch love song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his 
quarters, up a huge staircase composed of loads of 
hewn timber ; and through long rigmarole passages, 
hung with blackened paintings of fruit, and fish, and 
game, and country frolicks, and huge kitchens, and 
portly burgomasters, such as you see about old- 
fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he arrived at 
his room. 

An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and 
crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like 
an infirmary for decayed and superannuated furni- 



ture ; where every thing diseased and disabled was 
sent to nurse, or to be forgotten. Or rather, it might 
have been taken for a general congress of old legiti- 
mate moveables, where every kind and country had 
a representative. No two chairs were alike : such 
high backs and low backs, and leather bottoms and 
worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bot- 
toms ; and cracked marble tables with curiously 
carved legs, holding balls in their claws, as though 
they were going to play at ninepins. 

My grandfiither made a bow to the motley assem- 
blage as he entered, and having undressed himself, 
placed his light in the fire-place, asking pardon of the 
tongs, which seemed to be making love to the shovel 
in the chimney corner, and whispering soft nonsense 
in its ear. 

The rest of the guests were by this time sound 
asleep ; for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The 
house maids, one by one, crept up yawning to their 
atticks, and not a female head in the inn was laid on 
a pillow that night without dreaming of the Bold 
Dragoon, 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and 
drew over him one of those great bags of down, un- 
der which they smother a man in the Low Coun- 
tries ; and there he lay, melting between two feather 
beds, like an anchovy sandwich between two slices 
of toast and butter. He was a warm-complexioned 
man, and this smothering played the very deuce with 
him. So, sure enough, in a little while it seemed as 
if a legion of imps were twitching at him, and all the 
blood in his veins was in fever heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, 
excepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the dif- 
ferent chambers ; who answered one another in all 
kinds of tones and cadences, like so many bull- frogs 
in a swamp. The quieter the house became, the 
more unquiet became my grandfather. He waxed 
warmer and warmer, until at length the bed became 
too hot to hold him. 

" May be the maid had warmed it too much ? " 
said the curious gentleman inquiringly. 

"I rather think the contrary," replied the Irish- 
man. " But be that as it may, it grew too hot for 
my grandfather." 

"Faith there's no standing this any longer," says 
he ; so he jumped out of bed and went strolling about 
the house. 

" What for.' " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" Why, to cool himself to be sure," replied the 
other, " or perhaps to find a more comfortable bed — 

or perhaps but no matter what he went for — he 

never mentioned ; and there's no use in taking up 
our time in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time ab- 
sent from his room, and was returning, perfectly 
cool, when just as he reached the door he heard a 
strange noise within. He paused and listened. It 
seemed as if some one was trying to hum a tune in 
defiance of the asthma. He recollected the report of 
the room's being haunted ; but he was no believer in 
ghosts. So he pushed the door gently ajar, and 
peeped in. 

Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on 
within enough to have astonished St. Anthony. 

By the light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced 
fellow in a long flannel gown and a tall white night- 
cap with a tassel to it, who sat by the fire, with a 
bellows under his arm by way of bagpipe, from which 
he forced the asthmatical music that had bothered 
my grandfather. As he played, too. he kept twitch- 
ing about with a thousand queer contortions ; nod- 
ding his head and bobbing about his tasselled night- 
cap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd, and mighty 



350 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



iiresumptuous, and was about to demand what busi- 
ness he had to play his wind instrumenis in another 
gentleman's quarters, when a new cause ol astonish- 
ment met his eye. From the opposite side of the room 
a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered with 
leather, and studded all over in a coxcomical fashion 
with httle brass nails, got suddenly into motion; 
thrust out first a claw foot, then a crooked arm, and 
at length, making a leg, slided gracefully up to an 
easy chair, of tarnished brocade„ with a hole in its 
bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet 
about the floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and 
bobbed his head and his nightcap about like mad. 
By degrees the dancing mania seemed to seize upon 
all the other pieces of furniture. The antique, long- 
bodied chairs paired off in couples and led down a 
country dance ; a three-legged stool danced a horn- 
pipe, though horribly puzzled by its supernumerary 
leg ; while the amorous tongs seized the shovel round 
the waist, and whirled it about the room in a Ger- 
man waltz. In short, all the moveables got in mo- 
tion, capering about ; pirouetting, hands across, right 
and left, like so many devils, all except a great clothes- 
press, which kept curtseying and curtseying, like a 
dowager, in one corner, in exquisite time to the mu- 
sic ;— being either too corpulent to dance, or perhaps 
at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the 
reason ; so, being, like a true Irishman, devoted to 
the sex. and at all times ready for a frolick, he 
bounced into the room, calling to the musician to 
strike up '• Paddy O'Rafferty," capered up to the 
clothes-press and seized upon two handles to lead 
her out :— When, whizz !— the whole revel was at an 
end. The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in 
an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing 
had happened ; and the musician vanished up the 
chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his 
hurry. My grandfather found himself seated in the 
middle of the fioor, with the clothes-press sprawling 
before hnn, and the two handles jerked oft and in 
his hands. 

" Then after all, this was a mere dream ! said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

"The divil a bit of a dream !" replied the Irish- 
man : " there never was a truer fact in this world. 
Faith, I should have liked to see any man tell my 
grandfather it was a dream." 

Well, gentlem-n, as the clotlies-prqss was a 
mighty heavy body, and my grandfather likewise, 
particularly in rear, you may easily suppose two such 
heavy bodies coming to the ground would make a 
bit of a noise. Faith, the old mansion shook as 
though it had mistaken it for an earthquake. The 
whole garrison was alarmed. The landlord, who 
slept just below, hurried up with a candle to inquire 
the cause, but with all his haste his daughter had 
hurried to the scene of uproar before him. The 
landlord was followed by the landlady, who was fol- 
lowed by the bouncing bar-maid, who was followed 
by the simpering ch.ambermaids all holding together, 
as well as they could, such garments as they had 
first lain hands on ; but all in a terrible huri7 to see 
what the devil was to pay in the chamber of the 
bold dragoon. 

My grandfather related the marvellous scene he 
had witnessed, and the prostrate clothes-press, and 
the broken handles, bore testimony to the fact. There 
was no contesting such evidence ; particularly with 
a lad of my grandfather's complexion, who seemed 
able to make good every word either with sword or 
shillelah. So the landlord scratched his head and 
looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The 
landlady scratched— no, she did not scratch her head, 



— but she knit her brow, and did not seem half pleased 
with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter 
corroborated it by recollecting that the last person 
who had dwelt in that chamber was a famous jug- 
gler who had died of St. Vitus's dance, and no 
doubt had infected all the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when the 
chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed 
strange carryings on in that room ;— and as they de- 
clared this "upon their honours," there could not 
remain a douljt upon the subject. 

"And did your grandfather go to bed again in 
that room.' " said the in^isitive gentleman. 

" That's more than I can tell. Where he passed 
the rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. 
In fact, though he had seen much service, he was 
but indift'erently acquainted with geography, and apt 
to make blunders in his travels about inns at night, 
that it w-ould have puzzled him sadly to account for 
in the morning." 

" Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said the 
knowing old gentleman. 

"Never that I heard of." 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PIC- 
TURE, 



As one story of the kind produces another, and 
as all the company seemed fully engrossed by the 
topic, and disposed to bring their relatives and an- 
cestors upon the scene, there is no knowing how 
many more ghost adventures we might have heard, 
had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept 
soundly through the whole, now suddenly awakened, 
with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound 
broke the charm ; the ghosts took to flight as though 
it had been cock-crowing, and there was a universal 
move for bed. ^ 

"And now for the haunted chamber,' said the 
Irish captain, taking his candle. 

" Aye, who's to be the hero of the night ? " said 
the gentleman with the ruined head. 

"That we shall see in the morning," said the old 
gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks pale and 
grizzly will have seen the ghost." 

"Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, "there's 
many a true thing said in jest. In fact, one of you 

will sleep in a room to-night " 

" What — a haunted room ? a haunted room ? I 
claim the adventure— and I— and I— and I," cried a 
dozen guests, talking and laughing at the same time. 
"No— no," said mine host, "there is a secret 
about one of my rooms on which I feel disposed to 
try an experiment. So, gentlemen, none of you shall 
know who has the haunted chamber, until circum- 
stances reveal it. I will not even know it myselt; but 
will leave it to chance and the allotment of the 
housekeeper. At the same time, if it will be any 
satisfaction to you, I will observe, for the honour of 
my paternal mansion, that there's scarcely a cham- 
ber in it but is well worthy of being haunted." 

We now separated for the night, and each went 
to his allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the 
building, and I could not but smile at its resem- 
blance in style to those eventful apartments de- 
scribed in the tales of the supper table. It was 
spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp-black 
portraits, a bed of ancient damask, with a tester 
sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a 
number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



351 



I drew a great claw-footed arm-chair before the 
wide tire-place ; stirred up the fire ; sat looking into 
it, and musing upon the odd stories I had heard ; 
until, partly overcome by the fatigue of the day's 
hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of mine 
host, 1 fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my position made my slumber 
troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of 
wild and fearful dreams ; now it was that my per- 
fidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion against 
my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat saddle of mut- 
ton ; a plum pudding weighed like lead upon my 
conscience ; the merry thought of a capon filled me 
with horrible suggestions; and a devilled leg of a 
turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes 
through my imagination. In short, 1 had a violent 
fit of the nightmare. Some strange indefinite evil 
seemed hanging over me that I could not avert ; 
something terrible and loathsome oppressed me that 
I could not shake off I was conscious of being 
asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but every effort 
redoubled the evil; until gasping, struggling, almost 
strangling, 1 suddenly sprang bolt upright in my 
chair, and awoke. 

The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, 
and the wick was divided ; there was a great wind- 
ing sheet made by the dripping wax, on the side I 
towards me. The disordered taper emitted a broad [ 
flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a paint- 
ing over the fire-place, which I had not hitherto 
observed. 

It consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, 
that appeared to be staring full upon me, and with 
an expression that was startling. It was without a 
frame, and at the first glance I could hardlv persuade 
myself that it was not a real face, thrusting itself 
out of the dark oaken pannel. I sat in my chair 
gazing at it, and the more I gazed the more it dis- 
quieted me. I had never before been affected in the 
same way by any painting. The emotions it caused 
were strange and indefinite. They were something 
like what 1 have heard ascribed to the eyes of the 
basilisk ; or like that mysterious influence in reptiles 
termed fascination. 1 passed my hand over my 
eyes several times, as if seeking instinctively to brush 
awav this allusion — in vain — they instantly reverted 
to the picture, and its chilling, creeping influence 
over my flesh was redoubled. 

I looked around the room on other pictures, either 
to divert my attention, or to see whether the same 
effect would be produced by them. Some of them 
were grim enough to produce the effect, if the mere 
grimness of the painting produced it — no such thing. 
My eye passed over them all with perfect indiffer- 
ence, but the moment it reverted to this visage over 
the fire-place, it was as if an electric shock darted 
through me. The other pictures were dim and 
faded ; but this one protruded from a plain black 
ground in the strongest relief, and with wonderful 
truth of colouring. The expression was that of 
agony — the agony of intense bodily pain ; but a 
menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprink- 
lings of blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was 
not all these characteristics — it was some horror of 
the mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by 
this picture, which harrowed up my feelings. 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimeri- 
cal ; that my brain was confused by the fumes of 
mine host's good cheer, and, in some measure, by 
the odd stories about paintings which had been told 
at supper. I determined to shake off these vapours 
of the mind ; rose from my chair, and walked about 
the room; snapped my fingers; rallied myself; 
laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh, and the 
echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. I 



walked to the window ; tried to discern the land- 
scape through the glass. It was pitch darkness, and 
howling storm without ; and as I heard the wind 
moan among the trees, I caught a reflection of this 
accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it 
were staring through the window at me. Even the 
reflection of it was thrilling. 

How was this vile ner\-ous fit, for such I now per- 
suaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I deter- 
mined to force myself not to look at the painting, 
but to undress quickly and get into bed. I began to 
undress, but in spite of every effort I could not keep 
myself from stealing a glance every now and then 
at the picture ; and a glance was now sufficient to 
distress me. Even when my back was turned to it, 
the idea of this strange face behind me, peering over 
my shoulder, was insufferable. I threw off my 
clothes and hurried into bed ; but still this visage 
gazed upon me. I had a full view of it from my 
bed, and for some time could not take my eyes from 
it. I had grown nervous to a dismal degree. 

I put out the light, and tried to force myself to 
sleep;— all in vain ! The fire gleaming up a little, 
threw an uncertain light about the room, leaving, 
how'ever, the region of the picture in deep shadow. 
What, thought I, if this be the chamber about which 
mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over 
it ? — I had taken his words merely as spoken in 
jest; might they have a real import.' 1 looked 
around. The faintly-lighted apartment had all the 
qualifications requisite for a haunted chamber. It 
began in my infected imagination to assume strange 
appearances. The old portraits turned paler and 
paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of light 
and shadow thrown among the quaint old articles of 
furniture, gave them singular shapes and characters. 
There was a huge dark clothes-press of antique form, 
gorgeous in brass and lustrous with wax, that began 
to grow oppressive to me. 

Am I then, thought I, indeed, the hero of the 
haunted room .•' Is there really a spell laid upon 
me, or is this all some contrivance of mine host, to 
raise a laugh at my expense ? The idea of being 
hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then 
bantered on my haggard looks the next day was in- 
tolerable ; but the very idea was sufficient to pro- 
duce the effect, and to render me still more nervous. 
Pish, said I, it can be no such thing. How could 
my worthy host imagine that I, or any man would be 
so worried by a mere picture .' It is my own dis- 
eased imagination that torments me. I turned in 
my bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to fall 
asleep ; but all in vain. When one cannot get 
asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about 
will eftect the purpose. The fire gradually went out 
and left the room in darkness. Still 1 had the idea 
of this inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping 
watch upon me through the darkness. Nay, what 
was worse, the very darkness seemed to give it addi- 
tional power, and to multiply its terrors. It was 
like having an unseen enemy hovering about one in 
the night. Instead of having one picture now to 
worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in every 
direction. And there it is, thought I, — and there, 
and there, — with its horrible and mysterious ex- 
pression, still gazing and gazing on me. No — if I 
must suffer this strange and dismal influence, it 
were better face a single foe, than thus be haunted 
by a thousand images of it. 

Whoever has been in such a state of nervous agi- 
tation, must know that the longer it continues, the 
more uncontroulable it grows; the very air of the 
chamber seemed at length infected by the baleful 
presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over 
me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall 



352 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



approaching' my face, — it seemed breathing upon 
me. This is not to be borne, said I, at length, 
springing out of bed. I can stand this no longer. I 
shall only tumble and toss about here all night ; 
make a very spectre of myself, and become the hero 
of the haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever 
be the consequence, I'll quit this cursed room, and 
seek a night's rest elsewhere. They can but laugh 
at me at all events, and they'll be sure to have the 
laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night and show 
them a haggard and wo-begone visage in the 
morning. 

All this was half muttered to myself, as I hastily 
slipped on my clothes ; which having done, I groped 
my way out of the room, and down-stairs to the 
drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over two or 
three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a 
sofa, and stretching myself upon it determined to 
bivouack there for the night. 

The moment I found myself out of the neighbour- 
hood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the 
charm were broken. All its influence was at an end. 
I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary 
chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive caution, 
turned the key when I closed the door. I soon 
calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; 
from that into a drowsiness, and finally into a deep 
sleep ; out of which I did not awake, until the house- 
maid, with her besom and her matin song, came to 
put the room in order. She stared at finding me 
stretched upon the sofa ; but I presume circum- 
stances of the kind were not uncommon after hunt- 
ing dinners, in her master's bachelor establishment ; 
lor she went on with her song and her work, and 
took no farther heed of me. 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to 
my, chamber ; so I found my way to the butler's 
quarters, made my toilette in the best way circum- 
stances would permit, and was among the first to 
appear at the breakfast table. Our breakfast was a 
substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the company 
were generally assembled at it. When ample justice 
had been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, and 
humming ale. for all these were furnished in abun- 
dance, according to the tastes of the different guests, 
the conversation began to break out, with all the 
liveliness and freshness of morning mirth. 

" But who is the hero of the haunted chamber .-' — 
Who has seen the ghost last night.'" said the in- 
quisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster eyes about 
the table. 

The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast 
deal of bantering; criticizing of countenances; of 
mutual accusation and retort took place. Some had 
drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that there 
were suspicious faces enough in the assembly. I 
alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the 
joke. 1 felt tongue-tied — embarrassed. A recol- 
lection of what I had seen and felt the preceding 
night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if the 
mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I 
thought also that our host's eye was turned on me 
with an air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious 
that I was the hero of the night, and felt as if every 
one might read it in my looks. 

The jokes, however, passed over, and no suspicion 
seemed to attach to me. 1 was just congratulating 
myself on my escape, when a servant came in, say- 
ing, that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in 
the drawing-room, had left his watch under one of 
the pillows. My repeater was in his hand. 

"What!" said the inquisitive gentleman, "did 
any gentleman sleep on the sofa? " 

•' Soho ! soho ! a hare — a hare ! " cried the old 
gentleman with the flexible nose. 



I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and 
was rising in great confusion, when a boisterous old 
squire who sat beside me, exclaimed, slapping me 
on the shoulder, " "Sblood, lad ! thou'rt the man as 
has seen the ghost ! " 

The attention of the company was immediately 
turned to me ; if my face had been pale the moment 
before, it now glowed almost to burning. I tried to 
laugh, but could only make a grimace ; and found 
all the muscles of my face twitching at sixes and 
sevens, and totally out of all controul. 

It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of 
fox-hunters. There was a world of merriment and 
joking at my expense ; and as I never relished a joke 
overmuch when it was at my own expense, I began 
to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and calm 
and to restrain my pique ; but the coolness and 
calmness of a man in a passion are confounded 
treacherous. 

Gentlemen, said I, with a slight cocking of the 
chin, and a bad attempt at a smile, this is all very 
pleasant — ha! ha ! — very pleasant — but I'd have you 
know I am as little superstitious as any of you — ha ! 
ha ! — and as to any thing like timidity — you may 
smile, gentlemen — but I trust there is no one here 

means to insinuate that. As to a room's being 

haunted, I repeat, gentlemen — (growing a little warm 
at seeing a cursed grin breaking out round me) — as 
to a room's being haunted, I have as little faith in 
such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the 
matter home to me, I will say that I have met with 
something in my room strange and inexplicable to 
me— (a shout of laughter). Gentlemen, I am serious 
— I know well what I am saying — I am calm, gentle- 
men, (striking my fist upon the table) — by heaven I 
am calm. I am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be 
trifled with — (the laughter of the company suppress- 
ed with ludicrous attempts at gravity.) There is a 
picture in the room in which 1 was put last night, 
that has had an effect upon me the most singular 
and incomprehensible. 

"A picture!" said the old gentleman with the 
haunted head. "A picture!" cried the narrator 
with the waggish nose. " A picture ! a picture ! " 
echoed several voices. Here there was an ungov- 
ernable peal of laughter. 

I could not contain myself. I started up from my 
seat — looked round on the company with fiery indig- 
nation — thrust both my hands into my pockets, and 
strode up to one of the windows, as though I would 
have walked through it. I stopped short ; looked 
out upon the landscape without distinguishing a 
feature of it ; and felt my gorge rising almost to suffo- 
cation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had 
maintained an air of gravity through the whole of 
the scene, and now stepped forth as if to shelter 
me from the overwhelming merriment of my com- 
panions. 

" Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, 
but you have had your laugh, and the joke of the 
haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now 
take the part of my guest. I must not only vindi- 
cate him from your pleasantries, but I must recon- 
cile him to himself, for I suspect he is a little out of 
humour with his own feelings ; and above all, I must 
crave his pardon for having made him the subject of 
a kind of experiment. 

" Yes, gentlemen, there is something strange and 
peculiar in the chamber to which our friend was 
shown last night. There is a picture which pos- 
sesses a singular and mysterious influence ; and with 
which there is connected a very curious story. It is 
a picture to which I attach a value from a variety of 
circumstances ; and though I have often been 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



353 



tempted to destroy it, from the odd and uncomfort- 
able sensations it produces in every one that beholds 
it ; yet I have never been able to prevail upon my- 
self to make the sacntice. It is a picture I never 
like to look upon myself; and which is held in awe 
by all my servants. I have, therefore, banished it to 
a room but rarely used ; and should have had it cov- 
ered last night, had not the nature of our conversa- 
tion, and the whimsical talk about a haunted cham- 
ber tempted me to let it remain, by way of experi- 
ment, whether a stranger, totally unacquainted with 
its story, would be affected by it." 

The words of the Baronet had turned every 
thought into a different channel ; all were anxious 
to hear the story of the mysterious picture ; and for 
myself, so strongly were my feelings interested, that 
I forgot to feel jjiqued at the experiment which my 
host had made upon my ner\'es, and joined eagerly 
in the general entreaty. 

As the morning was stormy, and precluded all 
egress, my host was glad of any means of entertain- 
ing his company ; so drawing his arm-chair beside 
the fire, he began — 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE MySTERIOUS 
STRANGER. 



Many years since, when I was a young man, and 
had just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour 
to finish my education. I believe my parents had 
tried in vain to inoculate me with wisdom ; so they 
sent me to mingle with society, in hopes I might 
take it the natural wav. Such, at least, appears to 
be the reason for which nine-tenths of our young- 
sters are sent abroad. 

In the course of my tour I remained some time at 
Venice. The romantic character of the place de- 
lighted me ; I was very much amused by the air of 
adventure and intrigue that prevailed in this region 
of masks and gondolas; and I was exceedingly 
smitten by a pair of languishing black eyes, that 
played upon my heart from under an Italian mantle. 
So I persuaded myself that I was lingering at Ven- 
ice to study men and manners. At least I per- 
suaded my friends so, and that answered all my 
purpose. Indeed, I was a little prone to be struck 
by peculiarities in character and conduct, and my 
imagination was so full of romantic associations 
with Italy, that I was always on the lookout lor ad- 

• venture. 

Every thing chimed in with such a humour in this 
old mermaid of a cfty. My suite of apartments were 
in a proud, melancholy palace on the grand canal, 
formerly the residence of a Magnifico, and sump- 
tuous with the traces of decayed grandeur. My 
gondolier was one of the shrewdest of his class, 
active, merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, se- 

^ cret as the grave; that is to say, secret to all the 
world except his master. I had not had him a week 
before he put me behind all the curtains in Venice. 
I liked the silence and mystery of the place, and 
when I sometimes saw from my window a black 
gondola gliding mysteriously along in the dusk of 
the evening, with nothing visible but its little glim- 
mering lantern, I would jump into my own zendu- 
letto, and give a signal for pursuit. But I am run- 

» ning away from my subject with the recollection of 
youthful follies, said the Baronet, checking himself; 
"let me come to the point." 

Among my familiar resorts was a Cassino under 
23 



the Arcades on one side of the grand square of St. 
Mark. Here I used frequently to lounge and take 
my ice on those warm summer nights when in Italy 
every body lives abroad until morning. 1 was seated 
here one evening, when a groupe of Italians took 
seat at a table on the opposite side of the saloon. 
Their conversation was gay and animated, and car- 
ried on with Italian vivacity and gesticulation. 

I remarked among them one young man, hosvever, 
who appeared to take no share, and find no enjoy- 
ment in the conversation ; though he seemed to force 
himself to attend to it. He was tall and slender, and 
of extremely prepossessing appearance. His features 
were fine, though emaciated. He had a profusion of 
black glossy hair that curled lightly about his head, 
and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his 
countenance. His brow was haggard ; deep furrows 
seemed to have been ploughed into his visage by 
care, not by age, for he was evidently in the prime 
of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, 
but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented 
by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of 
eveiy effort to fix his attention on the conversation of 
his companions, I noticed that every now and then 
he would turn his head slowly round, give a glance 
over his shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sud- 
den jerk, as if something painful had met his eye. 
This was repeated at intervals of about a minute ; 
and he appeared hardly to have got over one shock, 
before I saw him slowly preparing to encounter an- 
other. 

After sitting some time in the Cassino, the party 
paid for the refreshments they had taken, and depart- 
ed. The young man was the last to leave the saloon, 
and I remarked him glancing behind him in the same 
way, just as he passed out at the door. I could not 
resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was 
at an age when a romantic feeling of curiosity is 
easily awakened. The party walked slowly down the 
Arcades, talking and laughing as they went. They 
crossed the Piazzetta, but paused in the middle of it 
to enjoy the scene. It was one of those moonlight 
nights so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere 
of Italy. The moon-beams streamed on the tall 
tower of St. Mark, and lighted up the magnificent 
front and swelling domes of the Cathedral. The 
party expressed their delight in animated terms. I 
kept my eye upon the young man. He alone seem- 
ed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed the same 
singular, and, as it were, furtive glance over the 
shoulder that had attracted my attention in the Cas- 
sino. The party moved on, and I followed ; they 
passed along the walks called the Broglio ; turned the 
corner of the Ducal palace, and getting into a gon- 
dola, glided swiftly away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young man 
dwelt upon my mind. There was something in his 
appearance that interested me exceedingly. I met 
him a day or two after in a gallery of paintings. He 
was evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled 
out the most masterly productions, and the few re- 
marks drawn from him by his companions showed 
an intimate acquaintance with the art. His own 
taste, however, ran on singular extremes. On Salva- 
tor Rosa in his most savage and solitary scenes ; on 
Raphael, Titian, and Corregio in their softest delmca- 
tions of female beauty. On these he would occa- 
sionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this 
seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still would 
recur that cautious glance behind, and always quickly 
withdrawn, as though something terrible had met 
his view. 

I encountered him frequently afterwards. At the 
theatre, at balls, at concerts ; at the promenades in 
the gardens of San Georgio ; at the grotesaue exhi- 



3.-4 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



bitions in the square of St. Mark ; among the throng- 
ot merchants on the Exchange by the Rialto. He 
seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to liunt alter bustle 
and amusement ; yet never to take any interest in 
either the business or gayety of the scene. Ever an 
air of painful thought, of wretched abstraction ; and 
ever that strange and recurring movement, of glanc- 
ing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at 
first but this might be caused by apprehension of ar- 
rest ; or perhaps from dread of assassination. But, if 
so, why should he go thus continually abroad ; why 
expose himself at all times and in all places ? 

1 became anxious to know this stranger. I was 
drawn to him by that romantic sympathy that some- 
times draws young men towards each other. His 
melancholy threw a charm about him in my eyes, 
which was no doubt heightened by the touching ex- 
pression of his countenance, and the manly graces of 
his person ; for manly beauty lias its effect even 
upon man. I had an Englishman's habitual diffi- 
dence and awkwardness of address to contend with ; 
but I subdued it, and from frequently meeting him 
in the Cassino, gradually edged myself into his ac- 
quaintance. 1 had no reserve on his part to con- 
tend with. He seemed on the contrary to court so- 
ciety ; and in fact to seek any thing rather than be 
alone. 

When he found I really took an interest in him he 
threw himself entirely upon my friendship. He clung 
to me like a drowning man. He would walk with 
me for hours up and down the place of St. Mark — 
or he would sit until night was far advanced in my 
apartment ; he took rooms under the same roof with 
me ; and his constant request was, that I would per- 
mit him, when it did not incommode me, to sit by 
me in my saloon. It was not that he seemed to 
take a particular delight in my conversation ; but 
rather that he craved the vicinity of a human be- 
ing ; and above all, of a being that sympathized with 
him. " I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity 
of Englishmen — thank God I have one at length for 
a friend ! " 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of 
my sympathy other than by mere companionship. 
He never sought to unbosom himself to me ; there 
appeared to be a settled corroding anguish in his 
bosom that neither could be soothed '• by silence nor 
by .speaking." A devouring melancholy preyed 
upon his heart, and seemed to be drying up the very 
blood in his veins. It was not a soft melancholy — 
the disease of the affections ; but a parching, wither- 
ing agony. I could see at times that his moutli was 
dry and feverish ; he almost panted rather than 
breathed ; his eyes were bloodshot ; his cheeks pale 
and livid ; with now and then faint streaks athwart 
them — baleful gleams of the fire that was consum- 
ing his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt 
him press it at times with a convulsive motion to 
his side ; his hands would clinch themselves involun- 
tarily, and a kind of shudder would run through his 
frame. I reasoned with him about his melancholy, 
and sought to draw from him the cause — he shrunk 
from all confiding. " Do not seek to know it," said 
he, "you could not relieve it if you knew it; you 
would not even seek to relieve it — on the contrary, I 
should lose your sympathy ; and that," said he, press- 
ing my hand convulsively, " that I feel has become 
too dear to me to risk." 

I endeavoured to awaken hope within him. He 
was young; life had a thousand pleasures in store for 
him ; there is a healthy reaction in the youthful 
heart ; it medicines its own wounds — " Come, come," 
said I, " there is no grief so great that youth cannot 
outgrow it." — "No! no!" said he, clinching his 
teeth, and striking repeatedly, with the energy of 



despair, upon his bosom — " It is here— here — deep- 
rooted ; draining my heart's blood. It grows and 
grows, while my heart withers and withers I I have 
a dreadful monitor that gives me no repose — that 
follows me step by step ; and will foUov/ me step by 
step, until it pushes me into my grave ! " 

As he said this he gave involuntarily one of those 
fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back 
with more than usual horror. I could not resist the 
temptation to allude to this movement, which I sup- 
posed to be some mere malady of the nerves. The 
moment I mentioned it his face became crimsoned 
and convulsed — he grasped me by both hands : " For 
God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing agony ol 
voice — " never allude to that again ; let us avoid this 
subject, my friend : you cannot relieve me, indeed 
you cannot relieve me ; but you may add to the tor- 
ments I suffer ; — at some future day you shall know 
all." 

I never resumed the subject ; for however much 
my curiosity might be aroused, I felt too true a com- 
passion for his sufferings to increase them by my in- 
trusion. I sought various ways to divert his mind, 
and to arouse him from the constant meditations in 
which he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and 
seconded them as far as in his power, for there was 
nothing moody or wayward in his nature ; on the 
contrary, there was something frank, generous, un- 
assuming, in his whole deportment. All the sen- 
timents that he uttered were noble and lofty. He 
claimed no indulgence ; he asked no toleration. 
He seemed content to carry his load of misery in si- 
lence, and only sought to carry it by my side. There 
was a mute beseeching manner about him, as if he 
craved companionship as a charitable boon ; and a 
tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to 
me for not repulsing him. 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole 
over my spirits ; interfered with all my gay pursuits, 
and gradually saddened my life ; yet I could not pre- 
vail upon mvself to shake off a being who seemed to 
hang upon me for support. In truth, the generous 
traits of character that beamed through all this 
gloom had penetrated to my heart. His bounty was 
lavish and open-handed. His charity melting and 
spontaneous. Not confined to mere donations, 
which often humiliate as much as they relieve. The 
tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every 
gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest 
and sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of 
the hand, but of the heart. Indeed, his liberality 
seemed to have som.ething in it of self-abasement 
and expiation. He humbled himself, in a manner, 
before the mendicant. " What right have I to ease 
and affluence," would he murmur to himself, "when 
innocence wanders in misery and rags ? " 

The Carnival time arrived. I had hoped that the 
gay scenes which then presented themselves might 
have some cheering effect. I mingled with him in 
the motley throng that crowded the place of St. Mark. 
We frequented operas, masquerades, balls. All in 
vain. The evil kept growing on him ; he became 
more and more haggard and agitated. Often, after 
we had returned from one of these scenes of revelry, 
I ha\e entered his room, and found him lying on his 
face on the sofa : his hands clinched in his fine hair, 
and his whole countenance bearing traces of the 
convulsions of his mind. 

The Carnival passed away ; the season of Lent 
succeeded ; Passion week arrived. We attended one 
evening a solemn service in one of the churches ; in 
the course of which a grand piece of vocal and in- 
strumental music was performed relating to the death 
of our Saviour. 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



355 



affected by music ; on this occasion he was so in an 
extraordinary degree. As the pealing notes swelled 
through the lofty aisles, he seemed to kindle up with 
fervour. His eyes rolled upwards, until nothing- but 
the whites were visible ; his hands were clasped to- 
gether, until the fingers were deeply imprinted in the 
flesh. When the music expressed the dying agony, 
his face gradually sunk upon his knees ; and at the 
touching words resounding through the church, 
" Jesu mori" sobs burst from him uncontrouled. I 
had never seen him weep before ; his had always 
been agony rather than sorrow. 1 augured well from 
the circumstance. 1 let him weep on uninterrupted. 
When the service was ended we left the church. He 
hung on my arm as we walked homewards, with 
something of a softer and more subdued manner ; 
instead of that nervous agitation I had been accus- 
tomed to witness. He alluded to the service we had 
heard. " Music," said he, " is indeed the voice of 
heaven ; never before have I felt more impressed by 
the story of the atonement of our Saviour. Yes, my 
friend," said he, clasping his hands with a kind of 
transport, " I know that my Redeemer liveth." 

We parted for the night. His room was not far 
from mine, and I heard him for some time busied in 
it. I fell asleep, but was awakened before daylight. 
The young man stood by my bed-side, dressed for 
travelling. He held a sealed pacquet and a large 
parcel in his hand, which he laid on the table. 
"Farewell, my friend," said he, "I am about to set 
forth on a long journey ; but, before I go, I leave 
with you these remembrances. In this pacquet you 
will find the particulars of my story. When )ou read 
them, I shall be far away; do not remember me with 
aversion. You have been, indeed, a friend to me. 
You have poured oil into a broken heart, — but you 
could not heal it. — Farewell — let me kiss your hand 
— I am unworthy to embrace you." He sunk on his 
knees, seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the 
contrary, and covered it with kisses. 1 was so sur- 
prised by all this scene that I had not been able to 
say a word. 

But we shall meet again, said I, hastily, as I saw 
him hurrying towards the door. 

" Never — never in this world ! " said he solemnly. 
He sprang once more to my bed-side — seized mv 
hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and 
rushed out of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in 
thought, and sat looking upon the floor and drum- 
ming with his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

" And did this mysterious personage return ? " 
said the inquisitive gentleman. " Never !" replied 
the Baronet, with a pensive shake of the head : " I 
never saw him again." And pray what has all this 
to do with the picture ? inquired the old gentleman 
with the nose — "True!" said the questioner — "Is 
it the portrait of this crack-brained Italian ? " " No!" 
said the Baronet, drily, not half liking the appellation 
given to his hero ; but this picture was inclosed in 
the parcel he left with me. The sealed pacquet con- 
tained its explanation. There was a request on the 
outside that 1 w-ould not open it until six months had 
elapsed. I kept my promise, in spite of my curiosity. 
I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to 
read it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the 
chamber, but I fear I have already detained the 
company too long. 

Here there was a general wish expressed to have 
the manuscript read ; particularly on the part of the 
inquisitive gentleman. So the worthy Baronet drew 
out a fairly written manuscript, and wiping his spec- 
tacles, read aloud the following story : — 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 



I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of 
noble rank, were limited in fortune, or rather my 
father was ostentatious beyond his means, and ex- 
pended so much in his palace, his equipage, and his 
retinue, that he was continually straightened in his 
pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and 
looked upon with indifference by my father, who, 
from a principle of family pride, wished to leave all 
his property to my elder brother. • 

I showed, when quite a child, an extreme sensi- 
bility. Every thing affected me violently. While 
yet an infant in my mother's arms, and before I had 
learnt to talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonder- 
ful degree of anguish or delight by the power of 
music. As I grew older my feelings remained equal- 
ly acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms 
of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my 
relatives and of the domestics to play upon this irri- 
table temperament. I was moved to tears, tickled 
to laughter, provoked to fury, lor the entertainment 
of company, who were amused by such a tempest 
of mighty passion in a pigmy frame. They little 
thought, or perhaps little heeded the dangerous sen- 
sibilities they w'ere fostering. I thus became a little 
creature of passion, before reason was developed. 
In a short time 1 grew too old to be a plaything, and 
then I became a torment. The tricks and passions I 
had been teased into became irksome, and 1 was 
disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they had 
taught me. 

My mother died ; and my power as a spoiled child 
was at an end. There was no longer any necessity 
to humour or tolerate me, for there was nothing to 
be gained by it, as I was no favourite of my father. 
I therefore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in 
such situation, and was neglected, or noticed only 
to be crossed and contradicted. Such was the early 
treatment of a heart, which, if I am judge of it at all, 
was naturally disposed to the extremes of tender- 
ness and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked me 
— in fact, he never understood me ; he looked upon 
me as wilful and wayward, as deficient in natural 
affection : — it was the stateliness of his own manner ; 
the loftiness and grandeur of his own look that had 
repelled me from his arms. I always pictured him 
to myself as I had seen him clad in his senatorial 
robes, rustling with pomp and pride. The magnifi- 
cence of his person had daunted my strong imagina- 
tion. I could never approach him with the confiding 
aftection of a child. 

My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder 
brother. He was to be the inheritor of the family title 
and the family dignity, and everything was sacrificed 
to him — I, as well as evei'y thing else. It was deter- 
mined to devote me to the church, that so my hu- 
mours and myself might be removed out of the way, 
either of tasking my father's time and trouble, or in- 
terfering with the interests of my brother. At an 
early age, therefore, before my mind had dawned 
upon the world and its delights, or known any thing 
of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, I was 
sent to a convent, the superior of which was my un- 
cle, and was confided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estranged from the 
world ; he had never relished, for he had never tasted 
its pleasures ; and he deemed rigid self-denial as the 
great basis of Christian virtue. He considered every 
one's temperament like his own ; or at least he made 
them conform to it. His character and habits had 
an influence over the fraternity of which he was su- 



35G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



perior. A more gloomy saturnine set of beings were 
never assembled together. The convent, too, was 
calculated to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It 
was situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains 
away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were 
shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A mountain 
stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles screamed 
about its turrets. 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an age 
as soon to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes 
I had left behind. As my mind expanded, therefore, 
it formed its idea of the world from the convent and 
its vicinity, and e. dreary world it appeared to me. 
An early tinge of melancholy was thus infused into 
my character ; and the dismal stories of the monks, 
about devils and evil spirits, with which they affright- 
ed my young imagination, gave me a tendency to 
superstition, which I could never effectually shake 
off. They took the same delight to work upon my 
ardent feelings that had been so mischievously exer- 
cised by my father's household. 

I can recollect the horrors with which they fed 
my heated fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. 
We were distant from that volcano, with mount- 
ains between us ; but its convulsive throes shook 
the solid foundations of nature. Earthquakes threat- 
ened to topple down our convent towers. A lurid, 
baleful light hung in the heavens at night, and 
showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our nar- 
row valley. The monks talked of the earth being 
honey-combed beneath us ; of streams of molten lava 
raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous 
flames roaring in the centre, the abodes of demons 
and the damned ; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn be- 
neath our feet. All these tales were told to the dole- 
ful accompaniment of the mountain's tliunders, whose 
low bellowing made the walls of our convent vibrate. 

One of ihe monksliad been a painter, but had re- 
tired from the world, and embraced this dismal life 
in expiation of some crime. He was a melancholy 
man, who pursued his art in the solitude of his cell, 
but made it a source of penance to him. His em- 
ployment was to portr.ay, either on canvas or in 
waxen models, the human face and human form, in 
the agonies of death, and in all the stages of dissolu- 
tion and decay. The fearful mysteries of the charnel 
house were unfolded in his labours — the loathsome 

banquet of the beetle and the worm. 1 turn with 

shuddering even from the recollection of his works. 
Yet, at that time, my strong, but ill-directed imag- 
ination seized with ardour upon liis instructions in 
his art. Any thing was a variety from the dry 
studies and monotonous duties of the cloister. In a 
little while I became expert with my pencil, and my 
gloomy productions were thought worthy of decorat- 
ing some of the altars of the chapel. 

In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and 
fancy brought up. Every thing genial and amiable in 
my nature was repressed, and nothing brought out 
but what was unprofitable and ungracious. I was 
ardent in my temperament ; quick, mercurial, impet- 
uous, formed to be a creature all love and adoration,; 
but a leaden hand was laid on all my liner qualities. 
I was taught nothing but fear and hatred. I hated 
my uncle, I hated the monks, 1 hated the convent in 
which I was immured. I hated the world, and I 
almost hated myself, for being, as I supposed, so 
hating and hateful an animal. 

When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I 
was suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of 
the brethren on a mission to a distant part of the 
country. We soon left behind us the gloomy valley 
in which I had been pent up for so many years, and 
after a short journey among the mountains, emerged 
upon the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself 



about the Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how transport- 
ed was I, when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach 
of delicious sunny country, gay with groves and vine- 
yards ; with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit to 
my right ; the blue Mediterranean to my left, with 
its enchanting coast, studded with shining towns 
and sumptuous villas; and Naples, my native Na- 
ples, gleaming far, far in the distance. 

Good God ! was this the lovely world from which 
I had been excluded ! I had reached that age when 
the sensibilities are in all their bloom and freshness. 
Mine had been checked and chilled. They now burst 
forth with the suddenness of a retarded spring. My 
heart, hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into 
a riot of vague, but delicious emotions. The beauty 
of nature intoxicated, bewildered me. The song of 
the peasants ; their cheerful looks ; their happy avo- 
cations ; the picturesque gayety of their dresses ; 
their rustic music ; their dances ; all broke upon me 
like witchcraft. My soul responded to the music ; 
my heart danced in my bosom. All the men ap- 
peared amiable, all the women lovely. 

I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body 
returned, but my heart and soul never entered there 
again. I could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful 
and a happy world ; a world so suited to my natural 
character. I had felt so happy while in it ; so dif- 
ferent a being from what I felt myself when in the 
convent — that tomb of the living. I contrasted the 
countenances of the beings I had seen, full of fire 
and freshness and enjoyment, with the pallid, leaden, 
lack-lustre visages of the monks ; the music of the 
dance, with the droning chant of the chapel. I had 
before found the exercises of the cloister wearisome ; 
they now became intolerable. The dull round of 
duties wore away my spirit; my nerves became 
irritated by the fretful tinkling of the convent bell ; 
evermore dinging among the mountain echoes ; ever- 
more calling me from my repose at night, my pencil 
by day, to attend to some tedious and mechanical 
ceremony of devotion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long, without 
putting my thoughts into action. My spirit had been 
suddenly aroused, and was now all awake within 
me. 1 watched my opportunity, fled from the con- 
vent, and made my way on foot to Naples. As I 
entered its gay and crowded streets, and beheld the 
variety and stir of life around me, the luxury of pal- 
aces, the splendour of equipages, and the panto- 
mimic animation of the motley populace, I seemed 
as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and 
solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back 
to the monotony of the cloister. 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for 
I had been so young on leaving it, that I knew not 
its situation. I found some difficulty in getting ad- 
milted to my father's presence, for the domestics 
scarcely knew that there was such a being as myself 
in existence, and my monastic dress did not operate 
in my favour. Even my father entertained no recol- 
lection of my person. I told him my name, threw 
myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and 
entreated that I might not be sent back to the con- 
vent. 

He received me with the condescension of a 
patron rather than the kindness of a parent. He 
listened patiently, but coldly to my tale of monastic 
grievances and disgusts, and promised to think what 
else could be done for me. 'This coldness blighted 
and drove back all the frank affection of my nature 
that was ready to spring forth at the least warmth 
of parental k'indness. All my early feelings towards 
my father revived ; I again looked up to him. as the 
stately magnificent being that had daunted my 
childish imagination, and felt as if I had no pre- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



357 



tensions to his sympathies. My brother engross- 
ed all his care and love ; he inherited his nature, 
and carried himself towards me with a protecting 
rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, 
which was great. 1 could brook condescension from 
my father, for I looked up to him with awe as a 
superior being ; but I could not brook patronage 
from a brother, who, I felt, was intellectually my in- 
ferior. The servants perceived that I was an unwel- 
come intruder in the paternal mansion, and, menial- 
like, they treated me with neglect. Thus baffled at 
every point ; my affections outraged wherever they 
would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent, and 
desponding. My feelings driven back upon myself, 
entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained 
for some days an unwelcome guest rather than a 
restored son in my father's house. I was doomed 
never to be properly known there. I was made, by 
wrong treatment, strange even to myself; and they 
judged of me from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the 
monks of my convent, gliding out of my father's 
room. He saw me, but pretended not to notice me ; 
and this very hypocrisy made me suspect something. 
I had become sore and susceptible in my feelings ; 
every thing inflicted a wound on them. In this 
state of mmd 1 was treated with marked disrespect 
by a pampered minion, the favourite servant of my 
father. All the pride and passion of my nature rose 
in an instant, and 1 struck him to the earth. 

My father was passing by ; he stopped not to in- 
quire the reason, nor indeed could he read the long 
course of mental sufierings which were the real 
cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn ; he 
summoned all the haughtiness of his nature, and 
grandeur of his look, to give weight to the contume- 
ly with which he treated me. I felt I had not de- 
served it — 1 felt that I was not appreciated — I felt 
that I had that within me which merited better 
treatment ; niy heart swelled against a father's in- 
justice. I broke through my habitual awe of him. 
I replied to him with impatience ; my hot spirit 
flushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye, but my 
sensitive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had 
half venterl my passion I felt it suffocated and 
quenched in my tears. My father was astonished 
and incensed at this turning of the worm, and or- 
dered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, 
choaking with contending emotions. 

I had not been long there when I overheard 
voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a con- 
sultation between my father and the monk, about 
the means of getting me back quietly to the convent. 
My resolution was taken. I had no longer a home 
nor a father. That veiy night I left the paternal 
roof. I got on board a vessel about making sail 
from the liarbour, and abandoned myself to the wide 
world. No matter to what port she steered ; any 
part of so beautiful a world was better than my con- 
vent. No matter where I was cast by fortune ; any 
place would be more a home to me than the home I 
had left behind. The vessel was bound to Genoa. 
We arrived there after a voyage of a few days. 

As I entered the harbour, between the moles 
which embrace it, and beheld the amphitheatre of 
palaces and churches and splendid gardens, rising 
one above another, I felt at once its title to the ap- 
pellation of Genoa the Superb. I landed on the 
mole an utter stranger, without knowing what to do, 
or whither to direct my steps. No matter ; I was 
released from the thraldom of the convent and the 
humiliations of home ! When 1 traversed the Strada 
Balbi and the Strada Nuova, those streets of palaces, 
and gazed at the wonders of architecture around 
me ; when 1 wandered at close of day, amid a gay 



throng of the brilliant and the beautiful, through the 
green alleys of the Aqua Verdi, or among the col- 
onnades and terraces of the magnificent Doria Gar- 
dens ; I thought it impossible to be ever otherwise 
than happy in Genoa. 

A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My 
scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in 
my life I experienced the sordid distress of penury. 
I had never known the want of money, and had 
never adverted to the possibility of such an evil. I 
was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and 
when first the idea of destitution came over my mind 
its effect was withering. I was wandering pensively 
through the streets which no longer delighted my 
eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnificent 
church of the Annunciata. 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that rno- 
ment superintending the placing of one of his pict- 
ures over an altar. The proficiency which I had ac- 
quired in his art during my residence in the convent 
had made me an enthusiastic amateur. I was struck, 
at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face 
of a Madonna. So innocent, so lovely, such a divine 
expression of maternal tenderness ! I lost for the 
moment all recollection of myself in the enthusiasm 
of my art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered 
an ejaculation of delight. The painter perceived my 
emotion. He was flattered and gratified by it. My 
air and manner pleased him, and he accosted me. 
I felt too much the want of friendship to repel the 
advances of a stranger, and there was something in 
this one so benevolent and winning that in a mo- 
ment he gained my confidence. 

I told him my story and my situation, concealing 
only my name and rank. He appeared strongly in- 
terested by my recital ; invited me to his house, and 
from that' time 1 became his favourite pupil. He 
thought he perceived in me extraordinary talents for 
the art, and his encomiums awakened all my ardour. 
What a blissful period of my existence was it that 1 
passed beneath his roof. Another being seemed cre- 
ated within me, or rather, all that was amiable and 
excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as ever I 
had been at the convent, but how different was my 
seclusion. My time was spent in storing my mind 
with lofty and poetical ideas; in meditating on all 
that was striking and noble in history or fiction ; in 
studying and tracing all that was sublime and beau- 
tifulin nature. I was always a visionary, imagina- 
tive being, but now my reveries and imaginings all 
elevated me to rapture. 

I looked up to my master as to a benevolent ge- 
nius that had opened to me a region of enchantment. 
I became devotedly attached to him. He was not a 
native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the 
solicitation of several of the nobility, and had re- 
sided there but a few years, for the completion of 
certain works he had undertaken. His health was 
delicate, and he had to confide much of the filling up 
of his designs to the pencils of his scholars. He 
considered me as particularly happy in delineating 
the human countenance ; in seizing upon character- 
istic, though fleeting expressions, and fixing them 
powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed con- 
tinually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often when 
some particular grace or beauty or expression was 
wanted in a countenance, it was entrusted to my 
pencil. My benefactor was fond of bringing me for- 
ward ; and partly, perhaps, through my actual skill, 
and partly by his partial praises, 1 began to be noted 
for the expression of my countenances. 

Among the various works which he had under- 
taken, was an historical piece for one of the palaces 
of Genoa, in which were to be introduced the like- 
nesses of several of the family. Among these was 



353 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



cne entrusted to my pencil. It was that of" a young 
girl, who as yet was in a convent for her education. 
She came out for the purpose of sitting for the pict- 
ure. I first saw her in an apartment of one of the 
sumptuous palaces of Genoa. She stood before a 
casement that looked out upon the bay : a stream of 
vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of 
glory round her as it lit up the rich crimson cham- 
ber. She was but sixteen years of age — and oh, how 
lovely ! The scene broke upon me like a mere vision 
of spring and youth and beauty. 1 could have fallen 
down and worshipped her. She was like one of 
those fictions of poets and painters, when they would 
express the beau ideal that haunts their minds with 
shapes of indescribable perfection. 

I was permitted to sketch her countenance in 
various positions, and I fondly protracted the study 
that was undoing me. The more I gazed on her the 
more 1 became enamoured ; there was something 
almost painful in my intense admiration. I was but 
nineteen years of age ; shy, diffident, and inexpe- 
rienced. I was treated with attention and encour- 
agement, for my youth and my enthusiasm in my art 
had won favour for me ; and I am inclined to think 
that there was something in my air and manner that 
inspired interest and respect. Still the kindness with 
which I was treated could not dispel the embarrass- 
ment into which my own imagination threw me 
when in presence of this lovely being. It elevated 
her into somethmg almost more than mortal. She 
seemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too delicate 
and exalted for human attainment. As I sat tracing 
her charms on my canvas, with my eyes occasion- 
ally rivetted on her features, I drank in delicious 
poison that made me giddy. My heart alternately 
gushed with tenderness, and ached with despair. 
Now I became more than ever sensible of the vio- 
lent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of my 
soul. You who are born in a more temperate 
climate and under a cooler sky, have little idea of the 
violence of passion in our southern bosoms. 

A few days finished my task ; Bianca returned to 
her convent, but her image remained indelibly im- 
pressed upon my heart. It dwelt on my imagina- 
tion ; it became my pervading idea of beauty. It 
had an effect even upon my pencil ; I became noted 
for my felicity in depicting female loveliness ; it was 
but because I multiplied the image of Bianca. I 
soothed, and yet fed my fancy, by introducing her in 
all the productions of my master. I have stood with 
delight in one of the chapels of the Annunciata, and 
heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty ot a saint 
which I had painted ; I have seen them bow down 
in adoration before the painting : they were bowing 
before the loveliness of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say 
delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity 
of my imagination that the image which was formed 
in it continued in all its power and freshness. In- 
deed, I was a solitary, meditative being, much given 
to reverie, and apt to foster ideas which had once 
taken strong possession of me. I was roused from 
this fond, meiaricholy, delicious dream by the death 
of my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe the 
pangs his death occasioned me. It left me alone and 
almost broken-hearted. He bequeathed to me his 
little property; which, from the liberality of his dis- 
position and his expensive style of living, was indeed 
but small ; and he most particularly recommended 
me, in dying, to the protection of a nobleman who 
had been his patron. 

The latter was a man who passed for munificent. 
He was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and 
evidently wished to be thought so. He fancied he 
saw in me indications of future excellence ; my pen- 



cil had already attracted attention ; he took me at 
once under his protection ; seeing that I was over- 
whelmed with grief, and incapable of exerting my- 
self in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited 
me to sojourn for a time m a villa which he possessed 
on the border of the sea, in the picturesque neigh- 
bourhood of Sestri de Ponenti. 

1 found at the villa the Count's only son Filippo : 
he was nearly of my age, prepossessing in his ap- 
pearance, and fascinating in his manners ; he at- 
tached himself to me, and seemed to court my good 
opinion. I thought there was something of profes- 
sion in his kindness, and of caprice in his disposi- 
tion ; but I had nothing else near me to attach my- 
self to, and my heart felt the need of something to 
repose itself upon. His education had been neg- 
lected ; he looked upon me as his superior in mental 
powers and acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged 
my superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, 
and that gave an independence to my manner, which 
had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw 
sometimes exercised on others, over whom he had 
power, were never manifested towards me. We 
became intimate friends, and frequent companions. 
Still I loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reve- 
ries of my own imagination, among the beautiful 
scenery by which I was surrounded. 

The villa stood in the midst of ornamented grounds, 
finely decorated with statues and fountains, and laid 
out into groves and alleys and shady bowers. It 
commanded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and 
the picturesque Ligurian coast. Every thing was 
assembled here that could gratify the taste or agree- 
ably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquillity of 
this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my leelings 
gradually subsided, and, blending with the romantic 
spell that still reigned over my imagination, pro- 
duced a soft voluptuous melancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the Count, 
when our solitude was enlivened by another inhab- 
itant. It was a daughter of a relation of the Count, 
who had lately died in reduced circumstances, be- 
queathing this only child to his protection. I had 
heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my fancy 
had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as 
not to admit of any other. We were in the central 
saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was still 
in mourning, and approached, leaning on the Count's 
arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was 
struck by the elegance of her figure and movement, 
by the grace with which the mezsaro, the bewitching 
veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. 
They entered. Heavens ! what was my surprise 
when I beheld Bianca before me. It was herseU ; 
pale with grief; but still more matured in loveliness 
than when I had last beheld her. The time that 
had elapsed had developed the graces of her person ; 
and the sorrow she had undergone had diffused over 
her countenance an irresistible tenderness. 

She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears 
rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose 
company she had been accustomed to behold me. 
For my part, I cannot express what were my emo- 
tions. By degrees I overcame the extreme shyness 
that had formerly paralyzed me in her presence. We 
were drawn together by sympathy of situation. We 
had each lost our best friend in the world ; we were 
each, in some measure, thrown upon the kindness 
of others. When I came to know her intellectually, 
all my ideal picturings of her were confirmed. Her 
newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility to 
every thing beautiful and agreeable in nature, re- 
minded me of my own emotions when fir.st I escaped 
from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking delight- 
ed my judgment ; the sweetness of her nature wrap- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



359 



ped itself round my heart ; and then her young and 
tender and budding- loveliness, sent a delicious mad- 
ness to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as some- 
thing more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at 
the idea of my comparative unworthiness. Yet she 
was mortal ; and one of mortality's most susceptible 
and loving compounds ; for slie loved me ! 

How first 1 discovered the transporting truth I 
cannot recollect ; I believe it stole upon me by de- 
grees, as a wonder past hope or belief. We were 
both at such a tender and lovmg age ; in constant 
intercourse with each other ; mingling in the same 
elegant pursuits ; for music, poetry, and painting 
were our mutual delights, and we were almost sepa- 
rated from society, among lovely and romantic 
scenery ! Is it strarge that two young hearts thus 
brought together should readily twine round each 
other .' 

Oh, gods ! what a dream — a transient dream ! of un- 
alloyed delight then passed over my soul ! Then it was 
that the world around me was indeed a paradise, for 
I had woman — lovely, delicious woman, to share it 
with me. How often have 1 rambled over the pictur- 
esque shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild mountains, 
with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea 
far below me, and the slender Pharo of Genoa on its 
romantic promontory in the distance ; and as I sus- 
tained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought 
there could no unhappiness enter into so beautiful a 
world. Whv, oh, why is this budding season of life 
and love so transient — why is this rosy cloud of love 
that sheds such a glow over the morning of our days 
so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the 
stonn ! 

I was the first to awaken from this blissful de- 
lirium of the affections. I had gained Bianca's 
heart ; what was I to do with it ? I had no wealth 
nor prospects to entitle me to her hand. Was I to 
take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her 
confiding affection, and draw her down to my own 
poverty ? Was this requiting the hospitality of the 
Count ? — was this requiting the love of Bianca? 

Now first I began to feel that even successful love 
may have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered 
about my heart. I moved about the palace like a 
guilty being. I felt as if I had abused its hospitality 
— as if I were a thief within its walls. I could no 
longer look with unembarrassed mien in the coun- 
tenance of the Count. I accused myself of pcrlidy 
to him, and I thought he read it in my looks, and 
began to distrust and despise me. His manner had 
always been ostentatious and condescending, it now 
appeared cold and haughty. Filippo, too, became 
reserved and distant; or at least 1 suspected him to 
be so. Heavens ! — was this mere coinage of my 
brain : was I to become suspicious of all the world .' 
— a poor surmising wretch ; watching looks and 
gestures ; and torturing myself with misconstruc- 
tions. Or if true — was I to remain beneath a roof 
where I was merely tolerated, and linger there on 
sufferance.' "This is not to be endured!" ex- 
claimed I ; " I will tear myself from this state of self- 
abasement ; 1 will break through this fascination 

and fly Fly? — whither? — from the world? — for 

where is the world when I leave Bianca behind 
me ! " 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within 
me at the idea of being looked upon with contumely. 
Many times I was on the point of declaring my 
family and rank, and asserting my equality, in the 
presence of Bianca, when I thought her relatives as- 
sumed an air of superiority. But the feeling was 
transient. 1 considered myself discarded and con- 
temned by my family ; and had solemnly vowed 



never to own relationship to them, until they them- 
selves should claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happi- 
ness and my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty 
of being loved would be less intolerable than thus to 
be assured of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the con- 
viction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer of 
Bianca ; 1 no longer hung in ecstasy on the tones of 
her voice, nor drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty 
of her countenance. Her very smiles ceased to de- 
light me, for I felt culpable in having won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in 
me, and inquired the cause with her usual frankness 
and simplicity. I could not evade the inquiry, for 
my heart was full to aching. I told her all the con- 
flict of my soul ; my devouring^passion, my bitter 
self-upbraiding. "Yes!" said I, " I am unworthy 
of you. 1 am an offcast from my family — a wander- 
er — a nameless, homeless wanderer, with nothing 
but poverty for my portion, and yet I have dared to 
love you — have dared to aspire to your love ! " 

My agitation moved her to tears ; but she saw 
nothing in my situation so hopeless as I had depicted 
it. Brought up in a convent, she knew nothing of 
the world, its wants, its cares ; — and indeed, what 
woman is a worldly casuist in matters of the heart ! 
— Nay, more — she kindled into a sweet enthusiasm 
when she spoke of my fortunes and myself. We 
had dwelt together on the works of the famous mas- 
ters. I had related to her their histories ; the high 
reputation, the influence, the magnificence to which 
they had attained ; — the companions of princes, the 
favourites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. 
All this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing 
in their greatest productions that I was not able to 
achieve ; and when I saw the lovely creature glow 
with feiTOur, and her whole countenance radiant 
with the visions of my glory, which seemed break- 
ing upon her, I was snatched up for the moment 
into the heaven of her own imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story ; 
yet I cannot help lingering over a period of my life, 
on which, with all its cares and conflicts, 1 look back 
with fondness ; for as yet my soul was unstained by 
a crime. I do not know what might have been the 
result of this struggle between pride, delicacy, and 
passion, had I not read in a Neapolitan gazette an 
account of the sudden death of my brother. It was 
accompanied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence 
concerning me, and a prayer, should this notice meet 
my eye, that I would hasten to Naples, to comfort an 
inhrm and afflicted lather. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition ; but 
my brother had never been as a brother to me ; I had 
long considered myself as disconnected from him, 
and his death caused me but little emotion. The 
thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, touched 
me, however, to the quick ; and when 1 thought of 
him, that lofty magnificent being, now bowed down 
and desolate, and suing to me for comfort, all my re- 
sentment for past neglect was subdued, and a glow 
of filial afTection was awakened within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that overpow- 
ered all others was transport at the sudden change 
in my whole fortunes. A home — a name— rank- 
wealth awaited me ; and love painted a still more 
rapturous prospect in the distance. I hastened to 
Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. " Oh, Bianca,'' 
exclaimed 1, " at length I can claim you for my own. 
I am no longer a nameless adventurer, a neglected, 
rejected outcast. Look — read, behold the tidings 
that restore me to my name and to myself! " 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca 
rejoiced in the reverse of my situation, because she 
saw it lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her 



360 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



own part she had loved me for myself, and had never 
doubted that my own merits would command both 
fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. 
I no longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; 
hope elevated them to the skies ; my soul was lit up 
with fresh fires, and beamed from my countenance. 

I wished to impart the change in my circumstances 
to the Count ; to let him know who and what I was, 
and to make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; 
but the Count was absent on a distant estate. I 
opened my whole soul to Filippo. Now first 1 told 
him of my passion ; of the doubts and fears that had 
distracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly 
dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratu- 
lations and with tjje warmest expressions of sym- 
pathy. I embraced him in the fullness of my heart. 
I felt compunctious for having suspected him of cold- 
ness, and asked him forgiveness for having ever 
doubted his friendship. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden 
expansion of the heart between young men. Filippo 
entered into our concerns with the most eager inter- 
est. He was our confidant and counsellor. It was 
determined that I should hasten at once to Naples 
to re-establish myself in my father's affections and 
my paternal home, and the moment the reconcilia- 
tion was effected and my father's consent insured, I 
should return and demand Bianca of the Count. 
Filippo engaged to secure his father's acquiescence ; 
indeed, he undertook to watch over our interests, and 
was the channel through which we were to corre- 
spond. 

My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — 
agonizing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden 
which had been one of our favourite resorts. How 
often and often did I return to have one more adieu 
— to have her look once more on me in speechless 
emotion — to enjoy once more the rapturous sight of 
those tears streaming down her lovely cheeks — to 
seize once more on that delicate hand, the frankly 
accorded pledge of love, and cover it with tears and 
kisses ! Heavens ! There is a delight even in the 
parting agony of two lovers worth a thousand tame 
pleasures of the world. I have her at this moment 
before my eyes — at the window of the pavilion, put- 
ting aside the vines that clustered about the casement 
— her light form beaming forth in virgin white — her 
countenance all tears and smiles — sending a thou- 
sand and a thousand adieus after me, as, hesitating, 
in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered my 
way down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the harbour of Genoa, 
how eagerly my eyes stretched along the coast of 
Sestri, till it discerned the villa gleaming from among 
trees at the foot of the mountain. As long as day 
lasted, I gazed and gazed upon it, till it lessened and 
lessened to a mere white speck in the distance ; and 
still my intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all 
other objects of the coast had blended into indistinct 
confusion, or were lost in the evening gloom. 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal 
home. My heart yearned for the long-withheld 
blessing of a father's love. As I entered the proud 
portal of the ancestral palace, my emotions were so 
great that I could not speak. No one knew me. 
The servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. 
A few years of intellectual elevation and develop- 
ment had made a prodigious change in the poor 
fugitive stripling from the convent. Still that no 
one should know me in my rightful home was over- 
powering. 1 felt like the prodigal son returned. I 
was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst 
into tears, and wept aloud. When I made myself 
known, however, all was changed. I who had once 



been almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly 
as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, 
with servility. One of the servants hastened to pre- 
pare my father for my reception ; my eagerness to 
receive the paternal embrace was so great that I could 
not await his return ; but hurried after him. 

What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the 
chamber. My father, whom I had left in the pride 
of vigourous age, whose noble and majestic bearing 
had so awed my young imagination, was bowed 
down and withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had 
ravaged his stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. 
He sat propped up in his chair, with pale, relaxed 
visage and glassy, wandering eye. His intellects 
had evidently shared in the ravage of his frame. 
The servant was endeavouring to make him compre- 
hend the visitor that was at hand. I tottered up to 
him and sunk at his feet. All his past coldness and 
neglect were forgotten in his present sufferings. I re- 
membered only that he was my parent, and that I 
had deserted him. I clasped his knees ; my voice 
was almost stifled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon 
— pardon — oh my father ! "was all that I could utter. 
His apprehension seemed slowly to return to him. 
He gazed at me for some moments with a vague, 
inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor quivered about his 
lips ; he feebly extended a shaking hand, laid it upon 
my head, and burst into an infantine flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me 
from his sight. I appeared the only object that his 
heart responded to in the world : all else was as a 
blank to him. He had almost lost the powers of 
speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an end. 
He was mute and passive ; excepting that fits of 
child-like weeping would sometimes come over him 
without any immediate cause. If I left the room at 
any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the door 
till my return, and on my entrance there was another 
gush of tears. 

To talk with him of my concerns, in this ruined state 
of m\nd, would have been worse than useless : to 
have left him, for ever so short a time, would have 
been cruel, unnatural. Here then was a new trial 
for my affections. I wrote to Bianca an account of 
mv return and of my actual situation ; painting in 
colours vivid, for they were true, the torments I suf- 
fered at our being thus separated ; for to the youth- 
ful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. 
I enclosed the letter in one to Filippo, who was the 
channel of our correspondence. I received a reply 
from him full of friendship and sympathy ; from Bi- 
anca full of assurances of affection and constancy. 

Week after week, month after month elapsed, 
without making any change in my circumstances. 
The vital flame, which had seemed nearly extinct 
when first I met my father, kept fluttering on with- 
out any apparent diminution. I watched him con- 
stantly, faithfully — I had almost said patiently. 1 
knew that his death alone would set me free ; yet I 
never at any moment w'ished it. I felt too glad to be 
able to make any atonement for past disobedience ; 
and, denied as I had been all endearments of rela- 
tionship in my early days, my heart yearned towards 
a father, who, in his age and helplessness, had thrown 
himself entirely on me for comfort. My passion for Bi- 
anca gained daily more force from absence; by constant 
meditation it wore itself a deeper and deeper channel. 
I made no new friends nor acquaintance ; sought none 
of the pleasures of Naples which my rank and fortune 
threw open to me. Mme was a heart that confined 
itself to few objects, but dwelt upon those with the 
intenser passion. To sit by my father, and adminis- 
ter to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the 
silence of his chamber, was my constant habit. 
Sometimes I amused myself with my pencil in por- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



361 



traying the image that was ever present to my imag- 
ination. I transferred to canvas every look and smile 
of hers that dwelt in my heart. 1 showed them to 
my father in hopes of awakening an interest in his 
bosom for the mere shadow of my love ; but he was 
too far sunk in intellect to take any more than a 
child-like notice of them. 

When I received a letter from Bianca it was a new 
source of solitary luxury. Her letters, it is true, were 
less and less frequent, but they were always full of 
assurances of unabated affection. They breathed 
not the frank and innocent wannth with which she 
expressed herself in conversation, but I accounted 
for it from the embarrassment which inexperienced 
minds have often to express themselves upon paper. 
Filippo assured me of her unaltered constancy. They 
both lamented in the strongest terms our continued 
separation, though they did justice to the filial feel- 
ing that kept me by my father's side. 

Nearly eighteen months elapsed in this protracted 
exile. To me they were so many ages. Ardent and 
impetuous by nature, I scarcely know how I should 
have supported so long an absence, had I not felt as- 
sured that the faith of Bianca was equal to my own. 
At length my father died. Life went from him al- 
most imperceptibly. I hung over him in mute afflic- 
tion, and watched the expiring spasms of nature. 
His last faltering accents whispered repeatedly a 
blessing on me — alas I how has it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honours to his remains, and 
laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged 
briefly my affairs ; put them in a posture to be easily 
at my command from a distance, and embarked once 
more, with a bounding heart for Genoa. 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was my 
rapture when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the 
shadowy summits of the Apennines rising almost 
like clouds above the horizon. The sweet breath of 
summer just moved us over the long wavering bil- 
lows that were rolling us on towards Genoa. By 
degrees the coast of Sestri rose like a sweet creation 
of enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. 
1 beheld the line of villages and palaces studding its 
borders. My eye reverted to a well-known point, 
and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, 
it singled out the villa which contained Bianca. It 
was a mere speck in the landcxape, but glimmering 
from afar, the polar star of my heart. 

Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day ; 
but oh how different the emotions between departure 
and return. It now kept growing and growing, in- 
.stead of lessening and lessening on my sight. My 
heart seemed to dilate with it. I looked at it 
through a telescope. I gradually defined one feature 
after another. The balconies of the central saloon 
where first I met Bianca beneath its roof; the ter- 
race where we so often had passed the delightful 
summer evenings ; the awning that shaded her 
chamber window — I almost fancied I saw her form 
beneath it. Could she but know her lover was in the 
bark whose white sail now gleamed on the sunny 
bosom of the sea ! My fond impatience increased 
as we neared the coast. The ship seemed to lag 
lazily over the billows ; 1 could almost have sprung 
into the sea and swam to the desired shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the 
scene, but the moon arose in all her fullness and 
beauty, and shed the tender light so dear to lovers, 
over the romantic coast of Sestri. My whole soul 
was bathed in unutterable tenderness. I anticipated 
the heavenly evenings I should pass in wandering 
with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the harbour. 
As early next morning as I could get released from 
the fomialities of landing I threw myself on horse- 



back and hastened to the villa. As I galloped round 
the rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, 
and saw the coast of Sestri opening upon me, a 
thousand anxieties and doubts suddenly sprang up 
in my bosom. There is something fearful in return- 
ing to those we love, while yet uncertain what ills 
or changes absence may have effected. The tur- 
bulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I 
spurred mv horse to redoubled speed ; he was cov- 
ered with foam when we both arrived panting at the 
gateway that opened to the grounds around the vil- 
la. I left my horse at a cottage and walked through 
the grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the 
approaching interview. I chid myself for having 
suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to 
overcome me ; but I was always prone to be carried 
away by these gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden every thing bore the same 
look as when I had left it ; and this unchanged as- 
pect of things reassured me. There were the alleys 
in which I had so often walked with Bianca ; the 
same shades under which we had so often sat dur- 
ing the noontide heat. There were the same flowers 
of which she was fond ; and which appeared still 
to be under the ministry of her hand. Every thing 
around looked and breathed of Bianca ; hope and 
joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a 
little bower in which we had often sat and read to- 
gether. A book and a glove lay on the bench. It 
was Bianca's glove ; it was a volume of the Metes- 
tasio I had given her. The glove lay in my tavour- 
ite passage. I clasped them to my heart. " All is 
safe I " exclaimed I, with rapture, " she loves me ! 
she is still my own ! " 

I bounded lightly along the avenue down which 
I had faltered so slowly at my departure. I beheld 
her favourite pavilion which had witnessed our part- 
ing scene. The window was open, with the same 
vine clambering about it, precisely as when she 
waved and wept me an adieu. Oh ! how transport- 
ing was the contrast in my situation. As I passed 
near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female 
voice. They thrilled through me with an appeal to 
my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, 
I felt they were Bianca's. For an instant 1 paused, 
overpowered with agitation. I feared to break in 
suddenly upon her. I softly ascended the steps of 
the pavilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca 
seated at a table ; her back was towards me ; she 
was warbling a soft melancholy air, and was occu- 
pied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that 
she was copying one of my own paintings. I gazed 
on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emo- 
tions. She paused in her singing ; a heavy sigh, al- 
most a sob followed. I could no longer contain 
myself. " Bianca I " exclaimed I, in a half smother- 
ed voice. She started at the sound ; brushed back 
the ringlets that hung clustering about her face ; 
darted a glance at me; uttered a piercing shriek, 
and would have fallen to the earth, had I not caught 
her in my arms. 

" Bianca I my own Bianca ! " exclaimed I, folding 
her to my bosom ; my voice stifled in sobs of con- 
vulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or 
motion. Alarmed at the effects of my own pre- 
cipitation, 1 scarce knew what to do. I tried by a 
thousand endearing words to call her back to con- 
sciousness. She slowly recovered, and half opening 
her eyes — "where am I.?" murmured she faintly. 
" Here," exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom. 
" Here ! close to the heart that adores you ; in the 
arms of your faithful Ottavio ! " 

" Oh no I no 1 no I " shrieked she, starting into 
sudden life and terror — " away ! away I leave me ! 
leave me I " 



362 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a cor- 
ner of the saloon, and covered her face with her 
hands, as if the very sight of me were baleful. I 
was thunderstruck — I could not believe my senses. 
I tollowed her, trembling, confounded. I endeav- 
oured to take her hand, but she shrunk from my very 
touch with horror. 

" Good heavens, Bianca," exclaimed I, " what is 
the meaning of this? Is this my reception after so 
long an absence .' Is this the love you professed for 
me? " 

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through 
her. She turned to me a face wild with anguish. 
" No more of that ! no more of that ! " gasped she — 
*' talk not to me of love — I — I — am married ! " 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A 
sickness struck to my very heart. I caught at a 
window frame for support. For a moment or two, 
every thing was chaos around me. When I recovered, 
I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa ; her face buried in 
the pillow, and sobbing convulsively. Indignation 
at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every 
other feeling. 

"Faithless — perjured — " cried I, striding across 
the room. But another glance at that beautiful be- 
ing in distress, checked all my wrath. Anger could 
not dwell together with her idea in my soul 

"Oh, Bianca," e.\claimed I, in anguish, "could I 
have dreamt of this ; could I have suspected you 
would have been false to me ?" 

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all 
disordered with emotion, and gave me one appeal- 
ing look — " False to you ! — they told me you were 
dead ! " 

"What," said I, "in spite of our constant corre- 
spondence ? " 

She gazed wildly at me — "correspondence! — 
what correspondence ? " 

" Have you not repeatedly received and replied to 
my letters? " 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fer- 
vour — " As I hope for mercy, never ! " 

A horrible surmise shot through my brain — " Who 
told you I was dead ? " 

" It was reported that the ship in which you em- 
barked for Naples perished at sea." 

"But who told you the report? " 

She paused for an instant, and trembled — ■ 

"Filippo I '' 

" May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried I, 
extendnig my clinched fists aloft. 

"Oh do not curse him — do not curse him ! " ex- 
claimed she — " He is — he is — my husband ! " 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the per- 
fidy that had been practised upon me. My blood 
boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I gasped with 
rage too great for utterance. I remamed for a time 
bewildered by the whirl of horrible thoughts that 
rushed through my mind. The poor victim of de- 
ception before me thought it was with her I was in- 
censed. She faintly murmured forth her exculpa- 
tion. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more 
than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how 
both of us had been betrayed. " 'Tis well ! " mut- 
tered I to myself in smothered accents of concen- 
trated fury. " He shall account to me for this ! " 

Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her 
countenance. " For mercy's sake do not meet him 
—say nothing of what has passed — for my sake say 
nothing to him — I only shall be the sufferer ! " 

A new suspicion darted across my mind — 
" What ! " exclaimed I — "do you then fear him — is 
he unkind to you — tell me," reiterated I, grasping 
her hand and looking her eagerly m the face — " tell 
me — dares he to use you harshly ! " 



" No I no ! no ! " cried she faltering and embar- 
rassed ; but the glance at her face had told me vol- 
umes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features ; in the 
prompt terror and subdued agony of her eye a whole 
history of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great 
God ! and was this beauteous flower snatched from 
me to be thus trampled upon ? The idea roused me 
to madness. 1 clinched my teeth and my hands ; I 
foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to have 
resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled 
within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speech- 
less affright. As I strode by the window my eye 
darted down the alley. Fatal moment ! I beheld 
Filippo at a distance ! My brain was in deliiium — I 
sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with 
the quickness of lightning. He saw me as I came 
rushing upon him — he turned pale, looked wildly to 
right and left, as if he would have fled, and trem- 
bling drew his sword : — 

" Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your 
weapon ! " 

I spake not another word — I snatched forth a 
stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his 
hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell 
with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprang 
upon him with the blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger ; 
redoubled my blows; mangled him in my frenzy, 
grasped him by the throat, until with reiterated 
wounds and strangling convulsions he expired in my 
grasp. I remained glanng on the countenance, 
horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its 
protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused 
me from my dehrium. I looked round and beheld 
Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My brain 
whirled. I waited not to meet her, but fled from 
the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden 
like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a 
curse upon my head. I fled without knowing 
whither — almost without knowmg why — my only 
idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors 
I had left behind ; as if 1 could throw space between 
myself and my conscience. I lied to the Apennines, 
and wandered for days and days among their savage 
heights. How I existed 1 cannot tell — what rocks 
and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I 
know !iot. I kept on and on — trying to outtravel 
the curse that clung to me. Alas, the shrieks of 
Bianca rung for ever in my ear. The horrible 
countenance of my victim was for ever before my 
eyes. " The blood of Filippo cried to me from the 
ground." Rocks, trees, and torrents all resounded 
with my crime. 

Then it was I felt how much more insupportable 
is the anguish of remorse than every other mental 
pang. Oh ! could I but have cast off this crime that 
festered in my heart ; could I but have regained the 
innocence that reigned in my breast as I entered the 
garden at Sestri ; could I but have restored my vic- 
tim to life, 1 felt as if I could look on with transport 
even though Bianca were in his arms. 

By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled 
into a permanent malady of the mind. Into one of 
the most horrible that ever poor wretch was cursed 
with. Wherever I went, the countenance of him I 
had slain appeared to follow me. Wherever I turned 
my head I beheld it behind me, hideous with the 
contortions of the dying moment. I have tried in 
every way to escape from this horrible phantom ; 
but in vain. I know not whether it is an illusion of 
the mind, the consequence of my dismal education 
at the con\ ent, or whether a phantom really sent by 
heaven to punish me ; but there it ever is — at all 
times — in all places — nor has time nor habit had 
any effect in familiarizing me with its terrors. I 
have travelled from place to place, plunged into 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



363 



amusements — tried dissipation and distraction of 
every I<ind— all — all in vain. 

I once had recourse to my pencil as a desperate 
experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of this 
phantom face. I placed it before me in hopes that by 
constantly contemplating the copy I might diminish 
the effect of the original. But I only doubled instead 
of diminishing the misery. 

Such is the curse that has clung to my footsteps 
— that has made my life a burthen — but the thoughts 
of death, terrible. God knows what I have suffered. 
What days and days, and nights and nights, of 
sleepless torment. What a never-dying worm has 
preyed upon my heart ; what an unquenchable tire 
has burned within my brain. He knows the wrongs 
that wrought upon my poor weak nature ; that con- 
verted the tenderest of affections into the deadliest 
of fury. He knows best whether a frail erring 
creature has expiated by long-enduring torture and 
measureless remorse, the crime of a moment of mad- 
ness. Often, often have I prostrated myself in the 
dust, and implored that he would give me a sign of 
his forgiveness, and let me die. 

Thus far had I written some time since. 1 had 
meant to leave this record of misery and crime with 
you, to be read when I should be no more. My 
prayer to heaven has at length been heard. You 
were witness to my emotions last evening at the per- 
formance of the Miserere ; when the vaulted temple 
resounded with the words of atonement and redemp- 
tion. I heard a voice speaking to me from the midst 
of the music ; 1 heard it rising above the pealing of 
the organ and the voices of the choir ; it spoke to 
me in tones of celestial melody ; it promised mercy 
and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expia- 
tion. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on 
my way to Genoa to surrender myself to justice. 



You who have pitied my sufferings ; who have 
poured the l)alm of sympathy into my wounds, do 
not shrink from my memory with abhorrence now 
that you know my story. Recollect, when you read 
of my crime I shall have atoned for it with my 
blood ! 



When the Baronet had finished, there was an uni- 
versal desire expressed to see the painting of this 
frightful visage. After much entreaty the Baronet 
consented, on condition that they should only visit it 
one by one. He called his housekeeper and gave 
her charge to conduct the gentlemen singly to the 
chamber. They all returned varying in their stories: 
some affected in one way, some in another ; some 
more, some less; but all agreeing that there was a 
certain something about the painting that had a very 
odd effect upon the feelings. 

I stood in a deep bow window with the Baronet, 
and could not help expressing my wonder. " After 
all," said I, " there are certain mysteries in our nat- 
ure, certain inscrutable impulses and influences, that 
warrant one in being superstitious. Who can ac- 
count for so many persons of different characters 
being thus strangely affected by a mere painting.'' " 

" And especially when not one of them has seen 
it ! " said the Baronet with a smile. 

" How .'' " exclaimed I, •' not seen it ? " 

" Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his finger 
on his lips in sign of secrecy. " 1 saw that some of 
them were in a bantering vein, and I did not choose 
that the memento of the poor Italian should be made 
a jest of. So I gave the housekeeper a hint to show 
them all to a different chamber ! " 



Thus end the Stories of the Nervous Gentleman. 



Tales of a Traveller. 



PART SECOND. 



BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 

" 'Tis a very good world that we live in, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 

But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 

'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known." 

Lines from an Inn Window. 



LITERARY LIFE. 



Among the great variety of characters which fall 
in a traveller's way, 1 became acquainted during my 
sojourn in London, with an eccentric personage of 
the name of Buckthorne. He was a literary man, 
had lived much in the metropolis, and hafl acquired 
a great deal of curious, though unprofitable knowl- 
edge concerning it. He was great observer of 
character, and could give the natural history of every 
odd animal that presented itself in this great wilder- 
ness of men. Finding me very curious about literary 
life and literary characters, he took much pains to 
gratify my curiosity. 



"The literary world of England," said he to me 
one day, " is made up of a number of little fraterni- 
ties, each existing merely for itself, and thinking the 
rest of the world created only to look on and admire. 
It may be resembled to the tirmament, consisting of 
a number of systems, each composed of its own 
central sun with its revolving train of moons and 
satellites, all acting in the most harmonious concord ; 
but the comparison fails in part, inasmuch as the 
literary world has no general concord. Each sys- 
tem acts independently of the rest, and indeed con- 
siders all other stars as mere exhalations and tran- 
sient meteors, beaming for a while with false fires, 
but doomed soon to fall and be forgotten ; while its 
own luminaries are the lights of the universe, des- 



364 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tined to increase in splendour and to shine steadily 
on to immortality." 

" And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep 
into one of these systems you talk of.'' 1 presume 
an intercourse with authors is a kind of intellectual 
exchange, where one must bring' his commodities to 
barter, and always give a quid pro quo." 

" Pooh, pooh — how you mistake," said Buckthorne, 
smiling: " you must never think to become popular 
among wits by shining. They go into society to 
shine themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of 
others. I thought as you do when I first cultivated 
the society of men ol letters, and never went to a 
blue stocking coterie without studying my part be- 
forehand as diligently as an actor. The consequence 
was, I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, 
and should in a little while have been completely 
excommunicated had I not changed my plan of 
operations. From thenceforth I became a most 
assiduous listener, or if ever I were eloquent, it was 
tete-a-tete with an author in praise of his own works, 
or what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement 
of the works of his contemporaries. If ever he 
spoke favourably of the productions of some par- 
ticular friend, I ventured boldly to dissent from him, 
and to prove that his friend was a blockhead ; and 
much as people say of the pertinacity and irritability 
of authors, I never found one to take offence at my 
contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particularly 
candid in admitting the faults of their friend;. 

" Indeed, I was extremely sparing of my remarks 
on all modem works, excepting to make sarcastic 
observations on the most distinguished writers of 
the day. I never ventured to praise an author that 
had not been dead at least half a century ; and even 
then I was rather cautious ; for you must know that 
many old writers have been enlisted under the ban- 
ners of different sects, and their merits have become 
as complete topics of party prejudice and dispute, as 
the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, 
there have been whole periods of literature absolute- 
ly taboo d, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for ex- 
ample, as much as a man's reputation is worth, in 
some circles, to say a word in praise of any writers 
of the reign of Charles the Second, or even of 
Queen Anne ; they being all declared to be French- 
men in disguise." 

"And pray, then," said I, "when am I to know 
that I am on safe grounds ; being totally unac- 
quainted with the literary landmarks and the boun- 
dary lines of fashionable taste } " 

"Oh," replied he, "there is fortunately one tract 
of literature that forms a kind of neutral ground, on 
which all the literary world meet amicably ; lay 
down their weapons and even run riot in their ex- 
cess of good humour, and this is, the reigns of 
Elizabeth and James. Here you may praise away 
at a venture ; here it is 'cut and come again,' and 
the more obscure the author, and the more quaint 
and crabbed his style, the more your admiration will 
smack of the real relish of the connoisseur ; whose 
taste, like that of an epicure, is always for game that 
has an antiquated flavour. 

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to 
know something of literary society I will take an 
opportunity to introduce you to some coterie, where 
the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot 
promise you, however, that they will be of the first 
order. Some how or other, our great geniuses are 
not gregarious, they do not go in flocks, but fly 
singly in general society. They prefer mingling, 
like common men, with the multitude ; and are apt 
to carry nothing of the author about them but the 
reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd 
together, acquire strength and importance by their 



confederacies, and bear all the distinctive character- 
istics of their species." 



A LITERARY DINNER. 



A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. 
Buckthorne, he called upon me, and took me with 
him to a regular literary dinner. It was given by a 
great bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, 
whose firm surpassed in length even that of Shad- 
rach, Meschach, and Abed-nego. 

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty 
guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen 
before. Buckthorne explained this to me bv in- 
forming me that this was a " business dinner," or 
kind of field day, which the house gave about twice 
a year to its authors. It is true, they did occasion- 
ally give snug dinners to three or four literary men 
at a time, but then these were generally select au- 
thors ; favourites of the public ; such a^ had arrived 
at their sixth and seventh editions. "There are," 
said he, " certain geographical boundaries in the 
land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well 
of an author's popularity, by the wine his bookseller 
gives him. An author crosses the port line about 
the third edition and gets into claret, but when he 
has reached the sixth and seventh, he may revel in 
champagne and burgundy." 

"And pray," said I, " how far may these gentle- 
men have reached that I see around me ; are any of 
these claret drinkers.' " 

" Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great 
dinners the common steady run of authors, one, two, 
edition men ; or if any others are invited they are 
aware that it is a kind of republican meeting. — You 
understand me — a meeting of the republic of letters, 
and that they must expect nothing but plain substan- 
tial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully 
the arrangement of the table. The two ends were 
occupied by two partners of the house. And the 
host seemed to have adopted Addison's ideas as to 
the literary precedence of his guests. A popular poet 
had the post of honour, opposite to whom was a hot- 
pressed traveller in quarto, with plates. A grave- 
looking antiquarian, who had produced several solid 
works, which were much quoted and little read, was 
treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat, 
dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, 
genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, 
that was getting into fashion. Several three-volume 
duodecimo men of fair currency were placed about 
the centre of the table ; while the lower end was 
taken up with small poets, translators, and authors, 
who had not as yet risen into much notice. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and 
starts ; breaking out here and there in various parts 
of the table in small flashes, and ending in smoke. 
The poet who had the confidence of a man on good 
terms with the world and independent of his book- 
seller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many 
clever things, which set the partner next him in a 
roar, and delighted all the company. The other 
partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and 
kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of 
business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. 
His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buck- 
thorne. He informed me that the concerns of the 
house were admirably distributed among the partners. 
"Thus, for instance," said he, "the grave gentleman 
is the carving partner who attends to the joints, and 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



365 



the other is the laughing partner who attends to 
the jol<es." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on 
at the upper end of the table ; as the authors there 
seemed to possess the greatest courage of the 
tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if they 
did not make much figure in talking, they did in eat- 
ing. Never was there a more determined, inveter- 
ate, thoroughly-sustained attack on the trencher, 
than by this phalanx of masticators. When the 
cloth was removed, and the wine began to circu- 
late, they grew very merry and jocose among them- 
selves. Their jokes, however, if by chance any of 
them reached the upper end of the table, seldoin 
produced much effect. Even the laughing partner 
did not seem to think it necessary to honour them 
with a smile ; which my neighbour Buckthorne ac- 
counted for, by informing me that tliere was a cer- 
tain degree of popularity to be obtained, before a 
bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus 
seated below the salt, my eye singled out one in par- 
ticular. He was rather shabbily dressed ; though 
he had evidently made the most of a rusty black 
coat, and wore his shirt-frill plaited and puffed out 
voluminously at the bosom. His face was dusky, 
but florid — perhaps a little too florid, particularly 
about the nose, though the rosy hue gave the greater 
lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a little the 
look of a boon companion, with that dash of the 
poor devil in it which gives an inexpressibly mellow 
tone to a man's humour. I had seldom seen a face 
of richer promise ; but never was promise so ill 
kept. He said nothing ; ate and drank with the 
keen appetite of a gazetteer, and scarcely stopped 
to laugh even at the good jokes from the upper end 
of the table. I inquired who he was. Buckthorne 
looked at him attentively. "Gad," said he, "I 
have seen that face before, but where I cannot recol- 
lect. He cannot be an author of any note. I sup- 
pose some writer of sermons or grinder of foreign 
travels." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take 
tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud 
of inferior guests. Authors of small volumes in 
boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. 
These had not as yet arrived to the importance of 
a dinner invitation, but were invited occasionally to 
pass the evening "in a friendly way." They were 
very respectful to the partners, and indeed seemed 
to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid very 
devoted court to the lady of the house, and were ex- 
travagantly fond of the children. I looked round 
for the poor devil author in the rusty black coat and 
magnificent frill, but he had disappeared immediately 
after leaving the table ; having a dread, no doubt, of 
the glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding noth- 
ing farther to interest my attention, I took my de- 
parture as soon as coftee had been served, leaving 
the port and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo 
gentlemen, masters of the field. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 



I THINK it was but the very next evening that in 
coming out of Covent Garden Theatre with my ec- 
centric friend Buckthorne, he proposed to give me 
another peep at life and character. Finding me will- 
ing for any research of the kind, he took me through 
a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent 
Garden, until we stopped before a tavern from which 



we heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. 
There would be a loud peal of laughter, then an in- 
terval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were tell- 
ing a story. After a little while there was a song, 
and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar and a 
vehement thuinping on the table. 

"This is the place," whispered Buckthome. " It 
is the 'Club of Queer Fellows.' A great resort of 
the small wits, third-rate actors, and newspaper 
critics of the theatres. Any one can go in on pay- 
ing a shilling at the bar for the use of the club." 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took 
our seats at a lone table in a dusky corner of tlie 
room. The club was assembled round a table, on 
which stood beverages of various kinds, according to 
the taste of the individual. The members were a set 
of queer fellows indeed ; but what was my surprise 
on recognizing in the prime wit of the meeting the 
poor devil author whom I had remarked at the book- 
sellers' dinner for his promising face and his com- 
plete taciturnity. Matters, however, were entirely 
changed with him. There he was a mere cypher : 
here he was lord of the ascendant ; the choice spirit, 
the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the 
table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even 
more luminously than his nose. He had a quiz and 
a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every oc- 
casion. Nothing could be said or done without 
eliciting a spark from him ; and I solemnly declare I 
have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. 
His jokes, it must be confessed, were rather wet, but 
they suited the circle in which he presided. The 
company were in that maudlin mood when a little 
wit goes a great way. Every tiine he opened his 
lips there was sure to be a roar, and sometimes be- 
fore he had time to speak. 

We were tortunate enough to enter in time for a glee 
composed by him expressly for the club, and which 
he sang with two boon companions, w'ho would have 
been worthy subjects for Hogarth's pencil. As they 
were each provided with a written copy, I was en- 
abled to procure the reading of it. 

Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 

And merrily troll the glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink is an ass, 

bo neighbour I drink to thee. 
Merrily, merrily puddle thy nose, 

tjntil it right rosy shall be ; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose. 

Is a sign of good company. 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one 
but the wit remained. He sat at the table with his 
legs stretched under it, and wide apart ; his hands 
in his breeches pockets ; his head drooped upon his 
breast ; and gazing with lack-lustre countenance on 
an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire 
completely quenched. 

My companion approached and startled him from 
his fit of brown study, introducing himself on the 
strength of their having dined together at the book- 
sellers'. * 

" By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have 
seen you before ; your face is surely the face of an 
old acquaintance, though for the life of me I cannot 
tell where I have known you." 

" Very likely," replied he with a smile ; " many of 
my old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell 
the truth, my memory in this instance is as bad as 
your own. If, however, it will assist your recollec- 
tion in any way, my name is Thomas Dribble, at 
your service." 

" What, Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's 
school in Warwickshire .' " 

" The same," said the other, coolly. " Why, then 
we are old schoolmates, though it's no wonder you 



366 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



don't recollect me. I was your junior by several 
years ; don't you recollect little Jack Uuckthorne } " 

Here then ensued a scene of school-fellow recog- 
nition ; and a world of talk about old school times 
and school pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing-, 
with a heavy sigh, " that times were sadly changed 
since those days." 

''Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a 
different man here from what you were at dinner. I 
had no idea that you had so much stuff in you. 
There you were all silence ; but here you absolutely 
keep the table in a roar." 

" Ah, my dear sir," leplied he, with a shake of the 
head and a shrug of the shoulder, " I'm a mere glow 
worm. I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a 
hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at 
the table of a rich bookseller. Who do you think 
would laugh at any thing I could say, when I had 
some of the current wits of the day about me .' But 
here, though a poor devil, I am among still poorer 
devils than myself; men who look up to me as a 
man of letters and a bel esprit, and all my jokes pass 
as sterling gold from the mint." 

"You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; " I 
have certainly heard more good things from you this 
evening than from any of those beaux esprits by 
whom you appear to have been so daunted." 

" Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they 
are in the fashion — there's nothing like being in 
fashion. A man that has once got his character up 
for a wit, is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. 
He may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, and 
all will pass current. No one stops to question the 
coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil cannot pass off 
either a joke or a guinea, without its being examined 
on both sides. Wit and coin are always doubted 
with a threadbare coat. 

"For niy part," continued he, giving his hat a 
twitch a little more on one side, " for my part, I hate 
your fine dinners ; there's nothing, sir. like the free- 
dom of a chop-house. I'd rather, any time, have my 
steak and tankard among my own set, than drink 
claret and eat venison with your cursed civil, elegant 
company, who never laugh at a good joke from a 
poor devil, for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke 
grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in low places, but 
withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once 
kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself; 
I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing 
saved me but being arrested by my landlady and 
thrown into prison ; where a course of catch-clubs, 
eight-penny ale, and poor-devil company, manured 
my mind and brought it back to itself again." 

As it was now growing late we parted for the 
evening ; though I felt anxious to know more of this 
practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when 
Buckthonie proposed to have another meeting to 
talk over old school times, and inquired his school- 
mate's address. The latter seemed at first a little 
shy of naming his lodgings ; but suddenly assuming 
an air of hardihood — " Green Arbour court, sir," ex- 
claimed he — " number — in Green Arbour court. 
You must know the place. Classic ground, sir ! 
classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith wrote his 
Vicar of Wakefield. I always like to live in literary 
haunts." 

I was amused with this whimsical apology for 
shabby quarters. On our way homewards Buck- 
thorne assured ine that this Dribble had been the 
prime wit and great wag of the school in their boy- 
ish days, and one of those unlucky urchins denomi- 
nated bright geniuses. As he perceived me curious 
respecting his old schoolmate, he promised to take 
me with him in his proi)osed visit to Green Arbour 
court. 



A few mornings afterwards he called upon me. 
and we set forth on our expedition. He led me 
through a variety of singular alleys, and courts, and 
blind passages ; for he appeared to be profoundly 
versed in all the intricate geography of the metropo- 
lis. At length we came out upon Fleet Market, and 
traversing it, turned up a narrow street to the bot- 
tom of a long steep flight of stone steps, named 
Break-neck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to 
Green Arbour court, and that down them poor 
Goldsmith might many a time have risked his neck. 
When we entered the court, I could not but smile to 
think in what out-of-the-way corners genius pro- 
duces her bantlings !■ And the muses, those capri- 
cious dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to visit 
palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in 
splendid studies and gilded drawing-rooms, — what 
holes and burrows will thev frequent to lavish their 
favours on some ragged disciple ! 

This Green Arbour court I found to be a small 
square of tall and miserable houses, the very intes- 
tines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge 
from the old garinents and frippery that fluttered 
from every window. It appeared to be a region of 
washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the 
little square, on which clothes were dangling to dry. 
Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place 
between two viragos about a disputed right to a 
washtub, and immediately the whole community 
was in a hubbub. Heads in mob caps popped out 
of every window, and such a clamour of tongues en- 
sued that I was fain to stop my ears. Every .'\mazon 
took part with one or other of the disputants, and 
brandished her arms dripping with soapsuds, and 
fired away from her window as from the embrazure 
of a fortress ; while the swarms of children nestled 
and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, 
waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to 
swell the general concert. 

Poor Goldsmith ! what a time must he have had 
of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, 
penned up in this den of noise and vulgarity. How 
strange that while eveiy sight and sound was suffi- 
cient to embitter the heart and fill it with misanthropy, 
his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybla. 
Yet it is more than probable that he drew many of 
his inimitable pictures of low life from the scenes 
which surrounded him in this abode. The circum- 
stance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus- 
band's two shirts in a neighbour's house, who re- 
fused to lend her washtub, may have been no sport 
of fancy, but a fact passing under his own e\ e. His 
landlady may have sat tor the picture, and Beau 
Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have been a fac-simile of 
his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way 
to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of 
stairs, in a room that looked upon the court, and 
when we entered he was seated on the edge of his 
bed, writing at a broken tabic. He received us, 
however, with a free, open, poor devil air, that was 
irresistible. It is true he did at first appear slightly 
confused'; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher 
and tucked in a stray frill of linen. Bat he recol- 
lected himself in an instant ; gave a half swagger, 
half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a 
three-legged stool tor Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me 
to a lumbering old damask chair that looked like a 
dethroned monarch in exile, and bade us welcome to 
his garret. 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buck 
thorne and he had much to say about early school 
scenes; and as nothing opens a man's heart more 
than recollections of the kind, we soon drew from 
him a brief outline of his literary career. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



367 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 



1 BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag- and 
bright fellow at school ; and I had the farther mis- 
fortune of becoming the great genius of my native 
village. My father was a country attorney, and in- 
tended that I should succeed him in business ; but 
I had too much genius to study, and he was too 
fond of my genius to force it into the traces. So I 
fell into bad company and took to bad habits. Do 
not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company 1 
of village literati and village blues, and took to writ- 
ing village poetry. 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be liter- 
ary. We had a little knot of choice spirits who as- 
sembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a 
Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society, and 
fancied ourselves the most learned philos in exist- | 
ence. Every one had a great character assigned 
him, suggested by some casual habit or affectation. 
One heavy fellow drank an enormous quantity of 
tea ; rolled in his arm-chair, talked sententiously, 
pronounced dogmatically, and was considered a sec- 
ond Dr. Johnson ; another, who happened to be a 
curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, 
and was the Swift of our association. Thus we had 
also our Popes and Goldsmiths and Addisons, and 
a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room we fre- 
quented, who corresponded about nothing with all 
the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness and 
formality of a printed book, was cried up as another 
Mrs. Montagu. I was, by common consent, the 
juvenile prodigv, the poetical youth, the great genius, 
the pride and hope of the village, through whom it 
was to become one day as celebrated as Stratford- 
on-Avon. 

My father died and left me his blessing and his 
business. His blessing brought no money into my 
pocket ; and as to his business it soon deserted me : 
for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend 
to law ; and my clients, though they had great re- 
spect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical at- 
torney. 

I lost my business therefore, spent my money, and 
finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melan- 
choly, and was cried up to the skies by the whole 
circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures 
of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memory, though each 
had placed its author in the first rank of poets, were 
blank prose in comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu 
would cry over it from beginning to end. It was 
pronounced by all the members of the Literary, Sci- 
entic, and Philosophical Society the greatest poem 
of the age, and all anticipated the noise it would 
make in the great world. There was not a doubt 
but the London booksellers would be mad after it, 
and the only fear of my friends was, that I would 
make a sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time 
they talked the matter over they increased the price. 
They reckoned up the great sums given for the po- 
ems of certain popular writers, and determined that 
mine was worth more than all put together, and 
ought to be paid for accordingly. For my part, I 
was modest in my expectations, and determined that 
I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I 
put my poem in my pocket and set off for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as 
mv purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame 
and fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast 
my eyes upon old London from the heights of High- 
gate. I was like a general looking down upon a 
place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis 
lay stretched before me, buried under a home-made 



cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from the 
brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a kind 
of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of the 
city, away to the west, the smoke gradually de- 
creased until all was clear and sunny, and the view 
stretched uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kent- 
ish Hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola 
of St. Paul's swelled dimly through this misty chaos, 
and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learn- 
ing that lies about its base. How soon should the 
Pleasures of Melancholy throw this world of book- 
sellers and printers into a bustle oi business and de- 
light ! How soon should I hear my name repeated 
bv printers' devils throughout Pater Nostcr Row, 
and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, until Amen 
corner should echo back the sound ! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most 
fashionable publisher. Every new author patron- 
izes him of course. In fact, it had been determined 
in the village circle that he should be the fortunate 
man. I cannot tell you how vaingloriously 1 walked 
the streets ; my head was in the clouds. I felt the 
airs of heaven playing about it, and fancied it al- 
ready encircled by a halo of literary glory-. As I 
passed by the windows of bookshops, I anticipated 
the time when my work would be shining among the 
hotpressed wonders of the day ; and my face, scratch- 
ed on copper, or cut in wood, figuring in fellowship 
with those of Scott and Byron and Moore. 

When I applied at the publisher's house there was 
something in the loftiness of my air, and the dingi- 
ness of my dress, that struck the clerks with rever- 
ence. They doubtless took me for some person ot 
consequence, probably a digger of Greek roots, or a 
penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty 
shirt is always an imposing character in the world 
of letters ; one must teel intellectually secure before 
he can venture to dress shabbily ; none but a great 
scholar or a great genius dares to be dirty ; so I was 
ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum of this 
high priest of Minerva. 

The publishing of books is a very different affair 
now-a-days, from what it was in the time of Bernard 
Lintot. I found the publisher a fashionably-dressed 
man, in an elegant drawing-room, furnished with 
sofas and portraits of celebrated authors, and cases 
of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters 
at an elegant table. This was transacting business 
in style. The place seemed suited to the magnificent 
publications that issued from it. I rejoiced at the 
choice I had made of a publisher, for I always liked 
to encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical 
port that I had been accustomed to maintain in our 
village circle; though 1 threw in it something of a 
patronizing air, such as one feels when about to 
make a man's fortune. The publisher paused with 
I his pen in his hand, and seemed waiting in mute 
I suspense to know what was to be announced by so 
singular an apparition. 

1 put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that 
I had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known 
my name, and the name of my poem ; produced my 
precious roll of blotted manuscript, laid it on the 
taf)le with an emphasis, and told him at once, to 
, save time and come directly to the point, the price 
I was one thousand guineas. 

1 I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem 
so inclined. He continued looking at me for a mo- 
ment with an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned 
me from head to foot ; looked down at the manu- 
script._ then up again at me, then pointed to a chair; 
and whistling softly to himself, went on writing his 
; letter. 



368 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing 
he was mal<ing up his mind ; but he only paused 
occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink ; to stroke his 
chin or the tip of his nose, and then resumed his 
writing. It was evident his mind was intently occu- 
pied upon some other subject ; but I had no idea 
that any other subject should be attended to and my 
poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had supposed 
that every thing would make way for the Pleasures 
of Melancholy. 

iVIy gorge at length rose within me. 1 took up 
my manuscript ; thrust it into my pocket, and walked 
out of the room ; making some noise as I went, to 
let my departure be heard. The publisher, how- 
ever, was too much busied in minor concerns to 
notice it. I was suffered to walk down-stairs with- 
out being called back. I sallied forth into the street, 
but no clerk was sent after me ; nor did the pub- 
lisher call alter me from the drawing-room window. 
I have been told since, that he considered me either 
a madman or a fool. 1 leave you to judge how 
much he was in the wrong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled 
down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced 
my terms with the next bookseller to whom I ap- 
plied. I had no better success : nor with a third : 
nor with a fourth. I then desired the booksellers to 
make an offer themselves ; but the deuce an offer 
would they make. They told me poetry was a mere 
drug ; everybody wrote poetry ; the market was 
overstocked with it. And. then, they said, the title of 
my poem was not taking : that pleasures of all kinds 
were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did 
now-a-days, and even these were almost worn out. 
Tales of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks might 
answer tolerably well ; but then they must come 
from some established well-known name, or the 
public would not look at them. 

At last I offered to leave my poem with a book- 
seller to read it and judge for himself. " Why, 
really, my dear Mr. — a — a — I forget your name," 
said he, cutting an eye at my rusty coat and shabby 
g-aiters, " really, sir, we are so pressed with business 
just now, and have so many manuscripts on hand to 
read, that we have not time to look at any new pro- 
duction, but if you can call again in a week or two, 
or say the middle of next month, we may be able to 
look over your writings and give you an answer. 
Don't lorget, the month after next — good morning, 
sir — happy to see you any time you are passing 
this way" — so saying he bowed me out in the civil- 
est way imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an 
eager competition to secure my poem I could not 
even get it read ! In the mean time I was harassed 
by letters from my friends, wanting to know when 
the work was to appear ; who was to be my pub- 
lisher ; but above all things warning me not to let it 
go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined 
to publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph 
over the booksellers, when it should become the 
fashion of the day. I accordingly published the 
Pleasures of Melancholy and ruined myself. Ex- 
cepting the copies sent to the reviews, and to my 
friends in the countrj-, not one, 1 believe, ever left 
the bookseller's warehouse. The printer's bill drain- 
ed my purse, and the only notice that was taken of 
my work was contained in the advertisements paid 
for by myself 

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it 
as usual to the mismanagement of the publisher, or 
the want of taste in the public ; and could have 
made the usual appeal to posterity : but my village 
friends would not let me rest in quiet. They were 
picturing me to themselves feasting with the great, 



communing with the literary, and in the high course 
of fortune and renown. Every little while, some one 
came to me with a letter of introduction from the 
village circle, recommending him to my attentions, 
and requesting that 1 would make him known in 
society ; with a hint that an introduction to the 
house of a celebrated literary nobleman would be 
extremely agreeable. 

I determined, therefore, to change my lodgings, 
drop my correspondence, and disappear altogether 
from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I 
was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I 
was by no means disheartened by the failure of my 
first. .My poem was evidently too didactic. The 
public was wise enough. It no longer read for in- 
struction. " They want horrors, do they .''"said I, 
" ri'aith, then they shall have enough of them." So 
I looked out for some quiet retired place, where I 
might be out of reach of my friends, and have leisure 
to cook up some delectable dish of poetical " hell- 
broth." 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my 
mind, when chance threw me in the way of Canon- 
bury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard by 
"merry Islington;" the remains of a hunting-seat 
of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasures of 
the country, when the neighbourhood was all wood- 
land. What gave it particula<- interest in my eyes, 
was the circumstance that it had been the residence 
of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he 
wrote his Deserted Village. I was shown the very 
apartment. It was a relique of the original st)le ot 
the castle, with pannelled wainscots and gothjc 
windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, 
and with its having been the residence of poor Gokly. 
■' Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, " a 
very pretty poet ; though rather of the old school. 
He did not think and feel so 
fashion novv-a-days : but had he lived 
of hot hearts and hot heads, he would have written 
quite differently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new 
quarters ; my books all arranged, my writing desk 
placed by a window looking out into the fields ; and 
I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had 
finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all 
the novelty of change and the charms which grace 
a new lodgings before one has found out their de- 
fects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied 
Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington ; 
ate my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which ac- 
cording to tradition was a country seat of Sir Walter 
Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine and muse 
on old times in a quaint old room, where many a 
council had been held. 

All this did very well for a few days : I was stimu- 
lated by novelty ; inspired by the associations awak- 
ened in my mind by these curious haunts, and began 
to think I felt the spirit of composition stirring within 
me ; but Sunday came, and with it the whole city 
world, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could 
not open my window but I was stunned with shouts 
and noises from the cricket ground. The late quiet 
road beneath my window was alive with the tread of 
feet and clack of tongues ; and to complete my 
misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely 
a "show house ! " the tower and its contents being 
shown to strangers at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of citi- 
zens and their families, to look about the country 
from the top of the tower, and to take a peep at the 
city through the telescope, to try if they could dis- 
cern their own chimneys. And then, in the midst ot 
a vein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I was 
interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my 



strongly as is the 
in these times 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



369 



intoleraljle landlady's tapping at the door, and 
asking me, if I would "jist please to let a lady and 
gentleman come in to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's 
room." 

I f you know any thing what an author's study is, and 
what an author is himself, you must know that there 
was no standing this. I put a positive interdict on 
my room's being exhibited ; but then it was shown 
when 1 was absent, and my papers put in confusion ; 
and on returning home one day, I absolutely found 
a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over 
my manuscripts ; and my landlady in a panic at my 
appearance. I tried to make out a little longer by 
taking the key in my pocket, but it would not dp. I 
overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her 
customers on the stairs that the room was occupied 
by an author, who was always in a tantrum if inter- 
rupted ; and I immediately perceived, by a slight 
noise at the door, that they were peeping at me 
through the key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but 
this was quite too much ! with all my eagerness for 
fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence 
a head, and that through a key-hole. So I bade 
adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, and the 
haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having advanced 
a single line in my labours. 

My next quartets were at a small white-washed 
cottage, which stands not far from Hempstead, just 
on the brow of a hill, looking over Chalk farm, and 
Cambden town, remarkable for the rival houses of 
Mother Red Cap and Mother Black Cap ; and so 
across Crackskull common to the distant city. 

The cottage is in no wise remarkable in itself; 
but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been the 
asylum of a persecuted author. Hither poor Steele 
had retreated and lain perdue when persecuted by 
creditors and bailiffs ; those immemorial plagues of 
authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; and here he 
had written many numbers of the Spectator. It 
was from hence, too, that he had despatched those 
little notes to his lady, so full of affection and whim- 
sicality ; in which the fond husband, the careless gen- 
tleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly 
blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window of 
his apartment, that I could sit within it and write 
volumes. 

No such thing! It was haymaking season, and, 
as ill luck would have it, immediately opposite the 
cottage was a little alehouse with the sign of the 
load of hay. Whether it was there in Steele's time 
or not I cannot say ; but it set all attempt at con- 
ception or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort 
of all the Irish haymakers who mow the broad fields 
in the neighbourhood ; and of drovers and teamsters 
who travel that road. Here would they gather in 
the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the 
harvest moon, and sit round a table at the door ; 
and tipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and 
sing drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours until 
the deep solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn 
the varlets home. 

In the day-time I was still less able to write. It 
was broad summer. The haymakers were at work 
in the fields, and the perfume of the new-mown hay 
brought with it the recollection of my native fields. 
So instead of remaining in my room to write, I went 
wandering about Primrose Hill and Hempstead 
Heights and Shepherd's Field, and all those Arca- 
dian scenes so celebrated by London bards. I can- 
not tell you how many delicious hours I have passed 
lying on the cocks of new-mown hay, on the pleas- 
ant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fra- 
grance of the fields, while the summer fiy buzzed 
about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; 
24 



and how I have gazed with half-shut eye upon the 
smoky mass of London, and listened to the distant 
sound of its population, and pitied the poor sons of 
earth, toiling in its bowels, like Gnomes in " the 
dark gold mine." 

People may say what they please about Cockney 
pastorals ; but after all, there is a vast deal of rural 
beauty about the western vicinity of London ; and 
any one that has boked down upon the valley of 
Westend, with its soft bosom of green pasturage, 
lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle ; the 
steeple of Hempstead rising among rich groves on 
the brow of the hill, and the learned height of Har- 
row in the distance ; will confess that never has he 
seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity 
of a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better 
off for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I 
began to discover that in literature, as in trade, the 
old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone gathers no 
moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very 
vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy 
into the termagant vein. I could not conceive, 
amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of blood and 
murder ; and the smug citizens in breeches and gait- 
ers, put all ideas of heroes and bandits out ot my 
brain. I could think of nothing but dulcet subjects. 
" The pleasures of spring" — "the pleasures of soli- 
tude " — " the pleasures of tranquillity " — " the pleas- 
ures of sentiment " — nothing but pleasures ; and I 
had the painful experience of " the pleasures of mel- 
ancholy " too strongly in my recollection to be be- 
guiled by them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently 
in my ramblings loitered about Hempstead Hill; 
which is a kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At 
such times I occasionally took my dinner at Jack 
Straw's Castle. It is a country inn so named. The 
very spot where that notorious rebel and his follow- 
ers held their council of war. It is a favourite resort 
of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands fine 
fresh air and a good view of the city. 

I sat one day in the public room of this inn, rumi- 
nating over a beefsteak and a pint of port, when my 
imagination kindled up with ancient and heroic 
images. I had long wanted a theme and a hero ; 
both suddenly broke upon my mind ; I determined to 
write a poem on the history of Jack Straw. I was 
so full of my subject that I was fearful of being an- 
ticipated. 1 wondered that none of the poets of the 
day, in their researches after ruffian heroes, had ever 
thought of Jack Straw. 1 went to work pell-mell, 
blotted several sheets of paper with choice floating 
thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready 
at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I 
sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing 
was wanting but to give it flesh and blood. I used 
to take my manuscript and stroll about Caen Wood, 
and read aloud ; and would dine at the castle, by way 
of keeping up the vein of thought. 

I was taking a meal there, one day, at a rather 
late hour, in the public room. There was no other 
company but one man, who sat enjoying his pint ot 
port at a window, and noticing the passers-by. He 
was dressed in a green shooting coat. His counte- 
nance was strongly marked. He had a hooked nose, 
a romantic eye, excepting that it had something of a 
squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a poetical style 
of head. I was quite taken with the man, for you 
must know I am a little of a physiognomist : I set 
him down at once for either a poet or a philosopher. 
As I like to make new acquaintances, considering 
every man a volume of human nature, I soon lell into 
conversation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to 



370 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



find, was by no means difficult of access. After I 
had dined, I joined him at the window, and we be- 
came so sociable that I proposed a bottle of wine 
together ; to which he most cheerfully assented. 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on 
the subject, and began to talk about the origin of the 
tavern, and the history of Jack Straw. I found my 
new acquaintance to be perfectly at home on the 
topic, and to jump exactly with my humour in every 
respect. I became elevated by the wine and the 
conversation. In the fullness of an author's feel- 
ings, I told him of my projected poem, and repeat- 
ed some passages; and he was in raptures. He was 
evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

"Sir," said he, fiUmg my glass at the same time, 
" our poets don't look at home. I don't see why we 
need go out of old England for robbers and rebels 
to write about. I Hke your Jack Straw, sir. He's a 
home-made hero. I like him, sir. I like him ex- 
ceedingly. He's English to the back bone, damme. 
Give me honest old England, after all ; them's my 
sentiments, sir ! " 

"I honour your sentiments," cried I zealously. 
" They are exactly my own. An English ruffian for 
poetry is as good a ruffian for poetry as any in Italy 
or Germany, or the Archipelago ; but it is hard to 
make our poets think so." 

" More shame for them ! " replied the man in 
green. " What a plague would they have ? What 
have we to do with their Archipelagos of Italy and 
Germany ? Haven't we heaths and commons and 
high-ways on our own little island ? Aye, and stout 
fellows to pad the hoof over them too } Come, sir, 
my service to you — I agree with your perfectly." 

" Poets in old times had right notions on this sub- 
ject," continued 1 ; " witness the fine old ballads 
about Robin Hood, Allen A'Dale, and other staunch 
blades of yore." 

" Right, sir, right," interrupted he. " Robin 
Hood ! He was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, 
and never flinch." 

" Ah, sir," said I, " they had famous bands of rob- 
bers in the good old times. Those were glorious 
poetical days. The merry crew of Sherwood Forest, 
who led such a roving picturesque life, ' under the 
greenwood tree.' I have often wished to visit their 
haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar 
Tuck, and Clym of the Clough, and Sir William of 
Cloudeslie." 

" Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, " we 
have had several very pretty gangs since their day. 
Those gallant dogs that kept about the great heaths 
in the neighbourhood of London ; about Bagshot, 
and Hounslow, and Black Heath, lor instance— come, 
sir, my service to you. You don't drink." 

" I suppose," said I, emptying my glass — " I sup- 
pose you have heard of the famous Turpin,who was 
born in this very village of Hempstead, and who used 
to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest, about a 
hundred years since." 

"Have 1?" cried he — "to be sure I have! A 
hearty old blade that ; sound as pitch. Old Turpen- 
tine ! — as we used to call him. A famous fine fellow, 
sir." 

" Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Waltham 
Abbey, and Chinkford Church, merely from the 
stories 1 heard, when a boy, of his exploits there, 
and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern 
where he used to conceal himself You must know," 
added I, " that I am a sort of amateur of highway- 
men. They were dashing, daring fellows ; the last 
apologies that we had for the knight errants of yore. 
Ah, sir ! the counti7 has been sinking gradually into 
lameness and commonplace. We are losing the old 
English spirit. The bold knights of the post have 



all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneak- 
ing pick-pockets. There's no such thing as a dash- 
ing gentleman-like robbery committed now-a-days 
on the king's highway. A man may roll from one 
end of England to the other in a drowsy coach or 
jingling post-chaise without any other adventure 
than that of being occasionally overturned, sleeping 
in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner. 

" We hear no more of public coaches being stop- 
ped and robbed by a well-mounted gang of resolute 
fellows with pistols in their hands and crapes over 
their faces. What a pretty poetical incident was it 
for example in domestic life, for a family carriage, 
on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about 
dusk ; the old gentleman eased of his purse and 
watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, by 
a politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, 
who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped 
across the country, to the admiration of Miss Caro- 
lina the daughter, who would write a long and ro- 
mantic account of the adventure to her friend Miss 
Juliana in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with nothing of 
such incidents now-a-days." 

"That, sir," — said my companion, taking advan- 
tage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath ■■ 
and to take a glass of wine, which he had just poured 
out — " that, sir, craving your pardon, is not owing 
to any want of o'.d EngHs'h pluck. It is the effect of 
this cursed system of banking. People do not travel 
with bags of gold as they did formerly. They have 
post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach 
is like catching a crow ; where you have nothing 
but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But a 
coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish 
galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely ; 
and a private carriage was a cool hundred or two at 
least." 

I cannot express how much I was delighted with 
the sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me 
that he often frequented the castle, and would be 
glad to know more of me ; and I promised myself 
many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should 
read him my poem, as it proceeded, and benefit by 
his remarks; for it was evident he had the true 
poetical feeling. 

" Come, sir ! " said he, pushing the bottle, " Dam- 
me I like you !— You're a man after my own heart ; 
I'm cursed slow in making new acquaintances in 
general. One must stand on the reserve, you know. 
But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme 
my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my senti- 
ments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health ! 
I presume one can drink it now-a-days without 

treason ! " i i^- i 

"With all my heart," said I gayly, "and Dick 
Turpin's into the bargain ! " 

" Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the 
kind of men for poetry. The Newgale kalendar, 
sir ! the Newgate kalendar is your only reading ! 
There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing 
fellows." 

We were so much pleased with each other that 
we sat until a late hour. I insisted on paying the 
bill, for both my purse and my heart were fiill ; and 
I agreed that he should pay the score at our next 
meeting. As the coaches had all gone that run 
between Hempstead and London he had to return 
on foot. He was so delighted with the idea of my 
poem tiiat he could talk of nothing else. He made 
me repeat such passages as 1 could rememljer, and 
though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a 
wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with 
some scrap which he would misquote most terribly, 
but would rub his hands and exclaim, "By Jupiter, 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



371 



that's fine ! that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can con- 
ceive how you hit upon such ideas ! " 

I must confess 1 did not always relish his mis- 
quotations, which sometimes made absolute non- 
sense of the passages ; but what author stands upon 
trifles when he is praised ? Never had I spent a 
more delightful evening. I did not perceive how 
the time flew. I could not bear to separate, but 
continued walking on, arm in arm with him past 
my lodgings, through Cambden town, and across 
CrackscuU Common, talking the whole way about 
my poem. 

\Vhen we were half-way across the common he 
interrupted me in the midst of a quotation by telling 
me that this had been a famous place for loolpads, 
and was still occasionally infested by them ; and that 
a man had recently been shot there in attempting to 
defend himself. 

" The more fool he ! " cried L " A man is an 
idiot to risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse 
of money. It's quite a different case from that of a 
duel, where one's honour is concerned. For my 
part," added I, " I should never think of making 
resistance against one of those desperadoes." 

" Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, turning 
suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast, 
" Why, then have at you, my lad ! — come, disburse ! 
empty ! unsack ! " 

In a word, I found that the muse had played me 
another of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the 
hands of a footpad. There was no time to parley; 
he made me turn my pockets inside out ; and hear- 
ing the sound of distant footsteps, he made one fell 
swoop upon purse, watch, and all, gave me a thwack 
over my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the 
ground ; and scampered away with his booty. 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year 
or two afterwards ; when I caught a sight of his poet- 
ical countenance among a crew of scapegraces, 
heavily ironed, who were on the way for transporta- 
tion. He recognized me at once, tipped me an im- 
pudent wink, and asked me how I came on with the 
history of Jack Straw's castle. 

The catastrophe at CrackscuU Common put an end 
to my summer's campaign. I was cured of my po- 
etical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highway- 
men. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and 
what was worse, I was lightened of my purse, in 
which was almost every farthing I had in the world. 
So I abandoned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in de- 
spair, and crept into less celebrated, though no less 
poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in town. 

I see you are growing weary, so 1 will not detain 
you with any more of my luckless attempts to get 
astride of Pegasus. Still I could not consent to give 
up the trial and abandon those dreams of renown in 
which I had indulged. How should I ever be able 
to look the literary circle of my native village in the 
face, if I were so completely to falsify their predic- 
tions. For some time longer, therefore, I continued 
to write for fame, and of course was the most mis- 
erable dog in existence, besides being in continual 
risk of starvation. 

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, 
with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about five 
o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas in the 
west end of the town ; and seen through the kitchen 
windows the fires gleaming, and the joints of meat 
turning on the spits and dripping with gravy; and 
the cook maids beating up puddings, or trussing tur- 
keys, and have felt for the moment that if I could 
but have the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo 
and the muses might have the hungry heights of 
Parnassus for me. Oh, sir! talk of meditations 
among the tombs — they are nothing so melancholy 



as the meditations of a poor devil without penny 
in pouch, along a line of kitchen windows towards 
dinner-time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and 
despair, the idea all at once entered my head, that 
perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the village 
and myself had supposed. It was the salvation of 
me. The moment the idea popped into my brain, 
it brought conviction and comfort with it. I awoke 
as from a dream. I gave up immortal fame to those 
who could live on air ; took to writing for mere 
bread, and have ever since led a very tolerable life 
of it. There is no man of letters so much at his 
ease, sir, as he that has no character to gain or lose. 
I had to train myself to it a little, however, and to 
clip my wings short at first, or they would have car- 
ried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I de- 
termined to begin by the opposite extreme, and 
abandoning the higher regions of the craft, I came 
plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. 

"Creeper," interrupted I, "and pray what is 
that?" Oh, sir! I see 5'ou are ignorant of the 
language of the craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes 
the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a line ; 
one that goes about in quest of misfortunes ; attends 
the Bow-street office ; the courts of justice and every 
other den of mischief and iniquity. We are paid at 
the rate of a penny a line, and as we can sell the 
same paragraph to almost every paper, we some- 
times pick up a very decent day's work. Now and 
then the muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly 
quiet, and then we rather starve ; and sometimes 
the unconscionable editors will clip our paragraphs 
when they are a little too rhetorical, and snip off 
twopence or threepence at a go. I have many a 
time had my pot of porter snipped off of my dinner 
in this way; and have had to dine with dry lips. 
However, I cannot complain. I rose gradually in 
the lower ranks of the craft, and am now, I think, in 
the most comfortable region of literature. 

"And pray," said I, "what may you be at pres- 
ent?" 

" At present," said he, " I am a regular job writer, 
and turn my hand to anything. I work u]) the writ- 
ings of others .at so much a sheet ; turn off transla- 
tions ; write second-rate articles to fill up reviews 
and magazines ; compile travels and voyages, and 
furnish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All 
this authorship, you perceive, is anonymous ; it 
gives no reputation, except among the trade, where 
I am considered an author of all work, and am al- 
ways sure of employ. That's the only reputation I 
want. I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or 
critics, and leave immortal fame to those that choose 
to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, the 
only happy author in this world is he who is below 
the care of reputation." 



The preceding anecdotes of Buckthorne's early 
schoolmate, and a variety of peculiarities which I 
had remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity 
to know something of his own history. There was 
a dash of careless good humour about him that 
pleased me exceedingly, and at times a whimsical 
tinge of melancholy ran through his humour that 
gave it an additional relish. He had evidently been 
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being 
soured thereby, as some fruits become inellower and 
sweeter, from having been bruised or frost-bitten. 
He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no 
great story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of 
errors and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have 
one epoch of it, by which you may judge of the rest." 
And so, without any farther prelude, he gave me the 
following anecdotes of his early adventures. 



372 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 



I WAS bom to ver>' little property, but to great 
expectations ; whicli is perhaps one of the most un- 
lucky fortunes that a man can be born to. My 
father was a country gentleman, the last of a very 
ancient and honourable, but decayed family, and re- 
sided in an old hunting lodge in Warwickshire. He 
was a keen sportsman and lived to the extent of his 
moderate income, so that I had little to expect from 
that quarter ; but then I had a rich uncle by the 
mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmudg- 
eon, who it was confidently expected would make 
me his heir; because he was an old bachelor; be- 
cause I was named after him, and because he hated 
all the world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even 
jn misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did 
a guinea. Thus, though my mother was an only 
sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my 
father, against whom he had a cold, still, immove- 
able pique, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, 
like a stone in a well, ever since they had been 
school boys together. My mother, however, con- 
sidered me as the intermediate being that was to 
bring evei7 thing again into harmony, for she looked 
upon me as a prodigy — God bless her ! My heart 
overflows whenever I recall her tenderness : she was 
the most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. 
1 was her only child ; it wasa pity she had no more, 
for she had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled 
a dozen ! 

I was sent, at an early age, to a public school 
sorely against my mother's wishes, but my father in- 
sisted that it was the only way to make boys hardy. 
The school was kept by a conscientious prig of the 
ancient system, who did his duty by the boys in- 
trusted to his care ; that is to say, we were flogged 
soundly when we did not get our lessons. We were 
put into classes and thus flogged on in droves along 
the highways of knowledge, in much the same man- 
ner as cattle are driven to market, where those that 
are heavy in gait or short in leg have to suffer for 
the superior alertness or longer limbs of their com- 
panions. 

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an in- 
corrigible laggard. I have always had the poetical 
feeling, that is to say, I have always been an idle 
fellow and prone to play the vagabond. I used to 
get away from my books and school whenever I 
could, and ramble about the fields. I was sur- 
rounded by seductions for such a temperament. 
The school-house was an old-fashioned white- 
washed mansion of wood and plaister, standing on 
the skirts of a beautiful village. Close by it was the 
venerable church with a tall Gothic spire. Before it 
spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream 
glistening along through willow groves ; while a line 
of blue hills that bounded the landscape gave rise to 
many a summer day dream as to the fairy land that 
lay beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that 
school to make me love my book, I cannot but look 
back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, I con- 
sidered this frequent flagellation as the common lot 
of humanity, and the regular mode in which scholars 
were made. My kind mother used to lament over 
my details of the sore trials I undersvent in the cause 
of learning ; but my father turned a deaf ear to her 
expostulations. He had been flogged through school 
himself, and swore there was no other way of mak- 



ing a man of parts ; though, let me speak it with all 
due reverence, my father was but an indifferent illus- 
tration of his own theory, for he was considered a 
grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very 
early period. The village church was attended every 
Sunday by a neighbouring squire — the lord of the 
manor, whose park stretched quite to the village, 
and whose spacious country seat seemed to take the 
church under its protection. Indeed, you would 
have thought the church had been consecrated to 
him instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk bowed 
low before him, and the vergers humbled themselves 
into the dust in his presence. He always entered a 
little late and with some stir, striking his cane em- 
phatically on the ground ; swaying his hat in his 
hand, and looking loftily to the right and left, as he 
walked slowly up the aisle, and the parson, who al- 
ways ale his Sunday dinner with him, never com- 
menced service until he appeared. He sat with his 
family in a large pew gorgeously lined, humbling 
himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading 
lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of 
splendid gold and morocco prayer-books. When- 
ever the parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich man's 
entering the kingdom of heaven, the eyes of the con- 
gregation would turn towards the "grand pew," 
and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the 
application. 

The pomp of this pew and the aristocratical air of 
the family struck my imagination wonderfully, and I 
fell desperately in love with a little daughter of the 
squire's about twelve years of age. This freak of 
fancy made me more truant from my studies than 
ever. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and 
would lurk near the house, to catch glimpses of this 
little damsel at the windows, or playing about the 
lawns, or walking out with her governess. 

I h.ad not enterprise or impudence enough to ven- 
ture from my concealment ; indeed, I felt like an ar- 
rant poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Meta- 
morphoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan 
deity, and she a coy wood nymph of whom I was in 
pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in 
these early awakenings of the tender passion. I can 
feel, even at this moment, the thrilling of my boyish 
bosom, whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of 
her white frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I 
now began to read poetry. I carried about in my 
bosom a volume of Waller, which I had purloined 
from my mother's library ; and 1 applied to my little 
fair one all the compliments lavished upon Sach- 
arissa. 

At length I danced with her at a school ball. I 
was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak 
to her ; I was filled with awe and embarrassment in 
her presence ; but I was so inspired that my poetical 
temperament for the first time broke out in verse ; 
and I fabricated some glowing lines, in which I be- 
rhymed the little lady under the favourite name of 
Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, trembling and 
blushing, into her hand the next Sutiday as she came 
out of church. The little prude handed them to her 
mamma ; the mamma handed them to the squire ; 
the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in 
dudgeon to the school-master ; and the school-master, 
with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, gave me a 
sound and peculiarly humiliating flogging for thus 
trespassing upon Parnassus. 

This was a sad outset for a votary of the muse. It 
ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry; 
but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a 
martyr rising within me. What was as well, per- 
haps, it cured me of my passion for the young lady ; 
for i felt so indignant at the ignominious horsing I 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



373 



had incurred in celebrating her charms, that I could 
not hold up my head in church. 

Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the mid- 
summer holydays came on, and I returned home. 
My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school con- 
cerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; 
for boyhood has its share of the one as well as of the 
others. I told her all, and she was indignant at the 
treatment I had experienced. She fired up at the 
arrogance of the squire, and the prudery of the 
daughter ; and as to the school master, she wondered 
where was the use of having school-masters, and why 
boys could not remain at home and be educated by 
tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked 
to see the verses I had written, and she was delight- 
ed with them ; for to confess the truth, she had a 
pretty taste in poetry. She even showed them to the 
parson's wife, who protested they were charming, 
and the parson's three daughters insisted on each 
having a copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I was still 
more consoled and encouraged, when the young 
ladies, who were the blue-stockings of the neighbour- 
hood, and had read Dr. Johnson's lives quite through, 
assured my mother that great geniuses never studied, 
but were always idle ; upon which I began to sur- 
mise that I was myself something out of the com- 
mon run. My father, however, was of a very differ- 
ent opinion, for when my mother, in the pride of her 
heart, showed him my copy of verses, he threw them 
out of the window, asking her " if she meant to make 
a ballad monger of the boy." But he was a careless, 
common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever 
loved him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial 
affection. 

I used occasionally, during holydays, to be sent on 
short visits to the uncle, who was to make me his 
heir ; they thought it would keep me in his mind, 
and render him fond of me. He was a withered, 
anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate 
old country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from 
absolute niggardliness. He kept but one man-serv- 
ant, who had lived, or rather starved, with him for 
years. No woman was allowed to sleep in the house. 
A daughter of the old servant lived by the gate, in 
what had been a porter's lodge, and was permitted 
to come into the house about an hour each day, to 
make the beds, and cook a morsel of provisions. 

The park that surrounded the house was all run 
wild ; the trees grown out of shape ; the fish-ponds 
stagnant; the urns and statues fallen from their 
pedestals and buried among the rank grass. The 
hares and pheasants were so little molested, except 
by poachers, that they bred in great abundance, and 
sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. 
To guard the premises and frighten off robbers, of 
whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and visitors, 
whom he held in almost equal awe, my uncle kept 
two or three blood-hounds, who were always prowl- 
ing round the house, and were the dread of the 
neighbouring peasantry. They were gaunt and half- 
starved, seemed ready to devour one from mere 
hunger, and were an effectual check on any stranger's 
approach to this wizard castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit 
now and then during the holyd.iys. I was, as I have 
before said, the old man's favourite ; that is to say, 
he did not hate me so much as he did the rest of tlie 
world. I had been apprised of his character, and 
cautioned to cultivate his good-will ; but 1 was too 
young and careless to be a courtier ; and indeed have 
never been sufficiently studious of my interests to let 
them govern my feelings. However, we seemed to 
jog on very well together ; and as my visits cost him 
almost nothing, they did not seem to be very un- 



welcome. I brought with me my gun and fishing- 
rod, and half supplied the table from the park and 
the fish-ponds. 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle 
rarely spoke ; he pointed for whatever he wanted, 
and the servant perfectly understood him. Indeed, 
his man John, or Iron John, as he was called in the 
neighbourhood, was a counterpart of his master. 
He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a dry wig that 
seemed made of cow's tail, and a face as tough as 
though it had been made of bull's hide. He was 
generally clad in a long, patched livery coat, taken 
out of the wardrobe of the house ; and which bagged 
loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some 
corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days of 
the mansion. From long habits of taciturnity, the 
hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely 
rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, 
and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have 
done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let 
out the family carriage that was dropping to pieces 
in the coach-house. 

1 cannot say, however, but that I was for some 
time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the 
very desolateness of the establishment had some- 
thing in it that hit my fancy. When the weather 
was fine I used to amuse myself, in a solitary way, 
by rambling about the park, and coursing like a colt 
across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed 
to stare with surprise, to see a human being walking 
these forbidden grounds by day-light. Sometimes I 
amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at 
birds with a bow and arrows ; for to have used a 
gun would have been treason. Now and then my 
path was crossed by a little red-headed, ragged- 
tailed urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, 
who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw 
him into familiarity, and to make a companion ot 
him ; but he seemed to have imbibed the strange, un- 
social character of every thing around him ; and 
alwavs kept aloof; so I considered him as another 
Orson, and amused myself with shooting at him with 
my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his 
breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a 
deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and 
wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great sta- 
bles, empty and weather-broken, with the names of 
favourite horses over the vacant stalls ; the windows 
bricked and boarded up; the broken roofs, garri- 
soned by rooks and jackdaws ; all had a singularly 
forlorn appearance: one would have concluded the 
house to be totally uninhabited, were it not for a lit- 
tle thread of blue smoke, which now and then curled 
up like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the 
wide chimneys, when my uncle's starveling meal was 
cooking. 

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the 
building, strongly secured and generally locked. I 
was never admitted into this strong-hold, where the 
old man would remain for the greater part of the- 
time, drawn up like a veteran spider in the citadel 
of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was 
open to me, and I sauntered about it unconstrained. 
The damp and rain which beat in through the broken 
windows, crumbled the paper from the walls ; mould- 
ered the pictures, and gradually destroyed the furni- 
ture. I loved to rove about the wide, waste cham- 
bers in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the 
wind, and the banging about of the doors and win- 
dow-shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how 
completely, when I came to the estate, I would reno- 
vate all things, and make the old building ring with 
merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. 
The chamber which I occupied on these visits was 



374 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the same that had been my mother's, when a girl. 
There was still the toilet-table ol her own adorning ; 
the landscapes of her own drawing. She had never 
seen it since her marriage, but would ol'ten ask me 
if every thing was still the same. All was just the 
same ; for I loved that chamber on her account, and 
had taken pains to put every thing in order, and to 
mend all the flaws in the windows with my own 
hands. I anticipated the time when I should once 
more welcome her to the house of her fathers, and 
restore her to this little nestling-place of her child- 
hood. 

At length my evil genius, or, what perhaps is the 
same thing, the muse, inspired me with the notion of 
rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to 
church, used on Sundays to read chapters out of 
the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman from the 
lodge, and mys.;lf, were his congregation. It seemed 
to be all one to him what he read, so long as it was 
something from the Bible : sometimes, therefore, it 
would be the Song of Solomon ; and this withered 
anatomy would read about being " stayed with flag- 
gons and comforted with apples, for he was sick of 
love." Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacle 
on nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew 
names in Deuteronomy ; at which the poor woman 
would sigh and groan as if wonderfully moved His 
favourite book, however, was "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress ; " and when he came to that part which treats 
of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought in- 
variably of him and his desolate old country seat. 
So much did the idea amuse me, that I took to 
scribbling about it under the trees in the park; and 
in a few days had made some progress in a poem, in 
which I had given a description of the place, under 
the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my 
uncle as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and 
I soon suspected that my uncle had found it ; as he 
harshly intimated to me that I could return home, 
and that I need not come and see him again until 
he should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. — I cannot 
dwell upon the circumstance ; my heart, careless and 
wayworn as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her 
death was an event that perhaps gave a turn to all 
my after fortunes. With her died all that made 
home attractive, for my father was harsh, as I have 
before said, and had never treated me with kindness. 
Not that he e.xerted any unusual severity towards 
me, but it was his way. I do not complain of him. 
In fact, I have never been much of a complaining 
disposition. I seem born to be buffeted by friends 
and fortune, and nature has made me a careless en- 
durer of buffetings. 

I now, however, began to grow very impatient of 
remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I 
did not like. I longed for variety, especially now 
that 1 had not my uncle's to resort to, by way of di- 
versifying the dullness of school with the dreariness 
'of his country seat. 1 was now turned of sixteen ; 
tall for my age, and full of idle fancies. 1 had a rov- 
ing, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds of 
life, and different orders of society; and this vagrant 
humour had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, 
the prime wag and great genius of the school, who 
had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 

I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine 
summer's day, and instead of studying the book 
which lay open before me, my eye was gazing 
through the window on the green fields and blue 
hills. How I envied the happy groups seated on 
the tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, and 
laughing, as they were whirled by the school-house, 
on their way to the metropolis. Even the wagon- 



ers trudging along beside their ponderous teams, 
and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the 
other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to my- 
self what adventures they must experience, and what 
odd scenes of life they must witness. All this was, 
doubtless, the poetical temperament working within 
me, and tempting me forth into a world of its own 
creation, which I mistook for the world of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strong propensity to 
rove was counteracted by the stronger attractions 
of home, and by the powerful ties of affection, 
which drew me to her side ; but now that she was 
gone, the attractions had ceased ; the ties were 
severed. I had no longer an anchorage ground for 
my heart ; but was at the mercy of every vagrant 
impulse. Nothing but the narrow allowance on 
which my father kept me, and the consequent penury 
of my purse, prevented me from mounting the top of 
a stage-coach and launching myself adrift on the 
great ocean of life. 

Just about this time the village was agitated for 
a day or two, by the passing through of several 
caravans, containing wild beasts, and other specta- 
cles for a great fair annually held at a neighbouring 
town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and 
my curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle 
of preparation. I gazed with respect and wonder 
at the vagrant personages who accompanied these 
caravans. I loitered about the village inn, listening 
with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant 
jokes of the showmen and their followers ; and 
I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, which 
my fancy decked out as something wonderfully fine. 

A holyday afternoon presented, when I could be 
absent from the school from noon until evening. A 
wagon was going from the village to the fair. I 
could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of 
Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's 
core. We hired seats, and sat off full of boyish ex- 
pectation. I promised myself that I would but take 
a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again 
before my absence should be noticed. 

Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the 
fair ! How I was enchanted with the world of fun 
and pageantry around me ! The humours of Punch ; 
the feats of the equestrians ; the magical tricks of 
the conjurors ! But what principally caught my at- 
tention was — an itinerant theatre ; where a tragedy, 
pantomime, and farce were all acted in the course of 
halt an hour, and more of the dramatis personse 
murdered, than at either Drury Lane or Covent 
Garden in a whole evening. I have since seen many 
a play perfomied by the best actors in the world, but 
never have I derived half the delight from any that I 
did t'rom this first representation. 

There was a ferocious tvrant in a skull cap like an 
inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnifi- 
cently embroidered with gi't leather; with his face 
so be-whiskered and his eyebrows so knit and ex- 
panded with burnt cork, that he made my heart 
quake within me as he stamped about the little 
stage. I was enraptured too with the surpassing 
beauty of a distressed damsel, in faded pink silk, 
and dirty white muslin, whom he held in cruel cap- 
tivity by way of gaining her affections ; and who 
wept and wrung her hands and flourished a ragged 
pocket handkerchief from the top of an impregnable 
tower, of the size of a band-box. 

Even after I had come out from the ]ilay, I could 
not tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre ; but 
lingered, gazing, and wondering, and laughing at 
the dramatis personas, as they performed their antics, 
or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, to 
decoy a new set of spectators. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



375 



I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in 
the crowd of sensations that l<ept swarming upon 
me, that I was lil<e one entranced. 1 lost my com- 
panion Tom Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that 
took place near one of the shows, but I was too 
much occupied in mind to think long about him. I 
strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted 
up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. 
The illumination of the tents and booths ; the bril- 
liant effect of the stages decorated wilh lamps, with 
dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy 
dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding 
darkness; while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fid- 
dles, hautboys, and cymbals, mingled with the ha- 
rangues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and 
the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to 
complete my giddy distraction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I 
came to myself and thought of the school, I hastened 
to return. I inquired for the wagon in which I had 
come : it had been gone for hours. I asked the time : 
it was almost midnight ! A sudden quaking seized 
me. How was I to get back to school ? 1 was too 
weary to make the journey on foot, and I knew not 
where to apply for a conveyance. Even if I should 
find one, could I venture to disturb the school-house 
long after midnight.' to arouse that sleeping lion, 
the usher, in the very midst of his night's rest .' 
The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school- 
boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me^ 
my absence must long before this have been re- 
marked — and absent for a whole night ! — a deed of 
darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the 
pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before 
my affrighted fancy. 1 pictured to myself punish- 
ment and humiliation in every variety of form ; and 
my heart sickened at the picture. Alas ! how often 
are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to our tender 
natures, as arc the sterner evils of manhood to our 
robuster minds. 

I wandered about among the booths, and I might 
have derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how 
much the charms of this world depend upon our- 
selves ; for I no longer saw anything gay or delight- 
ful in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, 
wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tents, 
and covering myself with the margin of the tent 
cloth, to keep off the night chill, I soon fell asleep. 

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by 
the noise of merrimfent within an adjoining booth. 
It was the itinerant theatre, rudely constructed of 
boards and canvas. I peeped through an aperture, 
and saw the whole dramatis personje, tragedy, 
comedy, pantomimi-, all refreshing themselves after 
the final dismissal of their auditors. They were 
merry and gamesome, and made their flimsy theatre 
ring with their laughter. I was astonished to see 
the tragedy tyrant in red baize and tierce whiskers, 
who had made my heart quake as he strutted about 
the boards, now transformed into a fat, good hu- 
moured fellow ; the beaming porringer laid aside 
froin his brow, and his jolly face washed from all 
the terrors of burnt cork. 1 was delighted, too, to 
see the distressed damsel in faded silk and duly 
muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and 
afflicted me so much by her sorrows ; now seated 
familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from the same 
tankard. Harlequin lay asleep on one of the benches ; 
and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were grouped 
together, laughing outrageously at a broad story, 
told by an unhappy count, who had been barba- 
rously murdered in the tr'agedy. 

This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep 
into another planet. I gazed and listened with in- 
tense curiosity and enjoyment. They had a thou- 



sand odd stories and jokes about the events of the 
day, and burlesque descriptions and mimickings of 
the spectators who had been adiniring them. Their 
conversation was full of allusions to their adventures 
at different places, where they had exhibited ; the 
characters they had met with in different villages ; 
and the ludicrous difficulties in which they had occa- 
sionally been involved. All past cares and troubles 
were now turned by these thoughtless beings into 
matter of merriment ; and made to contribute to the 
gayety of the moment. They had been moving from 
fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the next 
morning to set out on their way to London. 

My resolution was taken. I crept from my nest, 
and scrambled through a hedge into a neighbouring 
field, where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion 
of myself. I tore my clothes ; soiled them with dirt ; 
begrimed my face and hands ; and, crawling near one 
of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my new 
one in its place. It was an honest thelt, and I hope 
may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me. 

I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and. 
presenting myself before the dramatic corps, offered 
myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and 
abashed, for " never before stood I m such a pres- 
ence." I had addressed myself to the manager of 
the company. He was a fat man dressed in dirty 
white ; with a red sash fringed with tinsel, swathed 
round his body. His face was smeared with paint, 
and a majestic plume towered from an old spangled 
black bonnet. He was the Jupiter tonans of this 
Olympus, and was surrounded by the inferior gods 
and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a 
bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo and the 
other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he 
had slowly set down from his lips, as he surveyed 
me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful 
scrutiny, and 1 fancied the groups around all watch- 
ing us in silent suspense, and waiting for the imperial 
nod. 

He questioned me as to who I was ; what were 
my qualifications ; and what terms I expected. I 
passed myself off for a discharged servant from a 
gentleman's family ; and as, happily, one does not 
require a special recommendation to get admitted 
into bad coinpany, the questions on that head were 
easily satisfied. As to my accomplishments, I would 
spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes ot 
plays, which I had learnt at school exhibitions. I 

could dance , that was enough ; no further 

questions were asked me as to accomplishments; it 
was the very thing they wanted ; and, as I asked no 
wayes, but merely meat and drink, and safe conduct 
about the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. 

Behold me, therefore, transformed of a sudden, 
from a gentleman student to a dancing buffoon ; lor 
such, in fact, was the character in which I made my 
debut. I was one of those who formed the groups in 
the dramas, and were principally employed on the 
stage in Iront of the booth, to attract company. I was 
equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frize that fitted 
to my shape ; with a great laughingmask, ornamented 
with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with 
the disguise, because it kept me from the danger of 
being discovered, whilst we were in that part of the 
country ; and, as I had merely to dance and make 
antics, the character was favourable to a debutant, 
being almost on a par with Simon Snug's part of the 
Lion, which required nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden 
change in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I 
had seen too little of society to be thoughtful about 
the diflerences of rank ; and a boy of sixteen is sel- 
j dom aristocratical. I had given up no friend ; for 
there seemed to be no one in the world that cared 



376 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



for m(,', now my poor mother was dead. I had given 
up no pleasure ; for my pleasure was to ramble about 
and indulge the flow of a poetical imagination ; and 
1 now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life so 
truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued grovelling incli- 
nations. I do not think so ; not that I mean to vin- 
dicate myself in any great degree ; I know too well 
what a whimsical compound I am. But in this in- 
stance I was seduced by no love of low company, nor 
disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always 
despised the brutally vulgar ; and I have always had 
a disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was 
governed merely by a sudden and thoughtless im- 
pulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession 
as a mode of life ; or of attaching myself to These 
people, as my future class of society. I thought 
merely of a temporary gratification of my curiosity, 
and an indulgence of my humours. I had already a 
strong relish for the peculiarities of character and 
the varieties of situation, and 1 have always been 
fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it 
through all its shifting scenes. 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and 
buffoons I was protected by the very vivacity of imag- 
ination which had led me among them. I moved 
about enveloped, as it were, in a protecting delu- 
sion, which my fancy spread around me. I assimi- 
lated to these people only as they struck me poetical- 
ly ; their whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness 
in their mode of life entertained me ; but I w-as nei- 
ther amused nor corrupted by their vices. In short, 
I mingled among them, as Prince Hal did among his 
graceless associates, merely to gratify my humour. 

I did not investigate my motives in this manner, 
at the time, for I was too careless and thoughtless 
to reason about the matter ; but I do so now, when 
I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal to 
which J unthinkingly exposed myself, and the man- 
ner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am 
convinced, but the poetical temperament, that hur- 
ried me into the scrape, brought me out of it with- 
out my becoming an arrant vagabond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with 
the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, 
1 capered, I danced, I played a thousand fantastic 
tricks about the stage, in the villages in which we ex- 
hibited ; and I was universally pronounced the most 
agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those 
parts. My disappearance from school had awakened 
my father's anxiety ; for I one day heard a descrip- 
tion of myself cried before the very booth in which I 
was exhiiaiting ; with the offer of a reward for any 
intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about 
letting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my ac- 
count ; it would punish him for past indifference, and 
would make him value me the more when he found 
me again. I have wondered that some of my com- 
rades did not recognize in me the stray sheep that 
was cried ; but they were all, no doubt, occupied by 
their own concerns. They were nil labouring seri- 
ously in their antic vocations, for folly was a mere 
trade with most of them, and they often grinned and 
capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the con- 
trary, it was all real. I acted con amore, and rattled 
and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my 
spirits. It is true that, now- and then, I started and 
looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the 
wooden sword of Harlequin, in the course of my 
gambols ; as it brought to mind the birch of my 
school-master. But I soon got accustomed to it ; 
and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling 
about, that form the practical wit of your itinerant 
pantomime, with a good humour that made me a 
prodigious favourite. 



The country campaign of the troupe was soon at 
an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to perform 
at the fairs which are held it its vicinity. The 
greater part of our theatrical property was sent on 
direct, to be in a state of preparation lor the open- 
ing of the fairs ; while a detachment of the company 
travelled slowly on, foraging among the villages. I 
was amused with the desultory, hap-hazard kind of 
life we led ; here to-day, and gone to-morrow. Some- 
times revelling in ale-houses ; sometimes feasting 
under hedges in the green fields. When audiences 
were crowded and business profitable, we fared well, 
and when otherwise, we fared scantily, and con- 
soled ourselves with anticipations of the next day's 
success. 

At length the increasing frequency of coaches 
hurrying past us, covered with passengers ; the in- 
creasing number of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, 
droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all thronging 
the road ; the snug country boxes with trim flower 
gardens twelve feet square, and their trees twelve 
feet high, all powdered with dust ; and the innumer- 
able seminaries for young ladies and gentlemen, situ- 
ated along the road, for the benefit of country air 
and rural retirement : all these insignia announced 
that the mighty London was at hand. The hurry, 
and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and 
the dust, increased as we proceeded, until 1 saw the 
great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy 
of state, over this queen of cities. 

In this way, then, did I enter the me^opolis ; a 
strolling vagabond ; on the top of a caravan with a 
crew of vagabonds about me ; but I was as happy 
as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior 
to my situation, and knew that I could at any time 
cast it off and emerge into my proper sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde-park 
corner, and 1 saw splendid equipages rolling by, with 
powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, and fine 
nosegays, and gold-headed canes ; and with lovely 
women wiihin, so sumptuously dressed and so sur- 
passingly fair. I was always extremely sensible to 
iemale beauty ; and here I saw it in all its fascina- 
tion ; for, whatever may be said of " beauty unadorn- 
ed," there is something almost awful in female love- 
liness decked out in jewelled state. The swan-like 
neck encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks, 
clustered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the 
snowy bosom, are objects that I could never contem- 
plate without emotion ; and a dazzling white arm 
clasped with bracelets, and taper transparent fingers 
laden with sparkling rings, are to me irresistible. My 
very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly 
beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that 
my imagination had conceived of the sex. I shrunk, 
for a moment, into shame at the company in which 
I was placed, and repined at the vast distance that 
seemed to intervene between me and these magnifi- 
cent beings. 

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life which 
I led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at 
the various fairs, held there during the latter part of 
spring and the beginning of summer. This continual 
change from place to place, and scene to scene, fed 
my imagination with novelties, and kept my spirits 
in a perpetual state of excitement. 

As I was tall of my age I aspired, at one time, to 
play heroes in tragedy ; but after two or three trials, 
I was pronounced, by the manager, totally unfit for 
the line ; and our first tragic actress, who was a large 
woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence, con- 
firmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to lan- 
guage which had no point, and nature to scenes 
which had no nature. They said I did not fill out 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



377 



my characters ; and thev were right. The charac- 
ters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. 
Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, 
with an amazing voice ; who stamped and slapped 
his breast until his wig shook again ; and who roar- 
ed and bellowed out his bombast, until every phrase 
swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. 
I might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes 
as his characters. When we had a dialogue together, 
I was nothing before him, with my slender voice and 
discriminating manner. I might as well have at- 
tempted to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If 
he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, 
he would take refuge in his mighty voice, and throw 
his tones like peals of thunder at me, until they were 
drowned in the still louder thunders of applause from 
the audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown 
fair play, and that there was management at the 
bottom ; for without vanity, I think I was a better 
actor than he. As I had not embarked in the vaga- 
bond line through ambition, I did not repine at lack 
of preferment ; hut I was grieved to find that a va- 
grant life was not without its cares and anxieties, 
and that jealousies, intrigues, and mad ambition 
were to be found even among vagabonds. 

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situa- 
tion, and the delusions of fancy began to fade away, 
I discovered that my associates were not the happy 
careless creatures I had at first imagined them. 
They were jealous of each other's talents ; they quar- 
relled about parts, the same as the actors on the 
grand theatres ; they quarrelled about dresses ; and 
there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, 
and a head-dress of three rumpled ostrich feathers, 
which were continually setting the ladies of the com- 
pany by the ears. Even those who had attained the 
highest honours were not more happy than the rest ; 
for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, and ap- 
parently a jovial, good-humoured fellow, confessed 
to me one day, in the fullness of his heart, that he 
was a miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a 
relative by marriage, though not by blood, who was 
manager of a theatre in a small country town. And 
this same brother, ("a little more than kin, but less 
than kind,") looked down upon him, and treated 
him with contumely, because forsooth he was but a 
strolling player. I tried to console him with the 
thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but 
it was all in vain. He declared that it gave him no de- 
light, and that he should never be a happy man until 
the name of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp. 

How little do those before the scenes know of 
what passes behind ; how little can they judge, from 
the countenances of actors, of what is passing in 
their hearts. 1 have known two lovers quarrel like 
cats behind the scenes, who were, the moment after, 
to fly into each other's embraces. And I have 
dreaded, when our Belvidera was to take her fare- 
well kiss of her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece 
out of his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker 
off the stage ; our prime clown the most peevish 
mortal living. The latter used to go about snapping 
and snarling, with a broad laugh painted on his 
countenance ; and I can assure you that, whatever 
may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the mel- 
ancholy of a gibed cat, there is no more melancholy 
creature in existence than a mountebank off duty. 

The only thing in which all parties agreed was to 
backbite the manager, and cabal against his regula- 
tions. This, however, I have since discovered to be 
a common trait of human nature, and to take place 
in all communities. It would seem to be the main 
business of man to repine at government. In all 
situations of life into which I have looked, I have 



found mankind divided into two grand parties ; — 
those who ride and those who are ridden. The 
great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep 
in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the funda- 
mental principle of politics, whether in great or little 
life. However, I do not mean to moralize; but one 
cannot always sink the philosopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself. It was deter- 
mined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, 
unluckily, as my study was bad, having a very poor 
memory, I was pronounced unfit for comedy also: 
besides, the line of young gentlemen was already en- 
grossed by an actor with whom I could not pretend 
to enter into competition, he having filled it for al- 
most half a century. I came down again therefore 
to pantomime. In consequence, however, of the 
good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a 
liking to me, I was promoted from 'the part of the 
satyr to that of the lover ; and with my face patched 
and painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple- 
crowned hat, and dangling, long-skirted, sky-blue 
coat, was metamorphosed into the lover of Colum- 
bine. My part did not call for much of the tender 
and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugi- 
th'e fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed 
in my face ; to run my head occasionally against a 
post ; to 'tumble and roll about with Pantaloon and 
the clown ; and to endure the hearty thwacks of 
Harlequin's wooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical tempera- 
ment began to ferment within me, and to work out 
new troubles. The inflammatory air of a great me- 
tropolis added to the rural scenes in which the fairs 
were held ; such as Greenwich Park ; Epping For- 
est ; and the lovely valley of West End, had a power- 
ful effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was 
witness to the old holyday games of running down 
hill ; and kissing in the ring ; and then the firmament 
of blooming faces and blue eyes that would be turned 
towards me as I w-as playing antics on the stage ; all 
these set my young blood, and my poetical vein, in 
full flow. In short, I played my character to the 
life, and became desperately enamoured of Colum- 
bine. She was a trim, well-made, tempting girl, 
with a roguish, dimpling face, and fine chestnut hair 
clustering all about it. The moment I got fairly 
smitten, there was an end to all playing. I was such 
a creature of fancy and feeling that I could not put 
on a pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a 
real emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that 
came so near to the fact. I became too natural in 
my acting to succeed. And then, wdiat a situation 
for a lover I I was a mere stripling, and she played 
with my passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit 
and knowing in these matters than your awkward 
youngsters. What agonies had I to sufter. Every 
time that she danced in front of the booth and made 
such liberal displays of her charms, I was in tor- 
ment. To complete my miseiy, I had a real rival in 
Harlequin ; an active, vigorous, knowing varlet of 
six and-twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced 
youngster like me to hope from such a competition .' 

I had still, however, some advantages in my fa- 
vour. In spite of my change of life, 1 retained that 
indescribable something which always distinguishes 
the gentleman ; that something which dwells in a 
man's air and deportment, and not in his clothes; 
and which it is as dilficull for a gentleman to put 
off as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company 
generally felt it, and used to call me little gentleman 
Jack. "The girl felt it too ; and in spite of her pre- 
dilection for my powerful rival, she liked to flirt with 
me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increas- 
ing my passion, and awakening the jealousy of her 
parti- coloured lover. 



378 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



AIns ! think what I suffered, at being obliged to 
keep up an ineffectual chase after my Columbine 
througli whole pantomimes; to see her carried off 
in the vigorous arms of the happy Harlequin ; and 
to be obliged, instead of snatching her from him, to 
tumble sprawling with Pantaloon and the clown ; 
and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my 
rival's weapon of lath ; which, may heaven confound 
him ! (excuse my passion) the villain laid on with a 
malicious good-will ; nay, I could absolutely hear him 
chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed mask. — I 
beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narra- 
tion. I wish to be cool, but these recollections will 
sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of 
many desperate and deplorable situations of lovers ; 
but none, 1 think, in which true love was ever exposed 
to so severe and peculiar a trial. 

This could not last long. Flesh and blood, at 
least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. 
I had repeated heart-burnings and quarrels with my 
rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying for- 
bearance of a man towards a child. Had he quar- 
relled outright with me, I could have stomached it ; 
at least I should have known what part to take ; but 
to be humoured and treated as a child in the pres- 
ence of my mistress, when 1 felt all the bantam 
spirit of a little man swelling within me— gods, it 
was insufferable ! 

At length we were exhibiting one day at West 
End fair, which was at that time a very fashionable 
resort, and often beleaguered by gay equipages from 
town. Among the spectators that filled the front 
row of our little canvas theatre one afternoon, when 
I had to figure in a pantomime, was a party of young 
ladies from a boarding-school, with their governess. 
Guess my confusion, when, in the midst of my an- 
tics, I beheld among- the number my quondam 
flame ; her whom I had berhymed at school ; her for 
whose charms I had smarted so severely; the cruel 
Sacharissa ! What was worse, I fancied she recol- 
lected me ; and was repeating the story of my 
humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering 
her companions and her governess. I lost all con- 
sciousness of the part I was acting, and of the place 
where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could 
have crept into a rat-hole — unluckily, none was open 
to receive me. Before I could recover from my 
confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and 
the clown ; and I felt the sword of Harlequin mak- 
ing vigorous assaults, in a manner most degrading 
to my dignity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyr- 
dom in this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, 
and even before the very eyes of this most beautiful, 
but most disdainful of fair ones? All my long- 
smothered wrath broke out at once ; the dormant 
feelings of the gentleman arose within me ; stung to 
the quick by int&lerable mortification, I sprang on 
my feet in an instant ; leaped upon Harlequin like a 
young tiger; tore off his mask ; buffeted him in the 
face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than 
had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic cam- 
paign of battles and murders. 

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise 
he returned my assault with interest. I was nothing 
in his hands I was game to be sure, for I was a 
gentleman ; but he had the clownish advantages of 
bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have fought 
even unto the death ; and I was likely to do so ; for 
he was, accordmg to the vulgar phrase, " putting 
my head into Chancery," when the gentle Colum- 
bine flew to my assistance. God bless the women ; 
they are always on the side of the weak and the op- 
pressed. 

The battle now became general ; the dramatis 



personae ranged on either side. The manager inter- 
fered in vain. In vain were his spangled black bon- 
net and towering white feathers seen whisking about, 
and nodding, and bobbing, in the thickest of the 
fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, 
gods and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in the fray. 
Never, since the conflict under the walls of Troy, 
had there been such a chance medley warfare of 
combatants, human and divine. The audience ap- 
plauded, the ladies shrieked and fled from the 
theatre, and a scene of discord ensued that baffles 
all description. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace officers 
restored some degree of order. The havoc, how- 
ever, that had been made among dresses and deco- 
rations put an end to all farther acting for that day. 
The battle over, the next thing was to inquire why 
it was begun ; a common question among politicians, 
after a bloody and unprofitable war ; and one not 
always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to 
me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, 
which they could only attribute to my having rzin a 
muck. The manager was judge and jury, and 
plaintiff into the bargain, and in such cases justice 
is always speedily administered. He came out of 
the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima 
Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which once tower- 
ed aloft, were drooping about his ears. His robe of 
state hung in ribbands from his back, and but ill 
concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. 
He had received kicks and cuffs from all sides, 
during the tumult ; for every one took the oppor- 
tunity of slyly gratifying some lurking grudge on his 
fat carcass. He was a discreet man, and did not 
choose to declare war with all his company; so he 
swore all those kicks and cuffs had been given by 
me, and I let him enjoy the opinion. Some wounds 
he bore, however, which were the incontestible 
traces of a woman's warfare. His sleek rosy cheek 
was scored by trickling furrows, which were ascribed 
to the nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. 
The ire of the monarch was not to be appeased. 
He had suffered in his person, and he had suffered 
in his purse ; his dignity too had been insulted, and 
that went for something ; for dignity is always more 
irascible the more petty the potentate. He wreaked 
his wrath upon the beginners of the affray, and 
Columbine and myself were discharged, at once, 
from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little 
more than sixteen ; a gentleman by birth ; a vaga- 
bond by trade ; turned adrift upon the world ; mak- 
ing the best of my way through the crowd of West 
End fair ; my mountebank dress fluttering in rags 
about me ; the weeping Columbine hanging upon 
my arm, in splendid, but tattered finery ; the tears 
coursing one by one down her face ; carrying off 
the red paint in torrents, and literally " preying upon 
her damask cheek." 

The crowd made way for us as we passed and 
hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my situa- 
tion, but had too much gallantry to desert this fair 
one, who had sacrificed every thing for me. Having 
wandered through the fair, we emerged, like another 
Adam and Eve, into unknown regions, and " had 
the world before us where to choose." Never was 
a more disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley of 
West End. The luckless Columbine cast back 
many a lingering look at the lair, which seemed to 
put on a more than usual splendour; its tents, and 
booths, and parti-coloured groups, all brightening 
in the sunshine, and gleaming among the trees ; and 
its gay flags and streamers playing and fluttering in 
the light summer airs. With a heavy sigh she would 
lean on my arm and proceed. I had no hope or con- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



S79 



solation to give her ; but she had linked herself to 
my fortunes, and she was too much of a woman to 
desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beauti- 
ful fields that lie behind Hempstead, and wandered 
on, until the fiddle, and the hautboy, and the shout, 
and the laugh, were swallowed up in the deep sound 
of the big- bass drum, and even that died away into 
a distant rumble. We passed along the pleasant 
sequestered walk of Nightingale lane. For a pair 
of lovers what scene could be more propitious .' — 
But such a pair of lovers ! Not a nightingale sang 
to soothe us: the very gypsies who were encamped 
there during the fair, made no offer to tell the for- 
tunes of such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, 
I suppose, they thought too legibly written to need 
an interpreter ; and the gypsey children crawled into 
their cabins and peeped out fearfully at us as we 
went by. For a moment I paused, and was almost 
tempted to turn gypsey, but the poetical feeling for 
the present was fully satisfied, and I passed on. 
Thus we travelled, and travelled, like a prince and 
princess in nursery chronicle, until we had traversed 
a part of Hempstead Heath and arrived in the vicin- 
ity of Jack Straw's castle. 

Here, wearied and dispirited, we seated ourselves 
on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile 
stone where Whittington of yore heard the Bow 
bells ring out the presage of his future greatness. 
Alas ! no bell rung in invitation to us, as we looked 
disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London 
seemed to wrap itself up unsociably in its mantle of 
brown smoke, and to offer no encouragement to 
such a couple of tatterdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the panto- 
mime was reversed. Harlequin was jilted, and the 
lover had carried off Columbine in good earnest. 
But what was I to do with her.' I had never con- 
templated such a dilemma ; and I now felt that even 
a fortunate lover may be embarrassed by his good 
fortune. I really knew not what was to become of 
me ; for I had still the boyish fear of returning home ; 
standing in awe of the stern temper of my father, 
and dreading the ready arm of the pedagogue. And 
even if 1 were to venture home, what was I to do 
with Columbine ? I could not take her in my hand, 
and throw myself on my knees, and crave his for- 
giveness and his blessing according to dramatic 
usage. The very dogs would have chased such a 
draggle-tailed beauty from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one 
tapped me on the shoulder, and looking up I saw a 
couple of rough sturdy fellows standing behind me. 
Not knowing what to expect I jumped on my legs, 
and was preparing again to make battle ; but I was 
tripped up and secured in a twinkling. 

" Come, come, young master," said one of the fel- 
lows in a gruff, but good-humoured tone, " don't 
let's have any of your tantrums ; one would have 
thought you had had swing enough for this bout. 
Come, it's high time to leave off harlequinading, 
and go home to your father." 

In fact I had a couple of Bow street officers hold 
of me. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I 
was, and that a reward had been offered throughout 
the country for any tidings of me ; and they had 
seen a description of me which had been forwarded 
to the police office in town. Those harpies, there- 
fore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre, were resolved 
to deliver me over into the hands of my father and 
the clutches of my pedagogue. 

It was in vain that I swore I would not leave my 
faithful and atlhcted Columbine. It was in vain that 
I tore myself from their grasp, and flew to her ; and 
vowed to protect her ; and wiped the tears from her 



cheek, and with them a whole blush that might have 
vied with the carnation for brilliancy. i\Iy persecu- 
tors were inflexible ; they even seemed to exult in 
our distress ; and to enjoy this theatrical display of 
dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was carried off 
in despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the 
wide world ; but many a look of agony did I cast 
back at her, as she stood gazing- jjiteously after me 
from the brink of Hempstead Hill ; so forlorn, so 
fine, so ragged, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I re- 
turned home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, 
and dreading the reward I was to receive for my 
improvement. My reception, however, was quite 
different from what I had expected. IMy father had 
a spice of the devil in him, and did not seem to like 
me the worse for my freak, which he termed " sow- 
ing my wild oats." He happened to have several of 
his sporting friends to dine with him the very day of 
my return ; they made me tell some of my advent- 
ures, and laughed heartily at them. One old fellow, 
with an outrageously red nose, took to me huge- 
ly. I heard him whisper to my father that I was a 
lad of mettle, and might make something clever ; to 
which mv father replied that " I had good points, but 
was an ill-broken whelp, and required a great deal 
of the whip." Perhaps this very conversation raiseil 
me a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed 
old gentleman was a veteran fox-hunter of the neigh- 
bourhood, for whose opinion my father had vast def- 
erence. Indeed, I believe he would have pardoned 
any thing in me more readily than poetry ; which he 
called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeeping em- 
ployment, the bane of all true manhood. He swore 
it was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, 
w-ho was one day to have so great an estate, and 
would be able to keep horses and hounds and hire 
poets to write songs for him into the bargain. 

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving pro- 
pensity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling. I 
had been heartily buffeted out oi my love for theat- 
rical display. I felt humiliated by my exposure, and 
was willing to hide my head anywhere for a season ; 
so that I might be out of the way of the ridicule of 
the world ; for I found folks not altogether so indul- 
gent abroad, as they were at my father's table. I 
could not stay at home ; the house was intolerably 
doleful now that my mother was no longer there to 
cherish me. Every thing around spoke mournfully 
of her. The little flosver-garden in which she de- 
lighted, was all in disorder and overrun with weeds. 
I attempted, for a day or two, to arrange it, but my 
heart grew heavier and heavier as I laboured. 
Every little broken-down flower, that I had seen her 
rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence 
to my feelings. There was a favourite honeysuckle 
which I had seen her often training with assiduity, 
and had heard her say it should be the pride of her 
garden. I found it grovelling along the ground, 
tangled and wild, and twining round eveiy worth- 
less weed, and it struck me as an emblem of myself: 
a mere scatterling. running to waste and useless- 
ness. I could work no longer in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by 
way of keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I 
was received, as usual, without any expression of 
discontent ; which we always considered equivalent 
to a hearty welcome. Whether he had ever heard 
of mv strolling freak or not 1 could not discover ; he 
and his man were both so taciturn. I spent a day 
or two roaming about the dreary mansion and neg- 
lected park ; and felt at one time, I believe, a touch 
of poetiy, tor I was tempted to drown myself in a 
fish-pond ; I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it 
left me. I Ibund the same red-headed boy running 



380 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



wild about the park, but I felt in no humour to hunt 
him at present. On the contrar5', I tried to coax 
him to me, and to make friends with him, but the 
young savage was untameable. 

When I returned from my uncle's I remained at 
home for some time, for my father was disposed, he 
said, to make a man of me. He took me out hunt- 
ing with him, and I became a great favourite of the 
red-nosed squire, because I rode at every thing; 
never refused the boldest leap, and was always sure 
to be in at the death. I used often, however, to of- 
fend my father at hunting dinners, by taking the 
wrong side in politics. My father was amazingly 
ignorant — so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that 
he knew nothing. He was staunch, however, to 
church and king, and full of old-fashioned preju- 
dices. Now, I had picked up a little knowledge in 
politics and religion, during my rambles with the 
strollers, and found myself capable of setting him 
right as to many of his antiquated notions. I felt 
it my duty to do so; we were apt, therefore, to 
differ occasionally in the political discussions that 
sometimes arose at these hunting dinners. 

I was at that age when a man knows least and is 
most vain of his knowledge; and when he is ex- 
tremely tenacious in defencfing his opinion upon sub- 
jects about which he knows nothing. My father was 
a hard man for any one to argue with, for he never 
knew when he was refuted. I sometimes posed him 
a little, but then he had one argument that always 
settled the question ; he would threaten to knock me 
down. I Ijelieve he at last grew tired of me, because 
I both out-talked and outrode him. The red-nosed 
squn-e, too, got out of conceit of me, because in the 
heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he and 
his horse lay sprawling in the dirt. My father, there- 
fore, thought it high time to send me to college ; 
and accordingly to Trinity College at Oxford was I 
sent. 

I had lost my habits of study while at home ; and 
I was not likely to find them again at college. I 
found that study was not the fashion at college, and 
that a lad of spirit only ate his terms ; and grew 
wise by dint of knife and fork. I was always prone 
to follow the fashions of the company into which I 
fell ; so I threw by my books, and became a man of 
spirit. As my father made me a tolerable allow- 
ance, notwithstanding the narrowness of his income, 
having an eye always to my great expectations, I 
was enabled to appear to advantage among my 
fellow-students. I cultivated all kinds of sports and 
exercises. I was one of the most expert oarsmen 
that rowed on the Isis. I boxed and fenced. I was 
a keen huntsman, and my chambers in college were 
always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, 
foils, and boxing gloves. A pair of leather breeches 
would seem to be throwing one leg out of the half- 
open drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the bot- 
tom of every closet. 

I soon grew tired of this, and relapsed into my 
vein of mere poetical indulgence. I was charmed 
with Oxford, for it was full of poetry to me. I 
thought I should never grow tired of wandering 
about its courts and cloisters ; and visiting the dif- 
ferent college halls. I used to love to get in places 
surrounded by the colleges, where all modern build- 
ings were screened from the sight ; and to walk 
about them in twilight, and see the professors and 
students sweeping along in the dusk in their caps 
and gowns. There was complete delusion in the 
scene. It seemed to transport me among the edi- 
fices and the people of old times. It was a great 
luxury, too, for me to attend the evening service in 
the new college chapel, and to hear the fine organ 
and the choir swelling an anthem in that solemn 



building; where painting and music and architecture 
seem to combine their grandest effects. 

I became a loiterer, also, about the Bodleian li- 
brary, and a great dipper into books ; but too idle to 
follow any course of study or vein of research. One 
of my favourite haunts was the beautiful walk, bor- 
dered by lofty elms, along the Isis, under the old 
gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by the 
name of Addison's Walk ; and was his resort when 
a student at the college. I used to take a volume 
of poetry in my hand, and stroll up and down this 
walk for hours. 

My father came to see me at college. He asked 
me how I came on with my studies ; and what kind 
of hunting there was in the neighbourhood. He ex- 
amined my sporting apparatus ; wanted to know if 
any of the professors were fox - hunters ; and 
whether they were generally good shots ; for he 
suspected this reading so much was rather hurllul 
to the sight. Such was the only person to whom I 
was responsible for my improvement : is it matter 
of wonder, therefore, that I became a confirmed 
idler? 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long 
without getting in love. \ became deeply smitten 
with a shopkeeper's daughter in the high street ; 
who in fact was the admiration of many of the stu- 
dents. I vvrote several sonnets in praise of her, and 
spent half of mv pocket-money at the shop, in buy- 
ing articles which I did not want, that I might have 
an opportunity of speaking to her. Her father, a 
severe-looking old gentleman, with bright silver 
buckles and a crisp, curled wig, kept a strict guard 
on her; as the fathers generally do upon their 
daughters in Oxford ; and well they may. I tried to 
get into his good graces, and to be sociable with 
him ; but in vain. J said several good things in his 
shop, but he never laughed ; he had no relish for 
wit and humour. He was one of those dry old gen- 
tlemen who keep youngsters at bay. He had already 
brought up two or three daughters, and was experi- 
enced in the ways of students. He was as knowing 
and wary as a gray old badger that has often been 
hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and 
starched in his demeanour; so precise in his dress; 
with his daughter under his arm, and his ivory- 
headed cane in his hand, was enough to deter all 
graceless youngsters from approaching. 

I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to 
have several conversations with the daughter, as I 
cheapened articles in the shop. I made terrible 
long bargains, and examined the articles over and 
over, before I purchased. In the meantime, I would 
convey a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a 
piece of cambric, or slipped into a pair of stockings ; 
I would whisper soft nonsense into her ear as I hag- 
gled about the price ; and would squeeze her hand 
tenderly as I received my halfpence of change, in a 
bit of whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint 
to all haberdashers, who have pretty daughters for 
shop-girls, and young students for customers. I do 
not know whether my words and looks were very 
eloquent ; but my poetry was irresistible ; for, to 
tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, and 
was seldom without a book from the circulating 
library. 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is 
irresistible with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart 
of this fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sen- 
timental correspondence for a time across the coun- 
ter, and I supplied her with rhyme by the stocking- 
ful. At length I prevailed on her to grant me an 
assignation. But how was it to be effected ? Her 
father kept her always under his eye ; she never 
walked out alone ; and the house was locked up the 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



381 



moment that the shop was sliut. All these difficul- 
ties served but to give zest to the adventure. I pro- 
jjosed that the assignation should be in her own 
chamber, into which I would climb at night. The 
lilan was irresistible. A cruel father, a secret lover, 
and a clandestine meeting ! All the little girl's 
studies from the circulating library seemed about 
to be realized. But what had I in view in making 
this assignation? Indeed I know not. I had no 
evil intentions ; nor can I say that I had any good 
ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to have an op- 
portunity of seeing more of her; and the assignation 
was made, as I have done many things else, heed- 
lessly and without forethought. I asked myself a 
few questions of the kind, after all my arrangements 
were made ; but the answers were very unsatisfac- 
tory. "Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl .' " 
said I to myself. "No!" was the prompt and in- 
dignant answer. "Am I to run away with her.'" 
"Whither — and to what purpose?" "Well, then, 
am I to marry her? " — " Pah ! a man of my expecta- 
tions marry a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " What, 

then, am I to do witli her? " " Hum — why. Let 

me get into her chamber first, and then consider" — 
and so the self-examination ended. 

Well, sir, "come what come might," I stole un- 
der cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my dul- 
cinea. All was quiet. At the concerted signal her 
window was gently opened. It was just above the 
projecting bow-window of her father's shop, which 
assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and 
I was enabled to scale the fortress with tolerable 
ease. I clambered with a beating heart ; I reached 
the casement; I hoisted my body half into the cham- 
ber and was welcomed, not by the embraces of my 
expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed- 
looking old father in the crisp curled wig. 

I extricated myself from his clutches and endeav- 
oured to make my retreat ; but I was confounded 
by his cries of thieves ! and robbers ! I was 
bothered, too, by his Sunday cane ; which was 
amazingly busy about my head as I descended ; and 
against which my hat was but a poor protection. 
Never before had I an idea of the activity of an old 
man's arm, and hardness of the knob of an ivory- 
headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed 
my footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I 
was immediately surrounded by myrmidons, who I 
doubt not were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was 
in no situation to escape, for 1 had sprained my ankle 
in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a 
housebreaker ; and to exonerate myself from a 
greater crime I had to accuse myself of a less. I 
made known who I was, and why I came there. 
Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were only 
amusing themselves at my expense. My perfidious 
muse had been playing me one of her slippery tricks. 
The old curmudgeon of a father had found my son- 
nets and acrostics hid away in holes and corners of 
his shop ; he had no taste for poetry like his daugh- 
ter, and had instituted a rigorous though silent ob- 
servation. He had moused upon our letters ; de- 
tected the ladder of ropes, and prepared every thing 
for my reception. Thus was I ever doomed to be 
led into scrapes by the muse. Let no man hence- 
forth carry on a secret amour in poetry. 

The old man's ire was in some measure appeased 
by the pummelling of my head, and the anguish of 
my sprain ; so he did not put me to death on ihe spot. 
He was even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on 
which I was carried back to college like a wounded 
warrior. The porter was roused to admit me ; the 
college gate was thrown open for my entry ; the affair 
was blazed abroad the next morning, and became 
the joke of the college from the buttery to the hall. 



I had leisure to repent during several weeks' con- 
finement by my sprain, which I passed in translating 
Boethius' Consolations of Philosophy. I received a 
most tender and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, 
who had been sent to a relation in Coventry. She 
protested her innocence of my misfortunes, and 
vowed to be true to me " till death." 1 took no 
notice of the letter, for I was cured, for the present, 
both of love and poetry. Women, however, are 
more constant in their attachments than men, what- 
ever philosophers may say to the contrary. I am 
assured that she actually remained faithful to her 
vow for several months ; but she had to deal with a 
cruel father whose heart was as hard as the knob of 
his cane. He was not to be touched by tears or 
poetry ; but absolutely compelled her to marry a 
reputable young tradesman ; who made her a happy 
woman in spite of herself, and of all the rules of 
romance ; and what is more, the mother of several 
children. They are at this very day a thriving couple, 
and keep a snug corner shop, just opposite the figure 
of Peeping Tom at Coventry. 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my 
studies at Oxford, though they were not always as 
severe as these ; nor did I always pay as dear for my 
lessons. People may say what they please, a studious 
life has its charms, and there are many places more 
gloomy than the cloisters of a university. 

To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscel- 
laneous manner, gradually getting a knowledge of 
good and evil, until I had attained my twenty-first 
year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of 
the sudden death of my father. The shock was 
severe, for though he had never treate^ me with 
kindness, still he was my father, and at his death I 
felt mj'self alone in the world. 

I returned home to act as chief mourner at his 
funeral. It was attended by many of the sportsmen 
of the county ; for he was an important member of 
their fraternity. According to his request his favour- 
ite hunter was led after the hearse. The red-nosed 
fo.x-hunter, who had taken a little too much wine at 
the house, made a maudlin eulogy of the deceased, 
and wished to give the view halloo over the grave ; 
but he was rebuked by the rest of the company. 
They all shook me kindly by the hand, said many 
consolatory things to me, and invited me to become 
a member of the hunt in my father's place. 

When I found myself alone in my paternal home, 
a crowd of gloomy feelings came thronging upon me. 
It was a place that always seemed to sober me, and 
bring me to reflection. Now, especially, it looked so 
deserted and melancholy ; the furniture displaced 
about the room ; the chairs in groups, as their de- 
parted occupants had sat, cither in whispering t5te- 
a-tetes, or gossiping clusters ; the bottles and de- 
canters and wine-glasses, half emptied, and scattered 
about the tables — all dreary traces of a funeral 
festival. I entered the little breakfasting room. 
There were my father's whip and spurs hanging by 
the fire-place, and his favourite pointer lying on the 
hearth-rug. The poor animal came fondling about 
me, and licked my hand, though he had never before 
noticed me ; and then he looked round the room, 
and whined, and wagged his tail slightly, and gazed 
wistfully in my face. I felt the full force of the ap- 
peal. " Poor Dash !" said I, "we are both alone in 
the world, with nobody to care for us, and we'll take 
care of one another." The dog never quilted me 
afterwards. 

1 could not go into my mother's room : my heart 
swelled when I passed within sight of the door. 
Her portrait hung in the parlour, just over the place 
where she used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it 1 
thought it looked at me with tenderness, and I burst 



382 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



into tears. My heart had long been seared by Uv- 
ing in pubhc schools, and buffeting about among 
strangers who cared nothing for me ; but the recol- 
lection of a mother's tenderness was overcoming. 

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long 
depressed. There was a reaction in my system that 
always brought me up again after every pressure ; 
and indeed my spirits were most buoyant after a 
temporary prostration. I settled the concerns of the 
estate as soon as possible ; realized my property, 
which was not very considerable, but which ap- 
peared a vast deal to me, having a poetical eye that 
magnified every thing ; and finding myself, at the end 
of a few months, free of all farther business or re- 
straint, I determined to go to London and enjoy my- 
self. Why should not I ? — I was young, animated, 
joyous ; had plenty of funds for present pleasures, 
and my uncle's estate in the perspective. Let those 
mope at college and pore over books, thought 1, who 
have their way to make in the world ; it would be 
ridiculous drudgery in a youth of my expectations. 

Well, sir, away to London I rattled in a tandem, 
determined to take the town gayly. I passed through 
se\'eral of the villages where I had played the jack- 
pudding a few years before ; and I visited the scenes 
of many of my adventures and follies, merely from 
that feeling of melancholy pleasure which we have 
in stepping again in the footprints of foregone ex- 
istence, even when they have passed among weeds 
and briars. I made a circuit in the latter part of my 
journey, so as to take in West End and Hempstead, 
the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the 
battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the 
ridge of Hempstead Hill, by Jack Straw's castle, I 
paused at the spot where Columbine and I had sat 
down so disconsolately in our ragged finery, and 
looked dubiously upon London. I almost expected 
to see her again, standing on the hill's brink, "like 
Niobe all tears ; " — mournful as Babylon in ruins ! 

"Poor Columbine !" said I, with a heavy sigh, 
"thou wcrt a gallant, generous girl — a true woman, 
faithful to the distressed, and ready to sacrifice thy- 
self in the cause of worthless man ! " 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her ; for 
there w^s always something of self-reproach with it. 
I drove gayly along the road, enjoying the stare of 
hostlers and stable-boys as I managed mv horses 
knowingly down the steep street of Hempstead ; 
when, just at the skirts of the village, one of the 
traces of my leader came loose. I pulled up ; and 
as the animal was restive and my servant a bungler, 
I called for assistance to the robustious master of a 
snug ale-iiouse, who stood at his door with a tankard 
in his hand. He came readily to assist me, followed 
by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her 
arms, and two more at her heels. 1 stared for a mo- 
ment as if doubting my eyes. I could not be mis- 
taken ; in the fat, beer-blown landlord of the ale- 
house I recognized my old rival Harlequin, and in his 
slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling Colum- 
bine. 

The change of my looks, from youth to manhood, 
and the change of my circumstances, prevented them 
from recognizing me. They could not suspect, in 
the dashing young buck, fashionably dressed, and 
driving his own eciuipage, their former comrade, the 
painted beau, with old peaked hat and long, flimsy, 
sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with kindness 
towards Columbine, and I was glad to see her es- 
tablishment a thriving one. As soon as the harness 
was adjusted, I tossed a small purse of gold into her 
ample bosom ; and then, pretending to give my 
horses a hearty cut of the whip, I made the lash curl 
with a whistling about the sleek sides of ancient 
Harlequin. The horses dashed off like lightning, 



and I was whirled out of sight, before either of the 
parties could get over their surprise at my liberal 
donations. I have always considered this as one of 
the greatest proofs of my poetical genius. It was 
distributing poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London en cavalier, and became a 
blood upon town. I took fashionable lodgings in the 
West End ; emploj'ed the first tailor ; frequented the 
regular lounges ; gambled a little ; lost my money 
good-humouredly, and gained a number of fashion- 
able good-for-nothing acquaintances. Had I had 
more industry and ambition in my nature, I might 
have worked my way to the vei-y height of fashion, 
as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing around me. 
But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life ; 
there are few beings so sleepless and miserable as 
your cultivators of fashionable smiles. 

I was quite content with that kind of society which 
forms the frontiers of fashion, and may be easily 
taken possession of. I found it a light, easy, pro- 
ductive soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting 
cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. 
Indeed, my figure and address were by no means 
against me. It was whispered, too, among the young 
ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and wrote 
poetry ; and the old ladies had ascertained that I was 
a young gentleman of good family, handsome fortune, 
and "great expectations." 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, 
so intoxicating to a young man ; and which a man 
of poetical temperament enjoys so highly on his first 
tasting of it. That rapid variety of sensations ; that 
whirl of brilliant objects ; that succession of pungent 
pleasures. I had no time for thought ; I only felt. I 
never attempted to write poetry ; my poetry seemed 
all to go off by transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was 
all a poetical dream to me. A mere sensualist 
knows nothing of the delights of a splendid metropo- 
lis. He lives in a round of animal gratifications and 
heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical 
feelings it is an ideal world ; a scene of enchantment 
and delusion ; his imagmation is in perpetual excite- 
ment, and gives a spiritual zest to every pleasure. 

A season of town-life somewhat sobered me of my 
intoxication ; or rather I was rendered more serious 
by one of my old complaints — I fell in love. It was 
with a very pretty, though a very haughty fair one, 
who had come to London under the care of an old 
maiden aunt, to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in 
town, and to get married. There was not a doubt 
of her commanding a choice of lovers ; for she had 
long been the belle of a little cathedral town ; and 
one of the prebendaries had absolutely celebrated her 
beauty in a copy of Latin verses. 

I paid my court to her, and was favourably received 
both by her and her aunt. Nay, I had a marked 
preference shown me over the younger son of a needy 
Baronet, and a captain of dragoons on half pay. I 
did not absolutely take the field in form, for I was 
determined not to be precipitate ; but I drove my 
equipage frequently through the street in which she 
lived, and was always sure to see her at the window, 
generally with a book in her hand. I resumed my 
knack at rhyming, and sent her a long copy of verses ; 
anonymously to be sure ; but she knew my hand- 
writing. They displayed, however, the most delight- 
ful ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed 
them to me ; wondered who they could be written 
by; and declared there was nothing in this world 
she loved so much as poetry : while the maiden aunt 
would put her pinching spectacles on her nose, and 
read them, with blunders in sense and sound, that 
were excruciating to an author's ears ; protesting 
there was nothing equal to them in the whole elegant 
extracts. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



3S3 



The fashionable season closed without my ad- 
venturing to mal<e a declaration, though I certainly 
h.id encouragement. 1 was not perfectly sure that 1 
had effected a lodgement in the young lady's heart ; 
and. to tell the truth, the aunt overdid her part, and 
was a little too extravagant in her liking of me. I 
knew that maiden aunts were not apt to be captiva- 
ted by the mere personal merits of their nieces' ad- 
mirers, and I wanted to ascertain how much of all 
this favour I owed to my driving an equipage and 
having great expectations. 

I had received many hints how charming their 
native town was during the summer months ; what 
pleasant society they had ; and what beautiful drives 
about the neighbourhood. They had not, therefore, 
returned home long, before I made my appearance 
in dashing style, driving down the principal street. 
It is an easy thing to put a little quiet cathedral 
town in a buzz. The very next morning I was seen 
at prayers, seated in the pew of the reigning belle. 
All the congregation was in a flutter. Th^ prebends 
eyed me from their stalls ; questions were w hispered 
about the isles after service, " who is he ? " and 
"what is he .' " and the replies were as usual — "A 
young gentleman of good family and fortune, and 
great expectations." 

I was pleased with the peculiarities of a cathedral 
town, where I found I was a personage of some con- 
sequence. I was quite a brilliant acquisition to the 
young ladies of the cathedral circle, who were glad 
to have a beau that was not in a black ccat and 
clerical wig. You must know that there was a vast 
distinction between the classes of society of the 
town. As it was a place of some trade, there were 
many wealthy inhabitants among the commercial 
and manufacturing classes, who lived in style and 
gave many entertainments. Nothing of trade, how- 
ever, was admitted into the cathedral circle — faugh I 
the thing could not be thought of The cathedral 
circle, therefore, was apt to be very select, very dig- 
nified, and very dull. They had evening parties, at 
which the old ladies played cards with the prebends, 
and the young ladies sat and looked on, and shifted 
from one chair to another about the room, until it was 
time to go home. 

It was difficult to get up a ball, from the want of 
partners, the cathedral circle being ven' deficient in 
dancers ; and on those occasions, there was an oc- 
casional drafting among the dancing men of the 
other circle, who, however, were generally regarded 
with great reserve and condescension by the gentle- 
men in powdered wigs. Several of the young ladies 
assured me, in confidence, that they had often looked 
with a wistful eye at the gayety of the other cuxle, 
where there was such plenty of young beaux, and 
where they all seemed to enjoy themselves so merrily ; 
but that it would be degradation to think of descend- 
ing from their sphere. 

I admired the degree of old-fashioned ceremony 
and superannuated courtesy that prevailed in this 
little place. The bowings and courtseyings that 
would take place about the cathedral porch after 
morning service, where knots of old gentlemen and 
ladies would collect together to ask after each other's 
health, and settle the card party for the evening 
The little presents of fruits and delicacies, and the 
thousand petty messages that would pass from house 
to house ; for in a tranquil community like this, liv- 
ing entirely at ease, and having little to do, little 
duties and little civilities and little amusements, fill 
up the day. I have smiled, as I looked from my 
window on a quiet street near the cathedral, in the 
middle of a warm summer day, to see a corpulent 
powdered footman in rich livery, carrying a small tart 
on a large silver salver. A dainty titbit, sent, no 



doubt, by some worthy old dowager, to top off the 
dmner of her favourite prebend. 

Nothing could be more delectable, also, than the 
breaking up of one of their evening card parties. 
Such shaking of hands ; such mobbing up in cloaks 
and tippets ! There were two or three old sedan 
chairs that did the duty of the whole place ; though 
the greater part made their exit in clogs or pattens, 
with a footman or waiting-maid canying a lanthorn 
in advance ; and at a certain hour of the night the 
clank of pattens and the gleam of these jack Ian- 
thorns, here and there, about the quiet little town, 
gave notice that the cathedral card party had dis- 
solved, and the luminaries were severally seeking 
their homes. To such a community, therefore, or at 
least to the female part of it, the accession of a gay, 
dashing young beau was a matter of some impor- 
tance. The old ladies eyed me with complacency 
through their spectacles, and the young ladies pro- 
nounced me divine. Every body received me favour- 
ably, excepting the gentleman who had written the 
Latin verses on the belle. — Not that he was jealous 
of my success with the lady, for he had no preten- 
sions to her ; but he heard my verses praised wher- 
ever he went, and he could not endure a rival with 
the muse. 

I was thus carrying every thing before me. I was 
the Adonis of the cathedral circle ; when one even- 
ing there was a public ball which was attended like- 
wise by the gentry of the neighbourhood. I took 
great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I had 
never looked better. I had determined that night to 
make my grand assault on the heart of the young 
lady, to batter it with all my forces, and the next 
morning to demand a surrender in due form. 

1 entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and flutter, 
which generally took place among the young ladies 
on my appearance. I was in fine spirits ; for to tell 
the truthi 1 had exhilarated myself by a cheerful 
glass of wine on the occasion. I talked, and rat- 
tled, and said a thousand silly things, slap-dash, with 
all the confidence of a man sure of his auditors ; 
and every thing had its effect. 

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little 
knot gathering together in the upper part of the 
room. By degrees it increased. A tittering broke 
out there; and glances were cast round at me, and 
then there would be fresh tittering. Some of the 
young ladies would hurry away to distant parts of 
the room, and whisper to their friends ; wherever 
they went there was still this tittering and glancing 
at me. I did not know what to make of all this. 
1 looked at myself from head to foot ; and peeped at 
my back in a glass, to see if any thing was odd 
about my person ; any awkward exposure ; any 
whimsical tag hanging out — no — every thing was 
right. I was a perfect picture. 

I determined that it must be some choice saying 
of mine, that was bandied about in this knot of 
merry beauties, and I determined to enjoy one of my 
good things in the rebound. 

I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling 
at every one as I passed, who 1 must say all smiled 
and tittered in return. I approached the group, 
smirking and perking my chin, like a man who is full 
of pleasant feeling, and sure of being well received. 
The cluster of little belles opened as 1 advanced. 

Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in 
the midst of them, but my early and tormenting 
flame, the everlasting Sacharissa ! She was grown 
up, it is true, into the full beauty of womanhood, but 
showed by the provoking merriment of her counte- 
nance, that she perfectly recollected me, and the 
ridiculous flagellations of which she had twice been 
the cause. 



384 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



I saw at once the exterminating cloud ot" ridicule 
that was bursting over me. My crest fell. The 
flame of love went suddenly out in my bosom ; or 
was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I 
got down the room I know not ; I fancied every one 
tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught 
a glance of my mistress and her aunt listening to the 
whispers of my poetic rival ; the old lady raising her 
hands and eyes, and the face of the young one light- 
ed up with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more ; 
but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the 
bottom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a 
retreat ; and did not feel the blushes cool from my 
tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old 
towers of the cathedral. 

I now returned to town thoughtful and crestfallen. 
My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely 
and without calculation. The dream of love was 
over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. I deter- 
mined to retrench while I had yet a trifle left ; so 
selling my equipage and horses for half their value, 
I quietly put the money in my pocket, and turned 
pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great 
expectations, I could at any time raise funds, either 
on usuiy or by borrowing; but I was principled 
against both one and the other ; and resolved, by 
strict economy, to make my slender purse hold out, 
until my uncle should give up the ghost ; or rather, 
the estate. 

I staid at home, therefore, and read, and would 
have written ; but I had already suffered too much 
from my poetical productions, which had generally 
involved me in some ridiculous scrape. I gradually 
acquired a rusty look, and had a straightened, money- 
borrowing air, upon which the world began to shy 
me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the 
world for its conduct. It has always used me well. 
When I have been flush, and gay, and disposed for 
society, it has caressed me ; and when I have been 
pinched, and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, 
it has left me alone ; and what more could a man 
desire? — Take my word for it, this world is a more 
obliging world than people generally represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my re- 
tirement, and my studiousness, I received news that 
my uncle was dangerously ill. I hastened on the 
wings of an heir's affections to receive his dying 
breath and his last testament. I found him attended 
by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; by the woman 
who occasionally worked about the house ; and by 
the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, whom I had occa- 
sionally hunted about the park. 

Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation 
as I entered the room, and received me with some- 
thing almost like a smile of welcome. The woman 
sat blubbering at the foot of the bed ; and the foxy- 
headed Orson, who had now grown up to be a lub- 
berly lout, stood gazing in stupid vacancy at a 
distance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The cham- 
ber was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick- 
room. The cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The 
tester was covered with dust, and the curtains were 
tattered. From underneath the bed peeped out one 
end of his strong box. Against the wainscot were 
suspended rusty blunderbusses, horse pistols, and a 
cut-and-thrust sword, with which he had fortified his 
room to defend his life and treasure. He had em- 
ployed no physician during his illness, and from the 
scanty relics lying on the table, seemed almost to 
have denied himself the assistance of a cook. 

When I entered the room he was lying motionless ; 
his eyes fixed and his mouth open ; at the first look 
I thought him a corpse. The noise of my entrance 
made him turn his head. At the sight of me a 



ghastly smile came over his face, and his glazing eye 
gleamed with satisfaction. It was the only smile he 
had ever given me, and it went to my heart. " Poor 
old man ! " thought I. " why would you not let me 
love you ? — Why would you force me to leave you 
thus desolate, when I see that my presence has the 
power to cheer you ? " 

" Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a 
low gasping voice — " I am glad you are come. I 
shall now die with satisfaction. Look," said he, rais- 
ing his withered hand and pointing — " look — in that 
bDX on the table you will find that I have not forgot- 
ten you." 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears 
stood in my eyes. I sat down by his bed-side, and 
watched him, but he never spoke again. My pres- 
ence, however, gave him evident satisfaction — for 
every now and then, as he looked at me, a vague 
smile would come over his visage, and he would fee- 
bly point to the sealed box on the table. As the day 
wore away, his life seemed to wear away with it. 
Towards sunset, his hand sunk on the bed and lay 
motionless ; his eyes grew glazed ; his mouth re- 
mained open, and thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute ex- 
tinction of my kindred. 1 dropped a tear of real 
sorrow over this strange old man, who had thus re- 
served his smile of kindness to his death-bed ; like an 
evening sun after a gloomv day, just shining out to 
set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the 
domestics, I retired for the night. 

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if 
singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion ; and 
the bloodhounds howled Vv'ithout as if they knew of 
the death of their old master. Iron John almost 
grudged me the tallow candle to burn in my apart- 
ment and light up its dreariness ; so accustomed had 
he been to starveling economy. I could not sleep. 
The recollection of my uncle's dying scene and the 
dreary sounds about the house, affected my mind. 
These, however, were succeeded by plans for the 
future, and I lay awake the greater part of the night, 
indulging the poetical anticipation, hovi' soon I would 
make these old walls ring with cheerful life, and re- 
store the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I 
knew there was nobody that respected his mem- 
ory ; and I was determined that none should be 
summoned to .sneer over his funeral wines, and 
make merry at his grave. He was buried in the 
church of the neighbouring village, though it was 
not the burying place of his race ; but he had ex- 
pressly enjoined that he should not be buried with 
his family; he had quarrelled with the most of them 
when living, and he carried his resentments even 
into the grave. 

I defrayed the expenses of the funeral out of my 
own purse, that I might have done with the under- , 
takers at once, and clear the ill-omened birds from I 
the premises. 1 invited the parson of the parish, and 
the lawyer from the village to attend at the house 
the next morning and hear the reading of the will. 
I treated them to an excellent breakfast, a profusion 
that had not been seen at the house for many a 
year. As soon as the breakfast things were removed, 
I summoned lion John, the woman, and the boy, , 
for 1 was particular in having every one present and 1 
proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the 
table. All was silence. I broke the seal ; raised 
the lid ; and beheld — not the will, but my accursed 
poem of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old r 
withered man ; so taciturn, and apparently lost to 
feeling, could have treasured up for years the 
thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him with 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



385 



suc:h cruel ingenuity ? I now could account for his 
dying smile, the only one he had ever given me. He 
had been a grave man all his life ; it was strange that 
he should die in the enjoyment of a joke ; and it was 
hard that that joke should be at my expense. 

The' lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to 
comprehend the matter. " Here must be some mis- 
lake," said the lawyer, "there is no will here." 

"Oh," said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty 
jaws. " if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I 
can find one." 

He retired with the same singular smile with 
which he had greeted me on my arrival, and which 
I now apprehended boded me no good. In a little 
while he returned with a will perfect at all points, 
properly signed and sealed and witnessed ; worded 
with horrible correctness ; in which he left large 
legacies to Iron John and his daughter, and the 
residue of his fortune to the fo.xy-headed boy ; who, 
to my utter astonishment, was his son by this very 
woman ; he having married her privately ; and, as I 
verily believe, for no other purpose than to have an 
heir, and so baulk my father and his issue of the in- 
heritance. There was one little proviso, in which 
he mentioned that having discovered his nephew to 
have a pretty turn for poetry, he presumed he had 
no occasion for wealth : he recommended him, how- 
ever, to the patronage of his heir ; and requested 
that he might have a garret, rent free, in Doubting 
Castle. 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED 
MAN. 



Mr. Buckthorne had paused at the death of 
his uncle, and the downfall of his great expectations, 
which formed, as he said, an epoch in his history ; 
and it was not until some little time afterwards, and 
in a very sober mood, that he resumed his parti- 
coloured narrative. 

After leaving the domains of my defunct uncle, 
said he, when the gate closed between me and what j dered that this poor helpless mortal could have been 
was once to have been mine, I felt thrust out naked ! an object of terror to me ! That I should have 
into the world, and completely abandoned to for- , watched with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, 
tune. What was to become of me.' I had been i or dreaded the. power of that trembling hand! He 



of my boyhood ; partly because I absolutely did not 
know what to do with myself, and partly because I 
did not know that 1 should ever see them again. I 
clung to them as one clings to a wreck, though he 
knows he must eventually cast himself loose and 
swim for his life. I sat down on a hill within sight 
of my paternal home, but I did not venture to ap- 
proach it, for I felt compunction at the thoughtless- 
ness with which I had dissipated my patiimony. 
But was I to blame, when I had the rich possessions 
of my curmudgeon of an uncle in expectation ? 

The new possessor of the place was making great 
alterations. The house was almost rebuilt. The 
trees which stood about it were cut down ; my 
mother's flower-garden was thrown into a lawn ; all 
was undergoing a change. I turned by back upon 
it with a sigh, and rambled to another part of the 
country. 

How thoughtful a little adversity m.akes one. As 
I came within sight of the school-house where I had 
so often been ilogged in the cause of wisdom, you 
would hardly have recognized the truant boy who 
but a few years since had eloped so heedlessly from 
its walls. 1 leaned over the paling of the play- 
ground, and watched the scholars at their games, 
and looked to see if there might not be some urchin 
among them, like I was once, full of gay dreams 
about life and the world. The play-ground seemed 
smaller than when I used to sport about it. The 
house and park, too, of the neighbouring squire, the 
father of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk in size and 
diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no 
longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer 
awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. 

As I was rambling pensively through a neighbour- 
ing meadow, in which I had many a time gathered 
primroses, I met the very pedagogue who had been 
the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. 1 had some- 
times vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, 
that I would have my revenge if ever I met him when 
I had grown to be a man. The time had come ; but 
I had no disposition to keep my vow. The few years 
which had matured me into a vigorous man had 
shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to have 
had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and won- 



brought up to nothing but expectations, and they 
had all been disappointed. I had no relations to 
look to for counsel or assistance. The world seemed 
all to have died away from me. Wave after wave 
of relationship had ebbed off, and 1 was left a mere 
hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly 
cast down, but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. 
I could not realize my situation, nor form a con- 
jecture how I was to get forward. 

I was now to endeavour to make money. The 
idea was new and strange to me. It was like being 
asked to discover the philosopher's stone. I had 
never thought about money, other than to put my 
hand into my pocket and find it, or if there were 
none there, to wait until a new supply came from 
home. 1 had considered life as a mere space of time 
to be filled up with enjoyments ; but to have it por- 
tioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely 
that I might gain bread to give me strength to toil 
on ; to labour but for the purpose of perpetuating a 
life of labour was new and appalling to me. This 
may appear a very simple matter to some, but it will 
be understood by every unlucky wight in my pre- 
dicament, who has had the misfortune of being born 
to great expectations. 

1 passed several days in rambling about the scenes 
25 



tottered feebly along the path, and had some diffi- 
culty in getting over a stile. I ran and assisted him. 
He looked at me with surprise, but did not recog- 
nize me, and made a low bow of humility and thanks. 
I had no disposition to make myself known, for I 
felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he 
had taken and the pains he had inflicted had been 
equally useless. His repeated predictions were fully 
verified, and I felt that little Jack Buckthorne, the 
idle boy, had grown up to be a very good-for-nothing 
man. 

This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have 
told you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how 
for once I was schooled for them. 

The most thoughtless of mortals will some time 
or other have this day of gloom, when he will be 
compelled to reflect. I felt on this occasion as if I 
had a kind of penance to perform, and I made a pil- 
grimage in expiation of my past levity. 

Having passed a night at Leamington, I set off by 
a private path which leads up a hill, through a 
grove, and across quiet fields, until 1 came to the 
small village, or rather hamlet of Lenington. I 
sought the village church. It is an old low edifice ot 
gray stone on the brow of a small hill, looking over 
fertile fields to where the proud towers of Warwick 



3S6 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Castle lifted themselves against the distant horizon. 
A part of the church-yard is shaded by large trees. 
Under one of these my mother lay buried. You 
have, no doubt, thought me a light, heartless being. 
I thought myself so — but there are moments of ad- 
versity which let us into some feelings of our nature, 
to which we might otherwise remain perpetual stran- 
gers. 

I sought my mother's grave. The weeds were 
already matted over it, and the tombstone was half 
hid among nettles. I cleared them awav and they 
stung my hands; but I was heedless of the pain, for 
my heart ached too severely. I sat down on the 
grave, and read over and over again the epitaph on 
the stone. It was simple, but it was true. I had 
written it myself. I had tried to write a poetical 
epitaph, but in vain ; my feelings refused to utter 
themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually been 
filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was now 
charged to the brim and overflowed. I sank upon 
the grave and buried my face in the tall grass and 
wept like a child. Yes, I wept in manhood upon the 
g^ave, as 1 had in infancy upon the bosom of my 
mother. Alas ! how little do we appreciate a moth- 
er's tenderness while living ! How heedless are we, 
in youth, of all her anxieties and kindness. But 
when she is dead and gone ; when the cares and 
coldness of the world come w'ithering to our hearts ; 
when we tind how hard it is to find true sympathy, 
how few love us for ourselves, how few will befriend 
us in our misfortunes; then it is we think of the 
mother we have lost. It is true I had always loved 
my mother, even in my most heedless days ; but 1 
felt how mconsiderate and ineffectu.il had been my 
love. Mv heart melted as I retraced the days of in- 
fancy, when I was led by a mother's hand and rock- 
ed to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care 
or sorrow. "Oh, my mother! " exclaimed I, buiy- 
ing my face again in the grass of the grave — "Oh, 
that I were once more by your side ; sleeping, never 
to wake again, on the cares and troubles of this 
world ! " 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and 
the violence of my emotion gradually exhausted it- 
self. It was a hearty, honest, natural discharge of 
griefs which had been slowly accumulating, and 
gave me wonderful relief. I rose from the grave as 
if I had been offering up a sacrifice, and I felt as if 
that sacrifice had been accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one 
by one, the weeds from her grave ; the tears trickled 
more slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. 
It was a comfort to think that she had died before 
sorrow and poverty came upon her child, and that 
all his great expectations were blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand and looked 
upon the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. 
The whistle of a peasant from an adjoining field 
came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to respire hope 
and comfort with the free air that whispered through 
the leaves and played lightly with my hair, and dried 
the tears upon my cheek. A lark, rising from the 
field before me, and leaving, as it were, a stream of 
song behind him as he rose, lifted my fancy with 
him. He hovered in the air just above the place 
where the towers of Warwick Castle marked the 
horizon ; and seemed as if fluttering with delight at 
his own melody. " Surely," thought I, " if there 
were such a thing as transmigration of souls, this 
might be taken for some poet, let loose from earth, 
but still revelling in song, and carolling about fair 
fields and lordly towns." 

At this moment the long forgotten feeling of 
poetry rose within me. A thought sprung at once 
into my mind: "I will become an author," said I. 



" I have hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, 
and it has brought me nothing but pain. Let me 
try what it will do, when I cultivate it with devotion 
as a pursuit." 

The resolution, thus suddenly aroused within me, 
heaved a load from off my heart. 1 felt a confidence 
in it from the very place where it was formed. It 
seemed as though my mother's spirit whispered it 
to me from her grave. " I will henceforth," said I, 
"endeavour to be all that she fondly imagined me. 
I will endeavour to act as if she were witness of 
my actions. I will endeavour to acquit myself in 
such manner, that when I revisit her grave there 
may, at least, be no compunctious bitterness m my 
tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn at- 
testation of my vow. I plucked some primroses 
that were growing there and laid them next my 
heart. I left the church-yard with my spirits once 
more lifted up, and set out a third time for London, 
in the character of an author. 



Here my companion made a pause, and I waited 
in anxious suspense ; hoping to have a whole volume 
of literary lite unfolded to me. He seemed, how- 
ever, to have sunk into a fit of pensive musing ; and 
when after some time I gently roused him by a ques- 
tion or two as to his literary career. " No," said he 
smiling, " over that part of my story I wish to leave 
a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred 
for me. Let those who have never adventured into 
the republic of letters, still look upon it as a fairy 
land. Let them suppose the author the very being 
they picture him from his works : I am not the man 
to mar their illusion. I am not the man to hint, 
while one is admiinng the silken web of Persia, 
that it has been spun from the entrails of a miser- 
able worm." 

" Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of 
your literary history, let me know at least if you 
have had any farther intelligence from Doubting 
Castle." 

" Willingly," replied he, " though I have but little 
to communicate." 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 



A LONG time elapsed, said Buckthome, without 
my receiving any accounts of my cousin and his 
estate. Indeed, 1 felt so much soreness on the sub- 
ject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my 
thoughts. At length chance took me into that part 
of the country, and I could not refrain from making 
some inquiries. 

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, 
self-willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clown- 
ishness had prevented his mingling with the neigh- 
bouring gentry. In spite of his great fortune he had 
been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand of 
the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk 
into the limits of such society as a mere man of 
wealth can gather in a country neighbourhood. 

He kept horses and hounds and a roaring table, 
at which were collected the loose livers of the coun- 
try round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in 
the vicinity. When he could get no other company 
he would smoke and drink with his own servants, 
who in their turns fleeced and despised him. Still, 
with all this apparent prodigality, he had a leaven 
of the old man in him, which showed that he was 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



387 



his true-born son. He lived far within his income, 
was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious on many 
points on which a gentleman would be extravagant. 
His house servants were obliged occasionally to 
work on the estate, and part of the pleasure grounds 
were ploughed up and devoted to husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his liquors 
strong and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were 
expended in his establishment than generous wine. 
He was loud and arrogant at his own table, and 
exacted a rich man's homage from his vulgar and 
obsequious guests. 

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had 
grown impatient of the tight hand his own grandson 
kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon after he 
came to the estate. The old man had retired to a 
neighbouring village where he lived on the legacy of 
his late master, in a small cottage, and was as sel- 
dom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in day- 
light. 

The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinct- 
ive attachment to his mother. She resided with him ; 
but, from long habit, she acted more as servant than 
as mistress of the mansion ; for she toiled in all the 
domestic drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen 
than the parlour. Such was the information which 
I collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpect- 
edly elbowed me out of all my expectations. 

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit 
to this scene of my boyhood ; and to get a peep at 
the odd kind of life that was passing within the 
mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined 
to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never 
seen enough of me to be very familiar with my coun- 
tenance, and a few years make great difference be- 
tween youth and manhood. I understood he was a 
breeder of cattle and proud of his stock. I dressed 
myself, therefore, as a substantial farmer, and with 
the assistance of a red scratch that came low down 
on my forehead, made a complete change in my 
physiognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the 
gate of the park, and was admitted by an old woman, 
who was washing in a dilapidated building which had 
once been a porter's lodge. I advanced up the re- 
mains of a noble avenue, many of the trees of which 
had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds 
were in scarcely better keeping than during my un- 
cle's liifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, 
and the trees wanted pruning and clearing of dead 
branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, 
and ducks and geese swimming in the fish-ponds. 

The road to the house bore very few traces of 
carriage wheels, as my cousin received few visitors 
but such as came on foot or horseback, and never 
used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was 
told, he had had the old family carriage drawn out 
from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach-house 
and furbished up, and had drove, with his mother, 
to the village church to take formal possession of 
the family pew ; but there was such hooting and 
laughing after them as they passed through the vil- 
lage, and such giggling and bantering about the 
church door, that the pageant had never made a 
reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps 
sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the low 
howling, rather than barking, of two old worn-out 
blood-hounds, which I recognized for the ancient life- 
guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected, 
random appearance, though much altered for the 
better since my last visit. Several of the windows 
were broken and patched up with boards ; and oth- 
ers had been bricked up to save taxes. I observed 
smoke, however, rising from the chimneys ; a phe- 



nomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establish- 
ment. On passing that part of the house where the 
dining-room was situated, I heard the sound of bois- 
terous merriment ; where three or four voices were 
talking at once, and oaths and laughter were hor- 
ribly mingled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to 
the door, a tall, hard-fisted country clown, with a 
livery coat put over the under-garments of a plough- 
man. I requested to see the master of the house, 
but was told he was at dinner with some "gemmen" 
of the neighbourhood. I made known my business 
and sent in to know if I might talk with the master 
about his cattle ; for I felt a great desire to have a 
peep at him at his orgies. Word was returned that 
he w^as engaged with company, and could not attend 
to business, but that if I would " step in and take a 
drink of something. I was heartily welcome." I ac- 
cordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of . 
all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; 
two or three clownish servants were lounging about ; 
every thing had a look of confusion and carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had the 
same air of departed gentility and sluttish house- 
keeping. The once rich curtams were faded and 
dusty ; the furniture greased and tarnished. On 
entering the dining-room I found a number of odd, 
vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, 
on which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, 
and tobacco. Several dogs were l>ing about the 
room, or sitting and watching their masters, and 
one was gnawing a bone under a side-table. 

The master of the feast sat at the head of the 
board. He was greatly altered. He had growMi 
thick-set and rather gummy, with a fiery, foxy head 
of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness, 
arrogance, and conceit in his countenance. He was 
dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breech- 
es, a red waistcoat, and green coat, and vvas e\ i- 
dently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking. 
The whole company stared at me with a whimsical 
muggy look, like men whose senses were a little 
obfruscated by beer rather than wine. 

My cousin, (God forgive me ! the appellation sticks 
in my throat,) my cousin invited me with awkward 
civility, or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to 
the table and drink. We talked, as usual, about the 
weather, the crops, politics, and hard times. My 
cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accus- 
tomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. 
He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by 
the throne to the last guinea, "as every gentleman 
of fortune should do." The village exciseman, who 
was half asleep, could just ejaculate, " very true," to 
every thing he said. 

The conversation turned upon cattle ; he boasted 
of his breed, his mode of managing it, and of the 
general management of his estate. This unluckily 
drew on a history of the place and of the family. 
He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest irrever- 
ence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned 
my name, and my blood began to boil. He described 
my frequent visits to my uncle when I was a lad, and 
I found the varlet, even at that time, imp as he was, 
had known that he was to inherit the estate. 

He described the scene of my uncle's death, and 
the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse 
humour that I had not expected from him ; and, 
vexed as I was, I could not help joining in the laugh ; 
for 1 have always relished a joke, even though made 
at my own expense. He went on to speak of my 
various pursuits ; my strolling freak, and that some- 
what nettled me. At length he talked of my parents. 
He ridiculed my father : I stomached even that, 
though with great difficulty. He mentioned my 



388 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mother with a sneer — and in an instant he lay 
sprawling at my feet. 

Here a scene of tumult succeeded. The table was 
nearly overturned. Bottles, glasses, and tankards 
rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. The 
company seized hold of both of us to keep us from 
doing farther mischief. I struggled to get loose, for 
I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to 
strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed ; for I 
felt the strength of a giant in me, and I longed to 
pummel him soundly. 

Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. 
I had a second assigned me in true boxing style. My 
cousin, as he advanced to fight, said something about 
his generosity in showing me such fair play, when I 
had made such an unprovoked attack upon him at 
his own table. 

" Stop there ! " cried I, in a rage — " unprovoked ! 
— know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have 
insulted the memory' of my mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said. He 
drew back and reflected for a moment. 

" Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much — that's 
clear another thing. I've a mother myself, and no 
one shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." 

He paused again. Nature seemed to have a rough 
struggle in his rude bosom. 

" Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I'm sorry for what 
I said. Thou'st served me right in knocking me 
down, and I like thee the better for it. Here's my 
hand. Come and live with me, and damme but the 
best room in the house, and the best horse in the 
stable, shall be at thv service." 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this in- 
stance of nature breaking her way through such a 
lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a moment all 
his crimes of having been born in wedlock and in- 
heriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered me, 
to convince him that I bore him no ill will ; and 
then making my way through the gaping crowd of 
toad-eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's domains for- 
ever. This is the last I have seen or heard of my 
cousin, or of the domestic concerns of Doubting 
Castle. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER, 



As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne, 
near one of the principal theatres, he directed my at- 
tention to a group of those equivocal beings that 
may often be seen hovering about the stage-doors of 
theatres. They were marvellously ill-favoured in 
their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; 
yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and had 
a certain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, which is 
common to the subalterns of the drama. Buck- 
thorne knew them well by early experience. 

These, said he, are the ghosts of departed kings 
and heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and trunch- 
eons ; command kingdoms and armies ; and after 
giving away realms and treasures over night, have 
scarce a shilling to pay for a breakfast in the morn- 
ing. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence 
ot all useful and industrious employment ; and they 
have their pleasures too : one of which is to lounge 
in this way in the sunshine, at the stage-door, during 
rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on 
all passers-by. 

Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than 
the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, 
old ranting, and old jokes, are handed down from 
generation to generation ; and will probably continue 



to be so, until time shall be no more. Every hanger- 
on of a theatre becomes a wag by inheritance, and 
flourishes about at tap-rooms and six-penny clubs, 
with the property jokes of the green-room. 

While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this 
group, we noticed one in particular who appeared 
to be the oracle. He was a weather-beaten veteran, 
a littled bronzed by time and beer, who had, no 
doubt, grown gray in the parts of robbers, cardinals, 
Roman senators, and walking noblemen. 

" There's something in the set of that hat, and the 
turn of that physiognomy, that is extremely familiar 
to me," said Buckthorne. He looked a little closer. 
"I cannot be mistaken," added he, "that must be 
my old brother of the truncheon, Flimsey, the tragic 
hero of the strolling company." 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident 
signs that times went hard with him ; he was so 
finely and shabbily dressed. His coat was some- 
what threadbare, and of the Lord Tovvnly cut ; 
single-breasted, and scarcely capable of meeting in 
front of his body ; which, from long intimacy, had 
acquired the symmetry' and robustness of a beer- 
barrel. He wore a pair of dingy white stockinet 
pantaloons, which had much ado to reach his waist- 
coat ; a great quantity of dirty cravat ; and a pair of 
old russet-coloured tragedy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne 
drew him aside and made himself known to him. 
The tragic veteran could scarcely recognize him. or 
believe that he was really his quondam associate 
" little gentleman Jack." Buckthorne invited him to 
a neighbouring coffee-house to talk over old times; 
and in the course of a little while we were put in 
possession of his history in brief 

He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling 
company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, 
or rather had been driven from it so abruptly. At 
length the manager died, and the troop was thrown 
into confusion. Every one aspired to the crown ; 
every one was for taking the lead ; and the manager's 
widow, although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone 
to boot, pronounced it utterly impossible to keep any 
controul over such a set of tempestuous rascallions. 

Upon this hint I spoke, said Flimsey — I stepped 
forward, and offered my sendees in the most effectual 
way. They were accepted. In a week's time I 
married the widow and succeeded to the throne. 
" The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth 
the marriage table," as Hamlet says. But the ghost 
of my predecessor never haunted me ; and I inherit- 
ed crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage 
trappings and trumpery, not omitting the widow, 
without the least molestation, 

I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our company 
was pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and 
I took the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great 
saving to the treasury. We carried off the palm from 
all the rival shows at country fairs ; and I assure you 
we have even drawn full houses, and been applauded 
by the critics at Bartlemy fair itself, though we had 
Astley's troupe, the Irish giant, and " the death of 
Nelson " in wax-work to contend against. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of 
command. I discovered that there were cabals 
breaking out in the company, headed by the clown, 
who you may recollect was a terribly peevish, frac- 
tious fellow, and always in ill-humour. I had a great 
mind to turn him off at once, but I could not do 
without him, for there was not a droller scoundrel 
on the stage. His very shape was comic, for he had 
but to turn his back upon the audience and all the 
ladies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his 
importance, and took advantage of it. He would 
keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



389 



behind the scenes and fret and fume and play the 
very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, 
knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this 
infirmity of temper. 

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nat- 
ure to struggle with ; which was, the affection of 
my wife. As ill luck would have it, she took it into 
her head to be very fond of me, and became intoler- 
ably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the 
company, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, 
even when my part required it. I have known her 
to reduce a fine lady to tatters, " to very rags," as 
Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one of the 
very best dresses in the wardrobe ; merely because 
she saw me kiss her at the side scenes ; — though I 
give you my honour it was done merely by way of 
rehearsal. 

This was doubly annoying, because I have a 
natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them 
about me ; and because they are indispensable to 
the success of a company at a fair, w here one has 
to vie with so many rival theatres. But when once 
a jealous wife gets a freak in her head there's no use 
in talking of interest or any thing else. Egad, sirs, 
1 have more than once trembled when, during a fit 
of her tantrums, she was playing high tragedy, and 
flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she 
should give way to her humour, and stab some 
fancied rival in good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be expected, 
considering the weakness of my flesh and the violence 
of my rib. I had not a mucli worse time of it than 
old Jupiter, whose spouse was continually ferreting 
out some new intrigue and making the heavens al- 
most too hot to hold him. 

At length, as luck would have it, we were per- 
forming at a country fair, when I understood the 
theatre of a neighbouring town to be vacant. I had 
always been desirous to be enrolled in a settled 
company, and the height of my desire was to get on 
a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a 
regular theatre, and who had looked down upon me. 
Here was an opportunity not to be neglected. I 
concluded an agreement with the proprietors, and in 
a few days opened the theatre with great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, 
"the high top-gallant of my joy," as Thomas says. 
No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but the 
monarch of a legitimate throne — and entitled to call 
even the great potentates of Covent Garden and 
Drury Lane cousin. 

You no doubt think my happiness complete. 
Alas, sir! I w-as one of the most uncomfortable 
dogs living. No one knows, who has not tried, the 
miseries of a manager ; but above all, of a country 
manager — no one can conceive the contentions and 
quarrels within doors, the oppressions and vexations 
from without. 

I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a 
country town, who infested my green-room, and 
played the mischief among my actresses. But there 
was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin 
to affront them ; tor, though troublesome friends, 
they would have been dangerous enemies. Then 
there were the village critics and village amateurs, 
who were continually tormenting me with advice, 
and getting into a passion if I would not take it : — 
especially the village doctor and the village attorney; 
who had both been to London occasionally, and 
knew what acting should be. 

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape- 
graces as were ever collected together within the 
walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to combine 
my original troupe with some of the former troupe of 
the theatre, who were favourites with the public. 



Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. 
They were all the time either fighting or frolicking 
with each other, and I scarcely knew which mood 
j was least troublesome. If they quarrelled, every 
I thing went wrong ; and if they were friends, they 
: were continually playing off some confounded prank 
, upon each other, or upon me ; for I had unhap|iily 
acquired among them the character of an easy, good- 
natured fellow, the worst character that a manager 
can possess. 

Their waggery* at times drove me almost crazy ; 
for there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed 
tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band 
of theatrical vagabonds. I relished them well enough, 
it is true, while I was merely one of the company, 
but as manager I found them detestable. They were 
incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theatre 
by their tavern frolicks, and their pranks about the 
country town. All my lectures upon the importance 
of keeping up the dignity of the profession, and the 
respectability of the company were in vain. The 
villains could not sympathize with the delicate feel- 
ings of a man in station. They even trifled with the 
seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole 
piece interrupted and a crowded audience of at least 
twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the actors 
had hid awav the breeches of Rosalind ; and have 
known Hamlet stalk solemnly on to deliver his solil- 
oquy, with a dish-clout pinned to his skirts. Such 
are the baleful consequences of a manager's getting 
a character for good nature. 

I was intolerably anno\ed, too, by the great actors, 
who came down starring, as it is called, from Lon- 
don. Of all baneful influences, keep me fVom that 
of a London star. A first-rate actress, going the 
rounds of the country theatres, is as bad as a blazing 
comet, whisking about the heavens, and shaking 
fire, and plagues, and discords from its tail. 

The moment one of these " heavenly bodies " ap- 
peared on my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. 
.My theatre was overrun by provincial dandies, cop- 
per-washed counterfeits of Bond-street loungers ; 
who are always proud to be in the train of an actress 
from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding 
good terms with her. It was really a relief to me 
when some random young nobleman would come in 
pursuit of the bait, and awe all this small fry to a 
distance. I have always felt myself more at ease 
with a nobleman than with the dandy of a country 
tow'n. 

And then the injuries I sufiered in my personal 
dignity and my managerial authority from the visits 
of these great London actors. Sir, I was no longer 
master of myself or my throne. 1 was hectored and 
lectured in my own green-room, and made an abso- 
lute nincompoop on my own stage. There is no 
tyrant so absolute and capricious as a London star 
at a country theatre. 

I dreaded the sight of all of them ; and yet if I 
did not engage them, I was sure of having the pub- 
lic clamourous against me. They drew full houses, 
and appeared to be making my fortune ; but they 
swallowed up all the profits by their insatiable de- 
mands. They w^ absolute tape-worms to my little 
theatre ; the more it took in, the poorer it grew. 
They were sure to leave me with an exhausted pub- 
lic, empty benches, and a score or two of affronts to 
settle among the townsfolk, in consequence of mis- 
understandings about the taking of places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my man- 
agerial career was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things 
deliver me from the patronage of the great people 
of a country town. It was my ruin. You must know 
that this town, though small, was filled with feuds, 
and parties, and great folks ; being a busy little trad- 



390 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ing and manufacturing' town. The mischief was. 
that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled 
by reference to the court calendar, or college of her- 
aldry. It was therefore the most quarrelsome kind 
of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me 
tell you there are no feuds more furious than the 
frontier feuds, which take place on these "debat- 
able lands " of gentility. The most violent dispute 
that I ever knew in high life, was one that occurred 
at a country town, on a question of precedence be- 
tween the ladies of a manufacturer of pins, and a 
manufacturer of needles. 

At the town where 1 was situated there were per- 
petual altercations of the kind. The head manu- 
facturer's lady, for instance, was at daggers draw- 
ings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too 
rich and had too many friends to be treated lightly. 
The doctor's and lawyer's ladies held their heads 
still higher ; but they in their turn were kept in 
check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her 
own carriage ; while a masculine widow of cracked 
character, and second-hand fashion, who lived in a 
large house, and was in some way related to nobil- 
ity, looked down ujion them all. She had been ex- 
iled from the great world, but here she ruled abso- 
lute. To be sure her manners were not over-ele- 
gant, nor her fortune over-large ; but then, sir, her 
blood — oh, her blood carried it all hollow ; there 
was no withstanding a woman with such blood in 
her veins. 

After all, she had frequent battles for precedence 
at balls and assemblies, with some of the sturdy 
dames of the neighbourhood, who stood upon their 
wealth and their reputations ; but then she had two 
dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as dragons, 
and had as high blood as their mother, and second- 
ed her in every thing. So they carried their point 
with high heads, and every body hated, abused, and 
stood in awe of the Fantadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable world in this 
self-important little town. Unluckily I was not as 
well acquainted with its politics as I should have 
been. I had found myself a stranger and in great 
perplexities during my first season ; I determined, 
therefore, to put myself under the patronage of 
some powerful name, and thus to take the field 
with the prejudices of the public in my favour. I 
cast round my thoughts for the purpose, and in an 
evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Faiitadlin. No one 
seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the 
world of fashion. I had always noticed that her 
party slammed the box door the loudest at the the- 
atre ; had most beaux attending on them ; and talked 
and laughed loudest during the performance ; and 
then the Miss Fantadlins wore always more feathers 
and flowers than any other ladies ; and used quizzing 
glasses incessantly. The first evening of my thea- 
tre's reopening, therefore, was announced in flaring 
capitals on the play bills, " under the patronage of 
the Honourable Mrs. Fantadlin." 

Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! The 
banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at 
not having the preference ; her husband being- high 
bailiff, and the richest man in the |^ce. She imme- 
diately issued invitations for a large party, for the 
night of the performance, and asked many a lady to 
it whom she never had noticed before. The fashion- 
able world had long groaned under the tyranny of 
the Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common 
cause against this new instance of assumption. — 
Presume to patronize the theatre ! insufl'erabie ! 
Those, too, who had never before been noticed by 
the banker's lady, were ready to enlist in any quar- 
rel, for the honour of her acquaintance. All minor 
feuds were therefore forgotten. The doctor's lady 



and the lawyer's lady met together ; and the manu- 
facturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each 
other ; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted 
the theatre a bore, and determined to encourage 
nothing but the Indian Jugglers, and Mr. Walker's 
Eidonianeon. 

Alas for poor Pillgarlick ! I little knew the mis- 
chief that was brewing against me. My box book 
remained blank. The evening arrived, but no au- 
dience. The music struck up to a tolerable pit and 
gallery, but no fashionables ! I peeped anxiously 
from behind the curtain, but the time passed away ; 
the play was retarded until pit and gallery became 
furious ; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my 
greatest part in tragedy to " a beggarly account of 
empty boxes." 

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their 
custom, and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of 
feathers and red shawls ; but they were evidently 
disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire 
and envy them, and were enraged at this glaring de- 
fection of their fashionable followers. All the beau- 
monde were engaged at the banker's lady's rout. 
They remained for some time in solitar)- and uncom- 
fortable state, and though they had the theatre al- 
most to themselves, yet, for the first time, they 
talked in whispers. They left the house at the 
end of the first piece, and I never saw them after- 
wards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got 
over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. It be- 
came the vogue to abuse the theatre and declare the 
performers shocking. An equestrian troupe opened a 
circus in the town about the same time, and rose on 
my ruins. My house was deserted ; my actors grew 
discontented because they were ill paid ; my door 
became a hammering-place for every bailiff in the 
county ; and my wife became more and more 
shrewish and tormenting, the more 1 wanted com- 
fort. 

The establishment now became a scene of confu- 
sion and peculation. I was considered a ruined 
man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck 
at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after 
day some of the troupe deserted, and like deserting 
soldiers, carried off their arms and accoutrements 
with them. In this manner my wardrobe took legs 
and walked away ; my finery strolled all over the 
country ; my swords and daggers glittered in every 
barn ; until at last my tailor made " one fell swoop," 
and carried off three dress coats, half a dozen 
doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-coloured panta- 
loons. 

This was the "be all and the end .all " of my for- 
tune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Kgad, 
thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll 
steal too. So I secretly gathered together the jewels 
of my wardrobe ; packed up a hero's dress in a hand- 
kerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and 
quietly stole off at dead of night — " the bell then 
beating one," — leaving my queen and kingdom to the 
mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless 
foes, the bum-bailiffs. 

Such, sir, was the " end of all my greatness." I 
was heartily cured of all passion for governing, and 
returned once more into the ranks. I had for some 
time the usual run of an actor's life. I played in 
various country theatres, at fairs, and in barns ; 
sometimes hard pushed ; sometimes flush, until on 
one occasion I came within an ace of making my 
fortune, and becoming one of the wonders of the 
age. 

I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a 
counti-y barn, and absolutely " out-Heroding Herod." 
An agent of one of the great London theatres was 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



391 



present. He was on the lookout for something 
that might be got up as a prodigy. The theatre, it 
seems, was in desperate condition — nothing but a 
miracle could save it. He pitched upon me for that 
miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style, and 
swagger in my gait, and having taken to drink a little 
during my troubles, my voice was somewhat crack- 
ed ; so that it seemed like two voices run into one. 
The thought struck the agent to bring me out as a 
theatrical wonder ; as the restorer of natural and 
legitimate acting ; as the only one who could under- 
stand and act Shakspeare rightly. He waited upon 
me the next morning, and opened his plan. I 
shrunk from it with becoming modesty ; for well as 
I thought of myself, I felt myself unworthy of such 
praise. 

" 'Sblood, man ! " said he, " no praise at all. You 
don't imagine that I think you all this. I only want 
the public to think so. Nothing so easy as gulling the 
public if you only set up a prodigy. You need not 
try to act well, you must only act furiously. No 
matter what j'ou do, or how you act, so that it be 
but odd and strange. We will have all the pit 
packed, and the newspapers hired. Whatever you 
do different Irom famous actors, it shall be insisted 
that you are right and they were wrong. If you 
rant, it shall be pure passion ; if you are vulgar, it 
shall be a touch of nature. Every one shall be pre- 
pared to fall into raptures, and shout and yell, at cer- 
tain points which you shall make. If you do but 
escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the 
fortune of the theatre is made." 

I set off for London, therefore, full of new hopes. 
I was to be the restorer of Shakspeare and nature, 
and the legitimate drama ; my very swagger was to 
be heroic, and my cracked voice the standard 
of elocution. Alas, sir ! my usual luck attended me. 
Before I arrived in the metropolis, a rival wonder 
had appeared. A woman who could dance the 
slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the 
gallery with fire-works all round her. She was 
seized on by the management with avidity ; she was 
the saving of the great national theatre for the sea- 
son. Nothmg was talked of but Madame Saqui's 
fire-works and flame-coloured pantaloons ; and nat- 
ure, Shakspeare, the legitimate drama, and poor Pill- 
garlick were completely left in the lurch. 

However, as the manager was in honour bound to 
provide for me, he kept his word. It had been a 
turn-up of a die whether I should be Alexander the 
Great or Alexander the coppersmith : the latter car- 
ried it. I could not be put at the head of the drama, 
so I was put at the tail. In other words, I was en- 
rolled among the number of what are called useful 
men ; who, let me tell you, are the only comfortable 
actors on the stage. We are safe from hisses and 
below the hope of applause. We fear not the suc- 
cess of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So 
long as we get the words of our parts, and they are 
not often many, it is all we care for. We have 
our own merriment, our own friends, and our own 
admirers; for every actor has his friends and admi- 
rers, from the highest to the lowest. The first-rate 
actor dines with the noble amateur, and entertains a 
fashionable table with scraps and songs and theatri- 
cal slip-slop. The second-rate actors have their 
second-rate friends and admirers, with whom they 
likewise spout tragedy and talk slip-slop ; and so 
down even to us ; who have our friends and admirers 
among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who 
treat us to a dinner now and then, and enjoy at 



tenth hand the same scraps and songs and slip-slop 
that have been served up by our more fortunate 
brethren at the tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, knew 
what true pleasure is. I have known enough of no- 
toriety to pity the poor devils who are called favour- 
ites of the public. I would rather be a kitten in the 
arms of a spoiled child, to be one moment petted 
and pampered, and the next moment thumped over 
the head with the spoon. I smile, too, to see our 
leading actors, fretting themselves with envy and 
jealousy about a trumpery renown, questionable in 
its quality and uncertain in its duration. I laugh, 
too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle and 
importance and trouble and perplexities of our man- 
ager, who is harassing himself to death in the hope- 
less effort to please every body. 

I have found among my fellow subalterns two or 
three quondam managers, who, like myself, have 
wielded the sceptres of country theatres ; and we 
have many a sly joke together at the expense of the 
manager and the public. Sometimes, too, we meet 
like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the events 
of our respective reigns ; moralize over a tankard 
of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and 
little world ; which, I take it, is the very essence of 
practical philosophy. 



Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his 
friends. A few mornings after our hearing the his- 
tory of the ex-manager, he bounced into my room 
before I was out of bed. 

" Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rubbing 
his hands with the utmost glee, " my great expecta- 
tions are realized ! " 

I stared at him with a look of wonder and inquiiy. 

" My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he, " may he 
rest in peace ! He nearly broke his neck in a fall 
from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck he lived 
long enough to make his will. He has made me his 
heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive jus- 
tice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own 
family or friends knew how to enjoy such an estate. 
I'm off to the country to take possession. I've done 
with authorship. — That for the critics!" said he, 
snapping his fingers. " Come down to Doubting 
Castle when I get settled, and egad ! I'll give you a 
rouse." So saying he shook me heartily by the hand 
and bounded off in high spirits. 

A long time elapsed before I heard from him 
again. Indeed, it was but a short time since that I 
received a letter written in the happiest of moods. 
He was getting the estate into fine order, every thing 
went to his wishes, and what was more, he was mar- 
ried to Sacharissa : who, it seems, had always enter- 
tai.ied an ardent though secret attachment for him, 
which he fortunately discovered just after coming to 
his estate. 

" I find," said he, " you are a little given to the 
sin of authorship, which I renounce. If the anec- 
dotes I have given you of my story are of any in- 
terest, )ou may make use of them ; but come down 
to Doubting CAStle and see how we live, and I'll 
give you my whole London life over a social glass ; 
and a rattling history it shall be about authors and 
reviewers." 

If ever I visit Doubting Castle, and get the his- 
toiy he promises, the public shall be sure to heai 
of it. 



392 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Tales of a Traveller. 



PART THIRD. 



THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 



THE INN AT TERRACINA, 



Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 

" Here comes the estafette from Naples," said mine 
host of the inn at Terracina, " laring out the relay." 

The estafette came as usual galloping up the road, 
brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, with 
a long knotted lash ; every smack of which made a 
report like a pistol. He was a tight square-set young 
fellow, in the customary uniform — a smart blue coat, 
ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short 
behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and 
cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren. A cocked 
hat, edged with gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; 
but instead of the usual leathern breeches he had a 
fragment of a pair of drawers that scarcely furnished 
an apology for modesty to hide behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door and jumped 
from his horse. 

"A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of 
breeches," said he, " and quickly — I am behind my 
time, and must be off." 

" San Genaro ! " replied the host, " why, where 
hast thou left thy garment ? " 

"Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 

" What ! rob an estafette ! I never heard of such 
folly. What could they hope to get from thee .' " 

" My leather breeches ! " replied the estafette. 
'♦They were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit 
the fancy of the captain." 

" Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To 
meddle with an estafette ! And that merely for the 
sake of a pair of leather breeches ! " 

The robbing of a government messenger seemed 
to strike the host with more astonishment than any 
other enormity that had taken place on the road ; and 
indeed it w-as the first time so wanton an outrage had 
been committed ; the robbers generally. taking care 
not to meddle with any thing belonging to govern- 
ment. 

The estafette was by this time equipped ; for he 
had not lost an instant in making his preparations 
while talking. The relay was ready : the rosolio 
tossed off He grasped the reins and the stirrup. 

" Were there many robbers in the band .'' " said a 
handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from 
the door of the inn. 

"As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the 
estafette, springing into the saddle. 

" Are they cruel to travellers ? " said a beautiful 
young Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the 
gentleman's arm. 

" Cruel, signora ! " echoed the estafette, giving a 
glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. 
" Corpo del Bacco ! they stiletto all the men, and as 
to the women " 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! — the last 
words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, 
and away galloped the estafette along the road to 
the Pontine marshes. 



"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated the fair Venetian, 
"what will become of us ! " 

The inn of Terracina stands just outside of the 
walls of the old town of that name, on the frontiers 
of the Roman territory. A little, lazy, Italian town, 
the inhabitants of which, apparently heedless and 
listless, are said to be little better than the brigands 
which surround them, and indeed are half of them 
supposed to be in some way or other connected with 
the robbers. A vast, rocky height rises perpendicu- 
larly above it, with the ruins of the castle of Theo- 
doric the Goth, crowning its summit; before it 
spreads the wide bosom of the Mediterranean, that 
sea without flux or reflux. There seems an idle pause 
in every thing about this place. The port is without 
a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary feluc- 
ca may be seen, disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, 
the meagre provision for the Ouaresima or Lent. 
The naked watch towers, rising here and there along 
the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs which hover 
about these shores : while the low huts, as stations 
for soldiers, which dot the distant road, as it winds 
through an olive grove, intimate that in the ascent 
there is danger for the traveller and facility for the 
bandit. 

Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi that the 
road to Naples is mostly infested by banditti. It 
winds among rocky and solitary places, where the 
robbers are enabled to see the traveller from a dis- 
tance, from the brows of hills or impending preci- 
pices, and to lie in wait for him, at the lonely and 
difficult passes. 

At the time that the estafette made this sudden ap- 
pearance, almost in a/t-rpo, the audacity of the rob- 
bers had risen to an oiiparalleled height. They had 
their spies and emissaries in every town, village, and 
osteria, to give them notice of the quality and move- 
ments of travellers. They did not scruple to send 
messages into the country towns and villas, demand- 
ing certain sums of money, or articles of dress and 
luxury ; with menaces of vengeance in case of refu- 
sal. They had plundered carriages ; carried people 
of rank and fortune into the mountains and obliged 
them to write for heavy ransoms ; and had commit- 
ted outrages on females who had fallen in their 
power. 

The police exerted its rigour in vain. The brigands 
were too numerous and powerful for a weak police. 
They were countenanced and cherished by several 
of the villages ; and though now and then the limbs 
of malefactors hung blackening in the trees near 
which they had committed some atrocity ; or their 
heads stuck upon posts in iron cages made some 
dreary part of the road still more dreary, still they 
seemed to strike dismay into no bosom but that of 
the traveller. 

The dark, handsome young man, and the Vene- 
tian lady, whom I have mentioned, had arrived early 
that afternoon in a private carriage, drawn by mules 
and attended by a single servant. They had been 
recently married, were spending the honeymoon in 
travelling through these delicious countries, and were 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



392 



on their way to nsit a rich aunt of the young lady's 
at Naples. 

The lady was young-, and tender and timid. The 
stories she had heard along the road had filled her 
with apprehension, not more for herself than for her 
husband ; for though she had been married almost 
a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. 
When she reached Terracina the rumours of the 
road had increased to an alarming magnitude; and 
the sight of two robbers' skulls grinning in iron 
cages on each side of the old gateway of the town 
brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in 
vain to reassure her. They had lingered all the 
afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of 
starting that evening, and the parting words of the 
estafette completed her aflVight. 

" Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her 
arm within her husband's, and drawing towards him 
as if for protection — " let us return to Rome and give 
up this visit to Naples." 

"And give up the visit to your aunt, too," said 
the husband. 

" Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your 
safety," said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was sometliiiig in her tone and manner that 
showed she really was thinking more of her hus- 
band's safety at that moment than of her own ; and 
being recently married, and a match of pure affec- 
tion, too, it is very possible that she was. At least 
her husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has 
heard the sweet, musical tone of a Venetian voice, 
and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, 
and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would 
not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they 
professed. 

He clasped the white hand that had been laid 
within his, put his arm round her slender waist, and 
drawing her fondly to his bosom — "This night at 
least," said he, "we'll pass at Terracina." 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 

Another apparition of the road attracted the at- 
tention of mine host and his guests. From the road 
across the Pontine marshes, a carriage drawn by 
half a dozen horses, came driving at a furious pace 
• — the postilions smacking their whips like mad, as 
is the case when conscious of the greatness or the 
munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet, with 
a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, 
highly finished, yet proudly simple construction of 
the carriage ; the quantity of neat, well-arranged 
trunks and conveniences ; the loads of box coats and 
upper benjamins on the dickey — and the iresh, burly, 
gruff-lookmg face at the window, proclaimed at once 
that it was the equipage of an Englishman. 

" Fresh horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, 
as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door. 

" Would not his Excellenza alight and take some 
refreshment ? " 

" No — he did not mean to eat until he got to 
Fondi ! " 

" But the horses will be some time in getting 
ready — " 

" Ah — that's always the case — nothing but delay 
in this cursed country." 

" If his Excellenza would only walk into the 
house — " 

" No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want nothing 
but horses, and as quick as possible. John ! see 
that the horses are got readv, and don't let us be 
kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed 
over the time, I'll lodge a complaint with the post- 
master." 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his 
master's orders, with the taciturn obedience of an 
English servant. He was a ruddy, round-faced fel- 



low, with hair cropped close ; a short coat, drab 
breeches, and long gaiters; and appeared to have 
almost as much contempt as his master for every 
thing around him. 

In the meantime the Englishman got out of the 
carriage and walked up and down before the inn, 
with his hands in his pockets : taking no notice of 
the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his 
equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made : 
dressed with neatness and precision, wore a travel- 
ling-cap of the colour of gingerbread, and had rather 
an unhappy expression about the corners of his 
mouth ; partly from not having yet made his d.nner, 
and partly from not having been able to get on at a 
greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he 
had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's 
usual hurry to get to the end of a journey ; or, to use 
the regular phrase, "to get on." 

After some time the servant returned from the 
stable with as sour a look as his master. 

" Are the horses ready, John ? " 

" No, sir — I never saw such a place. There's no 
getting anything done. I think your honour had 
better step into the house and get something to eat ; 
it will be a long while before we get to Fundy." 

" D n the house — it's a mere trick — I'll not 

eat any thing, just to spite them," said the English- 
man, still more crusty at the prospect of being so 
long without his dinner. 

" They say your honour's very wrong," said John, 
"to set off at this late hour. Tlie road's full of 
highwaymen." 

" .Mere tales to get custom." 

" The estafette which passed us was stopped by 
a whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis 
with each additional piece of information. 

" I don't believe a word of it." 

"They robbed him of his breeches," said John, 
giving at the same time a hitch to his own waist- 
band. 

" All humbug ! " 

Here the dark, handsome young man stepped for- 
ward and addressing the Englishman very politely 
in broken English, invited him to partake of a 
repast he was about to make. "Thank'ee," said 
the Englisman, thrusting his hands deeper into his 
pockets, and casting a slight side glance of sus- 
picion at the young man, as if he thought from his 
civility he must ha\-e a design upon his purse. 

" We shall be most happy if you will do us that 
favour," said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. 
There was a sweetness in her accents that was most 
persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon her 
countenance ; her beauty was still more eloquent. 
His features inst.antly relaxed. He made an at- 
tempt at a civil bow. " With great pleasure, sig- 
nora," said he. 

In short, the eagerness to "get on " was suddenly 
slackened ; the determination to famish himself as 
far as Fondi by way of punishing the landlord was 
abandoned ; John chose the best apartment in the 
inn for his master's reception, and preparations were 
made to remain there until morning. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents 
as were indispensable for the night. There was the 
usual parade of trunks and writing-desks, and port- 
folios, and dressing-boxes, and those other oppress- 
ive conveniences which burthen a comfortable man. 
The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped 
up in great dirt-coloured cloaks, with only a hawk's 
eye unco\'ered, made many remarks to each other on 
this quantity of luggage that seemed enough for an 
army. And the domestics of the inn talked with 
wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with its gold 
and silver furniture that was spread out on the toi- 



394 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



lette table, and the ba.g of gold that chinked as it 
was taken out of tlie trunk. The strange " Milor's " 
weahh, and the treasures he carried about him, were 
the talk, that evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his 
ablutions and arrange his dress for table, and after 
considerable labour and effort in putting himself at 
his ease, made his appearance, with stiff white cravat, 
his clothes free from the least speck of dust, and ad- 
justed with precision. He made a formal bow on 
entering, which no doubt he meant to be cordial, 
but which any one else would have considered cool, 
and took his seat. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or 
dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now served. 
Heaven and earth, and the waters under the earth, 
had been moved to furnish it, for there were birds of 
the air and beasts of the earth and fish of the 
sea. The Englishman's servant, too, had turned 
the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook his master 
a beefsteak ; and made his appearance loaded with 
ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne pepper, and Harvey 
sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that ware- 
house, the carriage, in which his master seemed 
desirous of carrying England about the world with 
him. Every thing, however, according to the En- 
glishman, was execrable. The tureen of soup was a 
black sea, with livers and limbs and fragments of all 
kinds of birds and beasts, floating like wrecks about 
it. A meagre winged animal, which my host called 
a delicate chicken, was too delicate for his stomach, 
for it had evidently died of a consumption. The 
macaroni was smoked. The beefsteak was tough 
buffalo's flesh, and the countenance of mine host 
confirmed the assertion. Nothing seemed to hit 
his palate but a dish of stewed eels, of which he ate 
with great relish, but had nearly refunded them 
when told that they were vipers, caught among the 
rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great delicacy. 

In short, the Englishman ate and growled, and 
ate and growled, like a cat eating in company, pro- 
nouncing himself poisoned by every dish, yet eating 
on in defiance of death and the doctor. The Vene- 
tian lady, not accustomed to English travellers, al- 
most repented having persuaded him to the meal ; 
for though very gracious to her, he was so crusty to 
all the world beside, that she stood in awe of him. 
There is nothing, however, that conquers John 
Bull's crustiness sooner than eating, whatever may 
be the cookery ; and nothing brings him into good 
humour with his company sooner than eating to- 
gether ; the Englishman, therefore, had not half 
finished his repast and his bottle, before he began 
to think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a 
foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to 
be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast the tales of robbers 
which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian, were 
brought into discussion. The landlord and the 
waiter served up such a number of them as they 
served up the dishes, that they almost frightened 
away the poor lady's appetite. Among these was 
the story of the school of Terracina, still fresh in 
every mind, where the students were carried up the 
mountains by the banditti, in ho]X!s of ransom, and 
one of them massacred, to bring the parents to 
terms for the others. There was a story also of a 
gentleman of Rome, who delayed remitting the ran- 
som demanded for his son, detained by the banditti, 
and received one of his son's ears in a letter with 
information that the other would be remitted to him 
soon, if the money were not forthcoming, and that 
in this w-ay he would receive the boy by instalments 
until he came to terms. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these 



tales. The landlord, like a true story-teller, doubled 
the dose when he saw how it operated. He was just 
proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great En- 
glish lord and his family, when the Englishman, 
tired of his volubility, testily interrupted him, and 
pronounced these accounts mere traveller's tales, or 
the exaggerations of peasants and innkeepers. The 
landlord was indignant at the doubt levelled at his 
stories, and the innuendo levelled at his cloth ; he 
cited half a dozen stones still more terrible, to cor- 
roborate those he had already told. 

" 1 don't believe a word of them," said the En- 
glishman. 

" But the robbers had been tried and executed." 

" All a farce ! " 

" But their heads were stuck up along the road." 

"Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out 
at the door, " San Genaro, come sono singolari 
questi Inglesi." 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the 
arrival of more tra\ellers ; and from the variety of 
voices, or rather clamours, the clattering of horses' 
hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the general uproar 
both within and without, the arrival seemed to be 
numerous. It was, in fact, the procaccio, and its 
convoy — a kind of caravan of merchandise, that sets 
out on stated days, under an escort of soldiery to 
protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail them- 
selves of the occasion, and many carriages accom- 
pany the procaccio. It was a long time before 
either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried 
away by the tempest of new custom. When mine 
host appeared, there was a smile of triumph on his 
countenance. — " Perhaps," said he, as he cleared 
away the table, "perhaps the signer has not heard 
of what has happened." 

"What?" said the Englishman, drily. 

" Oh, the procaccio has arrived, and has brought 
accounts of fresh exploits of the robbers, signer." 

"Pish!" 

" There's more news of the English Milor and his 
family," said the host, emphatically. 

" An English lord. — What English lord .' " 

" Milor Popkin." 

"Lord Popkin? I never heard of such a title ! " 

" O Siairo — a great nobleman that passed through 
here lately with his Milady and daughters — a mag- 
nifico — one of the grand councillors of London— un 
almanno. " 

" Almanno — almanno? — -tut! he means al- 
derman." 

" Sicuro, aldermanno Popkin, and the principezza 
Popkin, and the signorina Popkin ! " said mine host, 
triumphantly. He would now have entered into a 
full detail, but was thwarted by the Englishman, 
who seemed determined not to credit or indulge him 
in his stories. An Italian tongue, however, is not 
easily checked: that of mine host continued to run 
on with increasing volubility as he conveyed the 
fragments of the repast out of the room, and the 
last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it 
died away along the corridor, was the constant re- 
currence of the favourite word Popkin — Popkin — • 
Popkin — pop — pop— pop. 

The arrival of the procaccio had indeed filled the 
house with stories as it had with guests. The En- 
glishman and his companions walked out after sup- 
per into the great hall, or common room of the inn, 
which runs through the centre building ; a gloomy, 
dirty-looking apartment, with tables placed in vari- 
ous parts of it, at which some of the travellers were 
seated in groups, while others strolled about in fam- 
ished impatience for their evening's meal. As the 
procaccio was a kind of caravan of travellers, there 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



395 



were people of every class and country, who had 
come in all kinds of vehicles ; and though they kept 
in some measure in separate parties, yet the being 
united under one common escort had jumble-d them 
into companionship on the road. Their formidable 
number and the formidable guard that accompanied 
them, had prevented any molestation from the ban- 
ditti ; but every carriage had its tale of wonder, and 
one vied with another in the recital. Not one but 
had seen groups of robbers peering over the rocks ; 
or their guns peeping out from among the bushes, 
or had been reconnoitred by some suspicious-looking 
fellow with scowling eye, who disappeared on seeing 
the guard. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with 
that eager curiosity with which we seek to pamper 
any feeling of alarm. Even the Englishman began 
to feel interested in the subject, and desirous of 
gaining more correct information than these mere 
flying reports. He mingled in one of the groups 
which appeared to be the most respectable, and 
which was assembled round a tall, thin person, with 
long Roman nose, a high forehead, and lively prom- 
inent eye, beaming from under a green velvet trav- 
elling-cap with gold tassel. He was holding forth 
with all the fluency of a man who talks well and 
likes to e.\ert his talent. He was of Rome ; a sur- 
geon by profession, a poet by choice, and one who 
was something of an improvvisatore. He soon gave 
the Englishman abundance of information respect- 
ing the banditti. "The fact is," said he, "that 
many of the people in the villages among the mount- 
ains are robbers, or rather the robbers find perfect 
asylum among them. They range over a vast ex- 
tent of wild impracticable country, along the chain 
of Apennines, bordering on different states ; they 
know all the difficult passes, the short cuts and 
strong-holds. They are secure of the good-will of 
the poor and peaceful inhabitants of those regions, 
whom they never disturb, and whom they often en- 
rich. Indeed, they are looked upon as a sort of il- 
legitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and 
some of the frontier towns, where they dispose of 
their plunder. From these mountains they keep a 
look-out upon the plains and valleys, and meditate 
their descents. 

" The road to Fondi, which you are about to 
travel, is one of the places most noted for their ex- 
ploits. It is overlooked from some distance by little 
hamlets, perched upon heights. From hence, the 
brigands, like hawks in their nests, keep on the 
watch for such travellers as are likely to afford 
either booty or ransom. The windings of the road 
enable them to see carriages long before they pass, so 
that they have time to get to some advantageous lurk- 
ing-place from whence to pounce upon their prey." 

" But why does not the police interfere and root 
them out?" said the Englishman. 

" The police is too weak and the banditti are too 
strong," replied the improvvisatore. "To root them 
out would be a more difficult task than you imagine. 
They are connected and identified with the people 
of the villages and the peasantry generally ; the nu- 
merous bands have an understanding with each 
other, and with people of various conditions in all 
parts of the country. They know all that is going 
on ; a gens d' amies cannot stir without their being 
aware of it. They have their spies and emissaries 
in every direction ; they lurk about towns, villages, 
inns, — mingle in every crowd, pervade every place 
of resort. I should not be surprised," said he, 
" if some one should be supervising us at this mo- 
ment." 

The fair Venetian looked round fearfully and 
turned pale. 



"One peculiarity of the Italian banditti," con- 
tinued the improvvisatore, " is that they wear a kind 
of uniform, or rather costume, which designates their 
profession. This is probably done to take away from 
its skulking lawless character, and to give it some- 
thing of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people ; or perhaps to catch by outward dash and 
show the fancies of the young men of the villages. 
These dresses or costumes are often rich and fanci- 
ful. Some wear jackets and breeches of bright col- 
ours, richly embroidered ; broad belts of cloth ; or 
sashes of silk net ; broad, high-crowned hats, deco- 
rated with feathers or variously-coloured ribbands, 
and silk nets for the hair. 

" Many of the robbers are peasants who follow 
ordinary occupations in the villages for a part of the 
year, and take to the mountains for the rest. Some 
only go out for a season, as it were, on a hunting ex- 
pedition, and then resume the dress and habits of 
common life. Many of the young men of the vil- 
lages take to this kind of life occasionally from a 
mere love of adventure, the wild wandering spirit of 
youth and the contagion of bad example ; but it is 
remarked that they can never after brook a long 
continuance in settled life. They get fond of the 
unbounded freedom and rude license they enjoy ; 
and there is something in this wild mountain life 
checquered by adventure and peril, that is wonder- 
fully fascinating, independent of the gratification of 
cupidity by the plunder of the wealthy traveller." 

Here the improvvisatore was interrupted by a 
lively Neapolitan lawyer. " Your mention of the 
younger robbers," said he, "puts me in mind of an 
adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, 
which happened in this very neighbourhood. 

A wish was of course expressed to hear the advent- 
ure of the doctor by all except the improvvisatore, 
who, being fond of talking and of hearing himself 
talk, and accustomed moreover to harangue without 
interruption, looked rather annoyed at being checked 
when in full career. 

The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 



My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquary : 
a little, rusty, musty old fellow, always groping 
among ruins. He relished a building as you En- 
glishmen relish a cheese, the more mouldy and 
crumbling it was, the more it was to his taste. A 
shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls 
of a broken-down amphitheatre, would throw him 
into raptures ; and he took more delight in these 
crusts and cheese parings of antiquity than in the 
best-conditioned modern edifice. 

He had taken a maggot into his brain at one time 
to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi which 
are said to exist to this day among the mountains of 
the Abruzzi ; but the condition of which is strangely 
unknown to antiquaries. It is said that he had 
made a great many valuable notes and memoran- 
dums on the subject, which he always carried about 
with him, either for the purpose of frequent refer- 
ence, or because he feared the precious documents 
might fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. Ht 
had therefore a large pocket behind, in which he 
carried them, banging against his rear as he walked. 

Be this as it may ; happening to pass a few days 
at Terracina, in the course of his researches, he one 
day mounted the rocky cliffs which overhang the 



396 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. He was grop- 
ing aliout these ruins, towards the hour of sunset, 
buried in his reflections, — his wits no doubt wool- 
gathering among the Goths and Romans, when he 
heard footsteps behind him. 

He turned and beheld five or six young fellows, 
of rough, saucy demeanour, clad in a singular 
manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with fusils in 
their hands. Their whole appearance and car- 
riage left him in no doubt into what company he 
had fallen. 

The doctor was a feeble little man. poor in look 
and poorer in purse. He had but little money in his 
pocket ; but he had certain valuables, such as an 
old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it 
large enough for a clock, and a set of seals at the 
end of a steel chain, that dangled half down to his 
knees ; all which were of precious esteem, being 
family reliques. He had also a seal ring, a veritable 
antique intaglio, that covered half his knuckles ; but 
what he most valued was, the precious treatise on 
the Pelasgian cities, which he would gladly have 
given all the money in his pocket to have had safe 
at the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart ; at least as 
stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a 
puny little man at the best of times. So he wished 
the hunters a "buon giorno." They returned his 
salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable 
slap on the back that made his heart leap into his 
throat. 

They fell into conversation, and walked for some 
time together among the heights, the doctor wishing 
them all the while at the bottom of the crater of 
Vesuvius. At length they came to a small osteria 
on the mountain, where they proposed to enter 
and have a cup of wine together. The doctor con- 
sented ; though he would as soon have been invited 
to drink hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; 
the others swaggered into the house ; stood their 
fusils in a corner of the room ; and each drawing 
a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it, with some 
emphasis, on the table. They now called lustily for 
wine ; drew benches round the table, and hailing 
the doctor as though he had been a boon companion 
of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and 
making merry. He complied with forced grimace, 
but with fear and trembling ; sitting on the edge of 
his bench ; supping down heartburn with every drop 
of liquor ; eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols, 
and cold, naked stilettos. They pushed the bottle 
bravely, and plied him vigorously ; sang, laughed, 
told excellent stories of robberies and combats, and 
the little doctor was fain to laugh at these cut-throat 
pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at 
the very bottom of his bosom. 

By their own account they were young men from 
the villages, who had recently taken up this line of 
life in the mere wild caprice of youth. They talked 
of their exploits as a sportsman talks of his amuse- 
ments. To shoot down a traveller seemed of little 
more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. 
They spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life 
they led ; free as birds ; here to-day, gone to-mor- 
row ; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scour- 
ing the valle> s ; the world their own wherever they 
could lay hold of it ; full purses, merry companions ; 
pretty women. — The little antiquary got fuddled with 
their talk and their wine, for they did not spare 
bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring, and 
his family watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian 
cities which was warming under him, for a time 
faded from his memory, in the glowing picture which 
they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders 



at the prevalence of this robber mania among the 
mountains ; for he felt at the time, that had he been 
a young man and a strong man. and had there 
been no danger of the galleys in the background, 
he should have been half tempted himself to turn 
bandit. 

At length the fearful hour of separating arrived. 
The doctor was suddenly called to himself and his 
fears, by seeing the robbers resume their weapons. 
He now quaked for his valuables, and above all for 
his antiquarian treatise. He endeavoured, however, 
to look cool and unconcerned ; and drew from out 
of his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, far 
gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few 
coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement ; 
and laying his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder — 
" Harkee ! Signer Dottore ! " said he, " we have drank 
together as friends and comrades, let us part as such. 
We understand you ; we know who and what you 
are ; for we know who every body is that sleeps at 
Terracina, or that puts foot upon the road. You 
are a rich man, but you carry all your wealth in your 
head. We can't get at it, and we should not know 
what to do with it, if we could. I see you are un- 
easy about your ring; but don't worry your mind; 
it is not worth taking ; you think it an antique, but 
it's a counterfeit — a mere sham." 

Here the doctor would have put in a word, for his 
antiquarian pride was touched. 

" Nay, nay," continued the other, " we've no time 
to dispute about it. Value it as you please. Come, 
you are a brave little old signor — one more cup of 
wine and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments 
— I insist on it. So — now make the best of your 
way back to Terracina ; it's growing late — buono 
viaggio ! — and hark'ee, take care how you wander 
among these mountains." 

They shouldered their fusils, sprang gayly up the 
rocks, and the little doctor hobbled back to Terra- 
cina, rejoicing that the robbers had let his seal ring, 
his watch, and his treatise escape unmolested, though 
rather nettled that they should have pronounced his 
veritable intaglio a counterfeit. 

The improvvisatore had shown many symptoms of 
impatience during this recital. He saw his theme in 
danger of being taken out of his hands by a rival 
story-teller, which to an able talker is always a 
serious grievance ; it was also in danger of being 
taken away by a Neapolitan, and that was still more 
vexatious ; as the members of the different Italian 
states have an incessant jealousy of each other in all 
things, great and small. He took advantage of the 
first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of 
the thread of the conversation. 

" As 1 was saying," resumed he, " the prevalence 
of these banditti is so extensive ; their power so 
combined and interwoven with other ranks of so- 
ciety — " 

" For that matter," said the Neapolitan, " I have 
heard that your government has had some under- 
standing with these gentry, or at least winked at 
them." 

" My go\-ernment .' " said the Roman, impatiently. 

" Aye — they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi — " 

" Hush !'' said the Roman, holding up his finger, 
and rolling his large eyes about the room. 

" Nay — I only repeat what I heard commonly 
rumoured in Rome," replied the other, sturdily. "It 
was whispered that the Cardinal had been up to the 
mountain, and had an interview with some of the 
chiefs. And I have been told that when honest 
people have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's 
anti-chamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, 
one of these stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



397 



way throug^h the crowd, and entered without cere- 
mony into the Cardinal's presence." 

"I know," replied the Roman, "that there have 
been such reports ; and it is not impossible that 
government may have made use of these men at par- 
ticular p.;riods, such as at the time of your abortive 
revolution, when your carbonari were so busy with 
their machinations all over the country. The infor- 
mation that men like these could collect, who were 
familiar, not merely with all the recesses and secret 
places of the mountains, but also with all the dark 
and dangerous recesses of society, and knew all that 
was plotting in the world of mischief; the utility of 
such instruments in the hands of government was 
too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi 
as a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have made use 
of them ; for it is well known the robbers, with all 
their atrocities, are respectful towards the church, 
and devout in their religion." 

" Religion ! — religion.''" echoed the Englishman. 

"Yes — religion!" repeated the improvvisatore. 
" Scarce one of them bat will cross himself and say 
his prayers when he hears in his mountain fastness 
the matin or the ave maria bells sounding from the 
vallevs. They will often confess themselves to the 
village priests, to obtain absolution ; and occasion- 
ally visit the village churches to pray at some favourite 
shrine. I recollect an instance in point : I was one 
evening" in the village of Frescati, which lies below 
the mountains of Abruzzi. The people, as usual in 
fine evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were 
standing about in groups in the public square, con- 
versing and amusing themselves. I observed a tall, 
muscular fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing 
across the square, but skulking along in the dark, as 
if avoiding notice. The people, too, seemed to draw 
back as he passed. It was whispered to me that he 
was a notorious bandit." 

"But why was he not immediately seized ? " said 
the Englishman. 

" Because it was nobody's business ; because no- 
body wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; 
because there were not sufficient gens d' amies near 
to insure security against the numbers of desperadoes 
he might have at hand ; because the gens d'arines 
might not have received particular instructions with 
respect to him, and might not feel disposed to en- 
gage in the hazardous conflict without compulsion. 
In short, I might give you a thousand reasons, rising 
out of the state of our government and manners, not 
one of which after all might appear satisfactory." 

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an 
air of contempt. 

" I have been told," added the Roman, rather 
quickly, "that even in your metropolis of London, 
notorious thieves, well known to the police as such, 
walk the streets at noon-day, in search of their prey, 
and are not molested unless caught in the very act 
of robber)'." 

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a 
different expression. 

"Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf 
thus prowling through the fold, and saw him enter 
a church. 1 was curious to witness his devotions. 
You know our spacious, magnificent churches. The 
one in which he entered was vast and shrouded in 
the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long 
aisles a couple of tapers feebly glimmered on the 
grand altar. In one of the side chapels was a votive 
candle placed before the image of a saint. Before 
this image the robber had prostrated himself. His 
mantle partly falling off from his shoulders as he 
knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength ; a 
stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt, and the light 
falling on his countenance showed features not un- 



handsome, but strongly and fiercely charactered. 
As he prayed he became vehemently agitated ; his 
lips quivered ; sighs and murmurs, almost groans 
burst from him ; he beat his breast with violence, 
then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively 
as he extended them towards the image. Never had 
I seen such a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fear- 
ful of being discovered by him, and withdrew. 
Shortly after I saw him issue from the church wrap- 
ped in his mantle ; he recrossed the square, and 
no doubt returned to his mountain with disbur- 
thened conscience, ready to incur a fresh arrear of 
crime." 

The conversation was here taken up by two other 
travellers, recently arrived, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. 
Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer, just re- 
turning from a tour in Greece and the Holy Land ; 
and who were full of the storj' of Alderman Popkins. 
They were astonished that the robbers should dare 
to molest a man of his importance on 'change ; he 
being an eminent dry-salter of Throgmorton-street, 
and a magistrate to boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but 
too true ; it was attested by too many present to be 
for a moment doubted ; and from the contradictory 
and concordant testimony of half a score, all eager 
to relate it, the company were enabled to make out 
all the particulars. 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 



It was but a few days before that the carriage of 
Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terra- 
cina. Those who have seen an English family car- 
riage on the continent, must know the sensation it 
produces. It is an epitome of England ; a little 
morsel of the old island rolling about the world — 
every thing so compact, so snug, so finished and 
fitting. The wheels that roll on patent axles with- 
out rattling ; the body that hangs so well on its 
springs, yielding to every motion, yet proof against 
every shock. The ruddy faces gaping out of the 
windows; sometimes of a portly old citizen, some- 
times of a voluminous dowager, and sometimes of 
a fine fresh hoyden, just from boarding school. 
And then the dickeys loaded with well-dressed serv- 
ants, beef-fed and bluff; looking down from their 
heights with contempt on all the world around ; 
profoundly ignorant of the country and the people, 
and devoutly certain that evei-y thing not English 
must be wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins, as it 
made its appearance at Terracina. The courier who 
had preceded it, to order horses, and who was a 
Neapolitan, had given a magnificent account of the 
riches and greatness of his master, blundering with 
all an Italian's splendour of imagination about the 
alderman's titles and dignities; the host had added 
his usual share of exaggeration, so that by the time 
the alderman drove up to the door, he was Milor — 
Magnifico— Principe — the Lord knows what ! 

The alderman was advised to take an escort to 
Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as 
a man's life was worth, he said, to stop him on the 
king's highway ; he would complain of it to the 
ambassador at Naples ; he would make a national 
affair of it. The principczza Popkins, a fresh, moth- 
erly dame, seemed perfectly secure in the protection 
of her husband, so omnipotent a man in the city. 
The signorini Popkins, two fine bouncing girls, look- 
ed to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons 



398 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he was sure 
no scaramouch of an Italian robber would dare to 
meddle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged 
his shoulders and turned out the palms of his hands 
with a true Italian grimace, and the carriage of 
Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places 
without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who 
were vei-y romantic, and had learnt to draw in water 
colours, were enchanted with the savage scenery 
around ; it was so like what they had read in Mrs. 
Radcliffe's romances, they should like of all things 
to make sketches. At length, the carriage arrived at 
a place where the road wound up a long hill. Mrs. 
Popkins had sunk into a sleep ; the young ladies 
were reading the last works of Sir Walter Scott and 
Lord Byron, and the dandy was hectoring the postil- 
ions from the coach box. The alderman got out, as 
he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long 
winding ascent, and obliged him every now and 
then to stop and blow and wipe his forehead with 
many a pish ! and phew ! being rather pursy and 
short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far 
behind him, and toiling slowly under the weight of 
so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travel- 
lers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure. 

On a jutting point of rock that overhung the road 
nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the route 
began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seat- 
ed, who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman 
Popkins was one of your shrewd travellers that al- 
ways like to be picking up small information along 
the road, so he thought he'd just scramble up to 
the honest man, and have a little talk with him by 
way of learning the news and getting a lesson in 
Italian. As he drew near to the peasant he did not 
half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the 
rocks wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with 
bis slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, 
with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce 
moustache to be seen. He had whistled several 
times to his dog which was roving about the side of 
the hill. As the alderman approached he rose and 
greeted him. When standing erect he seemed al- 
most gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Pop- 
kins ; who, however, being a short man, might be 
deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in 
the carriage, or even on 'change m London, for he 
was by no means well pleased with his company. 
However, he determined to put the best face on 
matters, and was beginning a conversation about 
the state of the weather, the baddishness of the 
crops, and the price of goats in that part of the 
country, when he heard a violent screaming. He 
ran to the edge of the rock, and, looking over, savv 
away down the road his carriage surrounded by rob- 
bers. One held down the fat footman, another had 
the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol to his 
head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, another 
rummaging the principezza's pockets, while the two 
Misses Popkins were screaming from each window 
of the carriage, and their waiting maid squalling 
from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the fury of the parent 
and the magistrate roused within him. He grasped 
his cane and was on the point of scrambling down 
the rocks, either to assault the robbers or to read 
the riot act, when he was suddenly grasped by the 
arm. It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak, 
falling partly off, discovered a belt stuck full of pis- 
tols and stilettos. In short, he found himself in the 
clutches of the captain of the band, who had station- 
ed himself on the rock to look out for travellers and 
to give notice to his men. 



A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned 
inside out, and all the finery and the frippery of the 
Popkins family scattered about the road. Such a 
chaos of Venice beads and Roman mosaics ; and 
Paris bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with the 
alderman's night-caps and lamb's wool stockings, 
and the dandy's hair-brushes, stays, and starched 
cravats. 

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and 
their watches ; the ladies of their jewels, and the 
whole party were on the point of being carried up 
into the mountain, when fortimately the appearance 
of soldiery at a distance obliged the robbers to make 
off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the 
Popkins family to gather together the remnants of 
their effects, and make the best of their way to 
Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible 
blustering at the inn ; threatened to complain to the 
ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his 
cane at the whole country. The dandy had many 
stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who 
overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the 
Misses Popkins, they were quite delighted with the 
adventure, and were occupied the whole evening in 
writing it in their journals. They declared the cap- 
tain of the band to be a most romantic-looking man ; 
they dared to say some unfortunate lover, or exiled 
nobleman : and several of the band to be very hand- 
some young men — " quite picturesque ! " 

"In verity." said mine host of Terracina, "they 
say the captain of the band is im g;ala}it iioiiio." 

" A gallant man ! " said the Englishman. " I'd 
have your gallant man hang'd like a dog ! " 

" To dare to meddle with Englishmen ! " said Mr. 
Hobbs. 

" And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said Mr. 
Dobbs. 

" They ought to come upon the county for dam- 
ages ! " said Mr. Hobbs. 

" Our ambassador should make a complaint to the 
governinent of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 

" They should be requested to drive these rascals 
out of the country," said Hobbs. 

" If they did not, we should declare war against 
them ! " said Dobbs. 

The Englishman was a little wearied by this story, 
and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was 
glad when a summons to their supper relieved him 
from the crowd of travellers. He walked out with 
his Venetian friends and a young Frenchman of an 
interesting demeanour, who had become sociable 
with them in the course of the conversation. They 
directed their steps toward the sea, which was lit 
up by the rising moon. The Venetian, out of polite- 
ness, left his beautiful wife to be escorted by the 
Englishman. The latter, howev,er, either from shy- 
ness or reserve, did not avail himself of the civility, 
but walked on without offering his arm. The fair 
Venetian, with all her devotion to her husband, was 
a little nettled at a want of gallantry to which her 
charms had rendered her unaccustomed, and took 
the proffered arm of the Frenchman with a pretty 
air of pique, which, however, was entirely lost upon 
the phlegmatic delinquent. 

Not far distant from the inn they came to where 
there was a body of soldiers on the beach, encircling 
and guarding a number of galley slaves, who were 
permitted to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, 
and to sport and roll upon the sand. 

" It was difficult," the Frenchman observed, " to 
conceive a more frightful mass of crime than was 
here collected. The parricide, the fratricide, the in- 
fanticide, who had first fied from justice and turned 
mountain bandit, and then, bv betraying his brother 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



399 



desperadoes, had bought a commutation of punish- 
ment, and the privilege of wallowing on the shore tor 
an hour a clay, with this wretched crew of mis- 
creants ! " 

The remark of the Frenchman had a strong effect 
upon the company, particularly upon the Venetian 
lady, who shuddered as she cast a timid look at this 
horde of wretches at their evening relaxation. " They 
seemed," she said, " like so many serpents, wreathing 
and twisting together." 

The Frenchman now adverted to the stories they 
had been listening to at the inn, adding, that if they 
had any farther curiosity on the subject, he could 
recount an adventure which happened to himself 
among the robbers, and which might give them some 
idea of the habits and manners of those beings. 
There was an air of modesty and frankness about 
the Frenchman vi'hich had gained the good-will of 
the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. 
They all gladly accepted his proposition ; and as they 
strolled slowly up and down the sea-shore, he related 
the following adventure. 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 



I AM an historical painter by profession, and re- 
sided for some time in the family of a foreign prince, 
at his villa, about fifteen miles from Rome, among 
some of the most interesting scenery of Italy. It is 
situated on the heights of ancient Tusculum. In its 
neighbourhood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, 
Sylla, Lucullus. Rutinus, and other illustrious Ro- 
mans, who sought refuge here occasionally, from 
their toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious re- 
pose. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed 
by the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over a 
romantic landscape full of poetical and historical as- 
sociations. The Albanian mountains, Tivoli, once 
the favourite residence of Horace and Majcenas ; the 
vast deserted Campagna with the liber running 
through it, and St. Peter's dome swelling in the 
midst, the monument — as it were, over the grave of 
ancient Rome. 

I assisted the prince in the researches which he 
was making among the classic ruins of his vicinity. 
His exertions were highly successful. Many wrecks 
of admirable statues and fragments of exquisite 
sculpture were dug up ; monuments of the taste and 
magnificence that reigned in the ancient Tusculan 
abodes. He had studded his villa and its grounds 
with statues, relievos, vases, and sarcophagi, thus 
retrieved from the bosom of the earth. 

The mode of life pursued at the villa was delight- 
fully serene, diversified by interesting occupations 
and elegant leisure. Every one passed the day ac- 
cording to his pleasure or occupation ; and we all 
assembled in a cheerful dinner party at sunset. It 
was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene 
day, that we had assembled in the saloon at the 
sound of the first dinner-bell. The family were sur- 
prised at the absence of the prince's confessor. They 
waited for him in vain, and at length placed them- 
selves at table. They first attributed his absence to 
his having prolonged his customary walk ; and the 
first part of the dinner passed without any uneasi- 
ness. When the dessert was served, however, without 
his making his appearance, they began to feel anx- 
ious. They feared he might have been taken ill in 
some alley of the woods ; or, that he might have 
fallen into the hands of robbers. At the interval of 
a small valley rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the 



strong-hold of banditti. Indeed, the neighbourhood 
had, for some time, been infested by them ; and Bar- 
bone, a notorious bandit chief, had often been met 
prowling about the solitudes of Tusculum. The dar- 
ing enterprises of these ruffians were well known ; 
the objects of their cupidity or vengeance were inse- 
cure even in palaces. As yet they had respected the 
possessions of the prince ; but the idea of such dan- 
gerous spirits hovering about the neighbourhood was 
sufficient to occasion alarm. 

The fears of the company increased as evening 
closed in. The prince ordered out forest guards, and 
domestics with flambeaux to search for the confes- 
sor. They had not departed long, when a slight noise 
was heard in the corridor of the ground floor. The 
family were dining on the first floor, and the remain- 
ing domestics were occupied in attendance. There 
was no one on the ground floor at this moment but 
the housekeeper, the laundress, and three field la- 
bourers, who were resting themselves, and convers- 
ing with the women. 

1 heard the noise from below, and presuming it to 
be occasioned by the return of the absentee, I left 
the table, and hastened down-stairs, eager to gain 
intelligence that might relieve the anxiety of the 
prince and princess. I had scarcely reached the last 
step, when I beheld before me a man dressed as a 
bandit ; a carbine in his hand, and a stiletto and pis- 
tols in his belt. His countenance had a mingled ex- 
pression of ferocity and trepidation. He sprang upon 
me, and exclaimed exultingly, " Ecco il principe I " 

I saw at once into what hands 1 had fallen, but 
endeavoured to summon up coolness and presence 
of mind. A glance towards the lower end of the 
corridor showed me several ruffians, clothed and 
armed in the same manner with the one who had 
seized me. They were guarding the two females 
and the field labourers. The robber, who held me 
firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether 
or not I were the prince. His object evidently was 
to carry off the prince, and extort an immense ran- 
som. He was enraged at receiving none but vague 
replies ; for I felt the importance of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I might extri- 
cate myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is 
true, but I was vigorous. His companions were at 
a distance. By a sudden exertion I might wrest my- 
self from him and spring up the staircase, whither he 
would not dare to tbllow me singly. The idea was 
put in execution as soon as conceived. The ruffian's 
throat was bare: with my right hand I seized him 
by it, just between the mastoides ; with my left hand 
I grasped the arm which held the carbine. The 
suddenness of my attack took him completely una- 
wares ; and the strangling nature of my grasp para- 
lyzed him. He choked and faltered. 1 felt his hand 
relaxing its hold, and was on the point of jerking 
myself away and darting up the staircase before he 
could recover himself, when I was suddenly seized 
by some one from behind. 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once more 
released, fell upon me with fury, and gave me sev- 
eral blows with the butt end of his carbine, one of 
which wounded me severely in the forehead, and 
covered me with blood. He took advantage of my 
being stunned to rifle me of my watch and whatever 
valuables I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effects of the blow, I 
heard the voice of the chief of the banditti, who ex- 
claimed : " Ouello e il principe, siamo conlente, au- 
di.imo !" (It is the prince, enough, let us be off.) 
The band immediately closed round me and dragged 
me out of the palace, bearing oft" the three labourers 
likewise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood was flowing from 



400 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



my wound ; I manag-ed to staunch it, however, witli 
my pocket-handkerchief, which I bound round my 
forehead. The captain of the band conducted me in 
triumph, supposing me to be the pnnce. We had 
gone some distance before he learnt his mistake from 
one of the labourers. His rage was terrible. It was 
too late to return to the villa and endeavour to re- 
trieve his error, for by this time the alarm must have 
been given, and every one in arms. He darted at 
me a furious look; swore I had deceived him, and 
caused him to miss his fortune; and told me to pre- 
pare for death. The rest of the robbers were equally 
furious. I saw their hands upon their poniards ; 
and I knew that death was seldom an empty menace 
with these ruffians. 

The labourers saw the peril into which their in- 
formation had betrayed me, and eagerly assure:! the 
captain that I was a man for whom the prince would 
pay a great ransom. This produced a pause. For 
my part, 1 cannot say that I had been much dis- 
mayed by their menaces. I mean not to make any 
boast of courage ; but I have been so schooled to 
hardship during the late revolutions, and have beheld 
death around me in so many perilous and disastrous 
scenes that I have become, in some measure, callous 
to its terrors. The frequent hazard of life makes a 
man at length as reckless of it as a gambler of his 
money. To their threat of death, I replied : " That 
the sooner it was executed, the better." This reply 
seemed to astonish the captain, and the prospect of 
ransom held out by the labourers, had, no doubt, a 
still greater effect on him. He considered for a mo- 
ment ; assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign 
to his companions, who had remained waiting for 
my death warrant " Forward," said he, "we will 
see about this matter by and bye." 

We descended rapidly towards the road of la Mo- 
lara, which leads to Rocca Priori. In the midst of 
this road is a solitary inn. The captain ordered the 
troop to halt at the distance of a pistol shot from it ; 
and enjoined profound silence. He then approached 
the threshold alone with noiseless steps. He exam- 
ined the outside of the door very narrowly, and then 
returning precipitately, made a sign for the troop to 
continue its march in silence. It has since been 
ascertained that this was one of those infamous 
inns which are the secret resorts of banditti. The 
innkeeper had an understanding with the captain, 
as he most probably had with the chiefs of the dif- 
ferent bands. When any of the patroles and gens 
d'armes w'ere quartered at his house, the brigands 
were warned of it by a preconcerted signal on the 
door ; when there was no such signal, they might 
enter with safety and be sure of welcome. Many an 
isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman 
territories, and especially on the skirts of the mount- 
ains, have the same dangerous and suspicious char- 
acter. They are places where the banditti gather 
information ; where they concert their plans, and 
where the unwary traveller, remote from hearing or 
assistance, is sometimes betrayed to the stiletto ol 
the midnight murderer. 

After pursuing our road a little farther, we struck 
off towards the woody mountains which envelope 
Rocca Priori. Our march was long and painful, 
with many circuits and windings ; at length we 
clambered a steep ascent, covered with a thick for- 
est, and when we had reached the centre, I was told 
to seat myself on the earth. No sooner had I done 
so, than at a sign from their chief, the rolibers sur- 
rounded me, and spreading their great cloaks from 
one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of man- 
tles, to which their bodies might be said to seem as 
columns. The captain then struck a light, and a 
flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles were 



extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from 
being seen through the forest. Anxious as was my 
situation, I could not look round upon this screen 
of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colours of 
the robbers' under-dresses, the gleaming of their 
weapons, and the variety of strong-marked counte- 
nances, lit up by the flambeau, without admiring 
the picturesque effect of the scene. It was quite 
theatrical. 

The captain now held an ink-horn, and giving me 
pen and paper, ordered me to write what he should 
dictate. I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in 
the style of robber eloquence, " that the prince 
should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, 
or that my death should be the consequence of a 
refusal." 

I knew enough of the desperate character of these 
beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. 
Their only mode of insuring attention to their de- 
mands, is to make the infliction of the penalty in- 
evitable. I saw at once, however, that the demand 
was preposterous, and made in improper language. 

I told the captain so, and assured him, that so ex- 
travagant a sum would never be granted ; " that I 
was neither a friend or relative of the prince, but a 
mere artist, employed to execute certain paintings. 
That I had nothing to offer as a ransom but the 
price of my labours ; if this were not sufficient, my 
life was at their disposal ; it was a thing on which I 
sat but little value." 

I \^'as the more hardy in my reply, because I saw 
that coolness and hardihood had an effect upon the 
robbers. It is true, as I iinished speaking the cap- 
tain laid his hand upon his stiletto, but he restrained 
himself, and snatching the letter, folded it, and 
ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to 
the prince. He then despatched one of the labour- 
ers with it to Tusculum. who promised to return with 
all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, 
and I was told that I might do the same. They 
spread their great cloaks on the ground, and lay 
down around me. One was stationed at a little dis- 
tance to keep watch, and was relieved every two 
hours. The strangeness and wildness of this mount- 
ain bivouac, among lawless beings whose hands 
seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and with 
whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough 
to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and of 
the dew, however, had a still greater effect than 
mental causes in disturbing my rest. The airs waft- 
ed to these mountains from the distant Mediter- 
ranean diffused a great chilliness as the night ad- 
vanced. An expedient suggested itself. I called 
one of my fellow prisoners, the labourers, and made 
him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs 
became chilled I approached it to the robust limb 
of my neighbour, and borrowed some of his warmth. 
In this way I was able to obtain a little sleep. 

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my 
slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired 
me to rise and follow him. I obeyed. On consider- 
ing his physiognomy attentively, it appeared a little 
softened. He even assisted me in scrambling up the 
steep forest among rocks and brambles. Habit had 
made him a vigorous mountaineer; but 1 found it 
excessively toilsome to climb those rugged heights. 
We arrived at length at the summit of the mountain. 
Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my 
art suddenly awakened ; and I Ibrgot, in an instant, 
all perils and fatigues at this magnificent view of the 
sunrise in the midst of the mountains of Abruzzi. It 
was on these heights that Hannibal first pitched his 
camp, and pointed out Rome to his followers. The 
eye embraces a vast extent of country. The minor 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



401 



height of Tusculum, with its villas, and its sacred 
ruins, lie below ; the Sabine hills and the Albanian 
mountains stretch on either hand, and beyond Tus- 
culum and Frescati spreads out the immense Cam- 
pagna, with its line of tombs, and here and there a 
broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the towers 
and domes of the eternal city in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising 
sun, and bursting upon my sight, as I looked forth 
from among the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. 
Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made still more 
savage by groups of the banditti, armed and dressed 
in their vviki, picturesque manner, and you will not 
wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter for a mo- 
ment overpowered all his other feelings. 

The banditti were astonished at my admiration of 
a scene which familiarity had made so common in 
their eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this 
spot, drew forth a quire ot drawing-paper, and began 
to sketch the features of the landscape. The height, 
on which I was seated, was wild and solitary, sepa- 
rated from the ridge of Tusculum by a valley nearly 
three miles wide ; though the distance appeared less 
from the purity of the atmosphere. This height was 
one of the favourite retreats of the banditti, com- 
manding a look-out over the country ; while, at the 
same time, it was covered with forests, and distant 
from the populous haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called 
off for a moment by the cries of birds and the bleat- 
ings of sheep. I looked around, but could see noth- 
ing of the animals that uttered them. They were 
repeated, and appeared to come from the summits 
of the trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived 
six of the robbers perched on the tops of oaks, which 
grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and com- 
manded an uninterrupted prospect. From hence 
they were keeping a look-out, like so many vultures ; 
casting their eyes into the depths of the valley below 
us ; communicating with each other by signs, or 
holding discourse in sounds, which might be mis- 
taken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and 
crows, or the bleating of the mountain flocks. After 
they had reconnoitred the neighbourhood, and 
finished their singular discourse, they descended 
from their airy perch, and returned to their prison- 
ers. The captain posted three of them at three 
naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to 
guard us with what appeared his most trusty com- 
panion. 

I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he re- 
quested to see it, and after having run his eye over 
it, expressed himself convinced of the truth of my 
assertion, that I was a painter. I thought I saw a 
gleam of good feeling dawning in him, and deter- 
mined to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst 
of men have their good points and their accessible 
sides, if one would but study them carefully. Indeed, 
there is a singular mixture in the character of the 
Italian robber. With reckless ferocity, he often 
mingles traits of kindness and good humour. He is 
often not radically bad, but driven to his course of 
life by some unpremeditated crime, the effect of 
those sudden bursts of passion to which the Italian 
temperament is prone. This has comiielled him to 
take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed 
among them, " andare in Campagna." He has be- 
come a robber by profession ; but like a soldier, 
when not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and 
his fierceness, and become like other men. 

I took occasion from the observations of the cap- 
tain on my sketchings, to fall into conversation with 
hii'n. I lound hmi sociable and communicative. 
By degrees I became completely at my ease with 

im. I had fancied I perceived about him a degree 
26 



of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I 
assumed an air of careless frankness, and told him 
that, as artist, I pretended to the power of judg- 
ing of the physiognomy ; that I thought I perceived 
something in his features and demeanour which an- 
nounced him worthy of higher fortunes. That he 
was not formed to exercise the profession to which 
he had abandoned himself; that he had talents and 
qualities fitted for a nobler spheie of action ; that he 
had but to change his course of life, and in a legiti- 
mate career, the same courage and endowments 
which now made him an object of terror, would en- 
sure him the applause and admiration of society. 

I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both 
touched and excited him. He seized my hand, 
pressed it, and replied with strong emotion, " You 
have guessed the truth ; you have judged me rightly." 
He remained lor a moment silent ; then with a kmd 
of effort he resumed. " I will tell you some particu- 
lars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the 
oppression ot others, rather than my own crimes, 
that drove me to the mountains. I sought to serve 
my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from 
among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, 
and the robber gave me the following anecdotes of 
his history. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN, 



I AM a native of the village of Prossedi. My 
father was easy enough in circumstances, and we 
lived peaceably and independently, cultivating our 
fields. All went on well with us until a new chief of 
the sbirri was sent to our village to take command 
of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying 
into every thing, and practising all sorts of vexations 
and oppressions in the discharge of his office. 

I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had 
a natural love of justice and good neighbourhood. 
I had also a little education, and knew something of 
history, so as to be able to judge a little of men and 
their actions. All this inspired me with hatred for 
this paltry despot. My own family, also, became the 
object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt more than 
once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things 
worked together on my mind, and I gasped after ven- 
geance. My character was always ardent and ener- 
getic ; and acted upon by my love of justice, de- 
termined me by one blow to rid the country of the 
tyrant. 

Full of my project I rose one morning before 
peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my 
waistcoat — here you see it ! — (and he drew forth a 
long keen poniard) — I lay in wait for him in the out- 
skirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his 
habit of making his rounds and prowling about like 
a wolf, in the gray of the morning; at length I met 
him and attacked him with fury. He was armed, 
but I took him unawares, and was fu'J of youth and 
vigour. I gave him repeated blows to make sure 
work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I 
returned with all haste to the village, but had the ill- 
luck to meet two of the sbirri as I entered it. They 
accosted me and asked if I had seen their chief. I 
assumed an air of tranquillity, and told them I had 
not. They continued on their way, and, within a 
few hours, brought back the dead body to Prossedi. 
Their suspicions of me being already awakened, I 
was arrested and thrown into prison. Here I lay 
several weeks, when the prince, who was Seigneur ot 



402 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. 
1 was brought to trial, and a witness was produced 
who pretended to have seen me not far from the 
bleeding body, and flying with precipitation, so I 
was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 

" Curse on such laws," vociferated the bandit, 
foaming with rage ; " curse on such a government, 
and ten thousand curses on the prince who caused 
me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many 
other Roman princes harbour and protect assassins 
a thousand times more culpable. What had I done 
but what was inspired by a love of justice and my 
country ? Why was my act more culpable than that 
of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar to the cause of 
liberty and justice ? " 

There was something at once both lofty and ludi- 
crous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus as- 
sociating himself with one of the great names of an- 
tiquity. It showed, liowever, that he had at least the 
merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history 
of his country. He became more calm, and resumed 
his narrative. 

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My 
heart was burning with rage. I had been married 
scarce six months to a woman whom I passionately 
loved, and who was pregnant. i\Iy family was in 
despair. For a long time 1 made unsuccessl'ul efforts 
to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of 
iron which I hid carefully, and endeavoured with a 
pointed flint to fashion it into a kind of file. 1 occu- 
pied myself in this work during the night-time, and 
when it was finished, I made out, alter a long time, to 
sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was 
successful. 

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains 
which surround Prossedi, and found means to inform 
my wife of tha place where I was concealed. She 
came often to see me. I had determined to put my- 
self at the head of an armed band. She endeav- 
oured for a long time to dissuade me ; but finding 
my resolution fixed, she at length united in my pro- 
ject of vengeance, and brought me, herself, ray pon- 
iard. 

By her means I communicated with several brave 
fellows of the neighbouring villages, who I knew to 
be ready to t.ake to the mountains, and only panting 
for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits 
We soon formed a combination, procured arms, and 
we have had ample opportunities of revenging our- 
selves for the wrongs and injuries which most of us 
have suffered. Every thing has succeeded with us 
until now, and had it not been for our blunder in 
mistaking you for the prince, our fortunes would 
have been made. 

Here the robber concluded his story. He had 
talked himself into complete companionship, and 
assured me he no longer bore me anv grudge for the 
error of which I had been the innocent cause. He 
even professed a kindness for me. and wished me to 
remain some time with them. He promised to give 
me a sight of certain grottos which they occupied 
beyond ViUetri, and whither they resorted during 
the intervals of their expeditions. He assured me 
that they led a jovial life there ; had plenty of good 
cheer ; slept on beds of moss, and were waited upon 
by young and beautiful females, whom 1 might take 
for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descrip- 
tions of these grottos and their inhabitants : they 
realized those scenes in robber-story which I had al- 
ways looked upon as mere creations of the fancy. 1 
should gladly have accepted his invitation, and paid 
a visit to those caverns, could I have felt more secure 
in my company. 



I began to find my situation less painful. I had 
evidently propitiated the good-will of the chieftain, 
and hoped that he might release me for a moderate 
ransom. A new alarm, however, awaited me. 
While the captain was looking out with impatience 
for the return of the messenger who had been sent 
to the prince, the sentinel who had been posted on 
the side of the mountain facmg the plain of la Mo- 
lara, came running towards us with precipitation. 
" We are betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The police 
of Frescali are after us. A party of carabiniers 
have just stopped at the inn below the mountain." 
Then laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with 
a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement 
towards the mountain, my life and the lives of my 
fellow-prisoners should answer for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demean- 
our, and approved of what his campanion said; but 
when the latter had returned to his post, he turned 
to me with a softened air: "1 must act as chief,'" 
said he, "and humour my dangerous subalterns. It 
is a law with us to kill our prisoners rather than suf- 
fer them to be rescued ; but do not be alarmed. In 
case we are surprised keep by me ; fly with us, and 
I will consider myself responsible for your life." 

There was nothing very consolatory in this ar- 
rangement, which would have placed me between 
two dangers ; I scarcely knew, in case of flight, which 
I should have most to apprehend from, the carbines 
of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the pursued. I 
remained silent, however, and endeavoured to main- 
tain a look of tranquillity. 

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and 
anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leafy 
coverts, kept an eagle watch upon the carabiniers 
below, as they loitered about the inn ; sometimes 
lolling about the portal ; sometimes disappearing 
for several minutes, then sallying out, examining 
their weapons, pointing in different directions and 
apparently asking questions about the neighbour- 
hood ; not a movement or gesture was lost upon the 
keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were re- 
lieved from our apprehensions. The carabiniers hav- 
ing finished their refreshment, seized their arms, con- 
tinued along the vallev towards the great road, and 
gradually left the mountain behind them. " I felt 
almost certain," said the chief, " that they could 
not be sent after us. They know too well how pris- 
oners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. 
Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and are neces- 
sary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, 
there woifld no longer be such thing as a ransom to 
be procured." 

There were no signs yet of the messenger's re- 
turn. I was preparing to resume my sketching, 
when the captain drew a quire of paper Irom his 
knapsack — "Come," said he, laughing, "you area 
painter; take my likeness. The leaves of your port- 
folio are small; draw it on this." I gladly con- 
sented, for it was a study that seldom presents itself 
to a painter. I recollected that Salvator Rosa in his 
youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among 
the banditti of Calabria, and had filled his mind 
with the savage scenery and savage associates by 
which he was surrounded. I seized my pencil with 
enthusi.asm at the thought. I found the captain 
the most docile of subjects, and after various shift- 
ings of position, I placed him in an attitude to my 
mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in 
fanciful bandit costume, with pistols and poniards in 
belt, his brawny neck bare, a handkerchief loosely 
thrown around it, and the two ends in front strung 
with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travellers ; rel- 
iques and medals hung on his breast ; his hat deco- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



403 



rated with various-coloured ribbands ; liis vest and 
short breeches of bright colours and finely embroi- 
dered ; his legs in buskins or leggins. Fancy him on 
a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged 
oaks, leaning on his carbine as if meditating some 
exploit, while far below are beheld villages and villas, 
the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Cam- 
pagna dimly extending in the distance. 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and 
seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had 
scarcely finished, when the labourer arrived who 
had been sent for my ransom. He had reached 
Tusculum two hours after midnight. He brought 
me a letter from the prince, who was in bed at the 
time of his arrival. As 1 had predicted, he treated 
the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred 
dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him 
at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, 
payable to whomever should conduct me safe and 
sound to Rome. I presented the note of hand to 
the chieftain ; he received it with a shrug. " Of 
what use are notes of hand to us ? " said he, " who 
can we send with you to Rome to receive it ? We 
are all marked men, known and described at every 
gate and military post, and village church-door. 
No, we must have gold and silver ; let the sum^ be 
paid in cash and you shall be restored to liberty." 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before 
me to communicate his determination to the prince. 
When I had finished the letter and took the sheet 
from the quire, I found on the opposite side of it the 
portrait which I had just been tracing. I was about 
to tear it off and give it to the chief. 

"Hold," said he, "let it go to Rome; let them 
see what kind of looking fellow I am. Perhaps the 
prince and his friends may form as good an opinion 
of me from my face as you have done." 

This was said sportively, yet it was evident there 
was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, 
distrustful chief of banditti forgot for a moment his 
usual foresight and precaution in the common wish 
to be admired. He never reflected what use might 
be made of this portrait in his pursuit and convic- 
tion. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the mes- 
senger departed again for Tusculum. It was now 
eleven o'clock in the morning, and as yet we had 
eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I began 
to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, therefore, to 
hear the captain talk something of eating. He ob- 
served that for three days and nights they had been 
lurking about among rocks and woods, meditating 
their expedition to Tusculum, during which all their 
provisions had been exhausted. He should now 
take measures to procure a supply. Leaving me, 
therefore, in the charge of his comrade, in whom he 
appeared to have implicit confidence, he departed, 
assuring me that in less than two hours we should 
make a good dinner. Where it was to come from 
was an enigma to me, though it was evident these 
beings had their secret friends and agents through- 
out the country. 

Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains and o( 
the valleys which they embosom are a rude, half civil- 
ized set. The towns and villages among the forests 
of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, 
are almost like savage dens. It is wonderful that 
such rude abodes, so little known and visited, should 
be embosomed in the midst of one of the most 
travelled and civilized countries of Europe. Among 
these regions the robber prowls unmolested ; not a 
mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbour 
and assistance. The shepherds, however, who tend 
their flocks among the mountains, are the favourite 
emissaries of the robbers, when they would send 



messages down to the valleys either for ransom or 
supplies. The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild 
as the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a 
rude garb of black or brown sheep-skin ; they have 
high conical hats, and coarse sandals of cloth bound 
round their legs with thongs, similar to those worn 
by the robbers. They carry long staffs, on which as 
they lean they form picturesque objects in the lonely 
landscape, and they are followed by their ever-con- 
stant companion, the dog. They are a curious, ques- 
tioning set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony 
of their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by, 
and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as 
sagacious and inquisitive a look as his master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was now 
left alone with one of the robbers, the confidential 
companion of the chief. He was the youngest and 
most vigorous of the band, and though his counte- 
nance had something ofthat dissolute fierceness which 
seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life, 
yet there were traits of manly beauty about it. As 
an artist I could not but admire it. I had remarked 
in him an air of abstraction and reverie, and at 
times a movement of inward suffering and impa- 
tience. He now sat on the ground ; his elbows on 
his knees, his head resting between his clenched 
fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expres- 
sion of sad and bitter rumination. I had grown 
familiar with him from repeated conversations, and 
had found him superior in mind to the rest of the 
band. I was anxious to seize every opportunity of 
sounding the feelings of these singular beings. I 
fancied 1 read in the countenance of this one traces 
of self-condemnation and remorse; and the ease 
with which I had drawn forth the confidence of the 
chieftain, encouraged me to hope the same with his 
followers. 

After a little preliminary conversation I ventured 
to ask him if he did not feel regret at having aban- 
doned his family and taken to this dangerous profes- 
sion. "I feel," replied he, "but one regret, and 
that will end only with my life ; " as he said this he 
pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his 
breath through his set teeth, and added with deep 
emotion, " 1 have something within here that stifles 
me ; it is like a burning iron consuming my very 
heart. I could tell you a miserable story, but not 
now — another time." — He relapsed into his former 
position, and sat with liis head between his hands, 
muttering to himself in broken ejaculations, and 
what appeared at times to be curses and maledic- 
tions. I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, 
so I left him to himself In a little time the exhaus- 
tion of his feelings, and probably the fatigues he had 
undergone in this expedition, began to produce 
drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the 
warmth and sultriness of mid-day made it irresistible, 
and he at length stretched himself upon the herbage 
and fell asleep. 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. 
My guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous 
limbs relaxed by sleep ; his bosom open for the blow ; 
his carbine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and 
lying by his side ; his stiletto half out of the pocket 
in which it was usually carried. But two of his 
comrades were in sight, and those at a considerable 
distance, on the edge of the mountain ; their backs 
turned to us, and their attention occupied in keep- 
ing a look-out upon the plain. Through a strip of 
intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, 
I beheld the village of Kocca Priori. To have se- 
cured the carbine of the sleeping brigand, to have 
seized upon his poniard and have plunged it in his 
heart, would have been the work of an instant. 
Should he die without noise, I might dart through 



404 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the forest and down to Rocca Priori before my flight 
might be discovered. In case of alarm, I should still 
have a fair start of the robbers, and a chance of get- 
ting beyond the reach of their shot. 

Here then was an opportunity for both escape and 
vengeance ; perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempt- 
ing. Had my situation been more critical I could 
not have resisted it. I reflected, however, for a 
moment. The attempt, if successful, would be fol- 
lowed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, 
who were sleeping profoundly, and could not be 
awakened in time to escape. The labourer who had 
gone after the ransom might also fall a victim to the 
rage of the robbers, without the money which he 
brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the 
chief towards me made me feel certain of speedy de- 
liverance. These reflections overcame the first pow- 
erful impulse, and I calmed the turbulent agitation 
which it had awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and 
amused myself with sketching the magnificent pros- 
pect. It was now about noon, and every thing 
seemed sunk into repose, like the bandit that lay 
sleeping before me. The noon-tide stillness that 
reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape 
below, gleaming with distant towns and dotted with 
various habitations and signs of life, yet all so silent, i 
had a powerful eftect upon my mind. The inter- 
mediate valleys, too, that lie among mountains have 
a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at 
mid-day to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes 
the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lagging with his 
lazy animal along the road that winds through the 
centre of the valley ; sometimes the faint piping of a 
shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, or 
sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, 
followed by a monk with bare feet and bare shining 
head, and carrying provisions to the convent. 

I had continued to sketch for some time among 
my sleeping companions, when at length I saw the 
captain of the band approaching, followed by a 
peasant leading a mule, on which was a well-filled 
sack. I at first apprehended that this was some 
new prey fallen into the hands of the robbers, but 
the contented look of the peasant soon relieved me. 
and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised 
repast. The brigands now came running from 
the three sides of the mountain, having the quick 
scent of vultures. Every one busied himself in 
unloading the mule and relieving the sack of its 
contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was an 
enormous ham of a colour and plumpness that 
would have inspired the pencil of Teniers. It was 
followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled chestnuts, 
a little barrel of wine, and a quantity of good house- 
hold bread. Every thing was arranged on the grass 
with a degree of symmetry, and the captain present- 
ing me his knife, requested me to help myself. We 
all seated ourselves round the viands, and nothing 
was heard lor a tmie but the sound of vigorous 
mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as 
it revolved briskly about the circle. My long fasting 
and the mountain air and exercise had given me a 
keen appetite, and never did repast appear to me 
more excellent or picturesque. 

From time to time one of the band was despatched 
to keep a look-out upon the plain : no enemy was at 
hand, and the dinner was undisturbed. 

The peasant received nearly twice the value of his 
provisions, and set off down the mountain highly 
satisfied with his bargain. I felt invigorated by the 
hearty meal I had made, and notwithstanding that 
the wound 1 had received the evening before was 
painful, yet I could not but feel extremely interested 



and gratified by the singular scenes continually pre- 
sented to me. Every thing seemed pictured about 
these wild beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs, 
their groups on guard, their indolent noon-tide repose 
on the mountain brow, their rude repast on the 
herbage among rocks and trees, every thing pre- 
sented a study for a painter. But it was towards the 
approach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm 
awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Cam- 
pagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody 
summits of the Abruzzi. Several mountains crown- 
ed with snow shone brilliantly in the distance, con- 
trasting their brightness with others, which, thrown 
into shade, assumed deep tints of purple and violet. 
As the evening advanced, the landscape darkened 
into a sterner character. The immense solitude 
around ; the wild mountains broken into rocks and 
precipices, intermingled with vast oak, cork, and 
chestnuts ; and the groups of banditti in the lore- 
ground, reminded me of those savage scenes of 
Salvator Rosa. 

To beguile the time the captain proposed to his com- 
rades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, 
as I must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and 
able to inform them of their nature. He set the 
example, the others followed it, and in a few moments 
I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels and 
gems that would have delighted the eyes of an anti- 
quary or a fine lady. Among them were several 
precious jewels and antique intaglios and cameos of 
great value, the spoils doubtless of travellers of dis- 
tinction. I found that they were in the habit of 
selling their booty in the frontier towns. As these 
in general were thinly and poorly peopled, and little 
frequented by travellers, they could offer no market 
for such valuable articles ot taste and luxury. I sug- 
gested to them the certainty of their readily obtain- 
ing great prices for these gems among the rich 
strangers with which Rome was thronged. 

The impression made upon their greedy minds 
was immediately apparent. One of the band, a 
young man, and the least known, requested permis- 
sion of the captain to depart the following day in 
disguise for Rome, for the purpose of traffick ; 
promising on the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge 
amongst them) to return in two days to any place 
he might appoint. The captain consented, and a 
curious scene took place. The robbers crowded 
round him eagerly, confiding to him such of their 
jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving him 
instructions what to demand. There was bargain- 
ing and exchanging and selling of trinkets among 
themselves, and I beheld my watch, which had a 
chain and valuable seals, purchased by the young 
robber merchant of the ruffian who had plundered 
me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope 
that if it went to Rome, I might somehow or other 
regain possession of it. 

In the meantime day declined, and no messenger 
returned from Tusculum. 

The idea of passing another night in the woods 
was extremely disheartening ; for I began to be 
satisfied with what I had seen of robber life. The 
chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he 
might station them at their posts, adding, that if 
the messenger did not return before night they must 
shift their quarters to some other place. 

I was again left alone with, the young bandit who 
had before guarded me : he had the same gloomy 
air and haggard eye, with now and then a bitter 
sardonic smile. I was determined to probe this 
ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind of 
promise he had given me to tell me the cause of 
his suffering. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



405 



It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were 
glad of an opportunity to disburthen themselves ; 
and of having some fresh undiseased mind with 
which thev could communicate. I had hardly made 
the request but he seated himself by my side, and 
gave me his story in, as nearly as 1 can recollect, the 
following words. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 



I WAS born at the little town of Frosinone, which 
lies at the skirts of the Abnjzzi. My father had 
made a little property in trade, and gave me some 
education, as he intended me for the church, but I 
had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl, 
so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a 
heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasions, 
but good-humoured in the main, so I made my way 
very well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived 
in our town a surveyor, or land bailiff, of the prince's, 
who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of six- 
teen. She was looked upon as something better 
than the common run of our townsfolk, and kept al- 
most entirely at home. I saw her occasionally, and 
became madly in love with her, she looked so fresh 
and tender, and so different from the sunburnt fe- 
males to whom I had been accustomed. 

As my father kept me in money, I always dressed 
well, and took all opportunities of showing myself to 
advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to 
see her at church ; and as I could play a little upon 
the guitar, I gave her a tune sometimes under her 
window of an evening; and I tried to have inten'iews 
with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the 
town, where she sometimes walked. She was evi- 
dently pleased with me, but she was young and shy, 
and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took 
alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of 
me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. 
I became furious at the difficulties thrown in my 
way. having been accustomed always to easy success 
among the women, being considered one of the 
smartest young fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her ; a rich 
farmer from a neighbouring town. The wedding- 
day was appointed, and preparations were making. 
I got sight of her at her window, and I thought she 
looked sadly at me. I determined the match should 
not take place, cost what it might. I met her in- 
tended bridegroom in the market-place, and could 
not restrain the expression of my rage. A few hot 
words passed between us, when I drew my stiletto, 
and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighbour- 
ing church for refuge ; and with a little money 1 ob- 
tained absolution ; but I did not dare to venture from 
my asylum. 

At that time our captain was forming his troop. 
He had known me from boyhood, and hearing of 
my situation, came to me in secret, and made such 
offers, that I agreed to enlist myself among his fol- 
lowers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of 
taking to this mode of life, having known several 
brave fellows of the mountains, who used to spend 
their money freely among us youngsters of the town. 
I accordingly left my asylum late one night, repaired 
to the appointed place of meeting; took the oaths 
prescril«d. and became one of the troop. We were 
for some time in a distant part of the mountains, and 
our wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy won- 
derfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length they 
returned with all their violence to the recollection of 



Rosetta. The solitude in which I often found my- 
self gave me time to brood over her image, and as I 
have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in 
the mountains, my feelings have been roused almost 
to a fever. 

At length we shifted our ground, and determined 
to make a descent upon the road between Terracina 
and Naples. In the course of our expedition, we 
passed a day or two in the woody mountains which 
rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt 
when I looked dovvn upon the place, and distinguish- 
ed the residence of Rosetta. I determined to have 
an interview with her ; but to what purpose ? I 
could not expect that she would quit her home, and 
accompany me in my hazardous life among the 
mountains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
for that ; and when I looked upon the women who 
were associated with some of our troop, I could not 
have borne the thoughts of her being their compan- 
ion. All return to my former life was likewise hope- 
less : for a price was set upon my head. Still I 
determined to see her ; the very hazard and fruit- 
lessness of the thing made me furious to accom- 
plish it. 

It is about three weeks since I persuaded our cap- 
tain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, in 
hopes of entrapping some of its principal inhabit- 
ants, and compelling them to a ransom. We were 
lying in ambush towards evening, not far from the 
vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from 
my companions, and drew near to reconnoitre the 
place of her frequent walks. 

How my heart beat when, among the vines, I be- 
held the gleaming of a white dress ! I knew it must 
be Rosetta's ; it being rare for any female of the 
place to dress in white. I advanced secretly and 
without noise, until putting aside the vines, 1 stood 
suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, 
but I seized her in my arms, put my hand upon her 
mouth and conjured her to be silent. I poured out 
all the frenzy of my passion ; offered to renounce my 
mode of life, to put my fate in her hands, to fly with 
her where we might live in safety together. All that 
I could say, or do, would not pacify her. Instead of 
love, horror and affright seemed to have taken pos- 
session of her breast. — She struggled partly from my 
grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an in- 
stant the captain and the rest of my companions 
were around us. I would have given anything at 
that moment had she been safe out of our hands, 
and in her father's house. It was too late. The 
captain pronounced her a p;ize, and ordered that 
she should be borne to the mountains. I represent- 
ed to him that she was my prize, that I had a pre- 
vious claim to her ; and 1 mentioned my former at- 
tachment. He sneered bitterly in reply; observed 
that brigands had no business with village intrigues, 
and that, according to the laws of the troop, all 
spoils of the kind were determined by lot. Love and 
jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to 
choose between obedience and death. I surrender- 
ed her to the captain, and we made for the mount- 
ains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were 
so feeble and faltering, that it was necessary to sup- 
port her. I could not endure the idea that my com- 
rades should touch her, and assuming a forced tran- 
quillity, begged that she might be confided to me, as 
one to whom she was more accustomed. The cap- 
tain regarded me for a moment with a searching look, 
but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I 
took her in my arms : she was almost senseless. 
Her head rested on my shoulder, her mouth was near 
to mine. I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed 
to fan the flame which devoured me. Oh, God ! to 



406 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING 



have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to 
think it was not mine ! 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I as- 
cended it with difficulty, particularly where the 
woods were thick ; but I would not relinquish my 
delicious burthen. I reflected with rage, however, 
that I must soon do so. The thoughts that so deli- 
cate a creature must be abandoned to my rude com- 
panions, maddened me. I felt tempted, the stiletto 
in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and 
bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the 
idea, before I saw its rashness; but my brain was 
fevered with the thought that any but myself should 
enjoy her charms. I endeavoured to outstrip my 
companions by the quickness of my movements ; 
and to get a little distance ahead, in case any fa- 
vourable opportunity of escape should present. Vain 
effort ! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered 
a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl 
partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength 
or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain 
darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and or- 
dered me to scour the woods with my companions, 
in search of some shepherd who might be sent to 
her father's to demand a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence 
was certain death ; but to leave her alone, in the 
power of the captain ! — I spoke out then with a 
fervour inspired by my passion and my despair. I 
reminded the captain that I was the first to seize 
her ; that she was my prize, and that my previous 
attachment for her should make her sacred among 
my companions. I insisted, therefore, that he should 
pledge me his word to respect her ; otherwise I 
should refus; obedience to his orders. His only re- 
ply was, to cock his carbine ; and at the signal my 
comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty 
at my impotent rage. What could I do .' I felt the 
madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands, 
and my companions obliged me to follow them. She 
remained alone with the chief — yes, alone — and al- 
most lifeless ! — 

Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered 
by his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his 
forehead ; he panted rather than breathed ; his 
brawny bosom rose and fell like the waves of a 
troubled sea. When he had become a little calm, 
he continued his recital. 

1 was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I 
ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to 
get hack before what I dreaded might take place. 
I had left my companions far behind, and I rejoined 
them before they had reached one-half the distance 
I had made. I hurried them back to the place where 
we had left the captain. As we approached, I be- 
held him seated by the side of Rosetta. His triumph- 
ant look, and the desolate condition of the unfortu- 
nate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not 
how I restrained my fury. 

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her 
hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, 
requesting her father to send three hundred dollars 
as her ransom. The letter was despatched by the 
shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned 
sternly to me : " You have set an example," said he, 
"of mutiny and self-will, which if indulged would 
be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our 
laws require, this bullet would have been driven 
through your brain. But you are an old friend : 1 
have borne patiently with your fury and your folly ; 
I have even protected you from a foolish passion that 
would have unmanned you. As to this girl, the laws 
of our association must have their course." So say- 
ing, he gave his commands, lots were drawn, and 
the helpless girl was abandoned to the troop. 



Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, 
and it was some moments before he could resume 
his story. 

Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld 
the impossibility of avenging myself, and I felt that, 
according to the articles in which we stood bound to 
one another, the captain was in the right. I rushed 
with frenzy from the place. 1 threw myself upon the 
earth ; tore up the grass with my hands, and beat 
my head, and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. 
When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched 
victim, pale, dishevelled ; her dress torn and dis- 
ordered. An emotion of pity for a moment subdued 
my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, 
and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, 
which was filled with wine, and applying it to her 
lips, endeavoured to make her swallow a little. To 
what a condition was she recovered ! She, whom I 
had once seen the pride of Frosinone, who but a short 
time before I had beheld sporting in her father's 
vineyard, so fresh and beautiful and happy ! Her 
teeth were clenched ; her eyes fixed on the ground ; 
her form without motion, and in a state of absolute 
insensibility. I hung over her in an agony of recol- 
lection of all that she had been, and of anguish at 
what I now beheld her. I darted round a look of 
horror at my companions, who seemed like so many 
fiends exulting in the downfall of an angel, and I 
felt a horror at myself for being their accomplice. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw with his usual 
penetration what was passing within me, and ordered 
me to go upon the ridge of woods to keep a look-out 
upon the neighbourhood and await the return of the 
shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that 
raged within me, though I felt for the moment that 
he was my most deadly foe. 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came 
across my mind. I perceived that the captain was 
but following with strictness the terrible laws to 
which we had sworn fidelity. That the passion by 
which I had been blinded might with justice have 
been fatal to me but for his forbearance ; that he had 
penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, by 
sendmg me out of the way, to prevent my committing 
any excess in my anger. From that instant I felt 
that 1 was capable of pardoning him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, 1 arrived at the foot 
of the mountain. The country was solitary and 
secure ; and in a short time I beheld the shepherd at 
a distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet 
him. He had obtained nothing. He had found the 
father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read 
the letter with violent emotion, and then calming 
himself with a sudden exertion, he had replied coldly, 
" My daughter has been dishonoured by those 
wretches ; let her be returned without ransom, or let 
her die ! " 

I shuddered at this reply. I knew, according to 
the laws of our troop, her death was inevitable. Our 
oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that, not 
having been able to have her to myself, I could be- 
come her e.xecutioner ! 

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat 
musing upon his last frightful words, which proved 
to what excess the passions may be carried when 
escaped from all moral restraint. There was a hor- 
rible verity in this story that reminded me of some 
of the tragic fictions of Dante. 

We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the 
bandit. After the report of the shepherd, I returned 
with him, and the chieftain received from hi#lips the 
refusal of the father. At a signal, which we all un- 
derstood, we followed him some distance from the 
victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. 
Every one stood ready to execute his order ; but I 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



407 



interfered. I observed that there was something due 
to pity, as well as to justice. That 1 was as ready 
as any one to approve the implacable law which was 
to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to 
pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners, but 
that, though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be 
made williout cruelty. The night is approaching, 
continued I ; she will soon be wrapped in sleep : let 
her then be despatched. All that I now claim on 
the score of former fondness for her is, let me strike 
the blow. I will do it as surely, but more tenderly 
than another. 

Several raised their voices against my proposition, 
but the captain imposed silence on them. He told 
me I might conduct her into a thicket at some dis- 
tance, and he relied upon my promise. 

I hastened to seize my prey. There was a forlorn 
kind of triumph at having at length become her ex- 
clusive possessor. I bore her off into the thickness 
of the forest. She remained in the same state of in- 
sensibility and stupor. I was thankful that she did 
not recollect me ; for had she once murmured my 
name, 1 should have been overcome. She slept at 
length in the arms of him who was to poniard her. 
Many were the conflicts I underwent before 1 could 
bring myself to strike the blow. My heart had be- 
come sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, 
and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other 
should become her executioner. When her repose 
had continued for some time, I separated myself 
gently from her, that 1 might not disturb her sleep, 
and seizing suddenly my poniard, plunged it into 
her bosom. A painful and concentrated murmur, 
but without any convulsive movement, accompanied 
her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate. 

He ceased to speak. I sat horror-struck, covering 
my face v.'ith my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide 
from myself the frightful images he had presented to 
my mind. I was roused from this silence by the 
voice of the captain. " You sleep," said he, " and it 
is time to be off Come, we must abandon this 
height, as night is setting in, and the messenger is 
not returned. I will post some one on the mountain 
edge, to conduct him to the place where we shall 
pass the night." 

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at 
heart with the dismal story 1 had heard. 1 was har- 
assed and fatigued, and the'sight of the banditti be- 
gan to grow insupportable to me. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly 
descended the forest which we had mounted with so 
much difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in 
what appeared to be a frequented road. The rob- 
bers proceeded with great caution, carrying their 
guns cocked, and looking on every side with wary 
and suspicious eyes. They were apprehensive of en- 
counternig the civic patrole. We left Rocca Priori 
behind us. There was a fountain near by, and as I 
was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop 
and drink. The captain himself went, and brought 
me water in his hat. We pursued our route, when, 
at the extremity of an alley which crossed the road, 
I perceived a female on horseback, dressed in white. 
She was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor 
girl in the story, and trembled for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, 
and plunging into the bushes, he ran precipitately in 
the direciion towards her. Stopping on the border 
of the alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented 
his carbine ready for menace, or to shoot her horse 
if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her 
approach. I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense 
anxiety. I felt tempted to shout, and warn her ot her 
danger, though my own destruction would have been 



the consequence. It was awful to see this tiger 
crouching ready for a bound, and the poor innocent 
victim wandering unconsciously near him. Nothing 
but a mere chance could save her. To my joy, the 
chance turned in her favour. She seemed almost 
accidentally to take an opposite path, which led out- 
side of the wood, where the robber dare not venture. 
To this casual deviation she owed her safety. 

1 could not imagine why the captain of the band 
had ventured to such a distance from the height, on 
which he had placed the sentinel to watch the return 
of the messenger. He seemed himself uneasy at the 
risk to which he exposed himself. His movements 
were rapid and uneasy ; I could scarce keep pace 
with him. At length, after three hours of what 
might be termed a forced march, we mounted the 
extremity of the same woods, the summit of which 
we had occupied during the day; and I learnt with 
satisfaction, that we had reached our quarters for the 
night. "You must be fatigued," said the chieftain ; 
" but it was necessary to survey the environs, so as 
not to be surprised during the night. Had we met 
with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priori you 
would have seen fine sport." Such was the indefat- 
igable precaution and forethought of this robber 
chief, who really ga\e continual evidences of military 
talent. 

The night was magnificent. The moon rising 
above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up 
the grand features of the mountains, while lights 
twinkling here .nnd there, like terrestrial stars, in the 
wide, dusky expanse of the landscape, betrayed the 
lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by fatigue, 
and by the many agitations I had experienced, I pre- 
pared to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching 
deliverance. The captain ordered his companions 
to collect some dry moss ; he arranged with his own 
hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave 
me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but 
feel both surprised and gratified by such unexpected 
attentions on the part of this benevolent cut-throat : 
for there is nothmg more striking than to find the 
ordinary charities, which are matters of course in 
common life, flourishing by the side of such stern 
and sterile crime. It is like finding the tender flow- 
ers and fresh herbage of the valley growing among 
the rocks and cinders of the volcano. 

Before I fell asleep, I had some farther discourse 
with the captain, who seemed to put great confidence 
in me. He referred to our previous conversation of 
the morning ; told me he was weary of his hazardous 
profession ; that he had acquired sufficient property, 
and was anxious to return to the world and lead a 
peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished 
to know whether it was not in my power to procure 
him a passport for the United States of .■\merica. I 
applauded his good intentions, and promised to do 
every thing in my power to promote its success. Wc 
then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon 
my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like 
a bed of down, and sheltered bv the robber's mantle 
from all humidity, I slept soundly without waking, 
until the signal to arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just 
dawning. As the place where we had passed the 
night was too much exposed, we moved up into the 
thickness of the woods. A fire was kindled. While 
there was any flame, the mantles were again ex- 
tended round it; but when nothing remained but 
glowing cinders, they were lowered, and the robbers 
seated themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of those 
described by Homer. There wanted only the victim 
on the coals, and the sacred knife, to cut off the suc- 
culent parts, and distribute them around. My com- 



408 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



panions might have rivalled the grim warriors of 
Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, of 
Achilles and Agamemnon, I beheld displayed on the 
grass the remains of the ham which had sustained 
so vigorous an attack on the preceding evening, ac- 
companied by the reliques of the bread, cheese, and 
wine. 

We had scarcely commenced our frugal breakfast, 
when I heard again an imitation of the bleating of 
sheep, similar to what I had heard the day before. 
The captain answered it in the same tone. Two 
men were soon after seen descending from the 
woody height, where we had passed the preceding 
evening. On nearer approach, they proved to be the 
sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose and 
went to meet them. He made a signal for his com- 
rades to join him. They had a short conference, 
and then returning to me with eagerness, " Your 
ransom is paid," said he; "you are free ! " 

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot 
tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. 
I cared not to finish my repast, but prepared to de- 
part. The captain took me by the hand ; requested 
permission to write to me, and begged me not to for- 
get the passport. I replied, that I hoped to be of 
effectual service to him, and that I relied on his hon- 
our to return the prince's note for five hundred dol- 
lars, now that the cash was paid. He regarded me 
for a moment with surprise ; then, seeming to recol- 
lect himself, " E giusto," said he, " eccolo — adio ! "* 
He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once 
more, and we separated. The labourers were permit- 
ted to follow nic, and we resumed with joy our road 
towards Tusculum. 



The artist ceased to speak ; the party continued 
for a few moments to pace the shore of Terracina in 
silence. The story they had heard had made a deep 
impression on them, particularly on the fair Venetian, 
who had gradually regained her husband's arm. At 
the part that related to the young girl of Frosinone, 
she had been violently affected ; sobs broke from her ; 
she clung close to her husband, and as she looked 
up to him as if for protection, the moon-beams shin- 
ing on her beautifully fair countenance showed it 
paler than usual with terror, while tears glittered in 
her fine dark eyes. " O caro mio ! " would she mur- 
mur, shuddering at every atrocious circumstance of 
the story. 

" Corragio, mia vita !" was the reply, as the hus- 
band gently and fondly tapped the white hand that 
lay upon his arm. 

The Englishman alone preserved his usual phlegm, 
and the fair Venetian was piqued at it. 

She had pardoned him a want of gallantry to- 
wards herself, though a sin of omission seldom met 
with in the gallant climate of Italy, but the quiet 
coolness which he maintained in matters which so 
much affected her, and the slow credence which he 
had given to the stories which had filled her with 
alarm, were quite vexatious. 

" Santa Maria ! " said she to her husband as they 
retired for the night, " what insensible beings these 
English are ! " 

In the morning all was bustle at the inn at Terra- 
cina. 

The procaccio had departed at day-break, on its 
route towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to 
start, and the departure of an English equipage is 
always enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this 
occasion there was more than usual stir ; for the 
Englishman having much property about him, and 

• It is just— there it is — adieu I 



having been convinced of the real danger of the 
road, had applied to the police and obtained, by dint 
of liberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons and 
twelve foot-soldiers, as far a Fondi. 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little osten- 
tation at bottom, from which, with great delicacy be 
it spoken, English travellers are not always e.^empt ; 
though to say the truth, he had nothing of it in his 
manner. He moved about taciturn and reser/ed as 
usual, among the gaping crowd, in his gingerbread- 
coloured travelling cap, with his hands m his pockets. 
He gave laconic orders to John as he packed away the 
thousand and one indispensable conveniencies of the 
night, double loaded his pistols with great sang-froid, 
and deposited them in the pockets of the carriage, 
taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes gazing on 
him from among the herd of loitering idlers. The 
fair Venetian now came up with a request made in 
her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage 
to proceed under protection of his escort. The 
Englishman, who was busy loading another pair of 
pistols for his servant, and held the ramrod between 
his teeth, nodded assent as a matter of course, but 
without lifting up his eyes. The fair Venetian was 
not accustomed to such indifference. " O Dio ! " 
ejaculated she softly as she retired, "come sono 
freddi questi Inglesi." At length off they set in gal- 
lant style, the eight dragoons prancing in front, the 
twelve foot-soldiers marching in rear, and the car- 
riages moving slowly in the centre to enable the in- 
fantry to keep pace with them. They had pro- 
ceeded but a few hundred yards when it was dis- 
covered that some indispensable article had been left 
behind. 

In fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, and 
John was despatched to the inn to search for it. 

This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of 
the Venetians drove slowly on. John came back out 
of breath and out of humour ; the purse was not to 
be found ; his master was irritated ; he recollected the 
very place where it lay ; the cursed Italian servant 
had pocketed it. John was again sent back. He re- 
turned once more, without the purse, but with the 
landlord and the whole household at his heels. A 
thousand ejaculations and protestations, accom- 
panied by all sorts of grimaces and contortions. " No 
purse had been seen — his excellenza must be mis- 
taken." 

No — his e.xcellenza was not mistaken ; the purse 
lay on the marble table, under the mirror : a green 
purse, half full of gold and silver. Again a thou- 
sand grimaces and contortions, and vows by San 
Genario, that no purse of the kind had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. " The waiter 
had pocketed it. The landlord was a knave. The 

inn a den of thieves — it was a d d country — he 

had been cheated and plundered from one end of it 
to the other — but he'd have satisfaction — he'd drive 
right off to the police." 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions to 
turn back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion 
of the carriage, and the purse of money fell chinking 
to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into 

his face. " D -n the purse," said he, as he 

snatched it up. He dashed a handlul of money on 
the ground before the pale, cringing waiter. " There 
— be off," cried he; "John, order the postilions to 
drive on." 

Above half an hour had been exhausted in this al- 
tercation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along ; 
its passengers looking out from time to time, and ex- 
pecting the escort every moment to follow. They 
had gradually turned an angle of the road that shut 
them out of sight. The little army was again in 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



409 



motion, and made a very picturesque appearance as 
it wound along at the bottom of the rocks ; the 
morning- sunshine beaming upon the weapons of the 
soldier)'. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed 
with himself at what had passed, and consequently 
out of humour with all the world. As this, however, 
is no uncommon case with gentlemen who travel for 
their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark. 

They had wound up from the coast among the 
hills, and came to a part of the road that admitted 
of some prospect ahead. 

" 1 see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said 
John, leaning over from the coach box. 

"Hang the lady's carriage!" said the English- 
man, crustily ; " don't plague me about the lady's 
carriage ; must I be continually pestered with 
strangers ? " 

John said not another word, for he understood his 
master's mood. The road grew more wild and lone- 
ly ; they were slowly proceeding in a foot pace up a 
hill ; the dragoons were some distance ahead, and 
had just reached the summit of the hill, when they 
uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped 
forward. The Englishman was roused from his sulky 
reverie. He stretched his head from the carriage, 
which had attained the brow of the hill. Before him 
extended a long hollow defile, commanded on one 
side by rugged precipitous heights, covered with 
bushes and scanty forest trees. At some distance 
he beheld the carriage of the Venetians overturned ; 
a numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling it ; the 
young man and his servant were overpowered and 
partly stripped, and the lady was in the hands of 
two of the ruffians. The Englishman seize.:! his 
pistols, sprang from the carriage, and called upon 
John to follow him. In the meantime, as the dra- 
goons came forward, the robbers who were busy 
with the carriage quitted their spoil, formed them- 
selves in the middle of the road, and taking deliberate 
aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another was 
wounded, and the whole were for a moment checked 
and thrown in confusion. The robbers loaded again 
in an instant. The dragoons had discharged their 
carbines, but without apparent effect; they received 
another volley, which, though none fell, threw them 
again into confusion. The robbers were loading a 
second time, when they saw the foot-soldiers at 
hand. — " Scampa via ! " was the word. They aban- 
doned their prey, and retreated up the rocks ; the 
soldiers alter them. Thev fought from cliff to cliff, 
and bush to bush, the robbers turning every now 
and then to fire upon their pursuers ; the soldiers 
scrambling after them, and discharging their mus- 
kets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes 
a soldier or a robber was shot down, and came 
tumbling among the cliffs. The dragoons kept 
firing from below, whenever a robber came in sight. 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of 
action, and the balls discharged at the dragoons had 
whistled past him as he advanced. One object, how- 
ever, engrossed his attention. It was the beautiful 
Venetian lady in the hands of two of the robbers, 
who, during the confusion of the fight, carried her 
shrieking up the mountains. He saw her dress 
gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang up the 
rocks to intercept the robbers as they bore off their 
prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the entangle- 
ments of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He 
lost sight of the lady, but was still gaaided by her 
cries, which grew fainter and fainter. They were 
off to the left, while the report of muskets showed 
that the battle was raging to the right. 

At length he came upon what appeared to be a 
rugged tbot-pa'th, faintly worn in a gully of the rock, 



and beheld the ruffians at some distance hurrying 
the lady up the defile. One of them hearing his ap- 
proach let go his prey, advanced towards him, and 
levelling the carbine which had been slung on his 
back, fired. The ball whizzed through the English- 
man's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He 
returned the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber 
fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and 
drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his ad- 
versary with deliberate aim ; the ball passed between 
his left arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. 
The Englishman advanced and discharged his re- 
maining pistol, which wounded the robber, but not 
severely. The brigand drew a stiletto, and rushed 
upon his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving 
merely a slight wound, and defended himself with 
his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. They closed 
with one another, and a desperate struggle ensued. 
The robber was a square-built, thick-set man, power- 
ful, muscular, and active. The Englishman, though 
of larger frame and greater strength, was less active 
and less accustomed to athletic exercises and feats 
of hardihood, but he showed himself practised and 
skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy 
height, and the Englishman perceived that his an- 
tagonist was striving to press him to the edge. 

A side glance showed him also the robber whom 
he had first wounded, scrambling up to the assistance 
of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had, in fact, 
attained the summit of the cliff, and the Englishman 
saw him within a few steps, when he heard suddenly 
the report of a pistol and the ruffian fell. The shot 
came from John, who had arrived just in time to 
save his master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood 
and the violence of the contest, showed signs of 
faltering. His adversary pursued his advantage ; 
pressed on him, and as his strength relaxed, dashed 
him headlong from the precipice. He looked after him 
and saw him lying motionless among the rocks below. 

The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. 
He found her senseless on the ground. With his 
servant's assistance he bore her down to the road, 
where her husband was raving like one distracted. 

The occasional discharge of fire-arms along the 
height showed that a retreating fight was still kept 
up by the robbers. The carriage was righted ; the 
baggage was hastily replaced ; the Venetian, trans- 
ported with joy and gratitude, took his lovely and 
senseless burthen in his arms, and the party resumed 
their route towards Fondi, escorted by the dragoons, 
leaving the foot-soldiers to ferret out the banditti. 

While on the way John dressed his master's 
wounds, which were found not to be serious. 

Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had 
recovered from her swoon, and was made conscious 
of her safety and of the mode of her deliverance. 
Her transports were unbounded ; and m.ingled with 
them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to 
her deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach 
herself for having accused him of coldness and in- 
sensibility. The moment she saw him she rushed 
into his arms, and clasped him round the neck with 
all the vivacity of her nation. 

Never was man more embarrassed by the em- 
braces of a fine woman. 

" My deliverer ! my angel ! " exclaimed she. 

" Tut ! tut ! " said the Englishman. 

" You are wounded ! " shrieked the fair Venetian, 
as she saw the blood upon his clothes. 

" Pooh — nothing at all ! " 

" O Dio ! " exclaimed she, clasping him again 
round the neck and sobbing on his bosom. 

"Pooh!" said the Englishman, looking some- 
what foolish ; " this is all nonsense." 



410 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING 



Tales of a Traveller. 



PART FOURTH, 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 

Now I remember those old women's words 
Who in my youth would tell mc winter's tales ; 
And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure hath been hid. 

Maslow's Jew of Malta. 



HELL GATE, 



About six miles from the renowned city of the 
Manhattoes, and in that Sound, or arm of the sea, 
which passes between the main land and Nassau or 
Long-Island, there is a narrow strait, where the 
current is violently compressed between shouldering 
promontories, and horribly irritated and perplexed 
by rocks and shoals. Being at the best of times a 
very violent, hasty current, it takes these impedi- 
ments in mighty dudgeon ; boiling in whirlpools ; 
brawling and fretting in ripples and breakers ; and, 
in short, indulging in all kinds of wrong-headed 
paroxysms. At such times, wo to any unlucky vessel 
that ventures within its clutches. 

This termagant humour is said to prevail only at 
half tides. At low water it is as pacific as any other 
stream. As the tide rises, it begins to fret ; at half 
tide it rages and roars as if bellowing for more 
water ; but when the tide is full it relapses again 
into quiet, and for a time seems almost to sleep as 
soundly as an alderman after dinner. It may be 
compared to an inveterate hard drinker, who is a 
peaceable fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, 
or when he has a skin full, but when half seas over 
plays the very devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying little strait was 
a place of great difficulty and danger to the Dutch 
navigators of ancient days ; hectoring their tub-built 
barks in a most unruly style ; whirling them about, 
in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, 
and not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and 
reefs. Whereupon out of sheer spleen they denomi- 
nated it Hellegat (literally Hell Gut) and solemnly 
gave it over to the devil. This appellation has since 
been aptly rendered into English by the name of Hell 
Gate ; and into nonsense by tlie name of Hurl Gate, 
according to certain foreign intruders who neither 
understood Dutch nor English.^May St. Nicholas 
confound them I 

From this strait to the city of the Manhattoes the 
borders of the Sound are greatly diversified ; in one 
part, on the eastern shore of the island of Mannahata 
and opposite Blackwell's Island, being very much 
broken and indented by rocky nooks, overhung with 
trees which give them a wild and romantic look. 

The flux and reflux of the tide through this part 
of the Sound is extremely rapid, and the navigation 
troublesome, by reason of the whirling eddies and 
counter currents. I speak this from experience, 
having been much of a navigator of these small seas 
in my boyhood, and having more than once run the 



risk of shipwreck and drowning in the course of 
divers holyday voyages, to which in common with 
the Dutch urchins I was rather prone. 

In the midst of this perilous strait, and hard by a 
group of rocks called " the Hen and Chickens," there 
lay in my boyish davs the wreck of a vessel which 
had been entangled in the whirlpools and stranded 
during a storm. There was some wild story about 
this being the wreck of a pirate, and of some bloody 
murder, connected with it, which I cannot now 
recollect. Indeed, the desolate look of this forlorn 
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were 
sufficient to awaken strange notions concerning it. 
A row of timber heads, blackened by time, peered 
above the surface at high water; but at low tide a 
considerable part of the hull was bare, and its great 
ribs or timbers, partly stripped of their planks, look- 
ed like the skeleton of some sea monster. There 
was also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and 
blocks swinging about and whistling in the wind, 
while the sea gull wheeled and screamed around 
this melancholy carcass. 

The stories connected with this wreck made it an 
object of great awe to my boyish fancy ; but in truth 
the whole neighbourhood was full of fable and ro- 
mance for me, abounding with traditions about 
pirates, hobgoblins, and buried money. As I grew 
to more mature years I made many researches after 
the truth of these strange traditions ; for I have al- 
ways been a curious investigator of the valuable, but 
obscure branches of the history of my native province. 
I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any 
precise information. In seeking to dig up one fact 
it is incredible the number of fables which I un- 
earthed ; for the whole course of the Sound seemed 
in my younger days to be like the straits of Pylorus 
of yore, the very region of fiction. I will say nothing 
of the Devil's Stepping Stones, by which that arch 
fiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long- 
Island, seeing that the subject is likely to be learn- 
edly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary 
historian* whom I have furnished with particulars 
thereof Neither will I say anything of the black 
man in a three-cornered hat, seated in the stern of 
a jolly boat who used to be seen about Hell Gate in 
stormy weather ; and who went by the name of the 
Pirate's Spuke, or Pirate's Ghost, because I never 
could meet with any person of stanch credibility who 
professed to have seen this spectrum ; unless it were 
the widow of Manus Conklin, the blacksmith of Frog's 



* For a ver>' interesting account of the Devil and his Stepping 
Stones, see the learned memoir read before the New-York Historical 
Society since the death of Mr. Knickerbocker, by his friend, an 
eminent jurist of the place. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



411 



Neck ; but then, poor woman, she was a little pur- 
blind, and might have been mistaken ; though they 
said she saw farther than other folks in the dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in 
regard to the tales of buried money about which 
I was most curious ; and the following was all that 
I could for a long time collect that had anything like 
an air of authenticity. 



KIDD THE PIRATE. 



In old times, just after the territory of the New 
Netherlands had been wrested from the hands of 
their High Mightinesses, the Lords States General 
of Holland, by Charles the Second, and while it Was 
as yet in an unquiet state, the province vvas a favour- 
ite resort of adventurers of all kinds, and particu- 
larly of buccaneers. These were piratical rovers of 
the deep, who made sad work in times of peace 
among the Spanish settlements and Spanish mer- 
chant ships. They took advantage of the easy access 
to the harbour of the Manhattoes, and of the laxity 
of its scarcely-organized government, to make it a 
kind of rendezvous, where they might dispose of 
their ill-gotten spoils, and concert new depredations. 
Crews of these desperadoes, the runagates of every 
country and clime, might be seen swaggering, in 
open day, about the streets of the little burgh ; el- 
bowing its quiet Mynheers ; trafficking away their 
rich outlandish plunder, at half price, to the wary 
merchant, and then squandering their gains in tav- 
erns ; drinking, gambling, singing, sweaiing, shout- 
ing, and astounding the neighbourhood with sudden 
brawl and ruffian reveliy. 

At length the indignation of government was 
aroused, and it was determined to ferret out this ver- 
min brood from the colonies. Great consternation 
took place among the pirates on finding justice in 
pursuit of them, and their old haunts turned to 
places of peril. They secreted their money and 
jewels in lonely out-of-the-way places ; buried them 
about the wild shores of the rivers and sea-coast, 
and dispersed themselves over the face of the coun- 
try. 

Among the agents employed to hunt them by sea 
vvas the renowned Captain Kidd. He had long been 
a hardy adventurer, a kind of equivocal borderer, 
half trader, half smuggler, with a tolerable dash of 
the pickaroon. He had traded for some time among 
the pirates, lurking about the seas in a little rakish, 
musquito-built vessel, prying into all kinds of odd 
places, as busy as a Mother Gary's chicken in a gale 
of wind. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by 
government as the very man to command a vessel 
fitted out to cruise against the pirates, since he knew 
all their haunts and lurking-places : acting upon the 
shrewd old maxim of "setting a rogue to catcli a 
rogue." Kidd accordingly sailed from New-York in 
the Adventure galley, gallantly armed and duly com- 
missioned, and steered his course to the Madeiras, 
to Bonavista, to Madagascar, and cruised at the en- 
trance of the Red Sea. Instead, however, of mak- 
ing war upon the pirates he turned pirate himself : 
captured friend or foe ; enriched himself with the 
spoils of a wealthy Indiaman, manned by Moors, 
though commanded by an Englishman, and having 
disposed of his prize, had the hardihood to return to 
Boston, laden with wealth, with a crew of his com- 
rades at his heels. 

His fame had preceded him. The alarm was given 
of the reappearance of this cut-purse of the ocean. 



Measures were taken for his arrest ; but he had time, 
it is said, to bury the greater part of his treasures. 
He even attempted to draw his sword and defend 
himself when arrested ; but was secured and thrown 
into prison, with several of his followers. They 
were carried to England in a frigate, where they 
were tried, condemned, and hanged at Execution 
Dock. Kidd died hard, for the rope with which he 
was first tied up broke with his weight, and he tum- 
bled to the ground ; he was tied up a second time, 
and effectually ; from whence arose the story of his 
having been twice hanged. 

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history ; but it 
has given birth to an innumerable progeny of tradi- 
tions. The circumstance of his having buried great 
treasures of gold and jewels after returning from 
his cruising set the brains of all the good people 
along the coast in a ferment. There were rumours 
on rumours of great sums found here and there ; 
sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in 
another ; of trees and rocks bearing mysterious 
marks; doubtless indicating the spots where treasure 
lay hidden. Of coins found with Moorish charac- 
ters, the plunder of Kidd's eastern prize, but which 
the common people took for diabolical or magic in- 
scriptions. 

Some reported the spoils to have been buried in 
solitary unsettled places about Plymouth and Cape 
Cod ; many other parts of the eastern coast, also, 
and various places in Long- Island Sound, have been 
gilded by these rumours, and have been ransacked 
by adventurous money-diggers. 

In all the stories of these enterprises the devil 
played a conspicuous part. Either he was concili- 
ated by ceremonies and invocations, or some bargain 
or compact was made with him. Still he was sure 
to play the money-diggers some slippery trick. 
Some had succeeded so far as to touch the iron chest 
which contained the treasure, when some baffling 
circumstance was sure to take place. Either the 
earth would fall in and fill up the pit, or some direful 
noise or apparition would throw the party into a 
panic and frighten them froin the place ; and some- 
times the devil himself would appearand bear off 
the prize from their very grasp ; and if they visited 
the place on the next day, not a trace would be seen 
of their labours of the preceding night. 

Such were the vague rumours which for a long 
time tantalized without gratifjing my curiosity on 
the interesting subject of these pirate traditions. 
There is nothing in this world so hard to get at as 
truth. I sought among my favourite sources of au- 
thentic infoniiation, the oldest inhabitants, and par- 
ticularly the old Dutch wives of the province ; but 
though I Hatter myself I am better versed than most 
men'in the curious history of my native province, 
yet for a long time my inquiries were unattended 
with any substantial result. 

At length it happened, one calm day in the latter 
part of summer, that I was relaxing myself froin the 
toils of severe study by a day's amusement in fishing 
ih those waters which had been the favourite resort 
of my boyhood. I was in company with several 
worthy burghers of my native city. Our sport was 
indifferent ; the fish did not bite freely ; and w-e had 
frequently changed our fishing ground without bet- 
tering our luck. We at length anchored close under 
a ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the 
island of Mannahata. It was a still, warm day. The 
stream whirled and dimpled by us without a wave 
or even a ripple, and every thing was so calm and 
quiet that it was almost startling when the kingfisher 
would pitch himself from the branch of some diy 
tree, and after suspending hmiself for a moment in 
the air to take his aim, would souse into the smooth 



412 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



water after his prey. While we were lolling in our 
boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the day 
and the dullness of our sport, one of our party, a 
worthy alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, 
as he dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to 
lie upon the bottom of the river. On waking, he 
found he had caught something of importance, from 
the weight ; on drawing it to the surface, we were 
much surprised to find a long pistol of very curious 
and outlandish fashion, which, from its rusted condi- 
tion, and its stock being worm-eaten and covered 
with barnacles, appeared to have been a long time 
under water. The unexpected appearance of this 
document of warfare occasioned much speculation 
among my pacific companions. One supposed it to 
have fallen there during the revolutionary war. An- 
other, from the peculiarity of its fashion, attributed 
it to the voyagers in the earliest days of the settle- 
ment ; perchance to the renowned Adrian Block, 
who explored the Sound and discovered Block Island, 
since so noted for its cheese. But a third, after re- 
garding it for some time, pronounced it to be of 
veritable Spanish workmanship. 

"I'll warrant," said he, "if this pistol could talk 
it would tell strange stories of hard fights among 
the Spanish Dons. I've not a doubt but it's a 
relique of the buccaneers of old times." 

" Like enough," said another of the party. " There 
was Bradish the pirate, who at the time Lord Bella- 
mont made such a stir after the buccaneers, buried 
money and jewels somewhere in these parts or on 
Long-Island ; and then there was Captain Kidd — " 

" Ah, that Kidd was a daring dog," said an iron- 
faced Cape Cod whaler. " There's a fine old song 
about him, all to the tune of 

* My name is Robert Kidd, 
As I sailed, as 1 sailed.' 

And it tells how he gained the devil's good graces 
by burying the Bible : 

' I had the Bible in my hand. 
As I sailed, as I sailed, 
And I buried it in the sand. 
As 1 sailed.' 

Egad, if this pistol had belonged to him I should set 
some store by it out of sheer curiosity. Ah, well, 
there's an odd story I h.ave heard about one Tom 
Walker, who, they say, dug up some of Kidd's buried 
money ; and as the fish don't seem to bite at present, 
I'll tell it to you to pass away time." 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 



A FEW miles from Boston, in Massachusetts, there 
is a deep inlet winding several miles into the interior 
of the country from Charles Bay, and terminating in 
a thickly-wooded swamp, or morass. On one side of 
this inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; on the opposite 
side the land rises abruptly from the water's edge, 
into a high ridge on which grow a few scattered 
oaks of great age and immense size. It was under 
one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, 
that Kidd the pirate buried his treasure. The inlet 
allowed a facility to bring the money in a boat secretly 
and at night to the very foot of the hill. The eleva- 
tion of the place permitted a good look-out to be kept 
that no one was at hand, while the remarkable trees 
formed good landmarks by which the place might 
easily be found again. The old stories add, more- 
over, that the devil presided at the hiding of the 
money, and took it under his guardianship; but this, it 



is well known, he alwavs does with buried treasure, 
particularly when it has been ill gotten. Be that as 
it may, Kidd never returned to recover his wealth ; 
being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out to En- 
gland, and there hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time when earth- 
quakes were prevalent in New-England, and shook 
many tall sinners down upon their knees, there lived 
near this place a meagre miserly fellow of the name 
of Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly as him- 
self; they were so miserly that they even conspired 
to cheat each other. Whatever the woman could 
lay hands on she hid away ; a hen could not cackle 
but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 
Her husband was continually prying about to de- 
tect her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the 
conflicts that took place about what ought to have 
been common property. They lived in a forlorn- 
looking house, that stood alone and had an air of 
starvation. A few straggling savin trees, emblems 
of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever curled from 
its chimney ; no traveller stopped at its door. A 
miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the 
bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field where a thin 
carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds 
of pudding-stone, tantalized and balked his hunger ; 
and sometimes he would lean his head over the 
fence, look piteously at the passer-by, and seem to 
petition deliverance from this land of famine. The 
house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, 
loud of tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was 
often heard in wordy warfare with her husband ; and 
his face sometimes showed signs that their conflicts 
were not confined to words. No one ventured, how- 
ever, to interfere between them ; the lonely way- 
farer shrunk within himself at the horrid clamour and 
clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance, 
and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in 
his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant 
part of the neighbourhood, he took what he consid- 
ered a short cut homewards through the swamp. 
Like most short cuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The 
swamp was thickly grown with great g'oomy pines 
l&nd hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high ; which 
made it dark at noon-day, and a retreat for all the 
owls of the neighbourhood. It was full of pits and 
quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses ; 
where the green surface often betrayed the traveller 
into a gulf of black smothering mud ; there were 
also dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tad- 
pole, the bull-frog, and the water-snake, and where 
trunks of jjines and hemlocks lay half drowned, 
half rotting, looking like alligators, sleeping in the 
mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously 
through this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft 
to tuft of rushes and roots which afforded precarious 
footholds among deep sloughs ; or pacing carefully, 
like a cat, along the prostrate trunks of trees ; star- 
tled now and then by the sudden screaming of the 
bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck, rising on the 
wing from some solitary pool. At length he arrived 
at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a penin- 
sula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had 
been one of the strong-holds of the Indians during 
their wars with the first colonists. Here they had 
thrown up a kind of fort which they had looked upon 
as almost impregnable, and had used as a place of 
refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing re- 
mained of the Indian fort but a few embankments 
gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding 
earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and 
other forest trees, the foliage of which formed a 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



413 



contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the 
swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening that Tom 
Walker reached the old fort, and he paused there for 
a while to rest himself. Any one but he would have 
felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, melancholy 
place, for the common people had a bad opinion of 
it from the stories handed down from the time of 
the Indian wars ; when it was asserted that the sav- 
ages held incantations here and made sacrifices to 
the evil spirit. Tom Walker, however, was not a 
man to be troubled with any fears of the kind. 

He reposed himself for some time on the trunk of 
a fallen hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the 
tree-toad, and delving with his walking-staff into a 
mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned up 
the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against some- 
thing hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mould, 
and lo ! a cloven skull with an Indian tomahawk 
buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the 
weapon showed the time that had elapsed since this 
death blow had been given. It was a dreary me- 
mento of the fierce struggle that had taken place 
in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. 

" Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave the 
skull a kick to shake the dirt from it. 

" Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. 

Tom lifted up his eyes and beheld a great black 
man, seated directly opposite him on the stump of a 
tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having neither 
seen nor heard any one approach, and he was still 
more perplexed on observing, as well as the gather- 
ing gloom would permit, that the stranger was nei- 
ther negro nor Indian. It is true, he was dressed 
in a rude, half Indian garb, and had a red belt or 
sash swathed round his body, but his face was nei- 
ther black nor copper colour, but swarthy and dingy 
and begrimed with soot, as if he had been accus- 
tomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a 
shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his 
head in all directions ; and bore an axe on his shoul- 
der. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of 
great red eyes. 

" What are you doing in my grounds?" said the 
black man, with a hoarse growling voice. 

" Your grounds ? " said Tom, with a sneer ; " no 
more your grounds than mine : they belong to Dea- 
con Peabody." 

" Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stranger, 

"as I flatter myselt he will be, if he does not look 
more to his own sins and less to his neighbour's. 
Look yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is far- 
ing." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger 
pointed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair and 
flourishing without, but rotten at the core, and saw 
that it had been nearly hewn through, so that the 
first high wind was likely to blow it down. On the 
bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Pea- 
body. He now looked round and found most of the 
tall trees marked with the names of some great men 
of the colony, and all more or less scored by the 
axe. The one on which he had been seated, and 
which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the 
name of Crowninshield; and he recollected a mighty 
rich man of that name, who made a vulgar display 
of wealth, which it was whispered he had acquired 
by buccaneering. 

" He's just ready for burning ! " said the black 
man, with a growl of triumph. "You see I am 
likely to have a good stock of firewood for winter." 

" But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut 
down Deacon Peabody 's timber ? " 

" The right of prior claim," said the other. " This 



woodland belonged to me long before one of your 
white-faced race put foot upon the soil." 

" And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold? " 
said Tom. 

"Oh, I go by various names. I am the Wild 
Huntsman in some countries ; the Black Miner in 
others. In this neighbourhood 1 am known by the 
name of the Black Woodsman. I am he to whom 
the red men devoted this spot, and now and then 
roasted a white man by way of sweet-smelling sac- 
rifice. Since the red men have been exterminated 
by you white savages, I amuse myself by presiding 
at the persecutions of quakers and anabaptists ; I 
am the great patron and prompter of slave dealers, 
and the grand master of the Salem witches." 

"The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake 
not," said Tom, sturdily, " you are he commonly 
called Old Scratch." 

" The same at your service ! " replied the black 
man, with a half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this intei-view, according 
to the old story, though it has almost too familiar 
an air to be credited. One would think that to 
meet with such a singular personage in this wild, 
lonely place, would have shaken any man's nerves : 
but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily daunt- 
ed, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife, 
that he did not even fear the devil. 

It is said that after this commencement, they had 
a long and earnest conversatiim together, as Tom 
returned homewards. The black man told him of 
great sums of money which had been buried by 
Kidd the pirate, under the oak trees on the high 
ridge not far from the morass. All these were un- 
der his command and protected by his power, so 
that none could find them but such as propitiated 
his favour. These he offered to place within Tom 
Walker's reach, having conceived an especial kind- 
ness tor him : but they were to be had only on cer- 
tain conditions. What these conditions were, may 
easily be surmised, though Tom never disclosed 
them publicly. They must have been very hard, for 
he required time to think of them, and he was not 
a man to stick at trifles where money was in view. 
When they had reached the edge of the swamp the 
stranger paused. 

" What proof have I that all you have been tell- 
ing me is true ? " said Tom. 

" There is my signature," said the black man, 
pressing his finger on Tom's forehead. So saying, 
he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and 
seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into 
the earth, until nothing but his head and shoulders 
could be seen, and so on until he totally disap- 
peared. 

When Tom reached home he found the black 
print of a finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, 
which nothing could obliterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the 
sudden death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich 
buccaneer. It was announced in the papers with 
the usual flourish, that " a great man had fallen in 
Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his black friend 
had just hewn down, and which was ready for burn- 
ing. " Let the freebooter roast," said Tom, "who 
cares ! " He now felt convinced that all he had 
heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confi- 
dence ; but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly 
shared it with her. All her avarice was awakened 
at the mention of hidden gold, and she urged her 
husband to comply with the black man's terms and 
secure what would make them wealthy for life. 
However Tom might have felt disposed to sell him- 



414 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



self to the devil, he was determined not to do so to 
oblige his wife ; so he flatly refused out of the mere 
spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the 
quarrels they had on the subject, but the more she 
talked the more resolute was Tom not to be damned 
to please her. At length she determined to drive 
the bargain on her own account, and if she suc- 
ceeded, to keep all the gain to herself 

Bemg of the same fearless temper as her husband, 
she sat off for the old Indian fort towards the close 
of a summer's day. She was many hours absent. 
When she came back she was reserved and sullen 
in her replies. She spoke something of a black man 
whom she liad met about twilight, hewing at the 
root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, and 
would not come to terms ; she was to go again 
with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she 
forbore to say. 

The next evening she sat off again for the swamp, 
with her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and 
waited for her, but in vain : midnight came, but she 
did not make her appearance ; morning, noon, night 
returned, but still she did not come. Tom now grew 
uneasy for her safety ; especially as he found she had 
carried off in her apron the silver teapot and spoons 
and every portable article of value. Another night 
elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. In a 
word, she was never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in con- 
sequence of so many pretending to know. It is one 
of those facts that have become confounded by a 
variety of historians. Some asserted that she lost 
her way among the tangled mazes of the swamp and 
sunk into some pit or slough ; others, more unchari- 
table, hinted that she had eloped with the household 
booty, and made off to some other province ; while 
others assert that the tempter had decoyed her into 
a dismal quagmire, on top of which her hat was 
found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a 
great black man with an axe on his shoulder was 
seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, 
carrying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air 
of surly triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, 
observes that Tom Walker grew so anxious about 
the fate of his wife and his property that he sat out at 
length to seek them both at the Indian fort. During 
a long summer's afternoon he searched about the 
gloomy place, but no wife was to be seen. He called 
her name repeatedly, but she was no where to be 
heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as 
he flew screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked dole- 
fully from a neighbouring pool. At length, it is 
said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the 
owls began to hoot and the bats to flit about, his 
attention was attracted by the clamour of carrion 
crows that were hovering about a cypress tree. He 
looked and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron 
and hanging in the branches of the tree ; with a 
great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch 
upon it. He leaped with joy, for he recognized his 
wife's apron, and supposed it to contain the house- 
hold valuables. 

" Let us get hold of the property," said he con- 
solingly to himself, " and we will endeavour to do 
without the woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree the vulture spread its 
wide wings, and sailed off' screaming into the deep 
shadows of the forest. Tom seized the check apron, 
but, woful sight ! found nothing but a heart and 
liver tied up in it. 

Such, according to the most authentic old stor)', 
was all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She 
had probably attempted to deal with the black man 
as she had been accustomed to deal with her hus- 



band ; but though a female scold is generally con- 
sidered a match for the devil, yet in this instance she 
appears to have had the worst of it. She must have 
died game, however : from the part that remained 
unconquered. Indeed, it is said Tom noticed many 
prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, 
and several handfuls of hair, that looked as if they 
had been plucked from the coarse black shock of 
the woodsman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by 
experience. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked 
at the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. " Egad," 
said he to himself, " Old Scratch must have had a 
tough time of it !" 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property 
by the loss of his wife ; for he was a little of a phi- 
losopher. He even felt something like gratitude to- 
wards the black woodsman, who he considered had 
done him a kindness. He sought, therefore, to cul- 
tivate a farther acquaintance with him, but for some 
time without success ; the old black legs pla\ed shy, 
for whatever people may think, he is not always to 
be had for calling for ; he knows how to play his 
cards when pretty sure of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted 
Tom's eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to 
agree to any thing rather than not gain the promised 
treasure, he met the black man one evening in his 
usual woodman dress, with his axe on his shoulder, 
sauntering along the edge of the swamp, and hum- 
ming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's advance 
with great indifference, made brief replies, and went 
on humming his tune. 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to busi- 
ness, and they began to haggle about the terms on 
which the former was to have the pirate's treasure. 
There was one condition which need not be men- 
tioned, being generally understood in all cases where 
the devil grants favours ; but there were others about 
which, though of less importance, he was inflexibly 
obstinate. He insisted that the money found through 
his means sliould be employed in his service. He 
proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in 
the black traffick ; that is to say, that he should fit 
out a slave ship. This, however, Tom resolutely 
refused ; he was bad enough, in all conscience ; 
but the devil himself could not tempt him to turn 
slave dealer. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did 
not insist upon it, but proposed instead that he 
should turn usurer; the devil being extremely anxi- 
ous for the increase of usurers, looking upon them as 
his peculiar people. 

To this no objections were made, for it was just 
to Tom's taste. 

" You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next 
month," said the black man. 

" I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Ton 
Walker. 

" You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 

" Egad, I'll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 

" You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive 
the merchant to bankruptcy " 

" I'll drive him to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 

eagerly. 

"You are the usurer for my money!" said the 
black legs, with delight. " When will you want the 
rhino ? " 

" This very night." 

" Done ! " said the devil. 

"Done!" said Tom Walker. — So they shook 
hands, and struck a bargain. 

A few days' time s.aw Tom Walker seated behind 
his desk in a counting house in Boston. His repu- 
tation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend 
money out for a good consideration, soon spread 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



iU 



abroad. Every body renrembers the days of Gov- 
ernor Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. 
It was a time of paper credit. The country had been 
dehiged with government bills ; the famous Land 
Bank had been established ; there had been a rage 
for speculating ; the people had run mad with 
schemes for new settlements ; for building cities in 
the wilderness ; land jobbers went about with maps 
of grants, and townships, and Eldorados, lying no- 
body knew where, but which every body was ready 
to purchase. In a word, the great speculating fever 
which breaks out every now and then in the countrj', 
had raged to an alarming degree, and every body 
was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from noth- 
ing. As usual, the fever had subsided ; the dream 
had gone off, and the imaginary fortunes with it ; 
the patients were left in doleful plight, and the whole 
country resounded with the consequent cry of " hard 
times." 

At this propitious time of public distress did Tom 
Walker set up as a usurer in Boston. His door was 
soon thronged by customers. The needy and the 
adventurous; the gambling speculator; the dream- 
ing land jobber; the thriftless tradesman ; the mer- 
chant with cracked credit ; in short, everyone driven 
to raise money by desperate means and desperate 
sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, 
and he acted like a " friend in need ; " that is to say, 
he always exacted good pay and good security. In 
proportion to the distress of the applicant was the 
hardness of his terms. He accumulated bonds and 
mortgages ; gradually squeezed his customers closer 
and closer ; and sent them, at length, dry as a sponge 
from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand ; be- 
came a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked 
hat upon 'change. He built himself, as usual, a vast 
house, out of ostentation ; but left the greater part 
of it unfinished and unfurnished out of parsimony. 
He even set up a carriage in the fullness of his vain- 
glory, though he nearly starved the horses which 
drew it ; and as the ungreased wheels groaned and 
screeched on the axle-trees, you would have thought 
you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was 
squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. 
Having secured the good things of this world, he be- 
gan to feel anxious about those of the next. He 
thought with regret on the bargain he had made with 
his black friend, and set his wits to work to cheat 
him out of the conditions. He became, therefore, 
all of a sudden, a violent church-goer. He prayed 
loudly and strenuously as if heaven were to be taken 
by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell 
when he had sinned most during the week, by the 
clamour of his Sunday devotion. The quiet chris- 
tians who had been modestly and steadfastly travel- 
ling Zionward, were struck with self-reproach at see- 
ing themselves so suddenly outstripped in their career 
by this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in re- 
ligious, as in money matters ; he was a stern super- 
visor and censurer of his neighbours, and seemed to 
think every sin entered up to their account became a 
credit on his own side of the page. He even talked 
of the expediency of reviving the persecution of qua- 
kers and anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became 
as notorious as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to 
forms, Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after 
all, would have his due. That he might not be taken 
unawares, therefore, it is said he always carried a 
small Bible in his coat pocket. He had also a great 
folio Bible on his counting-house desk, and would 
frequently be found reading it when people called on 



business ; on such occasions he would lay his green 
spectacles on the book, to mark the place, while he 
turned round to drive some usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in 
his old days, and that fancying his end approaching, 
he had his horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and 
buried with his feet uppermost ; because he supposed 
that at the last day the world would be turned up- 
side down ; in which case he should find his horse 
standmg ready for mounting, and he was determined 
at the worst to give his old friend a run lor it. This, 
however, is probably a mere old wives' fable. If he 
really did take such a precaution it was totally super- 
flous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which 
closes his story in the following manner: 

On one hot afternoon in the dog days, just as a terri- 
ble black thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his 
counting-house in his white linen cap and India silk 
morning-gown. He was on the point of foreclosing 
a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin 
of an unlucky land speculator for whom he had pro- 
fessed the greatest friendship. The poor land job- 
ber begged him to grant a few months' in«lulgence. 
Tom had grown testy and irritated and refused an- 
other day. 

"My family will be ruined and brought upon the 
parish." said the land jobber. " Charity begins at 
home," replied Tom, " I must take care of myself in 
these hard times." 

" You have made so much money out of me," said 
the speculator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety — " The devil 
take me," said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " 

Just then there were three loud knocks at the 
street door. He stepped out to see who was there. 
A black man was holding a black horse which 
neighed and stamped with impatience. 

" Tom, you're come for ! " said the black fellow, 
gruffly. Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had 
left his little Bible at the bottom of his coat pocket, 
and his big Bible on the desk buried under the mort- 
gage he was about to foreclose : never was sinner 
taken more unawares. The black man whisked him 
like a child astride the horse and away he galloped 
in the midst of a thunder-storm. The clerks stuck 
their pens behind their ears and stared after him 
from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, dash- 
ing down the streets ; his white cap bobbing up and 
down ; his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, and 
his steed striking fire out of the pavement at every 
bound. When the clerks turned to look for the 
black man he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mort- 
gage. A countryman who lived on the borders of 
the swamp, reported that in the height of the thun- 
der-gust he had heard a great clattering of hoofs and 
a howling along the road, and that when he ran to 
the window he just caught sight of a figure, such as 
I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad 
across the fields, over the hills and down into the 
black hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort; 
and that shortly alter a thunderbolt fell in that 
direction which seemed to set the whole forest in a 
blaze. 

The good people of Boston shook their heads and 
shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much 
accustomed to witches and goblins and tricks of the 
devil in all kinds of sl^apes from the first settlement 
of the colony, that they were not so much horror- 
struck as might have been expected. Trustees were 
appointed to take charge of Tom's effects. There 
was nothing, however, to administer upon. On 
searching his coffers all his bonds and mortgages 
were found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and 
silver, his iron chest was tilled with chips and shav 



416 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ings ; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his 
half-starved horses, and the very next day his great 
house took fire and was burnt to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill- 
gotten wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay 
this story to heart. The truth of it is not to be 
doubted. The very hole under the oak trees, from 
whence he dug Kidd's money, is to be seen to this 
day; and the neighbouring swamp and old Indian 
fort is often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on 
horseback, in a morning-gown and white cap, which 
is doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In 
fact, the story has resolved itself into a proverb, and 
is the origin of that popular saying prevalent through- 
out New-England, of" The Devil and Tom Walker." 



Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the tenor 
of the tale told by the Cape Cod whaler. There 
were divers trivial particulars which I have omitted, 
and which whiled away the morning very pleasantly, 
until the time of tide favourable for fishing being 
passed, it was proposed that we should go to land, 
and refresh ourselves under the trees, until the noon- 
tide heat should have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the 
island of Mannahatta, in that shady and embowered 
tract formerly under dominion of the ancient family 
of the Hardenbrooks. It was a spot well known to 
me in the course of the aquatic expeditions of my 
boyhood. Not far from where we landed, was an 
old Dutch family vault, in the side of a bank, which 
had been an object of great awe and fable among 
my school-boy associates. There were several mould- 
ering coffins within ; but what gave it a fearful in- 
terest with us, was its being connected in our minds 
with the pirate wreck which lay among the rocks of 
Hell Gate. There were also stories of smuggling 
connected with it, particularly during a time that 
this retired spot was owned by a noted burgher 
called Ready Money Prevost ; a man of whom it was 
whispered that he had many and mysterious dealings 
with parts beyond seas. All these things, however, 
had been jumbled together in our minds in that 
vague way in which such things are mingled up in 
the tales of boyhood. 

While I was musing upon these matters my com- 
panions had spread a repast, from the contents of 
our well-stored pannier, and we solaced ourselves 
during the warm sunny hours of mid-day under the 
shade of a broad chestnut, on the cool grassy carpet 
that swept down to the water's edge. While lolling 
on the grass I summoned up the dusky recollections 
of my boyhood respecting this place, and repeated 
them like the imperfectly remembered traces of a 
dream, lor the entertainment of my companions. 
When I had finished, a worthy old burgher, John 
Josse Vandermoere, the same who once related to 
me the adventures of Dolph Heyliger, broke silence 
and observed, that he recollected a stor)' about 
money-digging which occurred in this very neigh- 
bourhood. As we knew him to be one of the most 
authentic narrators of the province we begged him 
to let us have the particulars, and accordingly, while 
we refreshed ourselves with a clean long pipe of 
Blase Moore's tobacco, the authentic John Josse 
Vandermoere related the following tale. 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 



In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred 
and — blank — for 1 do not remember the precise date ; 



however, it was somewhere in the early part of the 
last century, there lived in the ancient city of the 
Manhattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by 
name. He was descended from old Cobus Webber 
of the Brille in Holland, one of the original settlers, 
famous for introducing the cultivation of cabbages, 
and who came over to the province during the pro- 
tectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, otherwise called 
the Dreamer. 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted 
himself and his cabbages had remained ever since in 
the family, who continued in the same line of hus- 
bandry, with that praiseworthy perseverance for 
which our Dutch burghers are noted. The whole 
family genius, during several generations, was de- 
voted to the study and development of this one 
noble vegetable ; and to this concentration of intel- 
lect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious size 
and renown to which the Webber cabbages attained. 

The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted 
succession ; and never did a line give more unques- 
tionable proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son suc- 
ceeded to the looks, as well as the territory of his 
sire ; and had the portraits of this line of tranquil po- 
tentates been taken, they would have presented a 
row of heads marvellously resembling in shape and 
magnitude the vegetables over which they reigned. 

The seat of government continued unchanged in 
the fam.ily mansion : — a Dutch-built house, with a 
front, or rather gable-end of yellow brick, tapering 
to a point, with the customary iron weathercock at 
the top. Every thing about the building bore the air 
of long-settled ease and security. Flights of martins 
peopled the little coops nailed against the walls, and 
swallows built their nests under the eaves ; and every 
one knows that these house-loving birds bring good 
luck to the dwelling where they take up their abode. 
In a bright sunny morning in early summer, it was 
delectable to hear their cheerful notes, as they sported 
about in the pure, sweet air, chirping forth, as it 
were, the greatness and prosperity of the Webbers. 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent 
family vegetate under the shade of a mighty button- 
wood tree, which by little and little grew so great as 
entirely to overshadow their palace. The city grad- 
ually spread its suburbs round their domain. Houses 
sprung up to interrupt their prospects. The rural 
lanes in the vicinity began to grow into the bustle 
and populousness of streets ; in short, with all the 
habits of rustic life they began to find themselves the 
inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they maintained 
their hereditary character, and hereditary possessions, 
with all the tenacity of petty German princes in the 
midst of the Empire. VVolfert was the last of the 
line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the 
door, under the family tree, and swayed the sceptre 
of his fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the midst 
of a metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he 
had taken unto himself a help-mate, one of that ex- 
cellent kind called stirring women ; that is to say, 
she was one of those notable little housewives who 
are always busy when there is nothing to do. Her 
activity, however, took one particular direction ; her 
whole life seemed devoted to intense knitting ; 
whether at home or abroad ; walking or sitting, her 
needles were continually in motian, and it is even 
affirmed that by her unwearied industry she very 
nearly supplied her household with stockings through- 
out the year. This worthy couple were blessed with 
one daughter, who was brought up with great tender- 
ness and care ; uncommon pains had been taken with 
her education, so that she could stitch in ever)- va- 
riety of way ; make all kinds of pickles and preserves, 
and mark her own name on a sampler. The infiu- 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



417 



ence of her taste was seen also in the family garden, 
where the ornamental began to mingle with the use- 
ful ; whole rows of fieiy marigolds and splendid 
hollyhocks bordered the cabbage-beds ; and gigan- 
tic sunflowers lolled their broad, jolly faces over the 
fences, seeming to ogle most affectionately the pass- 
ers-by. 

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over 
his paternal acres, peaceably and contentedly. Not 
but that, like all other sovereigns, he had his oc- 
casional cares and vexations. The growth of his 
native city sometimes caused him annoyance. His 
little territory gradually became hemmed in by streets 
and houses, which intercepted air and sunshine. He 
was now and then subject to the irruptions of the 
border population, that infest the streets of a metrop- 
olis, who would sometimes make midnight forays in- 
to his dominions, and carry off captive whole pla- 
toons of his noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would 
make a descent, too, now and then, when the gate 
was left open, and lay all waste belbre them ; and 
mischievous urchins would often decapitate the illus- 
trious sunflowers, the glory of the garden, as they 
lolled their heads so fondly over the walls. Still all 
these were petty grievances, which might now and 
then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a summer 
breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill-pond ; but they 
could not disturb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. 
He would but seize a trusty staff, that stood behind 
the door, issue suddenly out, and anoint the back 
of the aggressor, whether pig or urchin, and then re- 
turn within doors, marvellously refreshed and tran- 
quillized. 

The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, how- 
ever, was the growing prosperity of the city. The 
expenses of living doubled and trebled ; but he could 
not double and treble the magnitude of his cabbages ; 
and the number of competitors prevented the in- 
crease of price ; thus, therefore, while every one 
around him grew richer, Wolfert grew poorer, and 
he could not, for the life of him, perceive how the 
evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day to 
day, had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; 
insomuch, that.it at length implanted two or three 
wrinkles on his brow ; things unknown before in the 
family of the Webbers ; and it seemed to pinch up 
the corners of his cocked hat into an expression of 
anxiety, totally opposite to the tranquil, broad-brim- 
med, low-crowned beavers of his illustrious progen- 
itors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially dis- 
turbed the serenity of his mind had he had only 
himself and his wife to care for; but there was his 
daughter gradually growing to maturity; and all the 
world knows when daughters begin to ripen no fruit 
or flower requires so much looking after. I have no 
talent at describing female charms, else fain would 1 
depict the progress of this little Dutch beaut)'. How 
her blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry 
lips redder and redder ; and how she ripened and 
ripened, and rounded and rounded in the opening 
breath of sixteen summers, until, in her seventeenth 
spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her boddice, 
like a half-blown rose-bud. 

Ah, well-a-day I could I but show her as she was 
then, tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hered- 
itary finery of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which 
her mother had confided to her the key. The wed- 
ding dress of her grandmother, modernized for use, 
with sundry ornaments, handed down as heirlooms 
in the family. Her pale brown hair smoothed with 
buttermilk in flat waving lines on each side of her 
fair forehead. The chain of yellow virgin gold, that 
encircled her neck ; the little cross, that just rested 
27 



at the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it 
would sanctify the place. The — but pooh I — it is not 
for an old man like me to be prosing about I'emale 
beauty : suffice it to say. Amy had attained her 
seventeenth year. Long since had her sampler ex- 
hibited hearts in couples desperately transfixed wuh 
arrows, and true lovers' knots worked in deep blue 
silk ; and it was evident she began to languish for 
some more interesting occupation than the rearing 
of sunflowers or (jickling of cucumbers. 

At this critical period of female existence, when 
the heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, 
the miniature which hangs without, is apt to be en- 
grossed by a single image, a new visitor began to 
make his appearance under the roof of VVolfert 
Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the only son of 
a poor widow, but who could boast of inore fathers 
than any lad in the province ; for his mother had 
had four husbands, and this only child, so that 
though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly 
claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of culti- 
vation. This son of four fathers united the merits 
and the vigour of his sires. If he had not a great 
family before him, he seemed likely to have a great 
one after him ; for you had only to look at the fresh 
gamesome youth, to see that he was formed to be 
the founder of a mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate 
visitor of the family. He talked little, but he sat 
long. He filled the father's pipe when it was empty, 
gathered up the mothers knitting-needle, or ball of 
worsted when it fell to the ground ; stroked the 
sleek coat .of the tortoise-shell cat, and replenished 
the tea-pot for the daughter from the bright copper 
kettle that sung before the fire. All these quiet little 
offices may seem of trifling import, but when true 
love is translated into Low Dutch, it is in this way 
that it eloquently expresses itself. They were not 
lost upon the Webber family. The winning young- 
ster found mar\'ellous favour in the eyes of the 
mother ; the tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most staid 
and demure of her kind, gave indubitable signs of 
approbation of his visits, the tea-kettle seemed to 
sing out a cheering note of welcome at his approach, 
and if the sly glances of the daughter might be 
rightly read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, and 
sewing by her mother's side, she was not a whit be- 
hind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea-kettle 
in good-will. 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. 
Profoundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of 
the city and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, 
and puffing his pipe in silence. One night, however, 
as the gentle Amy, according to custom, lighted her 
lover to the outer door, and he, according to custom, 
took his parting salute, the smack resounded so 
vigourously through the long, silent entry, as to 
startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He was slowly 
roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never 
entered into his head, that this mere child, who, as 
it seemed but the other day, had been climbing 
about his knees, and playing with dolls and baby- 
houses, could all at once be thinking of love and 
matrimony. He rubbed his eyes, examined into the 
fact, and really found that while he had been dream- 
ing of other matters, she had actually grown into a 
woman, and what was more, had fallen in love. 
Here were new cares for poor Wolfert. He was a 
kind father, but he was a prudent man. The young 
man was a very stirring lad ; but then he had neither 
money nor land. Wolfert's ideas all ran in one 
channel, and he saw no alternative in case of a mar- 
riage, but to portion off the young couple with a 
corner of his cabbage garden, the whole of which 
was barely sufficient for the support of his family. 



418 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to 
nip this passion in the bud, and forbade the young- 
ster the house, though sorely did it go against his 
fatherly heart, and many a silent tear did it cause in 
the bright eye of his daughter. She showed herself, 
however, a pattern of filial piety and obedience. 
She never pouted and sulked ; she never flew in the 
face of parental authority; she never fell into a 
passion, or fell into hysterics, as many romantic 
novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, indeed ! 
She was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, I 
warrant ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like 
an obedient daughter; shut the street-door in her 
lover's face, and if ever she did grant him an inter- 
view, it was either out of the kitchen window, or 
over the garden fence. 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these things in his 
mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as 
he wended his way one Saturday afternoon to a rural 
inn, about two miles from the city. It was a favour- 
ite resort of the Dutch part of the community from 
being always held by a Dutch line of landlords, and 
retaining an air and relish of the good old times. It 
was a Dutch-built house, that had probably been a 
country seat of some opulent burgher in the early 
timeofthe settlement. It stood near a point of land, 
called Corlears Hook, which stretches out into the 
Sound, and against which the tide, at its flux and 
reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The vener- 
able and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished 
from afar, by a grove of elms and sycamores that 
seemed to wave a hospitable invitation, while a few 
weeping willows with their dank, drooping foliage, 
resembling falling waters, gave an idea of coolness, 
that rendered it an attractive spot during the heats 
of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old 
inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some 
played at the shuffle-board and quoits and ninepins, 
others smoked a deliberate pipe, and talked over 
public afl'airs. 

It v/as on a blustering autumnal afternoon that 
Wolfert made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms 
and willows was stripped of its leaves, which whirled 
in rustling eddies about the fields. The ninepin al- 
ley was deserted, for the premature chilliness of the 
day had driven the company within doors. As it 
was Saturday afternoon, the habitual club was in 
session, composed principally of regular Dutch 
burghers, though mingled occasionally with persons 
of various character and country, as is natural in a 
place of such motley population. 

Beside the fire-place, and in a huge leather-bot- 
tomed arm-chair, sat the dictator of this little world, 
the venerable Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm 
Rapelye. He was a man of Walloon race, and illus- 
trious for the antiquity of his line, his great grand- 
mother having been the first white child born in the 
province. But he was still more illustrious for his 
wealth and dignity: he had long filled the noble of- 
fice of alderman, and was a man to whom the gov- 
ernor himself took off' his hat. He had maintained 
possession of the leathern-bottomed chair from time 
immemorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he 
sat in his seat of government, until in the course of 
years he filled its whole magnitude. His word was 
decisive with his subjects ; for he was so rich a man, 
that he was never expected to support any opinion 
by argument. The landlord waited on him with 
peculiar officiousness ; not that he paid better than 
his neighbours, but then the coin of a rich man 
seems always to be so much more acceptable. The 
landlord had always a pleasant word and a joke, to 
insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. It is true, 
Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, maintained a 



mastiff-like gravity, and even surliness of aspect, yet 
he now and then rewarded mine host with a token 
of approbation ; which, though nothing more nor 
less than a kind of grunt, yet delighted the landlord 
more than a broad laugh from a poorer man. 

" This will be a rough night for the money-dig- 
gers," said mine host," as a gust of wind howled 
round the house, and rattled at the windows 

•' What, are they at their works again ? " said an 
English half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a 
frequent attendant at the inn. 

" Aye, are they," said the landlord, " and well may 
they be. They've had luck of late. They say a 
great pot of money has been dug up in the field, just 
behind Stuyvesant's orchard. Folks think it must 
have been buried there in old times, by Peter Stuy- 
vcsant, the Dutch Governor." 

" Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as he 
added a small portion of water to a bottom of 
brandy. ^, 

" Well, you may believe, or not, as you please,' 
said mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but every body 
knows that the old governor buried a great deal of 
his money at the time of the Dutch troubles, when 
the English red-coats seized on the province. They 
say, too, the old gentleman walks ; aye, and in the 
very same dress that he wears in the picture which 
hangs up in the family house." 

" Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer. 
" Fudge, if you please I— But didn't Corney Van 
Zandt see him at midnight, stalking about in the 
meadow with his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in 
his hand, that flashed like fire ? And what can he 
be walking for, but because people have been troub- 
ling the place where he buried his money in old 
times .' " 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several gut- 
tural sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that 
he was labouring with the unusual production of an 
idea. As he was too great a man to be slighted by 
a prudent publican, mine host respectfully paused 
until he should deliver himself. The corpulent frame 
of this mighty burgher no V gave all the symptoms 
of a volcanic mountain on the point of an eruption. 
First, there was a certain heaving of the abdomen, 
not unlike an earthquake ; then was emitted a cloud 
of tobacco smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then 
there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea 
were working its way up through a region of phlegm ; 
then there were several disjointed members of a 
sentence thrown out, ending in a cough ; at length 
his \oice forced its way in the slow, but absolute 
tone of a man who feels the weight of his purse, if 
not of his ideas ; every portion of his speech being 
marked by a testy puff of tobacco smoke. 

"Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking.'— 



puff_Have people no respect tor persons ?— puff-— 
pufl'— Peter Stuyvesant knew better what to do with 
his money than to bury it— puff— I know the Stuyve- 
sant family— pufl'-every one of them— puff— not a 
more respectable family in the province— puff'— old 
slanders — puff— warm householders— puft"— none of 
your upstarts— pufi'—puff— puff.— Don't talk to me 
of Peter Stuyvesant's walking— puft'— puff— puff"— 

P"'"f-" , 1 • u 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow,, 

clasped up his mouth, till it wrinkled at each corner,, 
and redoubled his smoking with such vehemence,, 
that the cloudy volumes soon wreathed round his 
head, as the smoke envelopes the awful summit ofi 
Mount Etna. ; 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of 
this very rich man. The subject, however, was too 
interesting to be readily abandoned. The conversa- 
tion soon broke forth again from the lips of Peechy 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



419 



Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of the club, one of 
those narrative old men who seem to grow inconti- 
nent of words, as they grow old, until their talk 
flows from them almost involuntarily. 

Peechy, who could at any time tell as many stories 
in an evening as his hearers could digest in a month, 
now resumed the conversation, by affirming that, to 
his knowledge, money had at different times been 
dug up in various parts of the island. The lucky 
persons who had discovered them had always 
dreamt of them three times beforehand, and what 
was worthy of remark, these treasures had never 
been found but by some descendant of the good old 
Dutch families, which clearly proved that they had 
been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time. 

"Fiddle-stick with your Dutchmen!'' cried the 
half-pay officer. " The Dutch had nothing to do 
with them. They were all buried by Kidd, the pi- 
rate, and his crew." 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the 
whole company. The name of Captain Kidd was 
like a talisman in those times, and was associated 
with a thousand marvellous stories. 

The half-pay officer was a man of great weight 
among the peaceable members of the club, by rea- 
son of his military character, and of the gunpow- 
der scenes which, by his own account, he had wit- 
nessed. 

The golden stories of Kidd, however, were reso- 
lutely rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, 
rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to be 
eclipsed by a foreign freebooter, enriched every spot 
in the neighbourhood with the hidden wealth of Pe- 
ter Stuyvesant and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon 
Wolfert Webber. He returned pensively home, full 
of magnificent ideas of buried riches. The soil of 
his native island seemed to be turned into gold-dust ; 
and every field teemed with treasure. His head al- 
most reeled at the thought how often he must have 
heedlessly rambled over places where countless sums 
lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath his feet. 
His mind was in a vertigo with this whirl of new 
ideas. As he came in sight of the venerable man- 
sion of his forefathers, and the little realm where 
the Webbers had so long and so contentedly flour- 
ished, his gorge rose at the narrowness of his des- 
tiny. 

" Unlucky Wolfert ! " e.xclaimed he, "others can 
go to bed and dream themselves into whole mines 
of wealth ; they have but to seize a spade in the 
morning, and turn up doubloons like potatoes ; but 
thou must dream of hardship, and rise to poverty — 
must dig thy field from year's end to year's end, and 
— and yet raise nothing but cabbages ! " 

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart ; 
and it was long before the golden visions that dis- 
turbed his brain, permitted him to sink into repose. 
The same visions, however, e.vtended into his sleep- 
ing thoughts, and assumed a more definite form. He 
dreamt that he had discovered an immense treasure 
in the centre of his garden. At evei-y stroke of the 
spade he laid bare a golden ingot ; diamond crosses 
sparkled out of the dust ; bags of money turned up 
their bellies, corpulent with pieces of eight, or ven- 
erable doubloons ; and chests, wedged close with 
moidores, ducats, and pistareens, yawned before his 
ravished eyes, and vomited forth their glittering con- 
tents. 

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had 
no heart to go about his daily concerns, which ap- 
peared so paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long 
\n the chimney-corner, picturing to himself ingots 
and heaps of gold in the fire. The next night his 
dream was repeated. He was again in his garden, 



digging, and laying open stores of hidden wealth. 
There was something very singular in this repeti- 
tion. He passed another day of reverie, and 
though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as 
usual in Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, 
yet he sat unmoved amidst the general uproar. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating 
heart. He put on his red nightcap, wrong side out- 
wards for good luck. It was deep midnight before 
his anxious mind could settle itself into sleep. 
Again the golden dream was repeated, and again 
he saw his garden teeming with ingots and money- 
bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewil- 
derment. A dream three times repeated was never 
known to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the 
hind part before, and this was a corroboration ol 
good luck. He no longer doubted that a huge 
store of money lay buried somewhere in his cab- 
bage-field, coyly waiting to be sought for, and he 
half repined at having so long been scratching about 
the surface of the soil, instead of digging to the 
centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of 
these speculations ; asked his daughter to put a 
lump of gold into his tea, and on handing his w'ife 
a plate of slap-jacks, begged her to help herself to 
a doubloon. 

His grand care now was how to secure this im- 
mense treasure without its being known. Instead 
of working regularly in his grounds in the day-time, 
he now stole from his bed at night, and with spade 
and pickaxe, went to work to rip up and dig about 
his paternal acres, from one end to the other. In a 
little time the whole garden, which had presented 
such a goodly and regular appearance, with its pha- 
lanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army in battle ar- 
ray, was reduced to a scene of devastation, while 
the relentless Wolfert, with nightcap on head, and 
lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the 
slaughtered ranks, the destroying angel ot his own 
vegetable world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of 
the preceding night in cabbages of all ages and con- 
ditions, from the tender sprout to the full-grown 
head, piteously rooted from their quiet beds like 
worthless weeds, and left to wither in the sunshine. 
It was in vain Wolfert 's wife remonstrated ; it was 
in vain his darling daughter wept over the destruc- 
tion of some favourite man,gold. " Thou shalt have 
gold of another guess-sort," he would cry, chucking 
her under the chin ; " thou shalt have a string of 
crooked ducats for thy wedding-necklace, my child." 
His family began really to fear that the poor man's 
wits were diseased. He muttered in his sleep at 
night of mines of wealth, of pearls and diamonds 
and bars of gold. In the day-time he was moody 
and abstracted, and walked about as if in a trance. 
Dame Webber held frequent councils with all the 
old women of the neighbourhood, not omitting the 
parish dominie ; scarce an hour in the day but a 
knot of them might be seen wagging their white 
caps together round her door, while the poor woman 
made some piteous recital. The daughter, too, was 
fain to seek for more frequent consolation from the 
stolen interviews of her favoured swain. Dirk Wal- 
dron. The delectable little Dutch songs with which 
she used to dulcify the house grew less and less fre- 
quent, and she would forget her sewing and look 
wistfully in her father's face as he sat pondering by 
the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed 
on him thus anxiously, and for a moment was roused 
from his golden reveries — " Cheer up, my girl," said 
he, exultingly, " why dost thou droop ? — thou shalt 



420 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



hold up thy head one day with the and the 

Schermerhoms, the Van Homes, and the Van 
Dams — the patroon himself shall be glad to get thee 
for his son ! " 

Amy shook her head at this vain-glorious boast, 
and was more than ever in doubt of the soundness 
of the good man's intellect. 

In the meantime Wolfert went on digging, but 
the field was extensive, and as his dream had indi- 
cated no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The 
winter set in before one-tenth of the scene of promise 
had been explored. The ground became too frozen 
and the nights too cold for the labours of the spade. 
No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of 
spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to 
pipe in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed his la- 
bours with renovated zeal. Still, however, the hours 
of industry were reversed. Instead of working cheer- 
ily all day, planting and setting out his vegetables, 
he remained thoughtfully idle, until the shades of 
night summoned him to his secret labours. In this 
way he continued to dig from night to night, and 
week to week, and month to month, but not a stiver 
did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged 
the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was 
digged away, and the sand and gravel from beneath 
were thrown to the surface, until the whole field 
presented an aspect of sandy barrenness. 

In the meantime the seasons gradually rolled on. 
The little frogs that had piped in the meadows in 
early spring, croaked as bull-frogs in the brooks 
during the summer heats, and then sunk into silence. 
The peach tree budded, blossomed, and bore its 
fruit. The swallows and martins came, twittered 
about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, 
held their congress along the eaves, and then winged 
their flight in search of another spring. The cater- 
pillar spun its winding-sheet, dangled in it from the 
great buttonwood tree tliat shaded the house, turned 
into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of sum- 
mer, and disappeared ; and finally the leaves of the 
buttonwood tree turned yellow, then brown, then 
rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling about 
in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that win- 
ter was at hand. 

Wolfert gradually awoke from his dream of wealth 
as the year declined. He had reared no crop to 
supply the wants of his household during the sterility 
of winter. The season was long and severe, and for 
the first time the family was really straightened in 
its comforts. By degrees a revulsion of thought took 
place in Wolfert's mind, common to those whose 
golden dreams have been disturbed by pinching re- 
alities. The idea gradually stole upon him that he 
should come to want. He already considered him- 
self one of the most unfortunate men in the province, 
having lost such an incalculable amount of undiscov- 
ered treasure, and now, when thousands of pounds 
had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings 
and pence was cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went 
about with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent down- 
wards into the dust, and carrying his hands in his 
pockets, as men are apt to do when they have noth- 
ing else to put into them. He could not even pass 
the city almshouse without giving it a rueful glance, 
as if destined to be his future abode. 

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks 
occasioned much speculation and remark. For a 
long time he was suspected of being crazy, and then 
every body pitied him ; at length it began to be sus- 
])ected that he was poor, and then every body avoided 
him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him 
outside of the door when he called, entertained him 



hospitably on the threshold, pressed him warmly by 
the hand on parting, shook their heads as he walked 
away, with the kind-hearted expression of " poor 
Wolfert," and turned a corner nimbly, if by chance 
they saw him approaching as they walked the streets. 
Even the barber and cobbler of the neighbourhood, 
and a tattered tailor in an alley hard bv, three of the 
poorest and merriest rogues in the world, eyed him 
with that abundant sympathy which usually attends 
a lack of means; and there is not a doubt but their 
pockpts would have been at his command, only that 
they happened to be empty. 

Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, 
as if poverty were contagious, like the plague ; every 
body but honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his 
stolen visits to the daughter, and indeed seemed to 
wax more affectionate as the fortunes of his mistress 
were on the wane. 

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had fre- 
quented his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking 
a long lonely walk one Saturday afternoon, musing 
over his wants and disappointments, when his feet 
took instinctively their wonted direction, and on 
awaking out of a reverie, he found himself before 
the door of the inn. For some moments he hesi- 
tated whether to enter, but his heart yearned for 
companionship ; and where can a ruined man find 
better companionship than at a tavern, where there 
is neither sober example nor sober advice to put him 
out of countenance ? 

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the 
tavern at their usual posts, and seated in their usual 
places ; but one'was missing, the great Ramm Ra- 
pelye, who for many years had filled the chair of 
state. His place was supplied by a stranger, who 
seemed, however, completely at home in the chair 
and the tavern. He was rather under-size, but deep- 
chested, square, and muscular. His broad shoul- 
ders, double joints, and bow-knees, gave tokens of 
prodigious strength. His face was dark and weather- 
beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a cutlass, 
had almost divided his nose, and made a gash in his 
upper lip. through which his teeth shone like a bull- 
dog's. A mass of iron gray hair gave a grizzly finish 
to his hard-favoured visage. His dress was of an 
amphibious character. He wore an old hat edged 
with tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style, on 
one side of his head ; a rusty blue military coat with 
brass buttons, and a wide pair of shoit petticoat 
trowsers, or rather breeches, for they were gathered 
up at the knees. He ordered every body about him 
with an authoritative air; talked in a brattling voice, 
that sounded like the crackling of thorns under a 
pot ; damned the landlord and servants with perfect 
impunity, and was waited upon with greater obsequi- 
ousness than had ever been shown to the mighty 
Ramm himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who 
and what was this stranger who had thus usurped 
absolute sway in this ancient domain. He could 
get nothing, however, but vague information. Peechy 
Prauw took him aside, into a remote corner of the 
hall, and there in an under-voice, and with great 
caution, imparted to him all that he knew on the 
subject. The inn had been aroused several months 
before, on a dark stormy night, by repeated long 
shouts, that seemed like the bowlings of a wolf. 
They came from the water-side ; and at length 
were distinguished to be hailing the house in the 
seafaring manner. " House-a-hoy ! " The land- 
lord turned out with his head waiter, tapster, hostler, 
and errand boy — that is to say, with his old negro 
Cuff. On approaching the place from whence the 
voice proceeded, they found this amphibious-looking 
personage at the water's edge, quite alone, and 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



421 



seated on a great oaken sea-chest. How he came 
there, whether he had been set on shore from some 
boat, or had floated to land on his chest, nobody could 
tell, for he did not seem disposed to answer questions, 
and there was something in his looks and manners 
that put a stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, 
he took possession of a corner room of the inn, to 
which his chest was removed with great difficulty. 
Here he had remained ever since, keeping about the 
inn and ils vicinity. Sometimes, it is true, he disap- 
peared for one, two, or three days at a time, going 
and returning without giving any notice or account 
of his movements. He always appeared to have 
plenty of money, though often of very strange, out- 
landish coinage ; and he regularly paid his bill every 
evening before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, hav- 
ing slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a 
bed, and decorated the walls with rusty pistols and 
cutlasses of foreign workmanship. A great part of 
his time was passed in this room, seated by the 
window, which commanded a wide view of the 
Sound, a short old-fashioned jiipe in his mouth, a glass 
of rum toddy at his elbow, and a pocket telescope in 
his hand, with which he reconnoitred every boat 
that moved upon the water. Large square-rigged 
Vessels seemed to excite but little attention ; but the 
moment he descried any thing with a shoulder-of- 
niutton sail, or that a barge, or yawl, or jolly boat 
hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he examin- 
ed it with the most scrupulous attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, 
for in those times the province was so much the re- 
sort of adventurers of all characters and climes that 
any oddity in dress or behaviour attracted but little 
attention. But in a little while this strange sea 
monster, thus strangely cast up on dry land, began 
to encroach upon the long-established customs and 
customers of the place ; to interfere in a dictatorial 
manner in the afiairs of the ninepin alley and the 
bar-room, until in the end he usurped an absolute 
command over the little inn. It was in vain to ai- 
tempt to withstand his authority. He was not ex- 
actly quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremptory, 
like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quarter deck ; 
and there was a dare-devil air about every thing he 
said and did, that inspired a wariness in all bystand- 
ers. Even the half-pay officer, so long the hero 
of the club, was soon silenced by him ; and the 
quiet burghers stared with wonder at seeing their 
inflammable man of war so readily and cjuietly ex- 
tinguished. 

And then the tales that he would tell were enough 
to make a peaceable man's hair stand on end. 
There was not a sea fight, or marauding or free- 
booting adventure that had happened within the last 
twenty years but he seemed perfectly versed in it. 
He delighted to talk of the exploits of the buc- 
caneers in the West-Indies and on the Spanish 
Main. How his eyes would glisten as he described 
the waylaying of treasure ships, the desperate fights, 
yard arm and yard arm — broadside and broadside — 
the boarding and capturing of large Spanish gal- 
leons ! with what chuckling relish would he describe 
the descent upon some rich Spanish colony ; the 
rifling of a church ; the sacking of a convent ! You 
would have thought you heard some gormandizer 
dilating upon tlie roasting a savory goose at Michael- 
mas as he described the roasting of some Spanish 
Don to make him discover his treasure — a detail 
given with a minuteness that made every rich old 
burgher present turn uncomfortably in his chair. All 
this would be told with infinite glee, as if he con- 
sidered it an excellent joke ; and then he would give 
such a tyrannical leer in the face of his next neigh- 



bour, that the poor man would be fain to laugh out of 
sheer faint-heartedness. If any one, however, pre- 
tended to contradict him in any of his stories he was 
on fire in an instant. His very cocked hat assumed 
a momentary fierceness, and seemed to resent the 
contradiction. — " How the devil should you know as 
well as I ! I tell you it was as I say ! " and he 
would at the same time let slip a broadside of 
thundering oaths and tremendous sea phrases, such 
as had never been heard before within those peace- 
ful walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that 
he knew more of these stories than mere hearsay. 
Day after day their conjectures concerning him grew 
more and more wild and fearful. The strangeness 
ol his manners, the mystery that surrounded him, all 
made him something incomprehensible in their eyes. 
He was a kind of inonster of the deep to them — he 
was a merman — he was behemoth — he was levia- 
than — in short, they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea ur- 
chin at length grew quite intolerable. He was no 
resjjecter of persons ; he contradicted the richest 
burghers without hesitation ; he took possession of 
the sacred elbow chair, which time out of mind had 
been the seat of sovereignty of the illustrious Ramni 
Rapelye. Nay, he even went so far in one of his 
rough jocular moods, as to slap that mighty burgher 
on the back, drink his toddy and wink in his face, a 
thing scarcely to be believed. From this time Ramm 
Rapelye appeared no more at the inn ; his example 
was followed by several of the most eminent custom- 
ers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of 
their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another 
man's jokes. The landlord was almost in despair, 
but he knew not how to get rid of this sea monster 
and Ills sea-chest, which seemed to have grown like 
fixtures, or excrescences on his establishment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in 
Woll'ert's ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he 
held him by the button in a corner of the hall, casting 
a wary glance now and then towards the door of the 
bar-room, lest he should be overheard by the terrible 
hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room 
in silence ; impressed with profound awe of this un- 
known, so versed in freebooting history. It was to 
him a wonderful instance of the revolutions of mighty 
empires, to find the venerable Ramm Rapelye thus 
ousted from the throne ; a rugged tarpaulin dictating 
from his elbow chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and 
filling this tranquil little realm with brawl and 
bravado. 

The stranger was on this evening in a more than 
usually communicative mood, and was narrating a 
number of astounding stories of plunderings and 
burnings upon the high seas. He dwelt upon them 
with peculiar relish, heightening the frightful par- 
ticulars in proportion to their effect on his peaceful 
auditors. He gave a long swaggering detail of the 
capture of a Spanish merchantman. She was laying 
becalmed during a long summer's day, just off from 
an island which was one of the lurking places of the 
pirates. They had reconnoitred lier with their spy- 
glasses from the shore, and ascertained her charac- 
ter and force. At night a picked crew of daring 
fellows set off for her in a whale boat. They ap- 
proached with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly 
with the undulations of the sea and her sails flapping 
against the masts. They were close under her stern 
before the guard on deck was aware of their ap- 
proach. The alarm was given ; the pirates threw 
hand grenades on deck and sprang up the main 
chains sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; 



422 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



some were shot down, others took refuge in the tops ; 
others were driven overboard and drowned, while 
others fought hand to liand from the main deck to 
the quarter deck, disputing gallantly every inch of 
ground. There were three Spanish gentlemen on 
board with their ladies, who made the most desper- 
ate resistance ; they defended the companion-way, cut 
down several of their assailants, and fought like very 
de'.ils, for they were maddened by the shrieks of the 
ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons was old and 
soon despatched. The other two kept their ground 
vigourously, even though the captain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was a 
shout of victory from the main deck. " The ship is 
ours ! " cried the pirates. 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword 
and surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed 
youngster, and just married, gave the captain a slash 
in the face that laid all open. The captain just made 
out to articulate the words " no quarter." 

"And what did they do with their prisoners.'" 
said Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 

"Threw them all overboard ! " said the merman. 

A dead pause followed this reply. Peechy Prauw 
shrunk quietly back like a man who had unwarily 
stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The honest 
burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar slashed 
across the visage of the stranger, and moved their 
chairs a little farther off. The seaman, however, 
smoked on without m.oving a muscle, as though he 
either did not perceive or did not regard the unfa- 
vourable eflect he had produced upon his hearers. 

The half-pay officer was the first to break the 
silence ; for he was continually tempted to make in- 
effectual head against this tyrant of the seas, and to 
reg'ain his lost consequence in the eyes of his ancient 
companions. He now tried to match the gunpowder 
tales of the stranger by others equally tremendous. 
Kidd, as usual, was his hero, concerning whom he 
seemed to have picked up many of the floating tradi- 
tions of the province. The seaman had always 
evinced a settled pique against the red-faced war- 
rior. On this occasion he listened with peculiar im- 
patience. He sat with one arm a-kimbo, the other 
elbow on a table, the hand hokhng on to the small 
pipe he was pettishly puffing ; his legs crossed, 
drumming with one foot on the ground and casting 
every now and then the side glance of a basilisk at 
the prosing captain. At length the latter spoke of 
Kidd's having ascended the Hudson with some of his 
crew, to land his plunder in secrecy. 

" Ridd up the Hudson I " burst forth the seaman, 
with a tremendous oath ; " Kidd never was up the 
Hudson ! " 

" I tell you he was," said the other. "Aye, and 
they say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little 
flat that runs out into the river, called the Devil's 
Dans Kammer." 

" The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ! " 
cried the seaman. ■' I tell you, Kidd never was up 
the Hudson — what a plague do you know of Kidd 
and his haunts .' " 

"What do I know? " echoed the half-pay officer; 
" why, I was in London at the time of his trial, aye, 
and I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at 
Execution Dock." 

"Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty 
a fellow hanged as ever trod shoe leather. Aye ! " 
putting his face nearer to that of the officer, " and 
there was many a coward looked on, that might 
much better have swung in his stead." 

The half-pay officei was silenced ; but the indig- 
nation thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense 
vehemence in his single eye, which kindled like a 
coal. 



Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, 
now took up the word, and in a pacifying tone ob- 
served that the gentleman certainly was in the right. 
Kidd never did bury money up the Hudson, nor in- 
deed in any of those parts, though many affirm the 
fact. It was Bradish and others of the buccaneers 
who had buried money, some said in Turtle Bay, 
others on Long-Island, others in the neighbourhood 
of Hell Gate. Indeed, added he, I recollect an ad- 
venture of Mud Sam, the negro fisherman, many 
years ago, which some think had something to do 
with the buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and 
as it will go no farther, I'll tell it to you. 

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Sam was 
returning from fishmg in Hell Gate — " 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden 
movement from the unknown, who, laying his iron 
fist on the table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force 
that indented the very boards, and looking grimly 
over his shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear. 
" Heark'ee, neighbour," said he, with significant nod- 
ding of the head, " you'd better let the buccaneers 
and their money alone — they're not for old men and 
old women to meddle with. They fought hard for 
their money, they gave body and soul for it, and 
wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he must have 
a tug with the devil who gets it." 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank 
silence throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk 
within himself, and even the red-faced officer turned 
pale. Wolfert, who, from a dark corner of the room, 
had listened with intense eagerness to all this talk 
about buried treasure, looked with mingled awe and 
reverence on this bold buccaneer, for such he really 
suspected him to be. There was a chinking of gold 
and a sparkling of jewels in all his stories about the 
Spanish Main that gave a value to ever)' period, and 
Wolfert would have given any thing for the rummag- 
ing of the ponderous sea-chest, which his imagina- 
tion crammed full of golden chalices and crucifixes 
and jolly round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the com- 
pany was at length interrupted by the stranger, who 
pulled out a prodigious watch of curious and ancient 
workmanship, and which in Wolfert's eyes had a de- 
cidedly Spanish look. On touching a spring it struck 
ten o'clock ; upon which the sailor called for his 
reckoning, and having paid it out of a handful of 
outlandish coin, he drank off the remainder of his 
beverage, and without taking leave of any one, rolled 
out of the room, muttering to himself as he stamped 
up-stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could re- 
cover from the silence into which they had been 
thrown. The very footsteps of the stranger, which 
were heard now and then as he traversed his cham- 
ber, inspired awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been en- 
gaged was too interesting not to be resumed. A 
heavy thunder-gust had gathered up unnoticed while 
they were lost in talk, and the torrents of rain 
that fell forbade all thoughts of setting off for home 
until the storm should subside. They drew nearer 
together, therefore, and entreated the worthy Peechy 
Prauw to continue the tale which had been so dis- 
courteously interrupted. He readily complied, whis- 
pering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath, 
and drowned occasionally by the rollingof the thunder; 
and he would pause every now and then, and listen 
with evident awe, as he heard the heavy footsteps of 
the stranger pacing overhead. 

The following is the purport ol his story. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



423 



THE ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISH- 
ERMAN. 

COMMONLY DENOMINATED MUD SAM. 



Every body knows Mud Sam, the old negro fish- 
erman who has fished about the Sound for the last 
twenty or thirty years. Well, it is now many years 
since that Sam, who was then a young fellow, and 
worked on the farm of KiUian Suydam on Long 
Island, having finished his work early, was fishing, 
one still summer evening, just about the neighbour- 
hood of Hell Gate. He was in a light skiff, and 
being well acquainted with tlie currents and eddies, 
he had been able to shift his station with the shift- 
ing of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the 
Hog's back, and from the Hog's back to the Pot, 
and from the Pot to the Frying-pan ; but in the 
eagerness of his sport Sam did not see that the tide 
was rapidly ebbing; until the roaring of the whirl- 
pools and rapids warned him of his danger, and he 
had some difficulty in shooting his skiff from among 
the rocks and breakers, and getting to the point of 
Blackwell's Island. Here he cast anchor for some 
time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to 
return homewards. As the night set in it grew 
blustering and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling 
up in the west ; and now and then a growl of thun- 
der or a fiash of lightning told that a summer storm 
was at hand. Sam pulled over, therefore, under the 
lee of Manhattan Island, and coasting along came 
to a snug nook, just under a steep beetling rock, 
where he fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that 
shot out from a clelt and spread its broad branches 
like a canopy over the water. The gust came scour- 
ing along ; the wind threw up the river in white 
surges ; the rain rattled among the leaves, the thun- 
der bellowed worse than that which is now bellow- 
ing, the lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the 
stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and 
tree, lay crouched in his skiff, rocking upon the bil- 
lows until he fell asleep. When he awoke all was 
quiet. The gust had passed away, and only now 
and then a faint gleam of lightning in the east 
showed which way it had gone. The night was 
dark and moonless; and from the state of the tide 
Sam concluded it was near midnight. He was on 
the point of making loose his skiff to return home- 
wards, when he saw a light gleaming along the water 
from a distance, which seemed rapidly approach- 
ing. As it drew near he perceived it came from a 
lanthorn in the bow of a boat which was gliding 
along under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a 
small cove, close to where he was. A man jumped 
on shore, and searching about with the lanthorn ex- 
claimed, " This is the place — here's the Iron ring." 
The boat was then made fast, and the man return- 
ing on board, assisted his comrades in conveying 
something heavy on shore. As the light gleamed 
among them, Sam saw ttiat they were five stout, des- 
perate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps, with a 
leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of 
them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and 
pistols. They talked low to one another, and occa- 
sionally in some outlandish tongue which he could 
not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushe?, 
taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their 
burthen up the rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was 
now fully aroused, so leaving his skiff he clambered 
silently up the ridge that overlooked their path. 
They had stopped to rest for a moment, and the 
leader was looking about among the bushes with his 



lanthorn. "Have you brought the spades? "said 
one. " They are here," replied another, who had 
them on his shoulder. " We must dig deep, where 
there will be no risk of discover\'," said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied 
he saw before him a gang of murderers, about to 
bury their victim. His knees smote together. In 
his agitation he shook the branch of a tree with 
which he was supporting himself as he looked over 
the edge of the cliff. 

" What's that ? " cried one of the gang. " Some 
one stirs among the bushes ! " 

The lanthorn was held up in the direction of the 
noise. One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and 
pointed it towards the very place where Sam was 
standing. He stood motionless — breathless; expect- 
ing the next moment to be his last. Fortunately his 
dingy complexion was in his favour, and made no 
glare among the leaves. 

" 'Tis no one," said the man with the lanthorn. 
" What a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol 
and alarm the country." 

The pistol was uncocked ; the burthen was re- 
sumed, and the party slowly toiled along the bank. 
Sam watched them as they went ; the light sending 
back fitful gleams through the dripping bushes, and 
it was not till they were fairly out of sight that he 
ventured to draw breath freely. He now thought 
of getting back to his boat, and making his escape 
out of the reach of such dangerous neighbours ; but 
curiosity was all-powerful with poor Sam. He hesi- 
tated and lingered and listened. By and bye he 
heard the strokes of spades. 

" They are digging the grave ! " said he to him- 
self; and the cold sweat started upon his forehead. 
Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded through the 
silent groves, went to his heart ; it was evident there 
was as little noise made as possible ; every thing had 
an air of mystery and secrecy. Sam had a great 
relish for the' horrible, — a tale of murder was a treat 
for him ; and he was a constant attendant at execu- 
tions. He could not, therefore, resist an impulse, in 
spite of every danger, to steal nearer, and overlook 
the villains at their work. He crawled along cau- 
tiously, therefore, inch by inch ; stepping with the 
utmost care among the dry leaves, lest their rustling 
should betray him. He came at length to where a 
steep rock intervened between him and the gang ; 
be saw the light of their lanthorn shining up against 
the branches of the trees on the other side. -Sam 
slowly and silently clambered up the surface of the 
rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, be- 
held the villains immediately below him, and so near 
that though he dreaded discovery he dared not with- 
draw lest the least movement should be heard. In 
this way he remained, with his round black face 
peering above the edge of the rock, like the sun just 
emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the 
round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the 
grave was filled up, and they were carel'ully replacing 
the turf. This done, they scattered dry leaves over 
the place. " And now," said the leader, " I defy the 
devil himself to find it out." 

" The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involuntarily. 
The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld 
the round, black head of Sam just above them. His 
white eyes strained half out of their orbits ; his white 
teeth chattering, and his whole visage shining with 
cold perspiration. 

" We're discovered ! " cried one, 
" Down with him ! " cried another, 
Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not 
pause for the report. He scrambled over rock and 
stone, through bush and briar ; rolled down banks like 



424 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



a hedge-hog ; scrambled up others like a catamount. 
In every direction he heard some one or other of the 
gang hemming him in. At length he reached the 
rocky ridge along the river; one of the red-caps was 
hard behind him. A steep rock like a wall rose di- 
rectly in his way ; it seemed to cut off all retreat, 
when he espied the strong cord-like branch of a 
grape-vine, reaching half way down it. He sprang 
at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it with 
both hands, and being young and agile, succeeded in 
swinging himself to the summit of the cliff. Here he 
stood in full relief against the sky, when the red-cap 
cocked his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by 
Sam's head. With the lucky thought of a man in an 
emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and 
detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, 
which tumbled with a loud splash into the river. 

" I've done his business," said the red-cap, to one 
or two of his comrades as they arrived panting. 
" He'll tell no tales, except to the fishes in the river." 

His pursuers now turned off to meet their com- 
panions. Sam sliding silently down the surface of 
the rock, let himself quietly into his skiff, cast loose 
the fastening, and abandoned himself to the rapid 
current, which in that place runs like a mill-stream, 
and soon swept him off from the neighbourhood. It 
was not, however, until he had drifted a great dis- 
tance that he ventured to ply his oars ; when he 
made his skiff dart like an arrow through the strait 
of Hell Gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Fry- 
ing-pan, or Hog's-back itself; nor did he feel him- 
self thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed in 
the cockloft of the ancient farm-house of the Suy- 
dams. 

Here the worthy Peechy paused to take breath 
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at 
his elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths 
and outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of swal- 
lows for an additional mouthful. 

" And is that all ? " exclaimed the half-pay officer. 

" That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy 
Prauw. 

" And did Sam never find out what was buried by 
the red-caps.'" said Wolfert, eagerly; whose mind 
was haunted by nothing but ingots and doubloons. 

"Not that I know of ; he had no time to spare 
from his work; and to tell the truth, he did not like 
to run the risk of another race among the rocks. Be- 
sides, how should he recollect the spot where the 
grave had been digged ? every thing would look dif- 
ferent by daylight. And then, where was the use 
of looking for a dead body, when there was no 
chance of hanging the murderers ? " 

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they 
buried ? " said Wolfert. 

" To be sure," cried Peechy Vrauw, exultingly. 
"Does it not haunt in the neighbourhood to this 
very day? " 

" Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, open- 
ing their eyes still wider and edging their chairs still 
closer. 

" Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy; "has none of 
you heard of father red-cap that haunts the old burnt 
farm-house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, 
near Hell Gate ? " 

"Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something 
of the kind, but then I took it for some old wives' 
fable." 

"Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, 
"that farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's 
been unoccupied time out of mind, and stands in a 
wild, lonely part of the coast ; but those who fish in 
the neighbourhood have often heard strange noises 
there : and lights have been seen about the wood at 
night ; and an old fellow in a red cap has been seen 



at the windows more than once, which people take 
to be the ghost of the body that was buried there. 
Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the 
building for the night, and rummaged it from top to 
bottom, when they found old father red-cap astride 
of a cider-barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand 
and a goblet in the other. He offered them a drink 
out of his goblet, but just as one of the soldiers was 
putting it to his mouth — Whew ! a flash of fire 
blazed through the cellar, blinded every mother's 
son of them for several minutes, and when they re- 
covered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and red-cap had 
vanished, and nothing but the empty cider-barrel re- 
mained." 

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very 
muzzy and sleepv, and nodding over his liquor, with 
half-extinguished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an 
expiring rushlight. 

" That's all humbug I " said he, as Peechy finished 
his last story. 

" Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," 
said Peechy Prauw, " though all the world knows 
that there's something strange about the house and 
grounds; but as to the story of Mud Sam, I believe 
it just as well as if it had happened to myself." 

The deep interest taken in this conversation by 
the company, had made them unconscious of the up- 
roar that prevailed abroad among the elements, 
when suddenly they were all electrified by a tre- 
mendous clap of thunder. A lumbering crash fol- 
lowed instantaneously that made the building shake 
to its foundation. All started from their seats, 
imagining it the shock of an earthquake, or that old 
father red-cap was coming among them in all his 
terrors. They listened for a moment, but only heard 
the rain pelting against the windows, and the wind 
howling among the trees. The explosion was soon 
explained by the apparition of an old negro's bald 
head thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes 
contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet with 
rain and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half 
intelligible he announced that the kitchen chimney 
had been struck with lightning. 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and 
sunk in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In 
this interval the report of a musket was heard, and 
a long shout, almost like a yell, resounded from the 
shore. Every one crowded to the window ; another 
musket shot was heard, and another long shout, 
that mingled wildly with a rising blast of wind. It 
seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of 
the waters ; for though incessant flashes of light- 
ning spread a light about the shore, no one was to 
be seen. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was 
opened, and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious 
stranger. Several bailings passed from one party to 
the other, but in a language which none of the com- 
pany in the bar-room could understand ; and present- 
ly they heard the window closed, and a great noise 
overhead as if all the furniture were pulled and 
hauled about the room. The negro servant was 
summoned, and shortly after was seen assisting the 
veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down-stairs. 

The landlord was in amazement. " What, you 
are not going on the water in such a storm ? " 

" Storm ! " said the other, scornfully, " do you call 
such a sputter of weather a storm ? " 

" You'll get drenched to the skin — You'll catch 
your death !" said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the merman, 
" don't preach about weather to a man that has 
cruised in whirlwinds and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. 
The voice from the water was again heard in a tone 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



425 



of impatience ; tlie bystanders stared with redoubled 
awe at tliis man of storms, which seemed to have 
come up out of the deep and to be called back to it 
again. As, with the assistance of the negro, he 
slowly bore his ponderous sea-chest towards the 
shore, they eyed it with a superstitious feeling; half 
doubting whether he were not really about to em- 
bark upon it, and launch forth upon the wild waves. 
They followed him at a distance with a lanthorn. 

" Douse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from 
the water. " No one wants lights here ! " 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran ; 
" back to the house with you ! " 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dis- 
may. Still their curiosity would not allow them en- 
tirely to withdraw. A long sheet of lightning now 
flickered across the waves, and discovered a boat, 
tilled with men, just under a rocky point, rising and 
sinking with the heaving surges, and swashing the 
water at every heave. It was with difficulty held to 
the rocks by a boat hook, for the current rushed 
furiously round the point. The veteran hoisted one 
end of the lumbering sea-chest on the gunwale of 
the boat ; he seized the handle at the other end to 
lift it in, when the motion propelled the boat from 
the shore ; the chest slipped off from the gunwale, 
sunk into the waves, and pulled the veteran head- 
long after it. A loud shriek was uttered by all on 
shore, and a volley of execrations by those on board ; 
but boat and man were hurried away by the rushing 
swiftness of the tide. A pitchy darkness succeeded ; 
Wolfert Webber indeed fancied that he distinguished 
a cry for help, and that he beheld the drowning man 
beckoning for assistance ; but when the lightning 
again gleamed along the water all was drear and 
void. Neither man nor boat was to be seen ; noth- 
ing but the dashing and weltering of the waves as 
they hurried past. 

The company returned to the tavern, for they 
could not leave it before the storm should subside. 
They resumed their seats and gazed on each other 
with dismay. The whole transaction had not occu- 
pied five minutes and not a dozen words had been 
spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair they 
could scarcely realize the fact that the strange being 
who had so lately tenanted it, full of life and Hercu- 
lean vigour, should already be a corpse. There was 
the very glass he had just drunk from ; there lay the 
ashes from the pipe which he had smoked as it were 
with his last breath. As the worthy burghers pon- 
dered on these things, they felt a terrible conviction 
of the uncertainty of human existence, and each lelt 
as if the ground on which he stood was rendered 
less stable by this awful example. 

As, however, the most of the company were pos- 
sessed of that valuable philosophy which enables a 
man to bear up with fortitude against the misfortunes 
of his neighbours, they soon managed to console 
themselves for the tragic end of the veteran. The 
landlord was happy that the poor dear man had paid 
his reckoning before he went. 

" He came in a storm, and he went in a storm ; he 
came in the night, and he went in the night ; he 
came nobody knows from whence, and he has gone 
nobody knows where. For aught I know he has 
gone to sea once more on his chest and may land to 
bother some people on the other side of the world ! 
Though it's a thousand pities," added the landlord, 
" if he has gone to Davy Jones that he had not left 
his sea-chest behind him." 

"The sea-chest ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " said 
Peechy Prauw. "I'd not have had that sea-chest in 
the house for any money ; I'll warrant he'd come 
racketing after it at nights, and making a haunted 
house of the inn. And as to his going to sea on his 



chest, I recollect what happened to Skipper Onder- 
donk's ship on his vogage from Amsterdam. 

" The boatswain died during a storm, so they 
wrapped him up in a sheet, and put him in his own 
sea-chest, and threw him overboard ; but they neg- 
lected in their hurry-skurry to say prayers over him 
— and the storm ragetl and roared louder than ever, 
and they saw the dead man seated in his chest, with 
his shroud for a sail, coming hard after the ship ; 
and the sea breaking belore him in great sprays like 
fire, and there they kept scudding day after day and 
night after night, expecting every moment to go to 
wreck ; and every night they saw the dead boat- 
swain in his sea-chest trying to get up with them, 
and they heard his whistle above the blasts of wind, 
and he seemed to send great seas mountain hig;h 
after them, that would have swamped the ship if 
they had not put up the dead lights. And so it went 
on till they lost sight of him in the fogs of Newfound- 
land, and supposed he had veered ship and stood 
for Dead Man's Isle. So much for burying a man 
at sea without saving prayers over him." 

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the 
company was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in 
the hall struck midnight ; every o.ie pressed to depart, 
for seldom was such a late hour trespassed on by these 
quiet burghers. As they sallied forth they lound the 
heavens once more serene. The storm which had 
lately obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled 
up in fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the 
bright crescent of the moon, which looked like a 
silver lamp hung up in a palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dis- 
mal narrations they had made, had left a supersti- 
tious feeling in every mind. They cast a fearful 
glance at the spot where the buccaneer had disap- 
peared, almost expecting to see him sailing on his 
chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling rays 
glittered along the waters, but all was placid ; and 
the current dimpled over the spot where he had 
gone down. The party huddled together in a little 
crowd as they repaired homewards ; particularly 
when they passed a lonely field where a man had 
been murdered ; and he who had farthest to go and 
had to complete his journey alone, though a veteran 
sexton, and accustomed, one would think, to ghosts 
and goblins, yet went a long way round, rather than 
pass by his own church-yard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh 
stock of stories and notions to ruminate upon. His 
mind was all of a whirl with these freebooting tales ; 
and then these accounts of pots of money and Span- 
ish treasures, buried here and there and every where 
about the rocks and bays of this wild shore, made 
him almost dizzy. 

" Blessed St. Nicholas ! " ejaculated he, half aloud, 
" is it not possible to come upon one of these golden 
hoards, and so make one's self rich in a twinkling. 
How hard that I must go on, delving and delving, 
day in and day out, merely to make a morsel of 
bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade might en- 
able me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my 
life ! " 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had 
been told of the singular adventure of the black 
fisherman, his imagination gave a totally different 
complexion to the tale. He saw in the gang of red- 
caps nothing but a crew of pirates burying their 
spoils, and his cupidity was once more awakened by 
the possibility of at length getting on the traces of 
some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his infected 
fancy tinged every thing with gold. He felt like the 
greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his eye had been 
greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, that 
gave him to see all the treasures of the earth. Cas- 



426 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



kets of buried jewels, chests of insrots, bags of out- 
landish coins, seemed to court him from their con- 
cealments, and supplicate him to relieve them from 
their untimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds 
said to be haunted by father red-cap, he was more 
and more confirmed in his surmise. He learned that 
the place had several times been visited by experi- 
enced money-diggers, who had heard Mud Sam's 
story, though none of them had met with success. 
On the contrary, they had always been dogged with 
ill luck of some kind or other, in consequence, as 
Wolfert concluded, of their not going to work at the 
proper time, and with the proper ceremonials. The 
last attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, 
who dug for a whole night and met with incredible 
difficulty, for as fast as he threw one shovel full of 
earth out of the hole, two were thrown in by invisi- 
ble hands. He succeeded so far, however, as to un- 
cover an iron chest, when there was a terrible roar- 
ing, and ramping, and raging of uncouth figures 
about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, 
dealt by invisible cudgels, that fairly belaboured him 
off the forbidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos 
had declared on his death-bed, so that there could 
not be any doubt of it. He was a man that had 
devoted many years of his life to money-digging, and 
it was thought would have ultimately succeeded, had 
he not died suddenly of a brain fever in the alms-house. 

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepida- 
tion and impatience ; fearful lest some rival advent- 
urer should get a scent of the buried gold. He 
determined privately to seek out the negro fisher- 
man and get him to serve as guide to the place 
where he had witnessed the mysterious scene of 
interment. Sam was easily found ; for he was one 
of those old habitual beings that live about a neigh- 
bourhood until they wear themselves a place in the 
public mind, and become, in a manner, public char- 
acters. There was not an unlucky urchin about 
town that did not know Mud Sam the fisherman, 
and think that he had a right to play his tricks upon 
the old negro. Sam was an amphibious kind of 
animal, something more of a fish than a man ; he had 
led the life of an otter for more than half a century, 
about the shores of the bay, and the fishing grounds 
of the Sound. He passed the greater part of his 
time on and in the water, particularly about Hell 
Gate ; and might have been taken, in bad weather, 
for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that 
strait. There would he be seen, at all times, and in 
all weathers ; sometimes in his skiff, anchored among 
the eddies, or prowling, like a shark, about some 
wreck, where the fish are supposed to be most 
abundant. Sometimes seated on a rock from hour 
to hour, looming through mist and drizzle, like a 
solitary heron watching for its prey. He was well 
acquainted with every hole and corner of the Sound ; 
from the Wallabout to Hell Gate, and from Hell 
Gate even unto the Devil's Stepping Stones ; and it 
was even affirmed that he knew all the fish in the 
river by their christian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not 
much larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely 
constructed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, 
and built on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old 
fort, just about what at present forms the point of 
the Battery. A "most ancient and fish-like smell" 
pervaded the place. Oars, paddles, and fishing-rods 
were leaning against the wall of the fort ; a net 
was spread on the sands to dry ; a skiff was drawn 
up on the beach, and at the door of his cabin lay 
Mud Sam himself, indulging in a true negro's luxury 
— sleeping in the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time of 



Sam's youthful adventure, and the snows of many a 
winter had grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. 
He perfectly recollected the circuinstances, however, 
for he had often been called upon to relate them, 
though in his version of the story he differed in many 
points from Peechy Prauw ; as is not unfrequently 
the case with authentic historians. As to the sub- 
sequent researches of money-diggers, Sam knew 
nothing about them ; they were matters quite out of 
his line; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to 
disturb his thoughts on that point. His only wish 
was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, 
and this was readily effected. The long time that 
had intervened since his nocturnal adventure had 
effaced all Sam's awe of the place, and the promise 
of a trifiing reward roused him at once from his 
sleep and his sunshine. 

The tide was adverse to making the expedition by 
water, and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the 
land of promise, to wait for its turning ; they set off, 
therefore, by land. A walk of four or five miles 
brought them to the edge of a wood, which at 
that time covered the greater part of the eastern 
side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant 
region of Bloomen-dael. Here they struck into a 
long lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very 
much overgrown with weeds and mullein stalks as if 
but seldom used, and so completely overshadowed 
as to enjoy but a kind of twilight. Wild vines en- 
tangled the trees and flaunted w. their faces ; bram- 
bles and briars caught their clothes as they passed ; 
the garter-snake glided across their path ; the spot- 
ted toad hopped and waddled before them, and the 
restless cat-bird mewed at them from every thicket. 
Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic 
legend he might have fancied himself entering upon 
forbidden, enchanted ground ; or that these were 
some of the guardians set to keep a watch upon buried 
treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place, and 
the wild stories connected with it, had their effect 
upon his mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane they found 
themselves near the shore of the Sound, in a kind of 
amphitheatre, surrounded by forest trees. The area 
had once been a grass-jilot, but was now shagged 
with briars and rank weeds. At one end, and just 
on the river bank, was a ruined building, little better 
than a heap of rubbish, with a stack of chimneys 
rising like a solitary tower out of the centre. The 
current of the Sound rushed along just below it; 
with wildly-grown trees drooping their branches into 
its waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted 
house of father red-cap, and called to mind the 
story of Peechy Prauw. The evening was approach- 
ing,' and the light falling dubiously among these 
places, gave a melancholy tone to the scene, well 
calculated to foster any lurking feeling of awe or 
superstition. The night-hawk, wheeling about in 
the highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, 
boding cry. The woodpecker gave a lonely tap now 
and then on some hollow tree, and the fire-bird,* as 
he streamed by them with his deep-red plumage, 
seemed like some genius flitting about this region of 
mystery. 

They now came to an enclosure that had once 
been a garden. It extended along the foot of a 
rocky ridge, but was little better than a wilderness 
of weeds, with here and there a matted rose-bush, 
or a peach or plum tree grown wild and ragged, and 
covered with moss. At the lower end of the garden 
they passed a kind of vault in the side of the bank, 
facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. 



* Orchard Creole. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



427 



The door, though decayed, was still strong, and ap- 
peared to have been recently patched up. Wolfert 
pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its 
hinges, and striking against something like a box, a 
rattling sound ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. 
Wolfert drew back shuddering, but was reassured on 
being informed by Sam that this was a family vault 
belonging to one of the old Dutch families that own- 
ed this estate ; an assertion which was corroborated 
by the sight of coffins of various sizes piled within. 
Sam had been familiar with all these scenes when a 
boy, and now knew that he could not be far from the 
place of which they were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water's edge, 
scrambling along ledges of rocks, and having often 
to hold by shrubs and gr.ipe-vines to avoid slipping 
into the deep and hurried stream. At length they 
came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
It was protected by steep rocks and overshadowed 
by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be 
sheltered and almost concealed. The beach sloped 
gradually within the cove, but the current swept 
deep and black and rapid along its jutting points. 
Sam paused ; raised his remnant of a hat, and 
scratched his grizzled poll for a moment, as he re- 
garded this nook : then suddenly clapping his hands, 
he stepped e.xultingly forward, and pointed to a large 
iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where a 
broad shelve of stone furnished a commodious land- 
ing-place. It was the very spot where the red-caps 
had landed. Years had changed the more perishable 
features of the scene ; but rock and iron yield slowly 
to the mfluence of time. On looking more narrowly, 
Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock just 
above the ring, which had no doubt some mysterious 
signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the 
overhanging rock under which his skiff had been 
sheltered during the thunder-gust. To follow up 
the course which the midnight gang had taken, how- 
ever, was a harder task. His mind had been so 
much taken up on that eventful occasion by the per- 
sons of the drama, as to pay but little attention to the 
scenes ; and places look different by night and day. 
After wandering about for some time, however, they 
came to an opening among the trees which Sam 
thought resembled the place. There was a ledge 
of rock of moderate height like a wall on one side, 
which Sam thought might be the very ridge from 
which he overlooked the diggers. Wolfert examined 
it narrowly, and at length described three crosses 
similar to those above the iron ring, cut deeply into 
the face of the rock, but nearly obliterated by the 
moss that had grown on them. His heart leaped 
with joy, for he doubted not but they were the pri- 
vate marks of the buccaneers, to denote the places 
where their treasure lay buried. All now that re- 
mained was to ascertain the precise spot ; for other- 
wise he might dig at random without coming upon 
the spoil, and he had already had enough of such 
profitless labour. Here, hov,'ever, Sam was perlectly 
at a loss, and, indeed, perplexed him by a variety of 
opinions ; for his recollections were all contused. 
Sometimes he declared it must have been at the toot 
of a mulberry tree hard by ; then it was just beside 
a great white stone ; then it must have been under 
a small green knoll, a short distance from the ledge 
of rock ; until at length Wolfert became as bewil- 
dered as himself. 

The shadows of evening were now spreading them- 
selves over the woods, and rock and tree began to 
mmgle together. It was evidently too late to attempt 
any thing farther at present ; and, indeed, Wollert 
had come unprepared with implements to prosecute 
his researches. Satisfied, therefore, with having as- 
certained the place, he took note of all its landmarks. 



that he might recognize it again, and set out on his 
return homeward, resolved to prosecute this golden 
enterprise without delay. 

The leadmg anxiety which had hitherto absorbed 
every feeling being now in some measure appeased, 
fancy began to wander, and to conjure up a thousand 
shapes and chimeras as he returned through this 
haunted region. Pirates hanging in chains seemed 
to swing on every tree, and he almost expected to 
see some Spanish Don, with his throat cut from ear 
to ear, rising slowly out of the ground, and shaking 
the ghost of a money-bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, 
and Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a 
state that the flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, 
or the falling of a nut was enough to startle him. As 
they entered the confines of the garden, they caught 
sight of a figure at a distance advancing slowly up 
one of the walks and bending under the weight of a 
burthen. They paused and regarded him attentively. 
He wore what appeared to be a woollen cap, and 
still more alarming, of a most sanguinary red. The 
figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and 
stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. 
Just before entering it he looked around. What was 
the horror of Wolfert when he recognized the grizzly 
visage of the drowned buccaneer. He uttered an 
ejaculation of horror. The figure slowly raised his 
iron fist and shook it with a terrible menace. Wol- 
fert did not pause to see more, but hurried off as 
fast as his legs could cany him, nor was Sam slow 
in following at his heels, having all his ancient ter- 
rors revived. Away, then, did they scramble, through 
bush and brake, horribly frightened at every bramble 
that tagged at their skirts, nor did they pause to 
breathe, until they had blundered their way through 
this perilous wood and h.id fairly --cached the high- 
road to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could sum- 
mon courage enough to prosecute the enterprise, so 
much had he been dismayed by the apparition, 
whether living or dead, of the grizzly buccaneer. In 
the meantime, what a conflict of mind did he suffer ! 
He neglected all his concerns, was moody and rest- 
less all day, lost his appetite ; wandered in his 
thoughts and words, and committed a thousand 
blunders. His rest was broken ; and when he fell 
asleep, the nightmare, in shape of a huge money-bag, 
sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about in- 
calculable sums ; fancied himself engaged in money- 
digging ; threw the bed-clothes right and left, in the 
idea that he was shovelling among the dirt, groped 
under the bed in quest of the treasure, and lugged 
forth, as he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair 
at what they conceived a returning touch of insanity. 
There are two family oracles, one or other of which 
Dutch housewives consult in all cases of great doubt 
and perplexity: the dominie and the doctor. In 
the present instance they repaired to the doctor. 
There was at that time a little, dark, mouldy man of 
medicine famous among the old wives of the Man- 
hattoes for his skill not only in the healing art, but in 
all matters of strange and mysterious nature. His 
name was Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was more 
commonly known by the appellation of the High 
German doctor.* To him did the poor women re- 
pair for counsel and assistance touching the mental 
vagaries of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, 
clad in his dark camblet robe of knowledge, with his 
black velvet cap, after the manner of Boorhaave, Van 



* The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history 
of Dolph Heyliger. 



428 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Helmont, and other medical sages : a pair of green 
spectacles s-jt in black horn upon his clubbed nose, 
and poring over a German folio that seemed to re- 
flect back the darkness of his physiognomy. The 
doctor listened to their statement of the symptoms 
of Wolfert's malady with profound attention ; but 
when they came to mention his raving about buried 
money, the little man pricked up his ears. Alas, poor 
women ! they little knew the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged 
in seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which 
so many a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed 
some years of his youth in the Harz mountains of 
Germany, and had derived much valuable instruc- 
tion from the miners, touching the mode of seeking 
treasure buried in the earth. He had prosecuted 
his studies also under a travelling sage who united 
all the mysteries of medicine with magic and leger- 
demain. His mind, therefore, had become stored 
with all kinds of mystic lore : he had dabbled a Httle 
in astrology, alchemy, and divination ; knew how to 
detect stolen money, and to tell where springs of 
water lay hidden ; in a word, by the dark nature of 
his knowledge he had acquired the name of the High 
German doctor, which is pretty nearly equivalent to 
that of necromancer. The doctor had often heard 
rumours of treasure being buried in various parts of 
the island, and had long been anxious to get on the 
traces of it. No sooner were Wolfert's waking and 
sleeping vagaries confided to him. than he beheld in 
them the confirmed symptoms of a case of money- 
digging, and lost no time in probing it to the bot- 
tom. Wolfert had long been sorely depressed in 
mind by the golden secret, and as a family physician 
is a kind of father confessor, he was glad of the op- 
portunity of unburthening himself. So far from 
curing, the doctor caught the malady from his patient. 
The circumstances unfolded to him awakened all his 
cupidity ; he had not a doubt of money being buried 
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the mysterious 
crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the search. 
He infomied him that much secrecy and caution 
must be observed in enterprises of the kind ; that 
money is only to be digged for at night ; with certain 
forms and ceremonies ; the burning of drugs ; the 
repeating of mystic words, and above all, that the 
seekers must be provided with a divining rod, which 
had the wonderful property of pointing to the veiy 
spot on the surface of the earth under which treasure 
lay hidden. As the doctor had given much of his 
mind to these matters, he charged himself with all 
the necessary preparations, and, as the quarter of the 
moon was propitious, he undertook to have the 
divining rod ready by a certain night.* 

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with 
so learned and able a coadjutor. Every thing v/ent 
on secretly, but swimmingly. The doctor had many 
consultations with his patient, and the good women 
of the household lauded the comforting effect of his 
visits. In the meantime the wonderful divining rod, 
that great key to nature's secrets, was duly prepared. 



* The following note was found appended to this paper in the 
handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker, *' There has been tnnch writ- 
ten against the divining rod by those light minds who are ever ready 
to scoff at the mysteries of nature, bnt I fully join with Dr. Knip- 
perhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon its efficacy 
in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the boundary -stones 
of fields, the traces of robbers and murderers, or even the existence 
of subterraneous springs and streams of water : albeit, I think these 
properties not to be easily discredited ; but of its potency in dis- 
covering veins of precious metal, and hidden sums of money and 
jewels. I have not tho least doubt. Some said that the rod turned 
only in the hands of pcisoiis who had been born in particular months 
of the year; hence astrologers had recourse to planetary influence 
when they would procure a talisman. Others declared tha: the 
properties of the rod were either an effect of chance, or the fraud of 
the bolder, or the work of the devil. Thus sayeth the reverend 
Father Gaspard Schott in his Treatise on Magic ' Propter hxc et 
similia argumenta nudactcrego pronuncio vim conversivam virgulae 



The doctor had thumbed over all his books of knowl- 
edge for the occasion ; and Mud Sam was engaged 
to take them in his skiff to the scene of enterprise ; 
to work with spade and pick-axe in unearthing the 
treasure ; and to freight his bark with the weighty 
spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this per- 
ilous undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he 
counselled his wife and daughter to go to bed, and 
feel no alarm if he should not return during the night. 
Like reasonable women, on being told not to feel 
alarm they fell immediately into a panic. They saw 
at once by his manner that something unusual was 
in agitation ; all their fears about the unsettled state 
of his mind were roused with tenfold force: they 
hung about him entreating him not to expose him- 
self to the night air, but all in vain. When Wolfert 
was once mounted on his hobby, it was no easy mat- 
ter to get him out of the saddle. It was a clear 
starlight night, when he issued out of the portal of 
the Webber palace. He wore a large flapped hat 
tied under the chin with a handkerchief of his daugh- 
ter's, to secure him from the night damp, while Dame 
Webber threw her long red cloak about his shoul- 
ders, and fastened it round his neck. 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and 
accoutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy ; 
and sallied forth in his camblet robe by way of sur- 
tout ; his black velvet cap under his cocked hat, a 
thick clasped book under his arm, a basket of drugs 
and dried herbs in one hand, and in the other the 
miraculous rod of divination. 

The great church clock struck ten as Wolfert and the 
doctor passed by the church-yard, and the watchman 
bawled in hoarse voice a long.ind doleful "all's well !" 
A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive 
little burgh : nothing disturbed this awful silence, 
excepting now and then the bark of some profligate 
night-walking dog, or the serenade of some roman- 
tic cat. It is true, Wolfert fancied more than once 
that he heard the sound of a steallhy footfall at a dis- 
tance behind them ; but it might have been merely 
the echo of their own steps echoing along the quiet 
streets. He thought also at one time that he saw a 
tall figure skulking after them — stopping when they 
stopped, and moving on as they proceeded ; but the 
dim and uncertain lamp light threw such vague 
gleams and shadows, that this might all have been 
mere fancy. 

They found the negro fisherman waiting for them, 
smoking his pipe in tlie stern of his skift', which was 
moored just in front of his little cabin. A pick-axe 
and spade were 1) ing in the bottom of the boat, with 
a dark lanthorn, and a stone bottle of good Dutch 
courage, in which honest Sam no doubt put even 
more faith than Dr. Knipperhausen in his drugs. 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their 
cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, 
with a wisdom and valour equalled only by the three 
wise men of Gotham, who adventured to sea in a 
bowl. The tide was rising and running rapidly up 



befurcatx nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude vir- 
gulani tractantis vel ope diaboli,' etc. 

" Georgius Agricula also was of opinion that it w.as a mere de- 
lusion of the devil to invei;.;le the avaricious and unwary into his 
clutches, and in his treatise ' dc re Metallica,' lays particular stress 
on the mysterious words pronounced by those persons who em- 
ployed the divining rod during Ills time. But I make not a doubt 
that the divining rod is one of those secrets of natural mac;ic, the 
mystery of which is to be explained by the sympathies exisung be- 
tween physical things operated upon by the planets, and rendered 
efficacious by the strong faith of the individual. Let the divining 
rod be properly gathered at the proper time of the moon, cut into 
the proper form, used with the necessary ceremonies, and with a 
perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently recommend it to 
my fellow-citizens as an infallible means of discovering the various 
places on the Island of the Manhattoes where treasure hath been 
buried in the olden time. 

"D. K." 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



429 



the Sound. The current bore them alonpf, almost 
without the aid of an oar. The profile of the town 
lay all in shadow. Here and there a light feebly 
glimmered from some sick chamber, or from the 
cabin window of some vessel at anchor in the 
stream. Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firma- 
ment, the lights of which wavered on the surface of 
the placid river ; and a shooting meteor, streaking 
its pale course in the very direction they were tak- 
ing, was interpreted by the doctor into a most pro- 
pitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of Cor- 
lears Hook with the rural inn which had been the 
scene of such night adventures. The family had re- 
tired to rest, and the house was dark and still. Wol- 
fert felt a chill pass over him as they passed the 
point where the buccaneer had disappeared. He 
pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While regard- 
ing it, they thought they saw a boat actually lurking 
at the very place ; but the shore cast such a shadow 
over the border of the water that they could discern 
nothing distinctly. They had not proceeded far when 
they heard the low sounds of distant oars, as if cau- 
tiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with redoubled 
vigour, and knowing all the eddies and currents of 
the stream, soon left their followers, if such they were, 
far astern. In a little while they stretched across 
Turtle bay and Kip's bay, then shrouded themselves 
in the deep shadows of the Manhattan shore, and 
glided swiftly along, secure from observation. At 
length Sam shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly 
embowered by trees, and made it fast to the well 
known iron ring. They now landed, and lighting the 
lanthom, gathered their various implements and pro- 
ceeded slowly through the bushes. Every sound 
startled them, even that of their footsteps among the 
dry leaves ; and the hooting of a screech owl, from 
the shattered chimney of father red-cap's ruin, made 
their blood run cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of 
the landmarks, it was some time before they could 
find the open place among the trees, where the 
treasure was supposed to be buried. At length they 
came to the ledge of rock ; and on examining its sur- 
face by the aid of the lanthorn, Wollert recognized 
the three mystic crosses. Their hearts beat quick, 
for the momentous trial was at hand that was to de- 
termine their hopes. 

The lanthorn was now held by Wolfert Webber, 
while the doctor produced the divining rod. It was 
a forked twig, one end of which was grasped firmly 
in each hand, while the centre, forming the stem, 
pointed perpendicularly upwards. The doctor moved 
this wand about, within a certain distance of the 
earth, from place to place, but for some time with- 
out any effect, while Wolfert kept the light of the 
lanthorn turned full upon it, and watched it with the 
most breathless interest. At length the rod began 
slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater 
earnestness, his hand trembling with the agitation of 
his mind. The wand continued slowly to turn, until 
at length the stem had reversed its position, and 
pointed perpendicularly downward ; and remained 
pointing to one spot as fi.xedly as the needle to the 
pole. 

•' This is the spot ! " said the doctor in an almost 
inaudible tone. 

Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 
"Shall I dig.' " said Sam, grasping the spade. 
" Pofs tausends, no ! " replied the little doctor, 
hastily. He now ordered his companions to keep 
close by him and to maintain the most inflexible 
silence. That certain precautions must be taken and 
ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits which 
keep about buried treasure from doing them any 



harm. The doctor then drew a circle round the 
place, enough to include the whole party. He next 
gathered dry twigs and leaves, and made a fire, upon 
which he threw certain drugs and dried herbs which 
he had brought in his basket. A thick smoke rose, 
diffusing a potent odour, savouring marvellously of 
brimstone and assafcetida, which, however grateful 
it might be to the olfactory nerves of spirits, nearly 
strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit of cough- 
ing and wheezing that made the whole grove re- 
sound. Doctor Knipperhausen then unclasped the 
volume which he had brought under his arm, which 
was printed in red and black characters in German 
text. While Wolfert held the lanthorn, the doctor, 
by the aid of his spectacles, read off several forms of 
conjuration in Latin and German. He then ordered 
Sam to seize the pick-axe and proceed to work. 
The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not 
having been disturbed for many a year. After hav- 
ing picked his way through the surface, Sam came 
to a bed of sand and gravel, which he threw briskly 
to right and left with the spade. 

"Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard 
a trampling among the dry leaves, and a rustling 
through the bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and 
they listened. No footstep was near. The bat flit- 
ted about them in silence ; a bird roused from its 
nest by the light which glared up among the trees, 
flew circling about the flame. In the profound still- 
ness of the woodland they could distinguish the cur- 
rent rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant 
murmuring and roaring of Hell Gate. 

Sam continued his labours, and had already digged 
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, 
reading formulas every now and then from the black 
letter volume, or throwing more drugs and herbs 
upon the fire ; while Wolfert bent anxiously over the 
pit, watching every stroke of the spade. Any one 
witnessing the scene thus strangely lighted up by 
fire, lanthorn, and the reflection of Wolfert's red 
mantle, might have mistaken the little doctor for 
some foul magician, busied in his incantations, and 
the grizzled-headed Sam as some swart goblin, obe- 
dient to his commands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon 
something that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated 
to Wolfert's heart. He struck his spade again. 
" 'Tis a chest," said Sam. 

"Full of gold, I'll warrant it!" cried Wolfert, 
clasping his hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound 
from overhead caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, 
and lo ! by the expiring light of the fire he beheld, 
just over the disk of the rock, what appeared to be 
the grim visage of the drowned buccaneer, grinning 
hideously down upon him. 

Wolfert gave a loud cry and let fall the lanthorn. 
His panic communicated itself to his companions. 
The negro leaped out of the hole, the doctor dropped 
his book and basket and began to pray in German. 
All was horror and confusion. The fire was scat- 
tered about, the lanthorn extinguished. In their 
hurry-skurry they ran against and confounded one 
another. They fancied a legion of hobgoblins let 
loose upon them, and that they saw by the fitful 
gleams of the scattered embers, strange figures in 
red caps gibbering and ramping around them. The 
doctor ran one way, Mud Sam another, and Wolfert 
made for the water side. As he plunged struggling 
onwards through bush and brake, he heard the tread 
of some one in pursuit. He scrambled frantically 
forward. The footsteps gained upon him. He felt 
himself grasped by his cloak, when suddenly his 
pursuer was attacked in turn : a fierce fight and 
struggle ensued — a pistol was discharged that lit up 



430 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



rock and bush for a period, and showed two figures 
grappling together — all was then darker than ever. 
The contest continued — the combatants clenched 
each other, and panted and groaned, and rolled 
among the rocks. There was snarling and growling 
as of a cur, mingled with curses in which Wolfert 
fancied he could recognize the voice of the bucca- 
neer. He would fain have fled, but he was on the 
brink of a precipice and could go no farther. 

Again the parties were on their feet ; again there 
was a tugging and struggling, as if strength alone 
could decide the combat, until one was precipitated 
from the brow of the cliff and sent headlong into the 
deep stream that whirled below. Wolfert heard the 
plunge, and a kind of strangling bubbling murmur, 
but the darkness of the night hid every thing from 
view, and the swiftness of the current swept every 
thing instantly out of hearing. One of the combat- 
ants was disposed of, but whether friend or foe Wol- 
fert could not tell, nor whether they might not both 
be foes. He heard the survivor approach, and his 
terror revived. He saw, where the profile of the 
rocks rose against the horizon, a human form ad- 
vancing. He could not be mistaken : it must be the 
buccaneer. Whither should he fly ! a precipice was 
on one side ; a murderer on the other. The enemy 
approached : he was close at hand. Wolfert at- 
tempted to let himself down the face of the cliff. 
His cloak caught in a thorn that grew on the edge. 
He was jerked from off his feet and held dangling 
in the air, half choaked by the string with which his 
careful wife had fastened the garment round his 
neck. Wolfert thought his last moment had arrived ; 
already had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, 
when the string broke and he tumbled dovvn the 
bank, bumping from rock to rock and bush to bush, 
and leaving the red cloak fluttering like a bloody 
banner in the air. 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to him- 
self. When he opened his eyes the ruddy streaks 
of the morning were already shooting up the sky. 
He found himself lying in the bottom of a boat, griev- 
ously battered. He attempted to sit up, but was too 
sore and stiff to move. A voice requested him in 
friendly accents to lie still. He turned his eyes to- 
wards the speaker : it was Dirk Waldron. He had 
dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame 
Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable 
curiosity of their sex, had pried into the secret con- 
sultations of Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been 
completely distanced in following the light skifif of 
the fisherman, and had just come in time to rescue 
the poor money-digger from his pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor 
and Mud Sam severally found their way back to the 
Manhattoes, each having some dreadful tale of peril 
to relate. As to poor Wolfert, instead of returning 
in triumph, laden with bags of gold, he was borne 
home on a shutter, followed by a rabble rout of curi- 
ous urchins. His wife and daughter saw the dismal 
pageant from a distance, and alarmed the neigh- 
bourhood with their cries : they thought the poor 
man had suddenly settled the great debt of nature 
in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, how- 
ever, still living, they had him conveyed speedily to 
bed, and a jury of old matrons of the neighbourhood 
assembled to determine how he should be doctored. 
The whole town was in a buzz with the story of the 
' money-diggers. Many repaired to the scene of the 
previous night's adventures : but though they found 
the very place of the digging, they discovered noth- 
ing that compensated for their trouble. Some say 
they found the fragments of an oaken chest and an 
iron pot-lid, which savoured strongly of hidden 
money ; and that in the old family vault there were 



traces of bales and boxes, but this is all very du- 
bious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to 
this day been discovered : whether any treasure was 
ever actually buried at that jjlace ; whether, if so, it 
was carried off at night by those who had buried it ; 
or whether it still remains there under the guardian- 
ship of gnomes and spirits until it shall be properly 
sought for, is all matter of conjecture. For my part 
I incline to the latter opinion ; and make no doubt 
that great sums lie buried, both there and in many 
other parts of this island and its neighbourhood, . 
ever since the times of the buccaneers and the 
Dutch colonists ; and I would earnestly recom- 
mend the search after them to such of my fellow- 
citizens as are not engaged m any other specula- 
tions. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to 
who and what was the strange man of the seas who 
had domineered over the little fraternity at Corlears 
Hook for a time ; disappeared so strangely, and re- 
appeared so fearfully. Some supposed him a smug- 
gler stationed at that place to assist his comrades in 
landing their goods among the rocky coves of the 
island. Others that he was a buccaneer ; one of the 
ancient comrades either of Kidd or Bradish, returned 
to convey away treasures formerly hidden in the vi- 
cinity. The only circumstance that throws any 
thing like a vague light over this mysterious matter 
is a report which prevailed of a strange foreign-built 
shallop, with the look of a piccaroon, having been 
seen hovering about the Sound for several days with- 
out landing or reporting herself, though boats were 
seen going to and from her at night : and that she 
was seen standing out of the mouth of the harbour, 
in the gray of the dawn after the catastrophe of the 
money-diggers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, 
which I confess is rather apocryphal, of the bucca- 
neer, who was supposed to have been drowned, be- 
ing seen before daybreak, with a lanthorn in his hand, 
seated astride his great sea-chest and sailing through 
Hell Gate, which just then began to roar and bellow 
with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with 
talk and rumour, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrow- 
ful in his bed, bruised in body and sorely beaten 
down in mind. His wife and daughter did all they 
could to bind up his wounds both corporal and spir- 
itual. The good old dame never stirred from his 
bedside, where she sat knitting from morning till 
night; while his daughter busied herself about him 
with the fondest care. Nor did they lack assistance 
from abroad. Whatever may be said of the deser- 
tions of friends in distress, they had no complaint 
of the kind to make. Not an old wife of the neigh- 
bourhood but abandoned her work to crowd to the 
mansion of Wolfert Webber, inquire after his health 
and the particulars of his story. Not one came, 
moreover, without her little pipkin of pennyroyal, 
sage, balm, or other herb-tea, delighted at an oppor- 
tunity of signalizing her kindness and her doctor- 
ship. What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert 
undergo, and all in vain. It was a moving sight to 
behold him wasting away day by day; giowing 
thinner and thinner and ghastlier and ghastlier, and 
staring with rueful visage from under an old patch- 
work counterpane upon the jury of matrons kindly 
assembled to sigh and groan and look unhappy 
around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to 
shed a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. 
He came in with cheery look and manly spirit, and 
tried to reanimate the expiring heart of the poor 
money-digger, but it was all in vain. Wolfert was 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



431 



completely done over. — If any thing was wanting to 
complete his despair, it was a notice served upon 
him in the midst of his distress, that the corporation 
were about to run a new street through the very cen- 
tre of his cabbage garden. He saw nothing before 
him but poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the 
garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and 
what then was to become of his poor wife and child ? 

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the du- 
tiful Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Wal- 
dron was seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his 
hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the first 
time since his illness broke the silence he had main- 
tained. 

" I am going ! " said he, shaking his head feebly, 
" and when I am gone — my poor daughter — " 

" Leave her to me, father ! " said Dirk, manfully 
— " I'll take care of her ! " 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, 
strapping youngster, and saw there was none better 
able to take care of a woman. 

"Enough," said he, "she is yours! — and now 
fetch me a lawyer — let me make my will and die." 

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, 
round-headed little man. Roorback (or Rollebuck, as 
it was pronounced) by name. At the sight of him 
the women broke into loud lamentations, for they 
looked upon the signing of a will as the signing of a 
death-warrant. Wolfert made a feeble motion for 
them to be silent. Poor Amy buried her face and 
her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber re- 
sumed her knitting to hide her distress, which be- 
trayed itself, however, in a pellucid tear, that 
trickled silently down aifd hung at the end of her 
peaked nose ; while the cat, the only unconcerned 
member of the family, played with the good dame's 
ball of worsted, as it rolled about the floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over 
his forehead ; his eyes closed ; his whole visage the 
picture of death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, 
for he felt his end approaching, and that he had no 
time to lose. The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread 
out his paper, and prepared to write. 

" I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, " my 
small farm — " 

" What — all ! " exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the 
lawyer. 

" Yes — all," said he. 

" What ! all that great patch of land with cab- 
bages and sunflowers, which the corporation is just 
going to run a main street through ? " 

" The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh and 
sinking back upon his pillow. 

" I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the 
little lawyer, chuckling and rubbing his hands in- 
voluntarily. 

" What do you mean .' " said Wolfert, again open- 
ing his eyes. 

" That he'll be one of the richest men in the 
place!" cried little Rollebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from 
the threshold of existence : his eyes again lighted 
up ; he raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red 
worsted nightcap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. 

" You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 

" Faith, but I do ! " rejoined the other. " Why, 
when that great tield and that piece of meadow come 



to be laid out in streets, and cut up into snug build- 
ing lots — why, whoever owns them need not pull off 
his hat to the patroon ! 

" Say you so.' " cried Wolfert, half thrusting one 
leg out of bed, " why, then I think I'll not ma'Ke my 
will yet ! " 

To the surprise of every body the dying man actu- 
ally recovered. The vital spark which had glim- 
mered faintly in the socket, received fresh fuel 
from the oil of gladness, which the little lawyer 
poured into his soul. It once more burnt up into a 
flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the 
body of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wol- 
fert left his room ; in a few days more his table was 
covered with deeds, plans of streets and building 
lots. Little Rollebuck was constantly with him, 
his right-hand man and adviser, and instead of mak- 
ing his will, assisted in the more agreeable task of 
making his fortune. In fact, Wolfert Webber was 
one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the Manhat- 
toes whose fortunes have been made, in a manner, 
in spite of themselves ; who have tenaciously held 
on to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cab- 
bages about the skirts of the city, hardly able to 
make both ends meet, until the corporation has 
cruelly driven streets through their abodes, and 
they have suddenly awakened out of a lethargy, and, 
to their astonishment, found themselves rich men. 

Before many months had elapsed a great bustling 
street passed through the very centre of the Webber 
garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding 
a treasure. His'golden dream was accomplished ; 
he did indeed find an unlooked-for source of wealth ; 
for, when his paternal lands were distributed into 
building lots, and rented out to safe tenants, instead 
of producing a paltry crop of cabbages, they returned 
him an abundant crop of rents ; insomuch that on 
quarter day, it was a goodly sight to see his tenants 
rapping at his door, from morning to night, each 
with a little round-bellied bag of money, the golden 
produce of the soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still 
kept up, but instead of being a little yellow-fronted 
Dutch house in a garden, it now stood boldly in the 
midst of a street, the grand house of the neighbour- 
hood ; for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing on each 
side, and a cupola or tea room on top, where he 
might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot weather ; 
and in the course of time the whole mansion was 
overrun by the chubby- faced progeny of Amy Web- 
ber and Dirk Waldron. 

As Wolfert waxed old and rich and corpulent, he 
also set up a great gingerbread-coloured carriage 
drawn by a pair of black Flanders mares with tails 
that swept the ground ; and to commemorate the 
origin of his greatness he had for a crest a full- 
blown cabbage painted on the pannels, with the 
pithy motto ailcs ?Aopf ; that is to say, ALL HEAD; 
meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer head- 
work. 

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fullness 
of time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his 
fathers, and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leath- 
ern-bottomed arm-chair in the inn parlour at Cor- 
lears Hook ; where he long reigned greatly honour- 
ed and respected, insomuch that he was never 
known to tell a story without its being believed, nor 
to utter a joke without its being laughed at. 



Bracebridge Hall; or, The Humourists. 



-A. nytEDLE-r. 



BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. 
I am a traveller, who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial 
auglos of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot. 

Christmas Ordinary. 



THE AUTHOR. 



Worthy Reader ! 

On again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a 
few observations at the outset, by way of bespeaking 
a right understanding. The volumes which I have 
already published have met with a reception far be- 
yond my most sanguine expectations. I would will- 
ingly attribute this to their intrinsic merits ; but, in 
spite of the vanity of authorship, I cannot but be 
sensible that their success has, in a great measure, 
been owing to a less flattering cause. It has been a 
matter of marvel, to my European readers, that a 
man from the wilds of America should express him- 
self in tolerable English. I was looked upon as some- 
thing new and strange in literature ; a kind of demi- 
savage, with a feather in his hand, instead of on his 
head ; and there was a curiosity to hear what such a 
being had to say about civilized society. 

This novelty is now at an end, and of course the 
feeling of indulgence which it produced. I must now 
expect to bear the scrutiny of sterner criticism, and to 
be measured by the same standard with contemporary 
writers ; and the very favour which has been shown 
to my previous writings, will cause these to be treated 
with the greater rigour ; as there is nothing for which 
the world is apt to punish a man more severely, than 
for having been over-praised. On this head, there- 
fore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of the 
reader ; and I entreat he will not think the worse of 
me for the many injudicious things that may have 
been said in my commendation. 

I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, 
and treat of subjects that have already been discussed 
by abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been 
mentioned as my models, to whom I should feel 
flattered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; 
but in truth I write after no model that I am conscious 
of, and I write with no idea of imitation or competi- 
tion. In venturing occasionally on topics that have 
already been almost exhausted by English authors, I 
do it, not with the presumption of challenging a com- 
parison, but with the hope that some new interest 
may be given to such topics, when discussed by the 
pen of a stranger. 

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwell- 
ing with fondness on subjects that are trite and com- 
monplace with the reader, I beg that the circumstances 
under which I write may be kept in recollection. 
Having been born and brought up in a new country, 
yet educated from infancy in the literature of an old 
one, my mind was early filled with historical and 
28 



poetical associations, connected with places, and man- 
ners, and customs of Europe ; but which could rarely 
be applied to those of my own country. To a mind 
thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary objects 
and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange 
matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic 
ground to an American as Italy is to an Englishman ; 
and old London teems with as much historical asso- 
ciation as mighty Rome. 

Indeed, it is difficuit to describe the whimsical med- 
ley of ideas that throng upon his mind, on landing 
among English scenes. He, for the first time, sees a 
world about which he has been reading and thinking 
in every stage of his existence. The recollected ideas 
of infancy, youth, and manhood ; of the nursery, the 
school, and the study, come swarming at once upon 
him ; and his attention is distracted between great 
and little objects ; each of which, perhaps, awakens 
an equally delightful train of remembrances. 

But what more especially attracts his notice, are 
those peculiarities which distinguish an old country 
and an old state of society from a new one. I have 
never yet grown familiar enough with the crumbling 
monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense interest 
with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed always 
to scenes where history was, in a manner, in anticipa- 
tion ; where every thing in art was new and progress- 
ive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past ; 
where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but 
those of young existence, and prospective improve- 
ment ; there was something inexpressibly touching in 
the sight of enormous piles of architecture, gray with 
antiquity, and sinking into decay. I cannot describe 
the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with which I have 
contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintern Abbey, 
buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, and shut up 
from the world, as though it had existed merely for it- 
self ; or a warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in 
stern loneliness on its rocky height, a mere hollow yet 
threatening phantom of departed power. They spread 
a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm 
over the landscape ; I, for the first time, beheld signs 
of national old age, and empire's decay, and proofs 
of the transient and perishing glories of art, amidst the 
ever-springing and reviving fertility of nature. 

But, in fact, to me every thing was full of matter ; 
the footsteps of history were every where to be traced : 
and poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land. 
I experienced the delightful freshness of feeling of a 
child, to whom every thing is new. I pictured to my- 
self a set of inhabitants and a mode of life for every 
habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical mansion, 
amidst the lordly repose of stately groves and solitary 
parks, to the straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty 
garden and its cherished woodbine. I thought I never 

(433) 



431 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



could be sated with the sweetness and freshness of a j 
country so completely carpeted with verdure ; where 
every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the 
honey-suckled hedge. I was continually coming upon 
some little document of poetry, in the blossomed haw- 
thorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some 
other simple object that has received a supernatural 
value from the muse. The first time that I heard the j 
song of the nightingale, I was intoxicated more by the 
delicious crowd of remembered associations than by I 
the melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget the 
thrill of ecstasy with which I first saw the lark rise, al- 
most from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight 
up into the morning sky. 

In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, 
delighted by every object, great and small ; and be- 
traying a wondering ignorance, and simple enjoyment, 
that provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiser 
and more experienced fellow-travellers. Such too was 
the odd confusion of associations that kept breaking 
upon me, as I first approached London. One of my 
earliest wishes had been to see this great metropolis. 
I had read so much about it in the earliest books that 
had been put into my infant hands ; and I had heard 
so much about it from those around me who had come 
from the "old countries." I was familiar with the 
names of its streets, and squares, and public places, 
before I knew those of my native city. It was, to me, 
the great centre of the world, round which every thing 
seemed to revolve. I recollect contemplating so wist- 
fully, when a boy, a paltry little print of the Thames, 
and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front 
of an old magazine ; and a picture of Kensington 
Gardens, with gentlemen in three-cornered hats and 
broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that 
hung up in my bed-room ; even the venerable cut of 
St. John's Gate, that has stood, time out of mind, in 
front of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without 
its charms to me ; and I envied the odd-looking little 
men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. 

How then did my heart warm when the towers of 
Westminster Abbey were pointed out to me, rising 
above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin 
blue haze about their gray pinnacles ! I could not be- 
hold this great mausoleum of what is most illustrious 
in our paternal history, without feeling my enthusiasm 
in a glow. With what eagerness did I explore every 
part of the metropolis ! I was not content with those 
matters which occupy the dignified research of the 
learned traveller ; I delighted to call up all the feel- 
ings of childhood, and to seek after those objects 
which had been the wonders of my infancy. London 
Bridge, so famous in nursery song ; the far-famed 
Monument ; Gog and Magog, and the Lions in the 
Tower, all brought back many a recollection of in- 
fantine delight, and of good old beings, now no more, 
who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. 
Nor was it without a recurrence of childish interest, 
that I first peeped into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. 
Paul's Church-yard, that fountain-head of literature. 
Mr. Newberry was the first that ever filled my infant 
mind with the idea of a great and good man. He 
published all the picture-books of the day ; and, out 
of his abundant love for children, he charged " nothing 
for either paper or print, and only a penny-halfpenny 
for the binding ! " 

I have mentioned these circrmstances, worthy read- 
er, to show you the whimsical crowd of associations 
that are apt to beset my mind on mingling among 
English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, 
plead my apology, should I be found harping upon 
stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fondness 
for any thing antique and obsolete. I know it is the 
humour, not to say cant of the day, to run riot about 
old times, old books, old customs, and old buildings ; 
with myself, however, as far as I have caught the con- 
tagion, the feeling is genuine. To a man from a 
young country, all old things are in a manner new ; 
and he may surely be excused in being a little curious 
about antiquities, whose native land, unfortunately, 
cannot boast of a single ruin. 



Having been brought up, also, in the comparative 
simplicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck with 
even the ordinary circumstances incident to an aris- 
tocratical state of society. If, however, I should at 
any time amuse myself by pointing out some of the 
eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteristics 
of the latter, I would not be understood as pretending 
to decide upon its political merits. My only aim is to 
paint characters and manners. I am no politician. 
The more I have considered the study of politics, the 
more I have found it full of perplexity ; and I have 
contented myself, as I have in my religion, with the 
faith in which I was brought up, regulating my own 
conduct by its precepts ; but leaving to abler heads 
the task of making converts. 

I shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have 
hitherto pursued ; looking at things poetically, rather 
than politically ; describing them as they are, rather 
than pretending to point out how they should be ; and 
endeavouring to see the world in as pleasant a light 
as circumstances will permit. 

I have always had an opinion that much good might 
be done by keeping mankind in good-humour with one 
another. I may be wrong in my philosophy, but I 
shall continue to practise it until convinced of its fal- 
lacy. When I discover the world to be all that it has 
been represented by sneering cynics and whining poets, 
I will turn to and abuse it also ; in the meanwhile, 
worthy reader, I hope you will not think lightly of me, 
because I cannot believe this to be so very bad a world 
as it is represented. 

Thine truly, 

GEOFFREY CRAYON. 



THE HALL 



The ancient house, and the best for housekeeping in this county 
or the next ; and though the master of it write but squire, I know 
no lord like him. Merry Beggars, 

The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the 
Sketch-Book, will probably recollect something of 
the Bracebridge family, with which I once passed a 
Christmas. 1 am now on another visit to the Hall, 
having been invited to a wedding which \i shortly 
to take place. The Squire's second son, Guy, a fine, 
spirited young captain in the army, is about to be 
married to his father's ward, the fair Julia Temple- 
ton. A gathering of relations and friends has al- 
ready commenced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; 
for the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private 
weddings. " There is nothing," he says, " like 
launching a young couple gayly, and cheering them 
from the shore ; a good outset is half the voyage." 

Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that 
the Squire might not be confounded with that class 
of hard-riding, fox hunting gentlemen so often de- 
scribed, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. 
I use this rural title partly because it is his universal 
appellation throughout the neighbourhood, and part- 
ly because it saves me the frequent repetition of his 
name, which is one of those rough old English 
names at which Frenchmen exclaim in despair. 

The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the 
old English country gentleman ; rusticated a little 
by living almost entirely on his estate, and some- 
thing of a humourist, as Englishmen are apt to be- 
come when they have an opportunity of living in 
their own way. I like his hobby passing well, how- 
ever, which is, a bigoted devotion to old English 
manners and customs.; it jumps a little with my own 
I humour, having as yet a lively and unsated curiosity 
[ about the ancient and genuine characteristics of my 
" father land." 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



435 



There are some traits about the Squire's family, 
also, which appear to me to be national. It is one 
of those old aristocratical families, which, I believe, 
ar-j peculiar to England, and scarcely understood in 
other countries ; that is to say, families of the an- 
cient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank, 
maintain a high ancestral pride ; who look down 
upon all nobility of recent creation, and would con- 
sider it a sacrifice of dignity to merge the venerable 
name of their house in a modern title. 

This feeling is very much fostered by the impor- 
tance which they enjoy on their hereditary domains. 
The family mansion is an old manor-house, standing 
in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its in- 
habitants have been always regarded, through the 
surrounding country, as " the great ones of the 
earth ; " and the little village near the Hall looks up 
to the Squire with almost feudal homage. An old 
manor-house, and an old family of this kind, are 
rarely to be met with at the present day ; and it is 
probably the peculiar humour of the Squire that has 
retained this secluded specimen of English house- 
keeping in something like the genuine old style. 

1 am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in 
the antique wing of the house. The prospect from 
the window, however, has quite a different aspect 
from that which it wore on my winter visit. Though 
early in the month of April, yet a few warm, sun- 
shiny days have drawn forth the beiuties of the 
spring, which, I think, are always most captivating 
on their first opening. The parterres of the old- 
fashioned garden are gay with fiowers ; and the 
gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed 
them along the stone balustrades. The trees are 
clothed with green buds and tender leaves. When 
1 throw open my jingling casement, I smell the odour 
of mignonette, and hear the hum of the bees from 
the flowers against the sunny wall, with the varied 
song of the throstle, and the cheerful notes of the 
tuneiul little wren. 

While sojourning in this strong-hold of old fash- 
ions, it is my intention to make occasional sketches 
of the scenes and characters before me. I would 
have it understood, however, that I am not writing 
a novel, and have nothing of intricate plot, or mar- 
vellous adventure, to promise the reader. The Hall 
of which I treat, has, for aught I know, neither trap- 
door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep; and indeed 
appears to have no mystery about it. The family is 
a worthy, well-meaning family, that, in all probability, 
will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up regu- 
larly, from one end of my work to the other; and 
the Squire is so kind-hearted an old gentleman, that 
I see no likelihood of his throwing any kind of dis- 
tress in the way of the approaching nuptials. In a 
word, 1 cannot foresee a single extraordinarv event 
that is likely to occur in the whole term of iny sojourn 
at the Hall. 

I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he 
finds me dallying along, through every-dav English 
scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopes of meeting 
with some marvellous adventure further on. I invite 
him, on the contrary, to ramble gently on with me, 
as he would saunter out into the fields, stopping oc- 
casionally to gather a flower, or listen to a bird, or 
admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at 
the end ot his career. Should I, however, in the 
course of my loiterings about this old mansion, see 
or hear any thing curious, that might serve to vary 
the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail 
to report it for the reader's entertainment : 

For freshest wits T know will sorin be wearie 

Of anv hook, how grave so e'er it be. 
Except It have odd matter, strange and merrie, 
Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee.* 



* Mirror for Magistrates 



THE BUSY MAN. 



A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and 
my master's moans, and much good do him with it. He does hold 
my master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, and such 
tricks and jigs, you would admire — he is with him now. 

Jovial Creiv. 

Bv no one has my return to the Hall been more 
heartily greeted than by Mr. Simon Bracebridge, or 
Master Simon, as the Squire most commonly calls 
him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, 
where he was breaking a pointer, and he received 
me with all the hospitable cordiality with which a 
man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I 
have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk 
old bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and super- 
annuated beau of a large family connexion, and the 
Squire's factotum. I found him, as usual, full of 
bustle ; with a thousand petty things to do, and per- 
sons to attend to, and in chirping good-humour ; for 
there are few happier beings than a busy idler ; that 
is to say, a man who is eternally busy about noth- 
ing. 

I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his 
chamber, which is in a remote corner of the man- 
sion, as he says he likes to be to himself, and out of 
the way. He has fitted it up in his own taste, so 
that it is a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's no- 
tions of convenience and arrangement. The furni- 
ture is made up of odd pieces from all parts of the 
house, chosen on account of their suiting his no- 
lions, or fitting some corner of his apartment ; and 
he is very eloquent in praise of an ancient elbow- 
chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into 
a censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated 
froin the dignity and comfort of high-backed antiq- 
uity. 

Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which 
he calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, 
of his own construction, on which are several old 
works on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a col- 
lection or two of poems and songs of the reign of 
Elizabeth, which he studies out of compliment to the 
Squire; together with the Novelist's Magazine, the 
Sporting Magazine, the Racing Calendar, a volume 
or two of the Newgate Calendar, a book of peerage, 
and another of heraldry. 

His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small 
closet ; and about the walls of his apartment are 
hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and a 
favourite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and in- 
laid, which he inherits from his grandfather. He 
has, also, a couple of old single-keyed flutes, and a 
fiddle which he has repeatedly patched and mended 
himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona ; 
though I have never heard him extract a single note 
from it that was not enough to make one's blood 
run cold. 

From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, 
in the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some 
long-forgotten tune ; for he prides himself on having 
a choice collection of good old English music, and 
will scarcely have any thing to do with modern com- 
posers. The time, however, at which his musical 
powers are of most use, is now and then of an even- 
ing, when he plays for the children to dance in the 
hall, and he passes among them and the servants for 
a perfect Orpheus. 

His chamber also bears evidence of his various 
avocations ; there are half-copied sheets of music ; 
designs for needle-work ; sketches of landscapes, 
very indifferently executed ; a camera lucida ; a magic 
lantern, for which he is endeavouring to paint 
glasses ; in a word, it is the cabinet of a man of 



436 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



many accomplishments, who knows a little of every 
thing, and does nothing well. 

After I had spent some time in his apartment, ad- 
miring the ingenuity of his small inventions, he took 
me about the establishment, to visit the stables, dog- 
kennel, and other dependencies, in which he ap- 
peared like a general visiting the different quarters 
of his camp ; as the Squire leaves the control of all 
these matters to him, when he is at the Hall. He 
inquired into the state of the horses ; e.xamined their 
feet ; prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for 
anotlier ; and then took me to look at his own horse, 
on the merits of which he dwelt with great proli.x- 
ity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall in the 
stable. 

After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the 
Squire's, which he termed the falconry, where there 
Were several unhappy birds in durance, completing 
their education. Among the number was a fine fal- 
con, which Master Simon had in especial training, 
and he told me that he would show me, in a few 
djiys, some rare sport of the good old-fashioned 
kind. In the course of our round, I noticed that the 
grooms, game-keeper, whippers-in, and other retain- 
ers, seemed all to be on somewhat of a familiar foot- 
ing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke 
with him, though it was evident they had great def- 
erence for his opinion in matters relating to their 
functions. 

There was one exception, however, in a testy old 
huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, wiry 
old fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockey cap, and a 
pair of leather breeches, that, from much wear, 
shone, as though they had been japanned. He was 
very contradictory and pragmatical, and apt, as I 
thought, to differ from Master Simon now and then, 
out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the 
case with respect no the treatment of the hawk, 
which the old man seemed to have under his pecul- 
iar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in a 
fair way to ruin : the latter had a vast deal to say 
about casting, and imping, and gleaming, and c«- 
seaming, and giving the hawk the rangle, which I 
saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy ; but he 
maintained his point notwithstanding, and seemed 
to hold all this technical lore in utter disrespect. 

I was surprised with the good-humour with which 
Master Simon bore his contradictions, till he ex- 
])lained the matter to me afterwards. Old Christy is 
the most ancient servant in the place, having lived 
among dogs and horses the greater part of a century, 
and been m the service of Mr. Bracebridge's father. 
He knows the pedigree of every horse on the place, 
and has bestrode the great-great-grandsires of most 
of them. He can give a circumstantial detail of 
every fox-hunt for the last sixty or seventy years, 
and has a history for every stag's head about the 
house, and every hunting trophy nailed to the door 
of the dog-kennel. 

All the present race have grown up under his eye, 
and humour him in his old age. He once attended 
the Squire to Oxford, when lie was a student there, 
and enlightened the whole university with his hunt- 
ing lore. All this is enough to make the old man 
opinionated, since he finds, on all these matters ol 
first-rate importance, he knows more than the rest 
of the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his 
pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his first 
knowledge in hunting from the instructions of 
Christy ; and I much question whether the old man 
does not still look upon him rather as a greenhorn. 

On our return homewards, as we were crossing 
the lawn in front of the house, we heard the porter's 
bell ring at the lodge, and shortly afterwards, a kind 
of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. At 



sight of it my companion paused, considered it for 
a moment, and then, making a sudden exclamation, 
hurried away to meet it. As it approached, I dis- 
covered a fair, fresh-looking elderly lady, dressed in 
an old-fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed 
white beaver hat, such as may be seen in Sir Joshua 
Reynolds' paintings. She rode a sleek white pony, 
and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mount- 
ed on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the 
rear came an ancient cumbrous chariot, drawn by 
two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a 
coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fan- 
ciful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starch- 
ed prim personage, with a look somewhat between 
a lady's companion and a lady's maid ; and two 
pampered curs, that showed their ugly faces, and 
barked out of each window. 

There was a general turning out of the garrison, 
to receive this new comer. The Squire assisted her 
to alight, and saluted her affectionately ; the fair 
Julia flew into her arms, and they embraced with the 
romantic fer\'our of boarding-school friends : she 
was escorted into the house by Julia's lover, towards 
whom she showed distinguished favour; and a line 
of the old servants, who had collected in the Hall, 
bowed most profoundly as she passed. 

I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous 
and devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He 
walked by the side of her pony, up the avenue ; and, 
while she was receiving the salutations of the rest of 
the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coach- 
man ; to pat the sleek carriage horses, and, above 
all, to say a civil word to my lady's gentlewoman, 
the prime, sour-looking vestal in the chariot. 

I had no more of his company for the rest of the 
morning. He was swept off in the vortex that fol- 
lowed in the wake of this lady. Once indeed he 
paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some 
errand of the good lady's, to let me know that this 
was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the Squire's, of large 
fortune, which the captain would inherit, and that 
her estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in 
all England. 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 



Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. 
They are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking 
the antiquity and fatness of their abode. 

In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often 
be tempted to dwell on circumstances of a trite and 
ordinary nature, from their appearing to me illus- 
trative of genuine national character. It seems to 
be the study of the Squire to adhere, as much as 
possible, to what he considers the old landmarks of 
English manners. His servants all understand his 
ways, and for the most part have been accustomed 
to them from infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his 
household presents one of the few tolerable specimens 
that can now be met with, of the establishment of 
an English country gentleman of the old school. 

By the by, the servants are not the least charac- 
teristic part of the household : the housekeeper, for 
instance, has been born and brought up at the Hall, 
and has never been twenty miles from it ; yet she 
has a stately air, that would not disgrace a lady that 
had figured at the court of Queen Elizabeth. 

I am half inclined to think that she has caught it 
from living so much among the old family pictures. 
It may, however, be owing to a consciousness of her 
importance in the sphere in which she has always 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



437 



moved ; for she is greatly respected in the neigh- 
bouring village, and among the farmers' wives, and 
has high authority in the household, ruling over the 
servants with quiet, but undisputed sway. 

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed 
nose and chin. Her dress is always the same as to 
fashion. She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a 
laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gown festoon- 
ed and open in front, which, on particular occasions, 
is of ancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of 
the family, or an inheritance from her mother, who 
was housekeeper before her. I have a reverence for 
these old garments, as I make no doubt they have 
figured about these apartments in days long past, 
when they have set off the charms of some peerless 
family beauty ; and I have sometimes looked from 
the old housekeeper to the neighbouring portraits, 
to see whether I could not recognize her antiquated 
brocade in the dress of some one of those long- 
waisted dames that smile on me from the walls. 

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in 
front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plait- 
ed, and brought down under the chin. Her manners 
are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a 
proper dignity of station. 

The Hall is her world, and the history of the fam- 
ily the only history she knows, excepting that which 
she has read in the Bible. She can give a biography 
of every portrait in the picture gallery, and is a com- 
plete family chronicle. 

She is treated with great consideration by the 
Squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me that there 
is a traditional anecdote current among the serv- 
ants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing her 
in the picture gallery, when they were both young. 
As, however, nothing furtlier was ever noticed be- 
tween them, the circumstance caused no great 
scandal ; only she was observed to take to reading 
Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand 
of the village inn-keeper, whom she had previously 
smiled on. 

The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a 
rejected admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote 
now and then, at those little cabals that will occa- 
sionally take place among the most orderly serv- 
ants, arising from the common propensity of the 
governed to talk against administration ; but he has 
left it off, of late years, since he has risen into 
place, and shakes his head rebukingly when it is 
mentioned. 

It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell 
on the looks of the Squire when he was a young 
man at college; and she maintains that none of his 
sons can compare with their father when he was of 
their age, and was dressed out in his full suit of scar- 
let, with his hair craped and powdered, and his three- 
cornered hat. 

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted 
baggage, named Phcebe Wilkins, who has been 
transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and 
been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is 
a kind of attendant and companion of the fair Ju- 
lia's ; and from loitering about the young lady's 
apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheriting 
second-hand finery, has become something between 
a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine lady. 

She is considered a kind of heiress among the 
servants, as she will inherit all her aunt's property ; 
which, if report be true, must be a round sum of 
good golden guineas, the accuinulated wealth of 
two housekeepers' savings ; not to mention the 
hereditary wardrobe, and the many little valuables 
and knick-knacks, treasured up in the housekeepers' 
room. Indeed, the old housekeeper has the reputa- 
tion, among the servants and the villagers, of being 



passing rich ; and there is a japanned chest of draw- 
ers, 'and a large iron-bound coffer in her room, which 
are supposed, by the house-maids, to hold treasures 
of wealth. 

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, 
who, indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a person 
high in authority ; and they have many discussions 
on points of family history, in which, notwithstand- 
ing his extensive information, and pride of knowl- 
edge, he commonly admits her superior accuracy. 
He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his visits 
to the other branches of the family, without bringing 
Mrs. Wilkins some remembrance from the ladies of 
the house where he has been staying. 

Indeed, all the children of the house look up to 
the old lady with habitual respect and attachment, 
and she seems almost to consider them as her own, 
from their having grown up under her eye. The 
Oxonian, however, is her favourite, probably from 
being the youngest, though he is the most mischiev- 
ous, and has been apt to play tricks upon her from 
boyhood. 

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, 
which, I believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After the 
cloth is removed at dinner, the old housekeeper sails 
into the room and stands behind the Squire's chair, 
when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, 
in which she drinks the health of the company in a 
truly respectful yet dignified manner, and then re- 
tires. The Squire received the custom from his fa- 
ther, and has always continued it. 

There is a peculiar character about the servants 
of old English families that reside principally in the 
country. They have a quiet, orderly, respectful 
mode of doing their duties. They are always neat 
in their persons, and appropriately, and if I may use 
the phrase, technically dressed ; they move about the 
house without hurry or noise ; there is nothing of 
the bustle of employment, or the voice of command; 
nothing of that obtrusive housewifery that amounts 
to a torment. You are not persecuted by the pro- 
cess of making you comfortable ; yet every thing is 
done, and is done well. The work of the house is 
performed as if by magic, but it is the magic of sys- 
tem. Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor at awk- 
ward seasons ; the whole goes on like well-oiled 
clock-work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its 
operations. 

English servants, in general, are not treated with 
great indulgence, nor rewarded by many commenda- 
tions ; for the English are laconic and reserved to- 
ward their domestics ; but an approving nod and a 
kind word from master or mistress, goes as far here, 
as an excess of praise or indulgence elsewhere. Nei- 
ther do servants often exhibit any animated marks 
of affection to their employers; yet, though quiet, 
they are strong in their attachments; and the recip- 
rocal regard of masters and servants, though not 
ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old 
English families. 

The title of " an old family servant " carries with 
it a thousand kind associations, in all parts of the 
world ; and there is no claim upon the home-bred 
charities of the heart more irresistible than that of 
having been " born in the house." It is common to 
see gray-headed domestics of this kind attached to 
an English family of the "old school," who continue 
in it to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of 
steady, unaffected kindness, and the performance of 
faithful, unoflicious duty. I think such instances of 
attachment speak well for both master and servant, 
and the frequency of them speaks well for national 
character. 

These observations, however, hold good only with 
families of the description I have mentioned ; and 



438 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



with such as are somewhat retired, and pass the 
greater part of their time in the country. As to the 
powdered menials that throng the halls of fashion- 
able town residences, they equally reflect the char- 
acter of the establishments to which they belong; 
and I know no more complete epitom.es of dissolute 
lieartlessness and pampered inutility. 

But, the good ■' old family servant ! " — the one 
who has always been linked, in idea, with the home 
of our heart ; who has led us to school in the days 
of prattling childhood ; who has been the confidant 
of our boyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises ; 
who has hailed us as we came home at vacations, 
and been the promoter of all our holiday sports ; 
who, when we, in wandering manhood, have left the 
paternal roof, and only return thither at intervals — 
will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that of 
our parents ; who, now grown gray and' infirm with 
age, still totters about the house of our fathers, in 
fond and faithful servitude ; who claims us, in a 
manner, as his own ; and hastens with querulous 
eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics in wait- 
ing upon us at table; and who, when we retire at 
night to the chamber that still goes by our name, will 
linger about the room to have one more kind look, 
and one more pleasant word about times that are 
past — who does not experience towards such a being 
a feeling of almost filial affection ? 

I have met with several instances of epitaphs on 
the gravestones of such valuable domestics, recorded 
with the simple truth of natural feeling. I have two 
before me at this moment ; one copied from a tomb- 
stone of a church-yard in Warwickshire: 

" Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential 
servant to George Birch, Esq., of Hamstead Hall. 
His grateful friend and master caused this inscrip- 
tion to be written in memory of his discretion, fidel- 
ity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) 
aged 84, having lived 44 years in the same family." 

The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham 
church-yard : 

" Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who 
departed this life on the 8th of September, 1818, 
aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years in one 
family ; by each individual of which he lived re- 
spected, and died lamented by the sole survivor." 

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have 
given me the glow about the heart that I felt wliile 
copying this honest epitaph in the church yard of 
Eltham. I sympathized with this "sole survivor" of 
a family mourning over the grave of the faithful fol- 
lower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living 
memento of times and friends that had passed away ; 
and in considering this record of long and devoted 
service, I called to mind the touching speech of Old 
Adam, in " As You Like It," when tottering after 
the youthful son of his ancient master : 

" Master, go on. and I will follow thee 
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty!" 

Note. — I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen some- 
where in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to 
the memorj'of a family servant, who had been a faithful attendant 
of his lamented daughter, the Princess .Amelia. George III. pos- 
sessed much of the strong domestic feeling of the old English 
country gentleman ; and it is an incident curious in monumental 
history, afid creditable to the human heart, a monarch erecting a 
monument in honour of the humble virtues of a menial. 



THE WIDOW. 



she was so charitable and pitious 
She would weep if that she saw a mous 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : 
Ot small hounds had she. that she fed 
With rost flesh, milke, and w.astel bread, 
But sore wept she if any of them were dead, 
Or if man smote them with a yard smart. 

Chaucer. 

Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made 
by Lady Lillycraft on her arrival, she has none of 
the petty stateliness that I had imagined ; but, on 
the contrary, she has a degree of nature and simple- 
heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles 
well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless 
ostentation. She dresses in rich silks, with long 
waist ; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which 
is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. 
Her face is pitted wilh the small-pox, but the deli- 
cacy of her features shows that she may once have 
been beautiful ; and she has a very fair and well- 
shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the 
good lady is still a little vain. 

I have had the curiosity to gather a few particu- 
lars concerning her. She was a great belle in town, 
between thirty and forty years since, and reigned for 
two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refus- 
ing several excellent offers ; when, unfortunately, she 
was robbed ot her charms and her lovers by an at- 
tack of the small-pox. She retired immediately into 
the country, where she some time after inherited an 
estate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, 
whose passicn had suddenly revived ; " having," as 
he said, " always loved her mind rather than her 
person." 

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune 
above six months, and had scarcely grown very tired 
of her, when he broke his neck in a fo.'C-chase, and 
left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has re- 
mained on her estate in the i.ountry ever since, and 
has never shown any desire to return to town, and 
revisit the scene of her early triumphs and fatal 
malady. All her favourite recollections, however, 
revert to that short period of her youthful beauty. 
She has no idea of town but as it was at that time ; 
and continually forgets that the place and people 
must have changed materially in the course of nearly 
half a century. She will often speak of the toasts of 
those days as if still reigning; and, until very re- 
cently, used to talk with delight of the royal family, 
and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. 
She cannot be brought to think of the present king 
otherwise than as an elegant young man, rather 
wild, but who danced a minuet divinely ; and before 
he came to the crown, would often mention him as 
the " sweet young prince." 

She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, 
where the gentlemen appeared in gold-laced coats, 
and cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and swept 
so proudly along the grassy avenues ; and she thinks 
the ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, 
when they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high- 
heeled shoes. She has much to say too of the officers 
who were in the train of her admirers ; and speaks 
familiarly of many wild young blades, that are now, 
perhaps, hobbling about watering-places with crutches 
and gouty shoes. 

Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony 
discouraged her or not, I cannot say ; but though her 
merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, 
she has never been tempted to venture again into 
the happy state. This is singular, too, for she seems 
of a most soft and susceptible heart ; is always talk- 
ing of love and connubial felicity, and is a great 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



439 



stickler for okl-fashionecl gallantry, devoted attentions, 
and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. 
She lives, however, alter her own taste. Her house, 
I am told, must have been built and furnished about 
the time of Sir Charles Grandison : every thing 
about it is somewhat formal and stately ; but has 
been softened down into a degree of voluptuousness, 
characteristic of an old lady, very tender-hearted 
and romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions 
of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury 
you when you sit down on them. Flowers of the 
most rare and delicate kind are placed about the 
rooms, and on little japanned stands ; and sweet bags 
lie about the tables and mantel-pieces. The house is 
full of pet dogs, Angola cats, and singing birds, who 
are as carefully waited upon as she is herself. 

She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epi- 
cure, living on white meats, and little lady-like dishes, 
though her servants have substantial old English fare, 
as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so in- 
dulged, that they are all spoiled ; and when they lose 
their present place, they will be fit for no other. 
Her ladyship is one of those easy-tempered beings 
that are always doomed to be much liked, but ill 
served by their domestics, and cheated by all the 
world. 

Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of 
which she has a most extensive library, and has a 
constant supply from the publishers in town. Her 
erudition in' this line of literature is immense ; she 
has kept pace with the press for half a century. 
Her mind is stuffed with love-tales of all kinds, from 
the stately amours of the old books of chivalry, down 
to the last blue-covered romance, reeking from the 
press ; though she evidently gives the preference to 
those that came out in the days of her youth, and 
when she was first in love. She maintains that there 
are no novels written now-a-days equal to Pamela 
and Sir Charles Grandison ; and she places the Cas- 
tle of Otranto at the head of all romances. 

She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, 
and is imposed upon by every beggar in the county. 
She is the benefactress of a village adjoining to her 
estate, and takes an especial interest in all its love 
affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going 
on ; every lovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient 
listener and a sage adviser in her ladyship. She takes 
great pains to reconcile all love-quarrels, and should 
any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is 
sure to draw on himself the good lady's violent in- 
dignation. 

I have learned these particulars partly from Frank 
Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am 
now able to account for the assiduous attention of 
the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of his 
favourite resorts, where he is a very important per- 
sonage. He makes her a visit of business once a 
year, when he looks into all her affairs ; which, as 
she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He 
examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about 
the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, 
notwithstanding that it is poached by all the vaga- 
bonds in the neighbourhood. 

It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain 
will inherit the greater part of her property, having 
always been her chief favourite ; for, in fact, she is 
partial to a red coat. She has now come to the Hall 
to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposi- 
tion to interest herself in all matters of love and 
matrimony. 



THE LOVERS. 



Rise up, my love, my fair one. and come away ; for lo the winter 
is past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, 
the timo of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of tbe 
turtle is heard in the land. Song of Solomon. 

To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a 
bachelor to boot ; and who, by dint of some experi- 
ence in the follies of life, begins to look with a learn- 
ed eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman ; 
to such a man, I say, there is something very enter- 
taining in noticing the conduct of a pair of young 
lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study 
as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as inter- 
esting. 

I have, therefore, derived much pleasure, since my 
arrival at the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and 
her lover. She has all the delightful, blushing con- 
sciousness of an artless girl, inexperienced in coquetry, 
who has made her first conquest ; while the captain 
regards her with that mixture of fondness and ex- 
ultation with which a youthful lover is apt to con- 
template so beauteous a prize. 

I observed them yesterday in the garden, advanc- 
ing along one of the retired walks. The sun was 
shining with delicious#varmth, making great masses 
of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, 
that "harbinger of spring," was faintly heard from a 
distance ; the thrush piped from the hawthorn ; and 
the yellow butterflies sported, and toyed, and co- 
quetted in the air. 

The fair Julia was learting on her lover's arm, list- 
ening to his conversation, with her eyes cast down, 
a soft blush on her cheek, and a quiet smile on her 
lips, while in the hand that hung negligently by her 
side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were 
sauntering slowly along ; and when I considered them 
and the scene in which they were moving, I could 
not but think it a thousand pities that the season 
should ever change, or that young people should ever 
grow older, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, 
or that lovers should ever get married. 

From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I 
understand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a 
favourite college friend of the Squire ; who, after 
leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and served 
for many years in India, where he was mortally 
wounded in a skirmish with the natives. In his 
last moments he had, with a faltering pen, recom- 
mended his wife and daughter to the kindness of his 
early friend. 

The widow and her child returned to England 
helpless and almost hopeless. When Mr. Brace- 
bridge received accounts of their situation, he has- 
tened to their relief He reached them just in time 
to soothe the last moments of the mother, who was 
dying of a consumption, and to make her happy 
m the assurance that her child should never want a 
protector. 

The good Squire returned with his prattling charge 
to his strong-hold, where he had brought her up with 
a tenderness truly paternal. As he has taken some 
pains to superintend liereducation, and form her taste, 
she has grown up with many of his notions, and con- 
siders him the wisest, as well as the best of men. 
Much of her time, too, has been passed with Lady 
Lillycraft, who has instructed her in the manners of 
the old school, and enriched her mind with all kinds 
of novels and romances. Indeed, her ladyship has 
had a great hand in promoting the match between 
Julia and the captain, having had them together at 
her country-seat, the moment she found there was 
J an attachment growing up between them ; the good 



440 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



lady being never so happy as when she has a pair of 
turtles cooing about her. 

I have been pleased to see the fondness with which 
the fair Julia is regarded by the old servants at the 
Hall. She has been a pet with them from childhood, 
and everyone seems to lay some claim to her educa- 
tion ; so that it is no wonder that she should be ex- 
tremely accomplished. The gardener taught her to 
rear flowers, of which she is extremely fond. Old 
Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens when she 
approaches ; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in 
her saddle, claims the merit of having taught her to 
ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon 
her as a daughter, intimates that she first gave her an 
insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having been 
dressing-maid, in her young days, to the late Mrs. 
Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last claim, 
as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady 
had an air of the old school, though managed with 
native taste, and that her hair was put up very much 
in the style of Sir Peter Lely's portraits in the pict- 
ure gallery. 

Her very musical attainments partake of this old- 
fashioned character, and most of her songs are such 
as are not at the present day to be found on the 
piano of a modern performer. I have, however, 
seen so much of modern fashions, modern accom- 
plishments, and modern fine ladies, that I relish this 
tinge of antiquated style in so young and lovely a 
girl ; and I have had as much pleasure in hearing her 
warble one of the old songs of Herrick, or Carew, 
or Suckling, adapted to some simple old melody, as 
I have had from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark 
it up and down through the finest bravura of Ros- 
sini or Mozart. 

We have very pretty music in the evenings, occa- 
sionally, between her and the captain, assisted some- 
times by Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, 
on his violin ; being very apt to get out, and to 
halt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even 
thrums a little on the piano, and takes a part in a 
trio, in which his voice can generally be distinguish- 
ed by a certain quavering tone, and an occasional 
false note. 

I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him, 
after one of her songs, when I found he took to him- 
self the whole credit of having formed her musical 
taste, assuring me that she was very apt ; and, indeed, 
summing up her whole character in his knowing 
way, by adding, that " she was a very nice girl, and 
had no nonsense about her." 



FAMILY RELIQUES. 



My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, 

The dimple on her cheek : and sach sweet skill 

Hath from the cunning workm.tn's pencil flown. 

These lips look fresh and lively as her own. 

False colours last after the true be dead. 

Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, 

Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 

Of all the music set upon her tongue, 

Of all that was past woman's excellence 

In her white bosom ; look, a painted board 

Circumscribes all ! Dekker. 

An old English family mansion is a fertile subject 
for study. It abounds with illustrations of former 
times, and traces of the tastes, and humours, and 
manners of successive generations. The alterations 
and additions, in different styles of architecture; the 
furniture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the warlike and 
sporting implements of different ages and fancies ; 
all furnish food for curious and amusing speculation. 
As the Squire is very careful in collecting and pre- 



serving all family reliques, the Hall is full of remem- 
brances of the kind. In looking about the establish- 
ment, I can picture to myself the characters and 
habits that have prevailed at different eras of the 
family history. I have mentioned, on a former oc- 
casion, the armour of the crusader which hangs up 
in the Hall. There are also several jack-boots, with 
enormously thick soles and high heels, that belonged 
to a set of cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din 
and stir of arms during the time of the Covenanters. 
A number of enormous drinking vessels of antique 
fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green-hock- 
glasses, with the apostles in relief on them, remain 
as monuments of a generation or two of hard livers, 
that led a life of roaring reveliy, and first introduced 
the gout into the family. 

I shall pass over several more such indications of 
temporary tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; but I 
cannot forbear to notice a pair of antlers in the great 
hall, which is one of the trophies of a hard-riding 
squire of former times, who was the Ninirod of these 
parts. There are many traditions of his wonderful 
feats in hunting still existing, which are related by 
old Christy, the huntsman, who gets exceedingly 
nettled if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, 
there is a frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, 
which goes by the name of the Squire's Leap, from 
his having cleared it in the ardour of the chase ; 
there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy 
shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks 
on each side of the chasm. 

Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in 
great veneration, and has a number of extraordinary 
stories to tell concerning him, which he repeats at 
all hunting dinners ; and I am told that they wax 
more and more marvellous the older they grow. He 
has also a pair of Rippon spurs which belonged to 
this mighty hunter of yore, and which he only wears 
on particular occasions. 

The place, however, which abounds most with 
mementos of past times, is the picture gallery ; and 
there is something strangely pleasing, though melan- 
choly, in considering the long rows of portraits which 
compose the greater part of the collection. They 
furnish a kind of narrative of the lives of the family 
worthies, which I am enabled to read with the as- 
sistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the 
family chronicler, prompted occasionally by Master 
Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for in- 
stance, through a variety of portraits. One repre- 
sents her as a little girl, with a long w'aist and hoop, 
holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator 
out of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not 
turn her head. In another, we find her in the fresh- 
ness of youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated 
belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfor- 
tunate gentlemen to run desperate and write bad 
poetry. In another, she is depicted as a stately 
dame, in the maturity of her charms ; next to the 
portrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in full- 
bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who was killed 
abroad ; and, finally, her monument is in the church, 
the spire of which may be seen from the window, 
where her effigy is carved in marble, and represents 
her as a venerable dame of seventy-six. 

In like manner, I have followed some of the family- 
great men through a series of pictures, from early 
boyhood to the robe of dignity, or truncheon of com- 
mand ; and so on by degrees, until they were gar- 
nered up in the common repository, the neighbouring 
church. 

There is one group that particularly interested 
me. It consisted of four sisters, of nearly the same 
age, who flourished about a century since, and, if I 
may judge from their portraits, were extremely beau- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



441 



tiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and ro- 
mance tliis old mansion must have been, when they 
were in the heyday of their charms ; when they 
passed lilce beautiful visions through its halls, or 
stepped daintily to music in the revels and dances of 
the cedar gallery ; or printed, with delicate feet, the 
velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they have 
been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and 
reverence by the old famdy servants ; and followed 
with almost painful admiration by the aching eyes 
of rival admirers ! How must melody, and song, and 
tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, 
and their echoes whispered to the loitering tread of 
lovers ! How must these very turrets have made the 
hearts of the young galliards thrill, as they first dis- 
cerned them from afar, rising from among the trees, 
and pictured to themselves the beauties casketed like 
gems within these walls! Indeed, I have discovered 
about the place several faint records of this reign of 
love and romance, when the Hall was a kind of 
Court of Beauty. 

Several of the old romances in the library have 
marginal notes expressing sympathy and approba- 
tion, where there are long speeches extolling ladies' 
charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or bewailing 
the cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The inter- 
views, and declarations, and parting scenes of tender 
lovers, also bear the marks of having been frequently 
read, and are scored and marked with notes of ad- 
miration, and have initials written on the margins ; 
most of which annotations have the day of the month 
and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, 
too, have scraps of poetry engraved on them with 
diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. 
Philips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these 
seem to have been inscribed by lovers ; and others, 
in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a little inaccu- 
rate in the spelling, have evidently been written by 
the young ladies themselves, or by female friends, 
who have been on visits to the Hall. Mrs. Philips 
seems to have been their favourite author, and they 
have distributed the names of her heroes and hero- 
ines among their circle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a 
male hand, the verse bewails the cruelty of beauty, 
and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a female 
hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the 
parting of female friends. The bow-window of my 
bed-room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by 
one of these beauties, has several of these inscrip- 
tions. I have one at this moment before my eyes, 
called " Camilla parting with Leonora : " 

'* How perish'd is the joy that's past, 
1 he present how unsteady ! 
What comfort can be great and last, 
When this is gone already ? " 

And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some 
adventurous lover, who had stolen into the lady's 
chamber during her absence : 

" THEODOSIL'S TO CAMILLA. 

I'd rather in your favour live, 

Than in a lasting name ; 
And much a greater rate would give 

For happiness than fame. 

THEODOSIUS. 1700." 

When I look at these faint records of gallantry and 
tenderness ; when I contemplate the fading portraits 
of these beautiful girls, and think, too, that they have 
long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and 
passed away, and with them all their graces, their 
triumphs, their rivalries, their admirers ; the whole 
empire of love and pleasure in which they ruled — • 
"all dead, all buried, all forgotten," 1 find a cloud of 
melancholy stealing over the present gayeties around 
me. I was gazing, in a musing mood, this very 



morning, at the portrait of the lady whose husband 
was killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the 
gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun 
shone through the row of windows on her as she 
passed along, and she seemed to beam out each time 
into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door 
at the bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt 
a sadness of heart at the idea, that this was an em- 
blem of her lot : a few more years of sunshine and 
shade, and all this life and loveliness, and enjoyment, 
will have ceased, and nothing be left to commemo- 
rate this beautiful being but one more perishable por- 
trait ; to awaken, perhaps, the trite speculations of 
some future loiterer, like myself, when I and my 
scribblings shall have lived through our brief exist- 
ence, and been forgotten. 



AN OLD SOLDIER. 



I've worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; 
fed this good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians; 
converted a few infidels with it. — But let that pass. 

The Ordinary. 

The Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a 
few days since, by the arrival of General Harbottle. 
He had been expected for several days, and had been 
looked for, rather impatiently, by several of the 
family. Master Simon assured me that I would like 
the general hugely, for he was a blade of the old 
school, and an excellent table companion. Lady 
Lillycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered, 
on the morning of the general's arrival, for he had 
been one of her early admirers ; and she recollected 
him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon 
the town. She actually spent an hour longer at her 
toilette, and made her appearance with her hair un- 
commonly frizzed and powdered, and an additional 
quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little sur- 
prised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe, 
dashing ensign transformed into a corpulent old gen- 
eral, with a double chin ; though it was a perfect 
picture to witness their salutations ; the graciousness 
of her profound curtsy, and the air of the old school 
with which the general took off his hat, swayed it 
gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered head. 

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to 
study the general with a little more attention than, 
perhaps, I should otherwise have done ; and the few 
days that he has already passed at the Hall have en- 
abled me, I think, to furnish a tolerable likeness of 
him to the reader. 

He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the 
old school, with powdered head, side locks, and pig- 
tail. His face is shaped like the stern of a Dutch 
man-of-war, narrow at top and wide at bottom, with 
full rosy cheeks and a double chin ; so that, to use 
the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said 
to be powerfully developed. 

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little 
active service, except the taking of Seringapatam, 
which forms an era in his history. He wears a large 
emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, 
which he got on that occasion, and whoever is un- 
lucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve him- 
self in the whole history of the siege. To judge 
from the general's conversation, the taking of Serin- 
gapatam is the most important affair that has oc- 
curred for the last century. 

On the approach of warlike times on the continent, 
he was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way 
of younger officers of merit ; until, having been 
hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on 



442 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the shelf. Since that time, his campaigns have been 
principally confined to watering-places ; where he 
drinks the waters for a slight touch of the liver which 
he got in India ; and plays whist with old dowagers, 
with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed, 
he talks of all the fine women of the last half century, 
and, according to hints which he now and then 
drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of 
them. 

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can 
speak of almost every place famous for good quarters, 
and where the inhabitants give good dinners. He is 
a diner out of first-rate currency, when in town ; 
being invited to one place, because he has been seen 
ac another. In the same way he is invited about the 
country-seats, and can describe half the seats in the 
kingdom, from actual observation ; nor is any one 
belter versed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and 
intermarriages of the nobility. 

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, 
and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially 
his quondam flame Lady Jocel\ne, he is put rather 
upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, 
therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late 
hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and 
powdered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he 
has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace 
in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming be- 
tween every stave, carrying one hand behind his 
back, and with the other touching his cane to the 
ground, and then raising it up to his shoulder. 
Should he, in these morning promenades, meet any 
of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently 
does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediateLv in his 
hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly 
groups of ladies and gentlemen, in old prints of 
Windsor terrace, or Kensington garden. 

He talks frequently about " the service," and is 
fond of humming the old song. 

Why, soldiers, why. 

Should we be melancholy, boys ? 

Why, soldiers, why. 

Whose business 't is to die ! 

I cannot discover, however, that the general has 
ever run any great risk of dying, excepting from an 
apople.xy or an indigestion. He criticises all the 
battles on the continent, and discusses the merits of 
the commanders, but never fails to bring the conver- 
sation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. 
I am told that the general was a perfect champion at 
drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during 
the late war, and was looked to with hope and con- 
fidence by many an old lady, when labouring under 
the terror of Buonaparte's invasion. 

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on 
levees when in town. He has treasured up many 
remarkable sayings of the late king, particularly one 
which the king made to him on a field-tlay, compli- 
menting him on the excellence of his horse. He ex- 
tols the whole royal family, but especially the present 
king, whom he pronounces the most perfect gentle- 
man and best whist-player in Europe. The general 
swears rather more than is the fashion of the present 
day ; but it was the mode in the old school. He is, 
however, very strict in religious matters, and a 
staunch churchman. He repeats the responses very 
loudly in church, and is emphatical in praying for 
the king and royal family. 

At table, his loyalty waxes very fervent with his 
second bottle, and the song of " God save the King " 
puts him into a perfect ecstacy. He is amazingly 
well contented with the present state of things, and 
apt to get a little impatient at any talk about national 
ruin and agricultural distress. He says he has trav- 
elled about the country as much as any man, and has 



met with nothing but prosperity; and to confess the 
truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting from 
one country-seat to another, and riding about the 
parks of his friends. " They talk of public distress," 
said the general this day to me, at dinner, as he 
smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes 
about the ample board ; " they talk of public distress, 
but where do we find it, sir ? I see none. I see no 
reason why any one has to complain. Take my word 
for it, sir, this talk about public distress is all hum- 
bug ! " 



THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 



Little dogs and all ! — Lear, 

In giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lilly- 
craft at the Hall, I ought to have mentioned the 
entertainment which I derived from witnessing the 
unpacking of her carriage, and the disposing of her 
retinue. There is something extremely amusing to 
me in the number of factitious wants, the loads of 
imaginary conveniences, but real encumbrances, with 
which the luxurious are apt to burthen themselves. 
I like to watch the whimsical stir and display about 
one of these petty progresses. The number of ro- 
bustious footmen and retainers of all kinds bustling 
about, with looks of infinite gravity and importance, 
to do almost nothing. The number of heavy trunks, 
and parcels, and bandboxes belonging to my lady ; 
and the solicitude exhibited about some humble, 
odd-looking box. by my lady's maid ; the cushions 
piled in the carriage to make a soft seat still softer, 
and to prevent the dreaded possibility of a jolt ; the 
smelling-bottles, the cortlials, the baskets of biscuit 
and fruit: the new publications; all provided to 
guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui ; the led 
horses, to vary the mode of travelling ; and all this 
preparation and parade to move, perhaps, some 
very good-for-nothing personage about a little space 
of earth ! 

I do not mean to apply the latter part of these 
observations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple kind- 
heartedness I have a very great respect, and who is 
really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannot 
refrain, however, from mentioning some of the mot- 
ley retinue she has brought with her ; and which, 
indeed, bespeak the overflowing kindness of her nat- 
ure, which requires her to be surrounded with ob- 
jects on which to lavish it. 

In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered 
coachman, with a red face, and cheeks that hang 
down like dew-laps. He evidently domineers over 
her a little with respect to the lat horses; and only 
drives out when he thinks proper, and when he 
thinks it will be "good for the cattle." 

She has a favourite page, to attend upon her per- 
son ; a handsome boy of about twelve years of age, 
but a mischievous varlet, very much spoiled, and in 
a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed in 
green, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons 
about his clothes. She always has one or two attend- 
ants of the kind, who are replaced by others as soon 
.as they grow to fourteen years of age. She has 
brought two dogs with her, also, out of a number 
of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fat 
spaniel, called Zephyr — though heaven defend me 
from such a zephyr ! He is fed out of all shape and 
comfort ; his eyes are nearly strained out of his 
head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk 
without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, 
gray, muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, 
that kindles like a coal if you only look at him ; his 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



443 



nose turns up ; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so 
as to show his teeth ; in short, he has altogether the 
loolc of a dog tar gone in misanthropy, and totally 
sick of the world. When he walks, he has his tail 
curled up so tight that it seems to lilt his feet from 
the ground ; and he seldom makes use of more than 
three legs at a tmie, keeping the other drawn up as 
a reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty. 

These dogs are full of elegant ailments, unknown 
to vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed lay Lady 
Lillycraft with the tenderest kmdness. They are 
pampered and fed with dehcacies by their fellow- 
minion, the page ; but their stomachs are often weak 
and out of order, so that they cannot eat ; though I 
have now and then seen the page give them a mis- 
chievous pinch, or thwack over the head, when his 
mistress was not by. They have cushions for their 
express use, on which they lie before the fire, and 
yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the least 
draught of air. When any one enters the room, 
they make a most tyrannical barking that is al)so- 
lutely deafening. They are insolent to all the other 
dogs ol the establishment. There is a noble stag- 
liound, a great favourite of the Squire's, who is a 
privileged visitor to the parlour ; but the moment he 
makes his appearance, these intruders fly at him 
with furious rage ; and I have admired the soi'ereign 
indifference and contempt with which he seems to 
look down upon his puny assailants. When her 
ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally carried 
with her to take the air; when they look out of each 
window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pe- 
destrian dogs. These dogs are a continual source 
ot misery to the household : as they are always in 
the v.-ay, they every now and then get their toes 
trod on, and then there is a yelping on their part, 
and a loud lamentation on the part of their mistress, 
that fills the room with clamour and confusion. 

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentle- 
woman, Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; 
one of the most intolerable and intolerant virgins 
that ever lived. She has kept her virtue by her un- 
til it has turned sour, and now every word and look 
smacks of verjuice. She is the very opposite to her 
mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all man- 
kind. How they first came together I cannot imag- 
ine ; but they have lived together for many years ; 
and the abigail's temper being tart and encroaching, 
and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has 
got the complete upper hand, and tyrannizes over 
the good lady in secret. 

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in 
great confidence, to her friends, but hushes up the 
subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannah makes her ap- 
pearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to j 
be attended by her, that she thinks she could not do 
without her; though one great study of her life, is 
to keep Mrs. Hannah in good-humour, by little pres- 
ents and kindnesses. 

Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, 
mingled with awe, for this ancient spinster. He 
told me the other day, in a whisper, that she was a 
cursed brimstone^n fact, he added another epithet, 
which 1 would not repeat for the world. I have re- 
marked, however, that he is always extremely civil 
to her when they meet. 



READY-MONEY JACK. 



My purse, it is my privy wyfe, 
This song I dare both svng and say. 
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe 
When every man for himself shall pay. 
As I rj'de in ryche array 
For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe ; 
But thys matter I dare well saye. 
Every gramercy myne own purse. 

Book 0/ Hunting. 

On the skirts of the neighbouring village, there 
lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught I 
know, is a representative of one of the most ancient 
legitimate lines of the present day ; for the empire 
over which he reigns has belonged to his family time 
out of mind. His territories comprise a considerable 
number of good fat acres ; and his seat of power is 
in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, 
the stout oaken chair of his ancestor;. The person- 
age to whom 1 allude is a sturdy old yeoaian of the 
name of John Tibbets, or rather, Ready-Money Jack 
Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbour- 
hood. 

The first place where he attracted my attention 
was in the church-yard on Sunday; where he sat 
on a tombstone after the service, with his hat a little 
on one side, holding forth to a small circle of audi- 
tors ; and, as I presumed, expounding the law and 
the prophets ; until, on drawing a little nearer, 1 
found he was only expatiating on the merits of a 
brown horse. He presented so faithful a pictuie of 
a substantial English yeoman, such as he is often de- 
scribed in books, heightened, indeed, by some little 
finer>', peculiar to himself, that I could not but take 
note of his whole appearance. 

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, mus- 
cular frame, and at least six feet high, with a physi- 
ognomy as grave as a lion's, and set off with short, 
curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turned 
down, and displayed a neck covered with the same 
short, curling, gray hair ; and he wore a coloured 
silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, and tucked in at 
the bosom, with a green paste biocch on the knot. 
His coat was of dark green cloth, with silver buttons, 
on each of which was engraved a stag, with his own 
name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had an inner 
waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his 
coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His 
breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not 
from any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of 
scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with white 
clocks ; he wore large silver shoe-buckles ; a broad 
paste buckle in his hatband ; his sleeve-buttons were 
gold seven-shilling pieces ; and he had two or three 
guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. 

On making some inquiries about him, I gathered 
that he was descended from a line of farmers, that 
had always lived on the same spot, and own the same 
property ; and that half of the church-yard was taken 
up with the tombstones of his race. He has all his 
life been an important character in the place. When 
a youngster, he was one of the most roaring blades 
of the neighbourhood. No one could match him at 
wrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other 
athletic exercises. Like the renowned Pinner of 
Wakefield, he was the village champion ; carried off 
the prize at all the fairs, and threw his gauntlet at 
the country round. Even to this day, the old people 
talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, 
all heroes of the green that have succeeded him ; 
nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack were to 
take the field even now, there is no one could stand 
before him. 

When Jack's father died, the neighbours shook 



444 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



their heads, and predicted that young hopeful would 
soon make way with the old homestead ; but Jack 
falsified all their predictions. The moment lie suc- 
ceeded to the paternal farm, he assumed a new char- 
acter ; took a wife ; attended resolutely to his affairs, 
and became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the 
family property, he inherited a set of old family 
maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to 
every thing himself ; put his own hand to the plough ; 
worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept soundly ; paid for 
every thing in cash down ; and never danced, ex- 
cept he could do it to the music of his own money 
in both pockets. He has never been without a hun- 
dred or two pounds in gold by him, and never allows 
a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained him his 
current name, of which, by the by, he is a little 
proud ; and has caused him to be looked upon as a 
very wealthy man by all the village. 

Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never 
denied himself the amusements of Hfe, but has taken 
a share in every passing pleasure, it is his maxim, 
that " he that works hard can afford to play." He 
is, therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and 
wakes, and has signalized himself by feats of strength 
and prowess on every village green in the shire. He 
often makes his appearance at horse-races, and sports 
his half-guinea, and even his guinea at a time ; keeps 
a good horse for his own riding, and to this day is 
fond of following the hounds, and is generally in at 
the death. He keeps up the rustic revels, and hos- 
pitalities too, for which his paternal farm-house has 
always been noted ; has plenty of good cheer and 
dancing at harvest-home, and, above all, keeps the 
" merry night,"* as it is termed, at Christmas. 

With all his love of amusement, however. Jack is 
by no means a boisterous, jovial companion. He is 
seldom known to laugh even in the midst of his 
gayety ; but maintains the same grave, lion-Hke de- 
meanour. He is very slow at comprehending a joke ; 
and is apt to sit puzzling at it with a perplexed look, 
while the rest of the company is in a roar. This 
gravity has, perhaps, grown on him with the growing 
weight of his character ; for he is gr.adually rising 
into patriarchal dignity in his native place. Though 
he no longer takes an active part in athletic sports, 
yet he always presides at them, and is appealed to 
on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace 
on the village green at holiday games, and quells all 
brawls and quarrels by collaring the parties and 
shaking them heartily, if refractory. No one ever 
pretends to raise a hand against him, or to contend 
against his decisions ; the young men having grown 
up in habitual awe of his prowess, and in implicit 
deference to him as the champion and lord of the 
green. 

He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the 
landlady having been a sweetheart of his in early 
life, and he having always continued on kind terms 
with her. He seldom, however, drinks any thing 
but a draught of ale ; smokes his pipe, and pays his 
reckoning before leaving the tap-room. Here he 
"gives his little senate laws ;" decides bets, which 
are very generally referred to him ; determines upon 
the characters and qualities of horses ; and, indeed, 
plays now and then the part of a judge, in settling 
petty disputes between neighbours, which otherwise 
might have been nursed by country attorneys into 
tolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impar- 
tial in his decisions, but he has not a head to carry 
a long argument, and is very apt to get perple.xed 



* Merrv Night — a rustic merry-making in a farm-house about 
Christmas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abun- 
dance of homely fare, tea. cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of aKili- 
ty, amusing games, romping, dancing, and kissing withal. They 
commonly break up at midnight. 



and out of patience if there is much pleading. He 
generally breaks through the argument with a strong 
voice, and brings matters to a summary conclusion, 
by pronouncing what he calls the " upshot of the 
business," or, in other words, " the long and the 
short of the matter." 

Jack once made a journey to London, a great 
many years since, which has furnished him with 
topics of conversation ever since. He saw the old 
king on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and 
pointed him out to one of the princesses, being prob- 
ably struck with Jack's truly yeoman-like appear- 
ance. This is a favourite anecdote with him, and 
has no doubt had a great effect in making him a 
most loyal subject ever since, in spite of taxes and 
poors' rates. He was also at Bartholomew fair, 
where he had half the buttons cut off his coat ; and 
a gang of pickpockets, attracted by his external 
show of gold and silver, made a regular attempt to 
hustle him as he was gazing at a show ; but for once 
they found that they had caught a tartar ; for Jack 
enacted as great wonders among the gang as Sam- 
son did among the Philistines. One of his neigh- 
bours, who had accompanied him to town, and was 
with him at the fair, brought back an account of his 
exploits, which raised the pride of the whole village ; 
who considered their champion as having subdued 
all London, and eclipsed the achievements of Friar 
Tuck, or even the renowned Robin Hood himself. 

Of late years, the old fellow has begun to take the 
world easily ; he works less, and indulges in greater 
leisure, his .son having grown up, and succeeded to 
him both in the labours of the farm, and the exploits 
of the green. Like all sons of distinguished men, 
however, his father's renown is a disadvantage to 
him, for he can never come up to public expectation. 
Though a fine active fellow of three-and-twenty, and 
quite the " cock of the walk," yet the old people de- 
clare he is nothing like what Ready-Money Jack 
was at his time of life. The youngster himself ac- 
knowledges his inferiority, and has a wonderful opin- 
ion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his 
athletic accomplishments, and holds such a sway 
over him, that I am told, even to this day, he would 
have no hesitation to take him in hands, if he re- 
belled against paternal government. 

The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and 
shows him to all his visitors, as a specimen of old 
English " heart of oak." He frequently calls at his 
house, and tastes some of his home-brewed, which 
is excellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's 
"Hundred Points of good Husbandrie," which has 
furnished him with reading ever since, and is his 
text-book and manual in all agricultural and domes- 
tic concerns. He has made dog's-ears at the most 
favourite passages, and knows many of the poetical 
maxims by heart. 

Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or flat- 
tered by high acquaintances ; and though he cher- 
ishes a sturdy independence of mind and manner, 
yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of the 
Squire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pro- 
nounces " a true gentleman every inch of him." He 
is also on excellent ttrms with Master Simon, who 
is a kind of privy counsellor to the family ; but his 
great favourite is the Oxonian, whom he taught to 
wrestle and play at quarter-staff when a boy, and 
considers the most promising young gentleman in 
the whole country. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



445 



BACHELORS. 



The Bachelor most joyfully 

III pleasant plight doth pass his daies, 

Goodfellowship and compaiiie 

He doth maintain and keep alwaies. 

Even's Old Ballads. 

There is no character in the comedy of human 
life th:it is more difficult to play well, than that of an 
old Bachelor. When a single gentleman, therefore, 
arrives at that critical period when he begins to con- 
sider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, 
1 would advise him to look well to his ways. This 
period, it is true, is much later with some men than 
with others ; I have witnessed more than once the 
meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, who 
had not seen each other for several years, and have 
been amused by the amicable exchange of compli- 
ments on each other's appearance, that takes place 
on such occasions. There is always one invariable 
observation : " Why, bless my soul ! you look younger 
than when I last saw you!" Whenever a man's 
friends begin to compliment him about looking young, 
he may be sure that they think he is growing old. 

I ani led to make these remarks by the conduct of 
Master Simon and the general, who have become 
great cronies. As the former is the youngest by 
many years, he is regarded as quite a youthful blade 
by the general, who moreover looks upon him as a 
man of great wit and prodigious acquirements. I 
have already hinted that Master Simon is a family 
beau, and considered rather a young fellow by all 
the elderly ladies of the connexion ; for an old bach- 
elor, in an old family connexion, is something like an 
actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to 
" flourish in immortal youth," and will continue to play 
the Romeos and Rangers for half a century together. 
Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, 
and takes a different hue with eveiy different com- 
panion : he is very attentive and officious, and some- 
what sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft ; copies out 
little namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, 
and drawa'quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids, 
to be worked on the corners of her pocket-handker- 
chiefs. He indulges, however, in very considerable 
latitude with the other married ladies of the family ; 
and has many sly pleasantries to whisper to them, 
that provoke an equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan. 
But when he gets among young company, such as 
Frank Bracebridge, the Oxonian, and the general, 
he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to talk in a vei7 
bachelor-like strain about the sex. 

In this he has been encouraged by the example of 
the general, whom he looks up to as a man that has 
seen the world. The general, in fact, tells shocking 
stories after dinner, when the ladies have retired, 
which he gives as soaie of the choice things that are 
served up at the Mulligatavvney club ; a knot of boon 
companions in London. He also repeats the fat 
jokes of old Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, 
and which, though the general can hardly repeat 
them for laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge 
look grave, he having a great antipathy to an inde- 
cent jest. In a word, the general is a complete in- 
stance of the declension in gay life, by which a young 
man of pleasure is apt to cool down into an obscene 
old gentleman. 

I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two 
since, conversing with a buxom milkmaid in a mead- 
ow ; and from their elbowing each other now and 
then, and the general's shaking his shoulders, blow- 
ing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit 
of irrepressible laughter, I had no doubt they were 
playing the mischief with the girl. 

As 1 looked at them through a hedge, I could not 



but think they would have made a tolerable group 
for a modern picture of Susannah and the two elders. 
It is true, the girl seemed in nowise alarmed at the 
force of the enemy ; and I question, had either of 
them been alone, whether she would not have been 
more than they would have ventured to encounter. 
Such veteran roystcrs are daring wags when to- 
gether, and will put any female to the blush with 
their jokes ; but they are as quiet as lambs when 
they fall singly into the clutches of a fine woman._ 

In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a 
little vain of his person, and ambitious of conquests. 
I have observed him on Sunday in church, eyeing 
the country girls most suspiciously ; and have seen 
him leer upon them with a downright amorous look, 
even when he has been gallanting Lady Lillycraft, 
with great ceremony, through the church-yard. The 
general, in fact, is a veteran in the service of Cupid, 
rather than of Mars, having signalized himself in all 
the garrison towns and country quarters, and seen 
service in every ball-room of England. Not a cele- 
brated beauty but he has laid siege to; and if his 
word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is 
apt to be over-veracious, it is incredible the success 
he has had with the fair. At present he is like a 
worn-out warrior, retired from service ; but who still 
cocks his beaver with a military air, and talks stoutly 
of fighting whenever he comes within the smell of 
gunpowder. 

I have heard him speak his mind vei7 freely over 
his bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a 
wife ; as he thinks a young soldier should care for 
nothing but his " bottle and kind landlady." But, 
in fact, he says the service on the continent has 
had a sad effect upon the young men ; they have 
been ruined by light wines and French quadrilles. 
" They've nothing," he says, " of the spirit of the old 
service. There are none of your six-bottle men left, 
that were the souls of a mess dinner, and used to 
play the very deuce among the women." 

As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a 
free and easy man, with no baggage to take care ot 
but his portmanteau ; but a married man, with his 
wife hanging on his arm, always puts him in mind of 
a chamber candlestick, with its extinguisher hitched 
to it. I should not mind all this, if it were merely 
confined to the general ; but I fear he will be the 
ruin of my friend. Master Simon, who already begins 
to echo his heresies, and to talk in the style of a gen- 
tleman that has seen life, and lived upon the town. 
Indeed, the general seems to have taken Master 
Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the lions 
when he comes to town, and of introducing him to a 
knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney club ; 
which, I understand, is composed of old nabobs, 
officers in the Company's employ, and other " men 
of Ind," that have seen service in the East, and re- 
turned home burnt out with curry, and touched with 
the liver complaint. They have their regular club, 
where they eat Mulligatawney soup, smoke the 
hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Seringapatam, and 
tiger-hunting ; and are tediously agreeable in each 
other's company. 



WIVES. 

Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse 
Than is the quiet joy of iovinz wife ; 
Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse. 
Friend without change, playfellow without strife, 
Food without fulnesse, counsaile without pride, 
Is this sweet doubling of our single life. 

Sir p. Sidnev. 

There is so much talk about matrimony going on 
around me, in consequence of the approaching event 



"446 



WORKS OF WASPIINGTON IRVING. 



for which we are assembled at the Hall, that I con- 
fess I find my thoughts singularly exercised on the 
subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establish- 
ment seem to be passing- through a kind of fiery or- 
deal ; for Lady Lillycraft is one of those tender, ro- 
mance-read dames of the old school, whose mind is 
filled with flames and darts, and who breathe nothing 
but constancy and wedlock. She is for ever im- 
mersed in the concerns of the heart ; and, to use a 
poetical phrase, is perfectly surrounded by " the pur- 
ple light of love." The very general seems to feel 
the influence of this sentimental atmosphere ; to 
melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the 
time, to forget all his heresies about matrimony and 
the sex. 

The good lady is generally surrounded by little 
documents of her prevalent taste ; novels of a tender 
nature ; richly bound little books of poetry, that are 
filled with sonnets and love tales, and perfumed with 
rose-leaves ; and she has always an album at hand, 
for which she claims the contributions of all her 
friends. On looking over this last repository, the 
other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, in 
the Squire's hand-writing, which might have been 
intended as matrimonial hints to his ward. I was so 
much struck with several of them, that I took the 
liberty of copying them out. They are from the old 
play of Thomas Davenport, published in 1661, en- 
titled " The City Night-Cap ; " in which is drawn out 
and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the charac- 
ter of a patient and faithful wife, which, 1 think, 
might vie with that of the renowned Griselda. 

I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels 
should always end at the wedding, and should not 
give us another act, and another volume, to let us 
know how the hero and heroine conducted them- 
selves when married. Their main object seems to 
be merely to instruct young ladies how to get hus- 
bands, but not how to keep them : now this last, I 
speak it with all due diffidence, appears to me to be 
a desideratum in modern married life. It is appalling 
to those who have not yet adventured into the holy 
state, to see how soon the flame of romantic love 
burns out, or rather is quenched in matrimony ; and 
how deplorably the passionate, poetic lover declines 
into the phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am inclined 
to attribute this very much to the defect just men- 
tioned in the plays and novels, which form so impor- 
tant a branch of study of our young ladies ; and 
which teach them how to be heroines, but leave 
them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. 
The play from which the quotations before me were 
made, however, is an exception to this remark ; and 
I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of adducing some 
of them for the benefit of the reader, and for the 
honour of an old writer, who has bravely attempted 
to awaken dramatic interest in favour of a woman, 
even after she was married ! 

The following is a commendation of Abstemia to 
her husband Lorenzo : 

She*s modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; 

Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks, 

She inflames love with wonder,) but because 

She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. 

She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, 

The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent, 

(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself 

To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom 

Or never walks abroad but in your company. 

And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if 

She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight 

To step into the print your foot hath made. 

And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive 

Tediousness out of time, with her sweet character. 

Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia has 
the misfortune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her 
husband. Instead, however, of resenting his harsh 
treatment with clamorous upbraidings, and with the 



stormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which the 
sparks of anger are so often blown into a flame, she 
endures it with the meekness of conscious, but pa- 
tient, virtue ; and makes the following beautiful ap- 
peal to a friend who has witnessed her long suffering : 

Hast thou not seen me 

Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suflFers 

The .angry bark to plough through her bosom. 

And yet is presently so smooih, the eye 

Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made? 

Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representa- 
tions, at length repudiates her. To the last, however, 
she maintains her patient sweetness, and her love for 
him, in spite of his crueltv. She deplores his error, 
even more than his unkindness ; and laments the de- 
lusion which has turned his very affection into a 
source of bitterness. There is a moving pathos in 
her parting address to Lorenzo, after their divorce : 

Farewell. Lorenzo, 

Whom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry, 
May you meet a good wife ; so good, that you 
May not suspect her. nor may she be worthy 
()f your suspicion ; and if you hear hereafter 
That 1 am dead, inquire but my last words. 
And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you. 
And when you walk forth « ith your second choice 
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me, 
Imagine that you see me. lean and pale. 

Strewing your path with flowers. 

But may she never live to pay my debts : (iffc/j) 

It but in thought she wrong you, may she die 
In the conception of the injury. 
Pray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewell, sir; 
Let it not grieve you when you shall remember 
That I was innocent : nor this forget, 
Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan. 
She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne. 

In a short time Lorenzo discovers his «rror, and 
the innocence of his injured wife. In the transports 
of his repentance, he calls to mind all her feminine 
excellence ; her gentle, uncomplaining", womanly 
fortitude under wrongs and sorrows : 

Oh, Abstemia! 

How lovely thou lookest now I now thou appcarest 
Chaster than is the morning's modesty 
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom 
The western wind creeps softly ; now I remember 
How, when she sat at tabl(j. her obedient eye 
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well. 
Unless it look'd where I look'd : oh how proud 
She was, when she could cross herself to please me I 
But where now is this fair soul ? Like a silver cloud 
She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. 
And will be found no more. 

It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in 
the fate of Abstemia by the preceding extracts, to 
say, that she was restored to the arms and affections 
of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, by that 
disposition in every good heart, to atone for past in- 
justice, by an overflowing measure of returning 
kindness : 

Thou wealth, worth more than kingdoms ; I am now 

Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far 

Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice 

Deck'd up for death with garlands, 'the Indian wind& 

That blow from off the coast and cheer the sailor 

With the sweet savour of their spices, want 

The delight flows in thee. 

I have been more affected and interested by this 
little dramatic picture, than by many a popular love 
tale ; though, as I said before, I do not think it 
likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stand much 
chance of being taken for a model. Still I like to 
see poetry now and then extending its views beyond 
the wedding-day, and teaching a lady how to make 
herself attractive even after marriage. There is no 
great need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the 
necessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great 
art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to 
please. Nature has multiplied attractions around 
her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of 
budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



447 



pleases merely because it is fresh, and bLidding, and 
beautiful. But it is for the married state that a 
woman needs the most instruction, and in which she 
should be most on her guard to maintain her powers 
of pleasing. No woman can expect to be to her 
husband all that he fancied her when he was a lover. 
Men are always doomed to be duped, not so much 
by the arts of the sex, as by their own ini.iginations. 
They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying 
mere mortals. A woman should, therefore, ascer- 
tain what was the charm that rendered her so fas- 
cinating when a girl, and endeavour to keep it up 
when she has become a wife. One great thing un- 
doubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her con- 
duct, which an unmarried female always observes. 
She should maintain the same niceness and reserve 
in her person and habits, and endeavour still to 
preserve a freshness and virgin delicacy in the eye of 
her husband. She should remember that the prov- 
ince of woman is to be wooed, not to woo ; to be 
caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being 
in love ; bounty loses instead of winning him. The 
secret of a woman's power does not consist so much 
in giving, as in withholding. A woman may give 
up too much even to her husband. It is to a thou- 
sand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust 
to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from 
that dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaint- 
ance with every weakness and imperfection incident 
to matrimony. By these means she may still main- 
tain her power, though she has surrendered her 
person, and may continue the romance of love even 
beyond the honeymoon. 

" She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy 
Taylor, " must entice him to an eternal dearnesse by 
the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, 
the ornament of meekness, and the jewels of faith 
and charity. She must have no painting but blush- 
ings ; her brightness must be purity, and she must 
shine round about with sweetness and friendship; 
and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desired 
when she dies." 

I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks 
on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bach- 
elor to meddle with. That I may not, however, 
appear to confine my observations entirely to the 
wife, I will conclude with another quotation from 
Jeremy Taylor, in which the duties of both parties 
are mentioned ; while I would recommend his ser- 
mon on the marriage-ring to all those who, wiser 
than myself, are about entering the happy state of 
wedlock. 

" There is scarce any matter of duty but it con- 
cerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by 
names, and hath its variety by circumstances and 
little accidents : and what in one is called love, in 
the other is called reverence ; and what in the wife 
is obedience, the same in the man is duty. He pro- 
vides, and she dispenses ; he gives commandments, 
and she rules by them ; he rales her by authority, 
and she rules him by love ; she ought by all means 
to please him, and he must by no means displease 
her." 



STORY TELLING. 



gentlemen were not much in the habit of reading. 
Be this as it may, he will often, at supper-table, 
when conversation flags, call on some one or other 
of the company for a story, as it was formerly the 
custom to call for a song; and it is edifying to see 
the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, with 
which the good old gentleman will sit and listen to 
some hackneyed tale that he has heard for at least a 
hundred times. 

In this wav, one evening, the current of anecdotes 
and stories ran upon mysterious personages that have 
figured at different times, and filled the world with 
doubt and conjecture ; such as the Wandering Jew, 
the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented the 
curiosity of all Europe; the Invisible Girl, and last, 
though not least, the Pig-faced Lady. 

At length, one of the company was called upon 
that had the uiost unpromising physiognomy for a 
story teller, that ever I had seen. He was a thin, 
pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, that had 
sat at one corner of the table, shrunk up, as it were, 
into himself, and almost swallowed up in the cape''of 
his coat, as a turtle in its shell. 

The very demand seemed to throw him into a 
nervous agitation ; yet he did not refuse. He emerged 
his head out of his shell, made a few odd grimaces 
and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles 
into order, or his voice under command, and then 
offered to give some account of a mysterious person- 
age that he had recently encountered in the course 
of his travels, and one whom he thoughtfully entitled 
to being classed with the Man with the Iron Mask. 

I was so much struck with his extraordinary nar- 
rative, that I have written it out to the best of my 
recollection, for the amusement of the reader. I 
think it has in it all the elements of that mysterious 
and romantic narrative, so greedily sought after at 
the present day. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN, 

A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. 



A FAVOURITE evening pastime at the Hall, and 
one which the worthy Squire is fond of promoting, 
is story telling, "a good, old-fashioned fire-side 
amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he 
promotes it, chiefly, because it was one of the choice 
recreations in those days of yore, when ladies and 



" I'll cross it, though it blast me ! "— //rtw/t'/. 

It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month of 
November. I had been detained, in the course of a 
journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was 
recovering ; but I was still feverish, and was obliged 
to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small 
town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — 
whoever has had the luck to experience one can 
alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered 
against the casements ; the bells tolled for church 
with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows, 
in quest of something to amuse the eye ; but it seem- 
ed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach 
of all amusement. The windows of my bed-room 
looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, 
while those of my sitting-room commanded a full 
view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more cal- 
culated to make a man sick of this world, than a 
stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered 
with w'et straw, that had been kicked about by 
travellers and stable-boys. In one corner was a 
stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of 
muck; there were several half-drowned fowls crowd- 
ed together under a cart, among which was a miser- 
able, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and 
spirit ; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a 
single feather, along which the water trickled frorn 
his back ; near the cart was a half-dozing cow. 



448 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained 
on, with wreaths of vapour rising from her reelcing 
hide ; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the lon.liness of the 
stable, was poking his spectral head out of the win- 
dow, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves ; 
an unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by, 
uttered something every now and then, between a 
bark and a yelp ; a drab of a kitchen-wench tramped 
backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, 
looking as sulky as the weather itself; every thing, 
in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a 
crew of hard-drinking ducks, assembled like boon 
companions round a puddle, and making a riotous 
noise over their liquor. 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. 
My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned 
it, and sought what is technically called the travel- 
lers '-room. This is a public room set apart at most 
inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers 
called travellers, or riders; a kind of commercial 
knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the king- 
dom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are 
the only successors that I know of, at the present 
day, to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the 
same kind of roving adventurous life, only changing 
the lance for a driving-whip, the buckler for a pat- 
tern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benja- 
min. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless 
beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and 
standing of some substantial tradesman or manufac- 
turer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his 
name ; it being the fashion now-a-days, to trade, in- 
stead of fight, with one another. As the room of 
the hotel, in the good old fighting times, would be 
hung round at night with the armour of wayworn 
warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawn- 
ing helmets ; so the travellers'-rooni is garnished 
with the harnessing of their successors, with box- 
coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth 
covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies 
to talk with, but was disappointed. There were, in- 
deed, two or three in the room ; but I could make 
nothing of them. One was just finishing his break- 
fast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and huff- 
ing the waiter ; another buttoned on a pair of gaiters, 
with many execrations at Boots for not having clean- 
ed his shoes well ; a third sat drumming on tlie table 
with his fingers, and looking at the rain as it streamed 
down the window-glass ; they all appeared infected 
by the weather, and disappeared, one after the other, 
without exchanging a word. 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the 
people picking their way to church, with petticoats 
hoisted mid-leg high, and dripping umbrellas. The 
bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I 
then amused myself with watching the daughters of 
a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the 
house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played 
off their charms at the front windcjws, to fascinate 
the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were 
summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, 
and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. 

What was I to do to pass away the long-lived 
day ? I was sadly nervous and lonely ; and every 
thing about an inn seems calculated to make a dull 
day ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of 
beer and tobacco-smoke, and which I had already 
read half-a-dozen times — good-for-nothing books, 
that were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself 
to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. 
I read all the commonplaced names of ambitious 
travellers scrawled on the panes of glass ; the eter- 
nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the 
Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons; 



and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn- 
windcnv poetry which I have met with in all parts 
of the world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the 
slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds driited heavily 
along ; there v'vas no variety even in the rain : it 
was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — patter 
— patter, excepting that now and then I was en- 
livened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the 
rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. 

It was quite refi-eshittg (if I may be allowed a 
hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course 
of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach 
whirled through the street, with outside passengers 
stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, 
and seethed together, and reeking with the steams 
of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. 

The sound brought out from their lurking-places 
a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and 
the carroty-headed hostler, and that nondescript 
animal ycleped Boots, and all the other v.agabond 
race that infest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle 
was transient ; the coach again whirled on its way ; 
and bov and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk 
back again to their holes ; the street again became 
silent, and the rain continued to rain on. In fact, 
there was no hope of its clearing up ; the barometer 
pointed to rainy weather ; mine hostess' tortoise- 
shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rub- 
bing her paws over her ears ; and, on referring to 
the almanac, I found a direful prediction stretching 
from the top of the page to the bottom through the 
whole month, " expect — much — rain — about — this — 
time." 

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if 
they would never creep by. The very ticking of the 
clock became irksome. At length the stillness of 
the house was interrupted by the ringing of a bell. 
-Shortly after, I heard the voice of a waiter at the 
bar: "The stout gentleman in No. 13 wants his 
breakfast. Tea and bread and butter with ham and 
eggs ; the eggs not to be too much done." 

In such a situation as mine, every incident is of 
importance. Here was a subject of speculation pre- 
sented to my mind, and ample exercise for my imag- 
ination. I am prone to paint pictures to myself, and 
on this occasion I had some materials to v\ork upon. 
Had the guest up-stairs been mentioned as Mr. 
Smith, or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. John- 
son, or merely as "the gentleman in No. 13," it 
would have been a perfect blank to me. I should 
have thought nothing of it ; but " The stout gen- 
tleman ! " — the very name had something in it of the 
picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied 
the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did 
the rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in all 
probability, therefore, he was advanced in li!e, some 
people expanding as they grow old. By his break- 
fasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be 
a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the 
necessity of early rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, 
lusty old gentleman. 

There was another violent ringing. The stout 
gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He was 
evidently a man of importance ; " well-to-do in the 
world;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon; 
of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry; 
"perhaps," thought I, "he may be some London 
Alderman ; or who knows but he may be a Member 
of Parliament ? " 

The breakfast was sent up and there was a short 
interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the 
tea. Presently there was a violent ringing, and be- 
fore it could be answered, another ringing still more 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



449 



violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gentle- 
man ! " The waiter came down in a huff. The but- 
ter was rancid, the eggs were overdone, the ham 
was too salt : — the stout gentleman was evidently 
nice in his eating; one of those who eat and growl, 
and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state 
militant with the household. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should observe 
tliat she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a 
shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very 
pretty witlial ; with a nincompoop for a husband, as 
shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants 
roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a 
l>reakfast, but said not a word against the stout gen- 
tleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must 
be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise 
and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, 
and ham, and bread and butter, were sent up. They 
appeared to be more graciously received ; at least 
there was no further complaint, 

I had not made many turns about the travellers'- 
room, when there was another ringing. Shortly af- 
terwards there was a stir and an inquest about the 
house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or 
the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, there- 
fore, for a whig; or rather, from his being so abso- 
lute and Ijrdly where he had a chance, I suspected 
him of being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a 
large man; "who knows," thought I, "but it is 
Hunt himself ! " 

My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired 
of the waiter who was this stout gentleman that was 
making all this stir ; but I could get no inl'ormation : 
nobody seemed to know his name. The landlords 
of bustling inns seldom trouble their heads about the 
names or occupations of their transient guests. The 
colour of a coat, the shape or size of the person, is 
enough to suggest a travelhng name. It is either the 
tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, or the gentle- 
man in black, or the gentleman in snuff-colour; or, 
as in the present ins*ance, the stout gentleman. A 
designation of the kind once hit on answers every 
purpose, and saves all further inquiry. 

Rain — rain — rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain ! No 
such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no oc- 
upation nor amusement within. By and by I heard 
some one walking overhead. It was in the stout 
gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man, 
by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man, 
from his wearing such creaking soles. " He is 
doubtless," thought I, " some rich old square-toes, 
of regular habits, and is now taking exercise after 
breakfast." 

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and 
hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece. The 
Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me ; 
It was as tedious as the day itself I wandered out, 
not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my 
room. I had not been there long, when there was a 
squall from a neighbouring bed-room. A door open- 
ed and slammed violently ; a chamber-maid, that I 
had remarked for having a ruddy, good-humoured 
face, went down-stairs in a violent flurry. The stout 
gentleman had been rude to her. 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the 
:leuce in a moment. This unknown personage could 
lot be an old gentleman ; for old gentlemen are not 
ipt to be so obstreperous to chamber-maids. He 
:ould not be a young gentleman ; for young gentle- 
Tien are not apt to inspire such indignation. He 
Tiust be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly 
nto the bargain, or the girl would not have taken 
he matter in such terrible dudgeon. I confess I was 
iorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. 
29 



I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up- 
stairs ; her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue 
wagging the whole way. " She'd have no such doings 
in her house, she'd warrant ! If gentlemen did spend 
money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no servant 
maids of hers treated in that way, when they were 
about their work, that's what she wouldn't ! " 

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and 
above all with pretty women, I slunk back into my 
room, and partly closed the door ; but my curiosity 
was too much excited not to listen. The landlady 
marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and enter- 
ed it with a storm : the door closed after her. I 
heard her voice in high windy clamour for a moment 
or two. Then it gradually subsided, like a gust of 
wind in a garret ; then there was a laugh ; then I 
heard nothing more. 

Alter a little while, my landlady came out with an 
odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was 
a little on one side. As she went down-stairs, I heard 
the landlord ask her what was the matter; she said, 
" Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I was more 
than ever perplexed what to make of this unaccount- 
able personage, who could put a good-natured cham- 
ber-maid in a passion, and send away a termagant 
landlady in smiles. He could not be so old, nor cross, 
nor ugly either. 

I had to go to work at his picture again, and to 
paint him entirely different. I now set him down 
for one of those stout gentlemen that are frequently 
met with, swaggering about the doors of country 
inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher handker- 
chiefs, whose bulk is a little assisted by malt liquors. 
Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at 
Highgate ; who are used to tavern life ; up to all 
the tricks of tapsters, and knowing in the ways 
of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small scale ; 
i who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea; 
who call all the waiters by name, touzle the maids, 
gossip with the landlady at the bar, and prose over 
a pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. 

The morning wore away in forming of these and 
similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system of 
belief, some movement of the unknown would com- 
pletely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again 
into confusion. Such are the solitary operations of 
a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely 
nervous ; and the continual meditation on the con- 
cerns of this invisible personage began to have its 
effect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets. 

Dinner-time came. I hoped the stout gentleman 
might dine in the travellers'-room, and that 1 might 
at length get a view of his person ; but no — he had 
dinner served in his own room. What could be the 
meaning of this solitude and mystery .' He could not 
be a radical ; there was something too aristocratical 
in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of the 
world, and condemning himself to his own dull com- 
pany throughout a rainy day. And then, too, he lived 
too well for a discontented politician. He seemed 
to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over 
his wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, 
my doubts on this head were soon at an end ; for he 
could not have finished his first bottle before I could 
faintly hear him humming a tune ; and on listening, 
I found it to be "God save the King." 'Twas plain, 
then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject ; one 
that grew loyal over his bottle, and was ready to 
stand by king and constitution, when he could stand 
by nothing else. But who could he be ? My con- 
jectures began to run wild. Was he not some per- 
sonage of distinction, travelling incog. ? " God 
knows ! " said I, at my wit's end ; " it may be one of 
the royal family for aught I know, for they are all 
stout gentlemen I " 



450 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The weather continued rainy. The mysterious 
unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, 
his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the mean- 
time, as the day advanced, the travellers'-room be- 
gan to be frequented. Some, who had just arrived, 
came in buttoned up in box-coats ; others came home, 
who had been dispersed about the town. Some took 
their dinners, and some their tea. Had I been in a 
different mood, I should have found entertainment 
in studying this peculiar class of men. There were 
two especially, who were regular wags of the road, 
and up to all the standing jokes of travellers. They 
had a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, 
whom they called Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen 
other fine names, changing the name every time, and 
chuckling amazingly at their own waggery. My 
mind, however, had become completely engrossed 
by the stout gentleman. He had kept my fancy in 
chase during a long day, and it was not now to be 
diverted from the scent. 

The evening gradually wore away. The travellers 
read the papers two or three times over. Some drew 
round the fire, and told longstories about their horses, 
about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings 
down. They discussed the credits of different mer- 
chants and different inns ; and the two wags told 
several choice anecdotes of pretty chamber-maids, 
and kind landladies. All this passed as they were 
quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that 
is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and 
sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; after which 
they one after another rang for " Boots " and the 
chamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes 
cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers. 

There was only one man left ; a short-legged, long- 
bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy 
head. He sat by himself, with a glass of port wine 
negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stirring, and medi- 
tating and sipping, until nothing was left but the 
spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his 
chair, with the empty glass standing before him ; and 
the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick 
grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and 
dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. 
The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. 
Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box- 
coats of departed travellers, long since buried in 
deep sleep. 1 only heard the ticking of the clock, 
with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping 
topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop— drop — 
drop, from the eaves of the house. The church- 
bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout gentle- 
man began to v.'alk overhead, pacing slowly back- 
wards and forwards. There was something ex- 
tremely awful in all this, especially to one in my 
state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these 
guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of this 
mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and fainter, 
and at length died away. I could bear it no longer. 
1 was wound up to the desperation of a hero of ro- 
mance. " Be he who or what he may," said I to 
myself, " I'll have a sight of him ! " I seized a cham- 
ber candle, and hurried up to number 13. The door 
stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered: the room was 
deserted. There stood a large, broad-bottomed el- 
bow chair at a table, on which was an empty tum- 
bler, and a " Times " newspaper, and the room smelt 
powerlully of Stilton cheese. 

The mysterious stranger had evidently but just re- 
tired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, 
which had been changed to the front of the house. 
As I went along the corridor, I saw a large pair of 
boots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at the door 
of a bed-chamber. They doubtless belonged to the 
unknown ; but it would not do to disturb so redoubt- 



able a personage in his den ; he might discharge a 
pistol, or something worse, at my head. I went to 
bed, therefore, and lay awake half the night in a 
terrible nervous state ; and even when I fell asleep, 
I was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the 
stout gentleman and his wax-topped boots. 

I slept rather late the next morning, and was 
awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, which 
1 could not at first comprehend ; until getting more 
awake, I found there was a mail-coach starting from 
the door. Suddenly there was a cry from below, 
" The gentleman has forgot his umbrella ! look for 
the gentleman's umbrella in No. 13! " I heard an 
immediate scampering of a chamber-maid along the 
passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, " Here it is ! 
here's the gentleman's umbrella ! " 

The mysterious stranger then was on the point of 
setting off'. This was the only chance I should ever 
have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scram- 
bled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and 
just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person getting 
in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coat 
parted behind, and gave me a full view of the broad 
disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed — 
" all right ! " was the word — the coach whirled off: — 
and that was all I ever saw of the stout gentleman ! 



FOREST TREES, 



"A living gallery of aged trees." 

One of the favourite themes of boasting with the 
Squire, is the noble trees on his estate, which, in 
truth, has some of the finest that I have seen in En- 
gland. There is something august and solemn in 
the great avenues of stately oaks that gather their 
branches together high in air, and seem to reduce 
the pedestrians beneath them to mere pigmies. "An 
avenue of oaks or elms," the Squire olsserves, " is 
the true colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's 
house. As to stone and marble, any one can rear 
them at once — they are the work of the day ; but 
commend me to the colonnades that have grown old 
and great with the family, and tell by their grandeur 
how long the family has endured." 

The Squire has great reverence for certain ven- 
erable trees, gray with moss, which he considers as 
the ancient nobility of his domain. There is the 
ruin of an enormous oak, which has been so much 
flattered by time and tempest, that scarce any thing 
is left ; though he says Christy recollects when, in 
his boyhood, it was healthy and flourishing, until it 
was struck by lightning. It is now a mere trunk, 
with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, 
leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy 
wreck is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it h:s 
standard-bearer, and compares it to a veteran war- 
rior beaten down in battle, but bearing up his banner 
to the last. He has actually had a fence built round 
it, to protect it as much as possible from further 
injury. 

It is with great difficulty that the Squire can ever 
be brought to have any tree cut down on his estate. 
To some he looks with reverence, as having been 
planted by his ancestors ; to others with a kind of 
paternal affection, as having been planted by him- 
self; and he feels a degree of awe in bringing down, 
with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost cen- 
turies to budd up. I confess I cannot but sympa- 
thize, in some degree, with the good Squire on the 
subject. Though brought up in a country overrun 
with forests, where trees are apt to be considered 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



451 



mere encumbrances, and to bo laid low without 
hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a tine 
tree hewn down without concern. The poets, who 
are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of every 
thing that is beautiful, have artfully awakened great 
interest in their favour, by representing them as the 
habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every 
great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose 
existence was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his 
Sylva, makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions 
to this superstition. " As the fall," says he, " of a 
very aged oak, giving a crack like thunder, has often 
been heard at many miles' distance ; constrained 
though I often am to fell them with reluctancy, I 
do not at any time remember to have heard the 
groans of those nymphs (grieving to be dispossessed 
of their ancient habitations) without some emotion 
and pity." And again, in alluding to a violent 
storm that had devastated the woodlands, he says, 
" Methinks I still hear, sure I am that I still feel, the 
dismal groans of our forests ; the late dreadful hurri- 
cane having subverted so many thousands of goodly 
oaks, prostrating the trees, laying them in ghastly 
postures, like whole regiments fallen in battle by the 
sword of the conqueror, and crushing all that grew 
beneath them. The public accounts," he adds, 
" reckon no less than three thousand bra',ic oaks in 
one part only of the forest of Dean blown down." 

I have paused more than once in the wilderness 
of America, to contemplate the traces of some blast 
of wind, which seemed to have rushed down from 
the clouds, and ripped its way through the bosom of 
the woodlands ; rooting up, shivering, and splinter- 
ing the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track of 
desolation. There was something awful in the vast 
havoc made among these gigantic plants ; and in 
considering their magnificent remams, so rudely 
torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish pre- 
maturely on their native soil, I was conscious of a 
strong movement of the sympathy so feelingly ex- 
pressed by Evelyn. 1 recollect, also, hearing a 
traveller of poetical temperament expressing the 
kind of horror which he felt on beholding on the 
banks of the Missouri, an oak of prodigious size, 
which had been, in a manner, overpowered by an 
enormous wild grape-vine. The vine had clasped its 
huge folds round the trunk, and from thence had 
wound about every branch and twig, until the 
mighty tree had withered in its embrace. It seemed 
like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in the hideous 
coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of 
trees perishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. 

I am fond of listening to the conversation of En- 
glish gentlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing 
with what taste and discrimination, and what strong, 
unaffected interest they will discuss topics, which, in 
other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen, 
or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl 
descant on park and forest scenery with the science 
and feeling of a painter. He dwell on the shape 
and beauty of particular trees on his estate, with as 
much pride and technical precision as though he 
had been discussing the merits of statues in his col- 
lection. I found that he had even gone considerable 
distances to examine trees which were celebrated 
among rural amateurs ; for It seems that trees, like 
horses, have their established points of excellence ; 
and that there are some in England which enjoy 
very extensive celebrity emong tree-fanciers, from 
being perfect in their kind. 

There is something nobly simple and pure in such 
a taste : it argues, 1 think, a sweet and generous 
nature, to have this strong relish for the beauties of 
vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and 
gloriotiS sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of 



thought connected with this part of rural economy. 
It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line 
of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free-born, 
and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks 
forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. 
Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot 
expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but 
he exults in the idea that the acorn which he has 
buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, 
and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and 
benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased 
to tread his paternal fields. Indeed, it is the nature 
of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere 
worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to ab- 
sorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe 
forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if 
they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, 
and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There 
is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery, 
that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, 
and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and 
hereditary groves, too, that embower this island, are 
most of them full of story. They are haunted by 
the recollections of great spirits of past ages, who 
have sought for relaxation among them from the 
tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed 
the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with 
soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Pens- 
hurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant 
Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look 
without fondness upon the tree that is said to have 
been planted on his birth-day ; or can ramble pmong 
the classic bowers of Hagley ; or can pause among 
the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the 
oaks around, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the 
old castle towers, and not feel as if he were sur- 
rounded by so many monuments of long-enduring 
glory ? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted 
groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, 
have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties 
of unassisted nature. It is that they teem with 
moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting 
story of human existence. 

It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous 
spirits of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred 
groves that surround their ancestral mansions, and 
to perpetuate them to their descendants. Repub- 
lican as 1 am by birth, and brought up as 1 have 
been in republican principles and habits, I can feel 
nothing of the servile reverence for titled rank, 
merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I am 
neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see 
and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to 
the lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind 
into true nobility. It is one of the effects of heredi- 
tary rank, when it falls thus happily, that it multi- 
plies the duties, and, as it were, extends the exist- 
ence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a 
mere individual link in creation, responsible only for 
his own brief term of being. He carries back his 
existence in proud recollection, and he extends it 
forward in honourable anticipation. He lives with 
his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To 
both does he consider himself involved in deep re- 
sponsibilities. As he has received much from those 
that have gone before, so he feels bound to transmit 
much to those who are to come after him. His do- 
mestic undertakings seem to imply a longer existence 
than those of ordinary men ; none are so apt to 
build and plant for future centuries, as noble-spiritetl 
men, who have received their heritages from fore- 
gone ages. 

I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and 
pride with which I have noticed English gentlemen, 
ol generous temperaments, and high aristocratic 



452 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



feelings, contemplating those magnificent trees, 
which rise like towers and pyramids, from the midst 
of their paternal lands. There is an affinity between 
all nature, animate and inanimate : the oak, in the 
pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to 
take its range with the lion and the eagle, and to 
assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic 
and intellectual man. With its mighty pillar rising 
straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its 
leafy honours from the impurities of earth, and sup- 
porting them aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, 
it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should be ; 
a refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a 
defence for the defenceless ; warding off from them 
the peltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of 
arbitrary power. He who is this, is an ornament 
and a blessing to his native land. He who is o/hcr- 
w/sf, abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the 
grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from 
the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, 
and he be laid prostrate by the storm, who would 
mourn over his fall .' Should he be borne down by 
the oppressive hand of power, who would murmur 
at his fate ? — " Why cumbereth he the ground ? " 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 



Printed bookes he cuntemnes, as a novelty of this latter age ; 
but a manuscript he pores on everlastingly ; especially if the cover 
be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis betweene 
every syllable. Mico-Cosmographie. 1628. 

The Squire receives great sympathy and support, 
in his antiquated humours, from the parson, of whom 
I made some mention on my former visit to the Hall, 
and who acts as a kind of family chaplain. He has 
been cherished by the Squire almost constantly, 
since the time that they were fellow-students at Ox- 
ford ; for it is one of the peculiar advantages of these 
great universities, that they often link the poor 
scholar to the rich patron, by early and heart-felt 
ties, that last through life, without the usual humili- 
ations of dependence and patronage. Under the 
fostering protection of the Squire, therefore, the lit- 
tle parson has pursued his studies in peace. Having 
lived almost entirely among books, and those, too, 
old books, he is quite ignorant of the world, and his 
mind is as antiquated as the garden at the Hall, 
where the flowers are all arranged in formal beds, 
and the yew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. 

His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed 
m the Bodleian Library at Oxford ; where, when a 
student, he passed many an hour foraging among 
the old manuscripts. He has since, at dift'erent 
times, visited most of the curious libraries in En- 
gland, and has ransacked many of the cathedrals. 
With all his quaint and curious learning, he has 
nothing of arrogance or pedantry ; but that unaf- 
fected earnestness and guileless simplicity which 
seem to belong to the literary antiquary. 

He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in 
his manner ; yet, on his favourite theme, he kindles 
up, and at times is even eloquent. No fox-hunter, 
recounting his last day's sport, could be more ani- 
mated than I have seen the worthy parson, when re- 
lating his search after a curious document, which he 
had traced from library to library, until he fairly un- 
earthed it in the dusty chapter-house of a cathedral. 
When, too, he describes some venerable manuscript, 
with its rich illuminations, its thick creamy vellum, 
its glossy ink, and the odour of the cloisters that 
seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusiasm 



of a Parisian epicure, expatiating on the merits of a 
Perigord pie, or a Pattc' de Strasbourg. 

His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick 
dreams about gorgeous old works in " silk linings, 
triple gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up in 
wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the 
mere reader ; " and, to continue the happy expres- 
sions of an ingenious writer, " dazzling one's eyes 
like eastern beauties, peering through their jealous- 
ies."* 

He has a great desire, however, to read such works 
in the old libraries and chapter-houses to which they 
belong; for he thinks a black-letter volume reads 
best in one of those venerable chambers where the 
light struggles through dusty lancet w-iudovvs and 
painted glass ; and that it loses half its zest, if taken 
away from the neighbourhood of the quaintly-carved 
oaken book-case and Gothic reading-desk. At his 
suggestion, the Squire has had the library furnished 
in this antique taste, and several of the windows 
glazed with painted glass, that they may throw a 
properly tempered light upon the pages of their fa- 
vourite old authors. 

The parson, I am told, has been for some time 
meditating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and 
Douce, in which he means to detect them in sundry 
dangerous errors in respect to popular games and 
superstitions ; a work to which the Squire looks for- 
ward with great interest. He is, also, a casual con- 
tributor to that long-established repository of na- 
tional customs and antiquities, the Gentleman's 
Magazine, and is one of those that every now and 
then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete cus- 
tom or rare legend ; nay, it is said that several of his 
communications have been at least six inches in 
length. He frequently receives parcels by coach from 
different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy 
volumes and almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is 
singular what an active correspondence is kept up 
among literary antiquaries, and how soon the fame 
of any rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered 
among the rubbish of a library, is circulated among 
them. The parson is more busy than common just 
now, being a little flurried by an advertisement of a 
work, said to be preparing for the press, on the my- 
thology of the middle ages. The little man has long 
been gathering together all the hobgoblin tales he 
could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of 
former times ; and he is in a complete lever lest this 
formidable rival should take the field before him. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at 
the parsonage, in company with Mr. Bracebridge 
and the general. The parson had not been seen for 
several days, which was a matter of some surprise, 
as he was an almost daily visitor at the Hall. We 
found him in his study ; a small dusky chamber, 
lighted by a lattice w indow that looked into the 
church-yard, and was overshadowed by a yew-tree. 
His chair was surrounded by folios and quartos, piled 
upon the floor, and his table was covered with books 
and manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion was a 
work which he had recently received, and with which 
he had retired in rapture from the world, and shut 
himself up to enjoy a literary honeymoon undisturbed. 
Never did boarding-school girl devour the pages of 
a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous ro- 
mance, with more intense delight than did the little 
man banquet on the pages of this delicious work. 
It was Dibdin's Bibliographical Tour ; a work cal- 
culated to have as intoxicating an effect on the im- 
aginations of 'literary antiquaries, as the adventures 
of the heroes of the round table, on all true knights ; 
or the tales of the early American voyagers on the 



* D'Israeli — Curiosities of Literature. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



453 



ardent spirits of the ap^e, filling them with dreams of 
Mexican and Peruvian mines, and of the golden 
realm of El Dorado. 

The good parson had looked forward to this bib- 
liographical expedition as of far greater importance 
than those to Africa or the North Pole. With what 
eagerness had he seized upon the history of the 
enterprise I with what interest had he followed the 
redoubtable bibliographer and his graphical squire 
in their adventurous roamings among Norman cas- 
tles, and cathedrals, and French libraries, and Ger- 
man convents and universities ; penetrating into the 
prison-houses of vellum manuscripts, and exquisitely 
illuminated missals, and revealing their beauties to 
the world ! 

When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy 
on this most curious and entertaining work, he drew 
forth from a little drawer a manuscript, lately re- 
ceived from a correspondent, which had perplexed 
him sadly. It was written in Norman French, in 
very ancient characters, and so faded and mouldered 
away as to be almost illegible. It was apparently 
an old Norman drinking song, that might have been 
brought over by one of William the Conqueror's ca- 
rousing followers. The writing was just legible 
enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter on a doubt- 
ful chase ; here and there he would be completely 
thrown out, and then there would be a few words 
so plainly written as to put him on the scent again. 
In this way he had been led on for a whole day, until 
he had founti himself completelv at fault. 

The squire endeavoured to assist him, but was 
equally baffled. The old general listened for some 
time to the discussion, and then asked the parson if 
he had read Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, 
or Anacreon Moore's bacchanalian songs .' On the 
other replying in the negative, " Oh, then," said the 
general, with a sagacious nod, " if you want a drink- 
ing song, I can furnish you with the latest collection 
— I did not know you had a turn for those kind of 
things ; and I can lend you the Encyclopedia of Wit 
into the bargain. I never travel without them ; 
they're excellent reading at an inn." 

It would not be easy to describe the odd look of 
surprise and perplexity of the parson, at this propo- 
sal ; or the difficulty the Squire had in making the 
general comprehend, that though a jovial song of the 
present day was but a foolish sound in the ears of 
wisdom, and beneath the notice of a learned man, 
yet a trowl, written by a tosspot several hundred 
years since, was a matter worthy of the gravest re- 
search, and enough to set whole colleges by the 
ears. 

I have since pondered much on this matter, and 
have figured to myself what may be the fate of our 
current literature, when retrieved, piecemeal, by fu- 
ture antiquaries, from among the rubbish of ages. 
What a Magnus Apollo, for instance, will Moore be- 
come, among sober divines and dusty schoolmen ! 
Even his festive and amatory songs, which are now 
the mere quickeners of our social moments, or the 
deUghts of our drawing-rooms, will then become 
matters of laborious research and painful collation. 
How many a grave professor will then waste his 
midnight oil, or worry his brain through a long 
morning, endeavouring to restore the pure text, or 
illustrate the biographical hints of " Come, tell me, 
says Rosa, as kissing and kissed;" and how many 
an arid old bookworm, like the worthy little parson, 
will give up in despair, after vainly striving to fill up 
some fatal hiatus in " Fanny of Timmol ! " 

Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore 
that are doomed to consume the oil of future anti- 
quaries. Many a poor scribbler, who is now, ap- 
parently, sent to oblivion by pastry-cooks and cheese- 



mongers, will then rise again in fragments, .and 
flourish in learned immortalit\-. 

After all, thought I, time is not such an invariable 
destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls down, he 
likewise builds up ; if he impoverishes one, he en- 
riches another ; his very dilapidations furnish matter 
for new works of controversy, and his rust is more 
precious than the most costly gilding. Under his 
plastic hand, trifles rise into importance ; the non- 
sense of one age becomes the wisdom of another ; 
the levity of the wit gravitates into the learning of 
the pedant, and an ancient farthing moulders into 
infinitely more value than a modern guinea. 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 



" Love and h.nv 

Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles.'* 

Beaumont and I'LurcnEK. 

I WAS SO much pleased with the anecdotes which 
were told me of Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, that I 
got Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to 
his house. It was an old-fashioned farm-house built 
with brick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It 
stood at a little distance from the road, with a south- 
ern exposure, looking upon a soft green slope of 
meadow. There was a small garden in front, with 
a row of bee-hives humming among beds of sweet 
herbs and flowers. Well-scoured milking tubs, with 
bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. 
Fruit trees were trained up against the cottage, and 
pots of flowers stood in the windows. A fat, super- 
annuated mastiff lay in the sunshine at the door ; with 
a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. 

Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our 
calling, but we were received with hearty and homely 
welcome bv his wife ; a notable, motherly woman, 
and a complete pattern for wives ; since, according 
to Master Simon's account, she never contradicts 
honest Jack, and yet manages to have her own way, 
and to control him in every thing. 

She received us in the main room of the house, a 
kind of parlour and hall, with great brown beams of 
timber across it, which Mr. Tibbets is apt to point 
out with some exultation, observing, that they don't 
put such timlier in houses now-a-days. The furni- 
ture was old-fashioned, strong, and highly polished ; 
the walls were hung with coloured prints of the story 
of the Prodigal Son, who was represented in a red 
coat and leather breeches. Over the fire-place was 
a blunderbuss, and a hard - favoured likeness of 
Readv-Money Jack, taken when he was a young 
man, by the same artist that painted the tavern sign ; 
his mother having taken a notion that the Tibbets' 
had as much right to have a gallery of family por- 
traits as the folks at the Hall. 

The good dame pressed us very much to take 
some refreshment, and tempted us with a variety of 
household dainties, so that we were glad to com- 
pound by tasting some of her home-made wines. 
While we were there, the son and heir-apparent 
came home ; a good-looking young fellow, and some- 
thing of a rustic beau. He took us over the premises, 
and showed us the whole establishment. An air of 
homely but substantial plenty prevailed throughout ; 
every thing was of the best materials, and in the best 
condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill made ; 
and you saw every where the signs of a man that 
took care to have the worth of his money, and that 
paid as he went. 

The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed 



454 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready- 
Money Jacl< tool< his wife about the country. His 
well-fed horse neighed from the stable, and when led 
out into the yard, to use the words of young Jack, 
" he shone like a bottle ; " for he said the old man 
made it a rule that every thing about him should 
fare as well as he did himself. 

I was pleased to see the jiride which the young 
fellow seemed to have of his father. He gave us 
several particulars concerning his habits, which were 
pretty much to the effect of those I have already 
mentioned. He had never suffered an account to 
stand in his life, always pro\iding the money before 
he purchased any thing ; and, if possible, paying in 
gold and silver. He had a great dislike to paper 
money, and seldom went without a considerable sum 
in gold about him. On my observing that it was a 
wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, the 
young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing 
upon such an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old 
man would be a match for Robin Hood and all his 
gang. 

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes 
into any house without having a world of private 
talk with some one or other of the family, being a 
kind of universal counsellor and confidant. We had 
not been long at the farm, before the old dame got 
him into a corner of her parlour, where they had a 
long, whispering conference together; in which I 
saw, by his shrugs, that there v/ere some dubious 
matters discussed, and by his nods that he agreed 
with every thing she said. 

After we had come out, the young man accom- 
panied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master 
Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talk- 
ed together for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, 
who has the usual propensity of confidants to blab 
every thing to the next friend they meet with, let me 
know that there was a love affair in question ; the 
young fellow having been smitten with the charms 
of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the house- 
keeper at the Hall. Like most other love concerns, 
it had brought its troubles and perplexities. Dame 
Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms 
with the housekeeper, who often visited the farm- 
house ; but when the neighbours spoke to her of the 
likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe 
Wilkins, " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very 
idea. The girl had acted as lady's maid ; and it 
was beneath the blood of the Tibbets", who had Used 
on their own lands time out of mind, and owed 
reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir- 
apparent marry a servant ! 

These vapourings had faithfully been carried to 
the housekeeper's ear, by one of their mutual go- 
between friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if 
not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tib- 
bets. She had been accustomed to carry a high 
head at the Hall, and among the villagers ; and her 
faded brocade rustled with indignation at the slight 
cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. 
She maintained that her niece had been a companion 
rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies. 
" Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work for 
her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the 
land ; and when somebody died, would receive some- 
thing that would be worth the notice of some folks, 
with all their ready money." 

A bitter feud had thus taken place between the 
two worthy dames, and the young people were for- 
bidden to think of one another. As to young Jack, 
he was too much in love to reason upon the matter; 
and being a little heady, and not standing in much 
awe of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole 
dignity of the Tibbets' to his passion. He had lately, 



however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in 
consequence of some coquetry on her part, and at 
present stood aloof The politic mother was exert- 
ing all her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach ; 
but, as is most commonly the case, the more she 
meddled with this perverse inclination of the son, the 
stronger it grew. In the meantime, old Readj'- 
Money was kept completely in the dark ; both parties 
were in awe and uncertainty as to what might be 
his way of taking the matter, and dreaded to awaken 
the sleeping lion. Between father and son, there- 
fore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, 
and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great 
danger of honest Ready-Money's finding the thing 
out, if left to himself; for he was of a most unsus- 
picious temper, and by no means quick of appre- 
hension ; but there was daily risk of his attention 
being aroused, by the cobwebs which his indefati- 
gable wife was continually spinning about his nose. 

Such is the distracted state of politics, in the do- 
mestic empire of Ready-Money Jack ; which only 
shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which 
the best-regulated governincnts are liable. In this 
perplexed situation of their affairs, both mother 
and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel ; 
and, with all his experience in meddling with other 
people's concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult 
part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing that 
their opinions and wishes are so diametrically op- 
posite. 



HORSEMANSHIP. 



A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight put 
both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great 
crabshell brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of 
the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the divell. 

Taylor, the Water Poet. 

I HAVE made casual mention, more than once, of 
one of the Squire's antiquated retainers, old Christy, 
the huntsman. I find that his crabbed humour is a 
source of much entertainment among the young men 
of the family ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mis- 
chievous pleasure, now and then, in slyly rubbing the 
old man against the grain, and then smoothing him 
down again ; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle 
up his back as a porcupine. He rides a venerable 
hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of him- 
self, a heady cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh 
off its bones ; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of 
villainous tricks. He is as tough, and nearly as 
old as his rider, who has ridden him time out of 
mind, and is, indeed, the only one that can do any 
thing with him. Sometimes, however, they have a 
complete quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, and 
then, 1 am told, it is as good as a farce to see the 
heat they both get into, and the wrong-headed con- 
test that ensues ; for they are quite knowing in each 
other's ways, and in the art of teasing and fretting 
each other. Notwithstanding these doughty brawls, 
however, there is nothing that nettles old Christy 
sooner than to question the merits of the horse ; 
which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful hus- 
band will vindicate the virtues of the termagant 
spouse, that gives him a curtain lecture every night 
of his life. 

The young men call old Christy their " professor 
of equitation ; " and in accounting for the appella- 
tion, they let me into some particulars of the Squire's 
mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd 
mixture of eccentricity and good sense in all the 
opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like mod- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



45S 



ern Gothic, where plain bricl<-\vork is set off with 
pointed arches and quaint tracery. Though the 
main ground-work of his opinions is correct, yet he 
has a thousand httle notions, picked up Iroin old 
books, which stand out whimsically on the surface 
of his mind. 

Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, 
Markam, and such like old English writers, for his 
manuals. At an early age he look the lads out of 
their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers 
are apt to be, to make fine, orderly children of them, 
that should keep out of sun and rain and never soil 
their hands, nor tear their clothes. 

In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to 
run free and wild about the park, without heeding 
wind or weather. He was, also, particularly atten- 
tive in making them bold and expert horsemen ; and 
these were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, 
enjoyed great importance, as the lads were put under 
his care to practise them at the leaping-bars, and to 
keep an eye upon them in the chase. 

The Squire always objected to their riding in car- 
riages of any kind, and is still a little tenacious on 
this point. He often rails against the universal use 
of carriages, and quotes the words of honest Nashe 
to that effect. " It was thought," says Nashe, in his 
Ouaternio, " a kind of Solecism, and to savour of 
effeminacy, for a young gentleman in the flourishing 
time of his age to creep into a coach, and to shroud 
himself from wind and weather: our great delight 
was to outbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great 
horse : to arm and prepare ourselves to go with Mars 
and Bellona into the tield, was our sport and pas- 
time ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for 
whom they were first invented, for ladies and gentle- 
men, and decrepit age and impotent people." 

The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have 
lost much of their hardiness and manhood, since the 
introduction of carriages. " Compare," he will say, 
" the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horse- 
back, booted and spurred, and travel-sta'ned, but 
open, frank, manly, and chivalrous, with the fine 
gentleman of the present day, full of affectation and 
effeminacy, rolling along a turnpike in his voluptuous 
vehicle. The young men of those days were ren- 
dered brave, and lolty, and generous in their notions, 
by almost living in their saddles, and having their 
foaming steeds ' like proud seas under them.' There 
is something," he adds, " in bestriding a fine horse 
that makes a man feel more than mortal. He seems 
to have doubled his nature, and to have added to his 
own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, 
and stateliness of the superb animal on which he is 
mounted." 

" It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a 
young gentleman with his skill and cunning, by his 
voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and to com- 
mand the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, 
with all his strength ; one while to see him make 
him tread, trot, and gallop the ring ; and one after 
to see him make him gather up roundly ; to bear his 
head steadily ; to run a full career swiftly ; to stop a 
sudden lightly ; anon after to see him make him ad- 
vance, to yerke, to go back, and sidelong, to turn 
on either hand ; to gallop the gallop galliard ; to do 
the capriole, the chambetta, and dance the curvetty." 

In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them 
all on horseback at an early age, and made them ride, 
slapdash, about the country, without flinching at 
hedge, or ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent dan- 
ger of their necks. 

Even the fair Julia was partially included in this 
system; and, under the instructions of old Christy, has 
become one of the best horsewomen in the county. 
The Squire says it is better than all the cosmetics 



and sweeteners of the breath that ever were in- 
vented. He extols the horsemanship of the ladies in 
former times, when Queen Elizabeth would scarcely 
suffer the rain to stop her accustomed ride. "And 
then think," he will say, " what nobler and sweeter 
beings it made them. What a difference must there 
be, both in mind and body, between a joyous, high- 
spirited dame of those days, glowing with health and 
exercise, freshened by every breeze that blows, seat- 
ed loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with plume 
on head, and hawk on hand, and her descendant of 
the present day, the pale victim of routs and ball- 
rooms, sunk languidly in one corner of an enervating 
carnage." 

The Squire's equestrian system has been attended 
with great success; for his sons, having passed through 
the whole course of instruction without breaking neck 
or limb, are now healthful, spirited, and active, and 
have the true Englishman's love for a horse. If their 
manliness and frankness are praised in their father's 
hearing, he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, 
they have been taught " to ride, to shoot, and to 
speak the truth." 

It is true, the Oxonian has now and then practised 
the old gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreme. 
He is a gay youngster, rather fonder of his horse 
than his book, with a little dash of the dandy ; though 
the ladies all declare that he is " the flower of the 
flock." The first year that he was sent to Oxford, 
he had a tutor appointed to overlook him, a dry chip 
of the university. When he returned home in the 
vacation, the Squire made many inquiries about how 
he liked his college, his studies, and his tutor. 

" Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with him 
some time since." 

" You have ! and, pray, why so ? " 

" Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, 
and I was a little short of funds ; so I discharged my 
tutor, and took a horse, you know." 

".'Vh, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the 
Squire, mildly. 

When Tom returned to college, his allowance 
was doubled, that he might be enabled to keep both 
horse and tutor. 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 



I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be 
most apparently in love. M.-vKSTON. 

I SHOULD not be surprised, if we should have an- 
other pair of turtles at the Hall ; for Master Simon 
has informed me, in great confidence, that he sus- 
pects the general of some design upon the suscep- 
tible heart of Lady Lillycraft. 1 have, indeed, noticed 
a growing attention and courtesy in the veteran to- 
wards her ladyship; he softens very much in her 
company, sits by her at table, and entertains her 
with long stories about Seringapatam, and pleasant 
anecdotes of the MuUigatawney club. I have even 
seen him present her with a full-blown rose from the 
hot-house, in a style of the most captivating gal- 
lantry, and it was accepted with great suavity and 
graciousness ; for her ladyship delights in receiving 
the homage and attention of the sex. 

Indeed, the general was one of the earliest ad- 
mirers that dangled in her train, during her short 
reign of beauty; and they flirted together for half a 
season in London, some thirty or forty years since. 
She reminded him lately, in the course of a conver- 
sation about former days, of the time when he used 
to ride a white horse, and to canter so gallantly by 



456 



W.ORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the side of her carriage in Hyde Park ; whereupon I 
have remarked that the veteran has regularly es- 
corted her since, when she rides out on horseback ; 
and, I suspect, he almost persuades himself that he 
makes as captivating an appearance as in his youth- 
ful days. ■' 

It would be an interesting and memorable circum- 
stance in the chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of 
the tender passion, after lying dormant for such a 
length of time, should again be fanned into a flame 
Irom amidst the ashes of two burnt-out hearts It 
would be an instance of perdurable t^delity, worthy 
ol being placed beside those recorded in one of the 
bquire s favourite tomes, commemorating the con- 
stancy of the olden times; in which times, we are 
told, "Men and wymmen coulde love tocn/ders 
seven yeres, and no licours lustes were betwene 
them and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulnes • 
and lo in lyke wyse was used love in King Arthur's 
dayes. * 

Still, however, this may be nothing but a little ven- 
erable flirtation, the general being a veteran dangler, 
and the good lady habituated to these kind of atten- 
tions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks the 
general is looking- about him with the wary eye of 
an old campaigner; and, now that he is on the 
wane, is desirous of getting into warm winter-quar- 
ters. Much allowance, however, must be made for 
Master bimon s uneasiness on the subject, for he 
looks on Lady Lillycraffs house as one of his strong- 
holds, where he is lord of the ascendant ; and, wifh 
all his admiration of the general, I much doubt 
whether he would like to see him lord of the lady 
and the establishment. ' 

There are certain other symptoms, notwithstand- 
mg, that give an air of probability to Master Simon's 
intimations. Thus, for instance, I have observed 
that the general has been very assiduous in his atten- 
tions to her ladyship's dogs, and has several times 
exposed his hngers to imminent jeopardy in at- 
tempting to pat Beauty on the head. It is to be 
hoped his advances to the mistress will be more 
lavourably received, as all his overtures towards a 
caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with 
a wary kindling of the eye, and a most venomous 
growl. 

He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards 
my lady s gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs Han- 
nah, whom he used to speak of in a way that I do 
not choose to mention. Whether she has the same 
suspicions with Master Simon or not, I cannot say ■ 
but she receives his civilities with no better grace 
than the implacable Beauty; unscrewing her mouth 
into a most acid smile, and looking as though she 
could bite a piece out of him. In short, the poor 
general seems to have as formidable foes to contend 
with, as a hero ol ancient fairy tale ; who had to 
hght his way to his enchanted princess throuo-h fe- 
rocious monsters of every kind, and to encounter the 
brimstone terrors of some fiery dragon. 

There is still another circumstance, which inclines 
me to give very considerable credit lo Master Si- 
mon s suspicions. Lady Lillycraft is very fond of 
quoting poetry, and the conversation often turns 
upon It, on which occasions the general is thrown 
completely out. It happened the other day that 
.S|)onser s Fairy Queen was the theme for the greater 
part ol the morning, and the poor general sat per- 
ectly silent. I found him not long after in the li- 
brar)-, with spectacles on nose, a book in his hand 
and last asleep. On my approach, he awoke, slipt 
the spectacles into his pocket, and began to read 
very attentively. After a little while he put a paper 



in the place, and laid the volume aside, which I per- 
ceived was the Fairy Queen. I have had the curi- 
osity to watch how he got on in his poetical 
studies; but though I have repeatedly seen him 
with the book in his hand, yet I find the paper has 
not advanced above three or four pages; the 
general being extremely apt to fall asleep%vh'en he 
reads. 



F A L C N R y. 



' Morte d'Arthur, 



Ne IS there hawk which mantlcth on her perch. 

Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, 
Hut 1 the measure of her flight doe search 
And all her prey and all her diet know. 

Spenser, 
There are several grand sources of lamentation 
furnished to the worthy Squire, by the improvement 
ol society and the grievous advancement of knowl- 
edge ; among which there is none, I believe, that 
causes him more frequent regret than the unfortu- 
nate invention of gunpowder. To this he continu- 
ally traces the decay ol some favourite custom, and 
indeed, the general downfall of all chivalrous and 
romantic usages. " Engiish soldiers," he says 
•■have never been the men they were in the days of 
the cross-bow and the long-bow; when they de- 
pended upon the strength of the arm, and the En- 
glish archer could draw a cloth-vard shaft to the head 
these were the times when, at' the battles of Cressy" 
Poictiers, and Agincourt, the French chivalry was 
completely destroyed by the bowmen of England 
I he yeomanry, too, have never been what they were 
when, in times ol peace, they were constantly exer- 
cised with the bow, and archery was a favourite holi- 
day pastime." 

Among the other evils which have followed in the 
train ol this latal invention of gunpowder, the Squire 
classes the total decline of the noble art of falconry 
" Shooting, ' he says, ■' is a skulking, treacherous, 
solitary sport, in comparison ; but hawking was a 
gallant, open, sunshiny recreation ; it was the Gener- 
ous sport of hunting carried into the skies." '' 

"It was, moreover," he savs, "according to 
liraithwate, the stately amusement of ' hi<Hi and 
niounting spirits ; ' for as the old Welsh proverb 
afhrms in those times, ' you might know a gentle- 
man by his hawk, horse, and grayhound.' Indeed, 
a cavalier was seldom seen abroad without his hawk 
on his fist; and even a lady of rank did not think 
herself completely equipped, in riding forth, unless 
she had a tassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate 
hand. It was thought in those excellent da\s ac- 
cording to an old writer, ' quite sufficient for noble- 
men to winde their horn, and to carry their hawke 
fair; and leave study and learning to the children of 
mean people.' " 

Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore I 
have not been surprised at finding that, amon<r the 
various recreations of former times \vhich he" has 
endeavoured to revive in the little world in which 
he rules, he has bestowed great attention on the 
noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, has been 
seconded by his indefatigable coadjutor. Master 
Simon; and even the parson has thrown consider- 
able light on their labours, by various hints on the 
subject, which he has met with in old English works 
As to the precious work of that famous dame, Juliana 
Barnes; the Gentleman's Academic, by Markham ; 
and the other well-known treatises that were the 
manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them at 
their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially 
studied some old tapestry in the house, whereon is 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



457 



represented a party of cavaliers and stately dames, 
with doublets, caps, and flaunting; feathers, mounted 
on horse, with attendants on foot, all in animated 
pursuit of the game. 

The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any 
hawks in his neighbourhood, but gives a liberal bounty 
for all that are brought him alive ; so that the Hall is 
well stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On 
these he and Master Simon have exhausted their 
patience and ingenuity, endeavouring to " reclaim " 
them, as it is termed, and to train them up for the 
sport ; but they have met with continual checks and 
disappointments. Their feathered school has turned 
out the most untractable and graceless scholars : nor 
is it the least of their trouble to drill the retainers 
who were to act as ushers under them, and to take 
immediate charge of these refractory birds. Old 
Christy and the gamekeeper both, for a time, set 
their faces against the whole plan of education; 
Christy having been nettled at hearing what he 
terms a wild-goose chase put on a par with a fox- 
hunt ; and the gamekeeper having always been ac- 
customed to look upon hawks as arrant poachers, 
which it was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in 
terrorem, against the out-houses. 

Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, 
but has done still more mischief by his intermed- 
dling. He is as positive and wrong-headed about 
this, as he is about hunting. Master Simon has con- 
tinual disputes with him, as to feeding and training 
the hawks. He reads to him long passages from 
the old authors I have mentioned ; but Christy, who 
cannot read, has a sovereign contempt for all book- 
knowledge, aaid persists in treating the hawks ac- 
cording to his own notions, which are drawn from 
his experience, in younger days, in the rearing of 
game-cocks. 

The consequence is, that, between these jarring 
systems, the poor birds have had a most trying and 
unhappy time of it. Many have fallen victims to 
Christy's feeding and Master Simon's physicking; 
for the latter has gone to work secundum artem, and 
has given them all the vomitings and scourings laid 
down in the books ; never were poor hawks so fed 
and physicked before. Others have been lost by be- 
ing but half " reclaimed," or tamed ; for on being 
taken into the field, they have "raked" after the 
game quite out of hearing of the call, and never re- 
turned to school. 

All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore 
grievances to the Squire, and had made him to de- 
spond about success. He has lately, however, been 
made happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falcon, 
which Master Simon terms a stately highflyer. It is 
a present from the Squire's friend, Sir Watk)n Wil- 
liams Wynne ; and is, no doubt, a descendant of 
some ancient line of Welsh princes of the air, that 
have long lorded it over their kingdom of clouds, 
from Wynnstay to the very summit of Snowden, or 
the brow of Penmanmawr. 

Ever since the Squire received this invaluable 
present, he has been as impatient to sally forth 
and make proof of it. as was Don Quixote to assay 
his suit of armour. There have been some demurs 
as to whether the bird was in proper health and 
training ; but these have been overruled by the 
vehement desire to play with a new toy ; and it has 
been determined, right or wrong, in season or out 
of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to- 
morrow. 

The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about 
to make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog 
with the thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up 
in reverence for all her guardian's humours, has 
proposed to be of the party ; and Lady Lillycraft 



has talked al^o of riding out to the scene of action 
and looking on. This has gratified the old gentle- 
man extremely ; he hails it as an auspicious omen 
of the revival of falconry, and does not despair but 
the time will come when it will be again the pride of 
a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon, in prefer- 
ence to a parrot or a lap-dog. 

I have amused myself with the bustling prepara- 
tions of that busy spirit. Master Simon, and the 
continual thwartings he receives from that genuine 
son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have had 
half-a-dozen consultations about how the hawk is to 
be prepared for the morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as 
usual, has always got in a pet, upon w'hich .Master 
Simon has invariably given up the point, observing, 
in a good-humoured tone, "Well, well, have it your 
own way, Christy; only don't put yourself in a pas- 
sion ; " a reply which always nettles the old man ten 
times more than ever. 



HAWKING. 



The soaring h-iwK. Irom fist that flies, 

Her falconer doth constrain 
Some times to range the ground about 

To find her out again ; 
And if by sight or sound of bell, 

His falcon, he may see. 
Wo ho ! he cries, with cheerful voice — 

The gladdest man is he. 

lland/ul of Pleasant Delitcs. 

At an early hour this morning, the Hall was in a 
bustle preparing for the sport of the day. I heard 
Master Simon whistling and singing under my win- 
dow at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for 
the hawk's legs, and could (listinguish now and then 
a stanza of one of his favourite old ditties : 

" In peascod time, when hound to horn 
Gives note that buck be kill'd ; 
And little boy, with pipe of corn, 
Is tending sheep a-field," &c. 

A heartv breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, 
was served up in the great hall. The whole garrison 
of retainers and hangers-on were in motion, re-en- 
forced by volunteer idlers from the village. The 
horses were led up and down before the door ; every 
body had something to say, and something to do, and 
hurried hither and thither; there was a direful yelp- 
ing of dogs ; some that were to accompany us being 
eager to set off, and others that were to stay at home 
being whipped back to their kennels. In short, for 
once, the good Squire's mansion might have been 
taken as a good specimen of one of the rantipole 
estaljlishments of the good old feudal times. 

Breakfast being finished, the cnivalry of the Hall 
prepared to take the field. The fair Julia was of the 
party, in a hunting-dress, with a light plume of feath- 
ers in her riduig-hat. As she mounted her favourite 
galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that old Christy 
forgot his usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust 
her saddle and bridle. He touched his cap, as she 
smiled on him, and thanked him ;. and then, looking 
round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod 
of his head, in which I read pride and exultation at 
the charming appearance of his pupil. 

Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to wit- 
ness the sport. She was dressed in her broad white 
beaver, tied under the chin, and a riding-habit of the 
last century. She rode her sleek, ambling pony, whose 
molion was as easy as a rocking-chair ; and was 
gallantly escorted by the general, who looked not 
unlike one of the doughty heroes in the old prints of 
the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, ac- 



458 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



companied her on the olher side ; for this was a 
learned amusement, in which he took great interest ; 
and, indeed, had given much counsel, from his knowl- 
edge of old customs. 

At length every thing was arranged, and off we 
set from the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts 
one in fine spirits ; and the scene was gay and ani- 
mating. The young men of the family accompanied 
Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in 
her saddle, her plumes dancing and waving in the 
air ; and the group had a charming effect, as they 
appeared and disappeared among the trees, cantering 
along, with the bounding animation of youth. The 
Squire and Master Simon rode together, accompanied 
by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latter bore 
the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most 
accustomed to him. There was a rabble rout on 
foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some 
idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels, 
for the purpose of starting the game. 

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the 
rear, composed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, 
the parson, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled 
gently along on her pony, while the general, mount- 
ed on a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an 
air of the most protecting gallantry. 

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this 
last party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take 
in the whole picture ; and the parson occasionally 
slackened his pace, and jogged on in company with 
me. 

The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, 
in a soft meadow, reeking with the moist verdure of 
spring. A little river ran through it, bordered by 
willows, which had put forth their tender early 
foliage. The sportsmen were in quest of herons, 
which were said to keep about this stream. 

There was some disputing, already, among the 
leaders of tlie sport. The Squire, Master .Simon, and 
old Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to 
consult together, like the field officers in an army ; 
and I saw, by certain motions of the head, that 
Christy was as positive as any old wrong-headed 
German commander. 

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, every 
sound we made was answered by a distinct echo, 
from the sunny wall of an old building, that lay on 
the opposite margin of the sti'eam ; and I paused to 
listen to this "spirit of a sound,'' which seems to 
love such quiet and beautiful places. The parson 
informed me that this was the ruin of an ancient 
grange, and was supposed, by the country people, 
to be haunted by a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, 
something like Robin-good-fellow. They often fan- 
cied the echo to be the voice ol the dobbie answer- 
ing them, and were rather shy of disturbing it after 
dark. He added, that the Squire was very careful 
of this ruin, on account of the superstition connected 
with it. As I considered tliis local habitation of an 
"airy nothing," I called to mind the fine description 
of an echo in Webster's Duchess of Malfry: 

" Yond side o' th' river lies a wall, 

Piece of .1 cloister, which, in my opinion. 
Gives the best echo that you ever heard: 
So plain in the distinction of our words, 
That many have supposed it a spirit 
That answers." 

The parson went on to comment on a pleasing 
and fanciful appellation which the Jews of old gave 
to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to 
say, " the daughter of the voice ; " they considered 
it an oracle, supplying in the second temple the 
want of the urim and thummim, with which the 
first was honoured.* The little man was just entering 

* Bekkcr's Monde enchant^. 



very largely and learnedly upon the subject, when we 
were startled by a prodigious bawling, shouling, and 
yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the approach 
of our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; a 
cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot — " Now, 
Christy ! now is your time, Christy ! " The Squire 
and Master .Simon, who were beating up the river 
banks in quest of a heron, called out eagerly to 
Christy to keep quiet ; the old man, vexed and be- 
wildered by the confusion of voices, completely lost 
his head ; in his flurry he slipped off the hood, cast 
off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and away 
soared the hawk. 

I had paused on a rising ground, close to La-.l/ 
Lillycraft and her escort, from whence I had a good 
view of the sport. I was pleased with the appear- 
ance of the party in the meadow, riding along in the 
direction that the bird flew ; their bright beaming 
faces turned up to the bright skies as they watched 
the game ; the attendants on foot scampering along, 
looking up, and calling out ; and the dogs bounding 
and yelping with clamorous sympathy. 

The hawk had singled out a quarry from among 
the carrion crew. It was curious to see the efforts 
of the two birds to get above each other ; one to 
make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid it. Now 
they crossed athwart a bright feathery cloud, and 
now they were against the clear blue sky. 1 confess, 
being no sportsman, I was more interested for the 
poor bird that was striving for its life, than for the 
hawk that was playing the part of a mercenary 
soldier. At length the hawk got the upper hand, 
and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the 
latter made as sudden a surge downwards, and 
slanting up again, evaded the blow, screaming and 
making the best of his way for a dty tree on the 
brow of a neighbouring hill ; while the hawk, dis- 
appointed of her blow, soared up again into the air, 
and appeared to be "raking" off it was in vain 
old Christy called, and whistled, and endeavoured to 
lure her down : she paid no regard to him ; and, 
indeed, his calls were drowned in the shouts and 
yelps of the army of militia that had followed him 
into the field. 

Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft 
made me turn my head. I beheld a complete con- 
fusion among the sportsmen in the little vale below 
us. They were galloping and running towards the 
edge of a bank ; and I was shocked to see Miss 
Templeton's horse galloping at large without his 
rider. I rode to the place to which the others were 
hurrying, and when I reached the bank, which al- 
most overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of it, 
the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, 
supported in the arms of her frantic lover. 

In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned 
upward, she had unwarily approached too near the 
bank ; it had given way with her, and she and her 
horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin 
of the river. 

I never saw greater consternation. The captain 
was distracted ; Lady Lillycraft tainting ; the Squire 
in dismay, and Master Simon at his wits' ends. The 
beautiful creature at length showed signs of return- 
ing life ; she opened her eyes ; looked around her 
upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a 
moment the nature of the scene, gave a sweet smile, 
and putting her hand in her lover's, exclaimed, 
feebly, " I am not much hurt, Guy I " I could have 
taken her to my heart for that single exclamation. 

It was found, indeed, that she had escaped almost 
miraculously, with a contusion on the head, a sprain- 
ed ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound 
was stanched, she was taken to a neighbouring cot- 
tage, until a carriage could be summoned to convey 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



459 



ler home; and when this had arrived, the caval- 
cade, which had issued forth so gaily on this enter- 
prise, returned slowly and pensively to the Hall. 

I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown 
by this young creature, who, amidst pain and danger, 
had been anxious only to relieve the distress of those 
around her. 1 was gratified, therefore, by the uni- 
versal concern displayed by the domestics on our 
return. They came crowding down the avenue, 
each eager to render assistance. The butler stood 
ready with some curiously delicate cordial ; the old 
housekeeper was provided with half-a-dozen nos- 
trums, prepared by her own hands, according to the 
family receipt-book ; while her niece, the melting 
Phoebe, having no other way of assisting, stood 
wringing her hands, and weeping aloud. 

The most material effect that is likely to follow 
this accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, 
which were close at hand. Though I commiserate 
the impatience of the captain on that accoVint, yet I 
shall not otherwise be sorry at the delay, as it will 
give me a better opportunity of studying the char- 
acters here assembled, with which 1 grow more and 
more entertained. 

I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is 
quite disconcerted at the unlucky result of his hawk- 
ing experiment, and this unfortunate illustration of 
his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, 
is very waspish, having been sorely twitted by Master 
Simon for having let his hawk fly at carrion. As to 
the falcon, in the confusion occasioned by the fair 
Julia's disaster, the bird was totally forgotten. I 
make no doubt she has made the best of her way 
back to the hospitable Hall of Sir Watkyn Williams 
Wynne ; and may very possibly, at this present 
writing, be pluming her wings among the breezy 
bowers of Wynnstay. 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 



O "t is a fearful thing to be no more. 

Or if to be, to wander after death ! 

To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, 

And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths 

That lead to graves; and in the silent vault. 

Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, 

Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. 

Dkyden. 

The conversation this evening at the supper-table 
took a curious turn, on the subject of a superstition, 
formerly very prevalent in this part of the countiy, 
relative to the present night of the year, which is 
the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson 
informed us, that if any one would watch in the 
church porch on this eve, for three successive years, 
from eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see, on 
the third year, the shades of those of the parish who 
were to die in the course of the year, pass by him into 
church, clad in their usual apparel. 

Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us 
that it was formerly a frequent thing for persons to 
inake the necessary vigils. He had known more than 
one instance in his time. One old woman, who 
pretended to have seen this phantom procession, was 
an object of great awe for the whole year after- 
wards, and caused much uneasiness and mischief. 
If she shook her head mysteriously at a person, it 
was like a death-warrant ; and she had nearly caused 
the death of a sick person, by looking ruefully in at 
the window. 

There w.-\s also an old man, not many years since, 
of a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept 
two vigils, and began to e.xcite some talk in the 



village, when, fortunately for the public comfort, he 
died shortly after his third watching ; very probably 
from a cold that he had taken, as the night was tem- 
pestuous. It was reported about the village, how- 
ever, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him 
into the church. 

This led to the mention of another superstition of 
an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, 
however, is chiefly confined to Wales. It is respect- 
ing what are called corpse-candles, little wandering 
fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like 
tapers in the open air, and are supposed to desig- 
nate the way some corpse is to go. One was seen 
at Lanyler, late at night, hovering up and down, 
along the bank of the Istwith, and was watched by 
the neighbours until they were tired, and went to 
bed. Not long afterwards there came a comely 
country lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her 
friends, who dwelt on the opposite side of the river. 
She thought to ford the stream at the veiy place 
where the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded 
on account of the height of the flood. She walked to 
and fro along the bank, just where the candle had 
mov-ed, waiting for the subsiding of the water. She 
at length endeavoured to cross, but the poor girl 
was drowned in the attempt.* 

There was something mournful in this little anec- 
dote of rural superstition, that seemed to aflect all 
the listeners. Indeed, it is curious to remark how 
completely a conversation of the kind will absorb 
the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, 
however boisterous. By degrees I noticed that every 
one was leaning forward over the table, with eyes 
earnestly fixed upon the parson ; and at the mention 
of corpse-candles which had been seen about the 
chamber of a young lady who died on the eve of her 
wedding-day. Lady Lillycraft turned pale. 

I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the 
kind into various evening circles; they were often 
commenced in jest, and listened to with smiles ; but 
I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened 
of audiences, that were not, if the conversation con- 
tinued for any length of time, completely and sol- 
emnly interested in it. There is, I believe, a degree 
of superstition lurking in every mind ; and I doubt 
if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret 
notions and impulses, without detecting it, hidden, 
perhaps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be 
a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting 
independently of our reason. It is often found ex- 
isting in lofty natures, especially those that are 
poetical and aspiring. A great and extraordinary 
poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a 
mind subject to powerful exaltations, is said to be- 
lieve in omens and secret intimations. Caesar, it is 
well known, was greatly under the influence of such 
belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, 
and his presiding star. 

As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he 
is strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally 
credulous, and passes so much of his time searching 
out popular traditions and supernatural tales, that 
his mind has probably become infected by them. 
He has lately been immersed in the Demonolatria 
of Nicholas Remigus, concerning supernatural oc- 
currences in Lorraine, and the writings of Joachimus 
Camerius, called by Vossius the Phoenix of Germany ; 
and he entertains the ladies with stories from them, 
that make them almost afraid to go to bed at night. 
I have been charmed myself with some of the wild 
little superstitions which he has adduced from Blef- 
kenius, Scheffer, and others, such as those of the 
Laplanders about the domestic spirits which wake 



* Aubrey's Miscel. 



4G0 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



them at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of 
Thor, tlie deity of thunder, who has power of hfe 
and death, health and sickness, and who, armed with 
the rainbow, shoots his arrows at those evil demons 
that live on the tops of rocks and mountains, and 
infest the lakes ; of the Juhles or Juhlafolket, vagrant 
troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up 
and down by forests and mountains, and the moon- 
light sides of hills. 

The parson never openly professes his belief in , 
ghosts, but I have remarked that he has a suspicious 
way of pressing great names into the defence of 
supernatural doctrines, and making philosophers and 
saints fight for him. He expatiates at large on the 
opinions of the ancient philosophers about larves, 
or nocturnal phantoms, the spirits of the wicked, 
which wandered like exiles about the earth ; and 
about those spiritual beings which abode in the air, 
but descended occasionally to earth, and mingled 
among mortals, acting as agents between them and 
the gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, 
the contemporary of the apostles, and, according to 
some, the friend of St. Paul, who says that the air is 
full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined to 
exist for a time in mortal bodies, from which being 
emancipated, they pass and repass between heaven 
and earth, as agents or messengers in the service of 
the deity. 

But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone, 
when he quotes from the fathers of the church ; such 
as .St. Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the 
doctors, that the air is filled with powers opposed to 
each other ; and Lactantius, who says that corrupt 
and dangerous spirits wander over the earth, and 
seek to console themselves for their own fall by 
effecting the ruin of the human race; and Clemens 
Alexandrinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the 
blessed have knowledge of what passes among men, 
the same as angels have. 

I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes 
have taken such hold of my imagination, that I 
cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted 
to foster such a state of mmd. The walls are hung 
with tapestry, the figures of which are faded, and 
look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from 
sight. Over the fire-place is the portrait of a lady, 
who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined 
to death for the loss of her lover in the battle of 
Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive coun- 
tenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon 
me. The family have long since retired. I have 
heard their steps die away, and the distant doors 
clap to after them. The murmur of voices, and the 
peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. 
The clock from the church, in which so many of the 
former inhabitants of this house lie buried, has 
chimed the awful hour of midnight. 

I have sat by the window and mused upon the 
dusky landscape, watching the lights disappearing, 
one by one, from the distant village ; and the moon 
rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the 
silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these 
quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered C'er, and 
imperfectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, 
my mind has been crowded by " thick-coming fan- 
cies " concerning those spiritual beings which 

" walk the earth 

Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 

Are there, indeed, such beings ? Is this space between 
us and the deity filled up by innumerable orders of 
spiritual beings, forming the same gradations between 
the human soul and divine perfection, that we see 
prevailing from humanity downwards to the meanest 
insect.'' It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, in- 



culcated by the early fathers, that there are guardian 
angels appointed to watch over cities and nations ; 
to take care of the welfare of good men, and to 
guard and guide the steps of helpless infancy. "Noth- 
ing," says St. Jerome, "gives us a greater idea of 
the dignity of our soul, than that God has given each 
of us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to have 
care of it." 

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to 
visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them 
during the body's existence, though it has been de- 
based by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in 
itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However 
lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involun- 
tarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of 
serious discussion ; its prevalence in all ages and 
countries, and even among newly-discovered nations, 
that have had no previous interchange of thought 
with other parts of the world, prove it to be one of 
those mysteries, and almost instinctive beliefs, to 
which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally in- 
cline. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy 
a vague doubt will still lurk in the mmd, and per- 
haps will never be perfectly eradicated ; as it is con- 
cerning a matter that does not admit of positive 
demonstration. Every thing connected with our spir- 
itual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. " We are 
fearfully and wonderfully made ; " we are surround- 
ed by mysteries, and we are mysteries even to our- 
selves. Who yet has been able to comprehend and 
describe the nature of the sofll, its connexion with 
the body, or in what part of the frame it is situated .' 
We know merely that it does exist ; but whence it 
came, and when it entered into us, and how it is 
retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, 
are all matters of mere speculation, and contradictory 
theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this 
spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of our- 
selves, and is continually present to our conscious- 
ness, how can we pretend to ascertain or to deny its 
powers and operations when released from its fleshy 
prison-house? It is more the manner, therefore, in 
which this superstition has been degraded, than its 
intrinsic absurdity, that has brought it into contempt. 
Raise it above the frivolous purpose* to which it has 
been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with 
which it has been surrounded, and there is none of 
the whole circle of visionary creeds that could more 
delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly 
affect the heart. It would become a sovereign com- 
fort at the bed of death, soothmg the bitter tear 
wrung from us by the agony of our mortal separation. 
What could be more consoling than the idea, that 
the souls of those whom we once loved were permit- 
ted to return and -watch over our welfare.'' — that af- 
fectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows 
when we slept, keeping a vigil over our most helpless 
hours.' — that beauty and innocence which had lan- 
guished into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, 
revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein 
we live over again the hours of past endearment .' 
A belief of this kind would, I should think, be a new 
incentive to virtue ; rendering us circumspect even 
in our most secret moments, from the idea that those 
we once loved and honoured were invisible witnesses 
ot all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and 
destitution which we are apt to feel more and more 
as we get on in our pilgrimage through the wilder- 
ness of this world, and find that those who set forward 
with us, lovingly and cheerily, on the journey, have, 
one by one, dropped away from our side. Place the 
superstition in this light, and I confess I should like 
to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is in- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



461 



compatible with the tender and merciful nature of 
our religion, nor rt?volting to the wishes and affec- 
tions of the heart. 

There are departed beings that I have loved as I 
never again shall love in this world ; — that have loved 
me as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings 
do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attach- 
ments which they felt on earth — if they take an in- 
terest m the poor concerns of transient mortality, 
and are permitted to hold communion with those 
whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at 
this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, 
I could receive their visitation with the most solemn, 
but unalloyed delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for 
this world ; they would be incompatible with the 
nature of this imperfect state of being. We are here 
placed in a mere scene of spiritual thraldom and 
restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by 
bounds and barriers ; shackled by mortal infirmities, 
and subject to all the gross impediments of matter. 
In vain would they seek to act independently of the 
body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. 
They can only act here through their fleshy organs. 
Their earthly loves are made up of transient em- 
braces and long separations. The most intimate 
friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of 
time does it consist ! We take each other by the 
hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of 
kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short 
moments — -and then days, months, years intervene, 
and we see and know nothing of each other. Or, 
granting that we dwell together for the full season 
of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gates 
between us, and then our spirits are doomed to re- 
main in separation and widowhood ; until they meet 
again in that more perfect state of being, where soul 
will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there 
will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else 
to interrupt our felicity. 



%* In the foregoing paper, I have alluded to the 
writings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They 
abound with wild theories ; but among thein are 
many truly poetical flights ; and their ideas are often 
very beautifully expressed. Their speculations on the 
nature of angels are curious and fanciful, though 
much resembling the doctrines of the ancient phi- 
losophers. In the writings of the Rabbi Eleazer is 
an account of the temptation of our first parents, 
and the fall of the angels, which the parson pointed 
out to me as having probably furnished some of the 
groundwork for "Paradise Lost." 

According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said 
to the Deity, "What is there in- man, that thou 
makest him of such importance.'' Is he any thing 
else than vanity ? for he can scarcely reason a little 
on terrestrial thmgs." To which God replied, " Do 
you imagine that I will be exalted and glorified only 
by you here above ? I am the same below that I am 
here. Who is there among you that can call all tlie 
creatures by their names ? " There was none found 
among them that could do so. At that moment 
Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their 
names. Seeing which, the ministering angels said 
among themselves, " Let us consult together how 
we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, 
otherwise ho will not fail to become our master." 

Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, 
was present at this council, with the saints of the 
first order, and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael 
chose several out of the twelve orders to accompany 
him, and descended below, for the purpose of visit- 
ing all the creatures which God had created. Ke 



found none more cunning and more fit to do evil 
than the serpent. 

The Rabbi then treats of the seduction and the 
fall of man ; of the consequent fall of the demon, 
and the punishment which God inflicted on Adam, 
Eve, and the serpent. " He made them all come 
before him ; pronounced nine maledictions on Adam 
and Eve, and condemned them to suffer death ; and 
he precipitated Sammael and all his band froin 
heaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, which 
had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael having 
been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among 
all beasts and animals." 



GENTILITY. 



True Gentrie standeth in the trade 

Of virtuous life, not in the fleshy line; 
For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 

Mirror /or Ufa^istrates, 

I HAVE mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire 
in the education of his sons ; but I would not have 
it thought that his instructions were directed chiefly 
to their personal accomplishments. He took great 
pains also to form their minds, and to inculcate 
what he calls good old English principles, such as 
are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his 
contemporaries. There is one author of whom he 
cannot speak without indignation, which is Ches- 
terfield. He avers that he did much, for a time, 
to injure the true national character, and to intro- 
duce, instead of open, manly sincerity, a hollow, per- 
fidious courtliness. " His maxims," he affirms, " were 
calculated to chill the delightful enthusiasm of youth ; 
to make them ashamed of that romance which is the 
dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them 
a cold pohsh and a premature worldliness. 

" iVIany of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make 
a young man a mere man of pleasure ; but an En- 
glish gentleman should not be a mere man of pleas- 
ure. He has no right to such selfish indulgence. 
His ease, his leisure, his opulence, are debts due to 
his country, which he must ever stand ready to dis- 
charge. He should be a man at all points; simple, 
frank, courteous, intelligent, accomplished, and in- 
formed ; upright, intrepid, and disinterested ; one 
that can mingle among freemen ; that can cope with 
statesmen ; that can champion his country and its 
rights, either at home or abroad. In a country like 
England, where there is such free and unbounded 
scope for the exertion of intellect, and where opin- 
ion and example have such weight with the people, 
every gentleman of fortune and leisure should teel 
himself bound to employ him;elf in some way to- 
wards promoting the prosperity or glory of the na- 
tion. In a country where intellect and action are 
trammelled and restrained, men of rank and fortune 
may become idlers and triflers with impunity ; but 
an English coxcomb is inexcusable ; and this, per- 
haps, is the reason why he is the most offensive and 
insupportable coxcomb in the world." 

The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, 
would often hold forth in this manner to his sons, 
when they were about leaving the paternal roof; one 
to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to 
the university. He used to have them with him in 
the library, which is hung with the portraits of Syd- 
ney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and others. " Look at 
those models of true English gentlemen, my sons," 
he would say with enthusiasm ; " those were men 
that wreathed the graces of the most delicate and 



462 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



refined taste around the stern virtues of the soldier ; 
that minglud what was gentle and gracious, with 
what was hardy and manly ; that possessed the true 
chivalry of spirit, which is the exalted essence of 
manhood. They are the lights by which the youth 
of the country should array themselves. They were 
the patterns and idols of their country at home ; 
they were the illustrators of its dignity abroad. 
' Surrey,' says Camden, ' was the first nobleman that 
illustrated his high birth with the beauty of learning. 
He was acknowledged to be the gallantest man, the 
politest lover, and the completest gentleman of his 
time.' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most ami- 
ably testifies of him, that his person was majestic 
and beautiful, his visage ' stern and mild ; ' that he 
sung, and played the lute with remarkable sweetness ; 
spoke foreign languages with grace and fluency, and 
possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. And see 
what a high commendation is passed upon these il- 
lustrious friends : ' They were the two chieftains, 
who, having travelled into Italy, and there tasted the 
sweet and stately measures and style of the Italian 
poetry, greatly polished our rude and homely man- 
ner of vulgar poetry from what it had been before, 
and therefore may be justly called the reformers of 
our English poetry and style.' And Sir Philip Syd- 
ney, who has left us such monuments of elegant 
thought, and generous sentiment, and who illustrated 
his chivalrous spirit so gloriously in the field. And 
Sir Walter Raleigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid 
soldier, the enterprising discoverer, the enlightened 
philosopher, the magnanimous martyr. These are 
the men lor English gentlemen to study. Chester- 
field, with his cold and courtly maxims, would have 
chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would 
have blighted all the budding romance of their tem- 
peraments. Sydney would never have written his 
Arcadia, nor Surrey have challenged the world in 
vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. These 
are the men, my sons," the Squire will continue, 
" that show to what our national character may be 
exalted, when its strong and powerful qualities are 
duly wrought up and refined. The solidest bodies 
are capable of the highest polish ; and there is no 
character that may be wrought to a more exquisite 
and unsullied brightness, than that of the true En- 
glish gentleman." 

When Guy was about to depart for the army, the 
Squire again took him aside, and gave him a long 
exhortation. He warned him against that affecta- 
tion of cool-blooded indifference, which he was told 
was cultivated by the young British officers, among 
whom it was a study to "sink the soldier" in the 
mere man of fashion. " A soldier," said he, " with- 
out pride and enthusiasm in his profession, is a mere 
sanguinary hireling. Nothing distinguishes him from 
the mercenary bravo, but a spirit of patriotism, or a 
thirst for glory. It is the fashion now-a-days, my 
son," said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chivalry ; 
when that spirit is really extinct, the profession of 
the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He 
then set before him the conduct of Edward the Black 
Prince, who is his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, gener- 
ous, affable, humane ; gallant in the field. But when 
he came to dwell on his courtesy toward his prison- 
er, the king of France ; how he received him in his 
tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive ; at- 
tended on him at table like one of his retinue ; rode 
uncovered beside him on his entry into London, 
mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner 
was mounted in state on a white steed of stately 
beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old 
gentleman's eyes. 

Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in 
his son's hands, as a manual, one of his favourite old 



volumes, the life of the Chevalier Bayard, by Gode- 
froy ; on a blank page of which he had written an 
extract from the Morte d'Arthur, containing the 
eulogy of Sir Ector over the body of Sir Launcelot 
of the Lake, which the Squire considers as compris- 
ing the excellencies of a true soldier. " Ah, Sir 
Launcelot ! thou wert head of all Christian knights ; 
now there thou liest : thou were never matched of 
none earthly knights-hands. And thou wert the 
curtiest knight that ever bare shield. And thou 
were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrood 
horse ; and thou were the truest lover of a sinfull 
man that ever loved woman. And thou were the 
kindest man that ever strook with sword ; and thou 
were the goodliest person that ever came among the 
presse of knights. And thou were the meekest man 
and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. 
And thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe 
that ever put speare in the rest." 



FORTUNE-TELLING. 



Each city, each town, and every village, 

Affords us either an alms or pillage. 

And if the weather be cold and raw. 

Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 

If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock, 

The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock. 

Merry Bfggars, 

As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, 
Master Simon, and the general, in a meadow not far 
from the village, we heard the sound of a fiddle, 
rudely played, and looking in the direction from 
whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling 
up from among the trees. The sound of music is 
always attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there 
is good-humour, or good-will. We passed along a 
footpath, and had a peep through a break in the 
hedge, at the musician and his party, when the Ox- 
onian gave us a wink, and told us that if we would 
follow him we should have some sport. 

It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of 
three or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets 
and sail-cloth, spread over hoops that were stuck in 
the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, 
close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech- 
tree spreading above it. A small rill tinkled along 
close by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a 
carpet. 

A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of 
iron, over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, 
and two old gipsies, in red cloaks, sat crouched on 
the grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea ; 
for these creatures, though they live in the open air, 
have their ideas of fireside comforts. There were 
two or three children sleeping on the straw with 
which the tents were littered ; a couple of donkeys 
were grazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog 
was lying before the fire. Some of the younger 
gipsies were dancing to the music of a fiddle, played 
by a tall, slender stripling, in an old frock-coat, with 
a peacock's feather stuck in his hat-band. 

As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine, 
roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, ottered to tell 
our fortunes. I could not but admire a certain de- 
gree of slattern elegance about the bagg.age. Her 
long black silken hair was curiously plaited in nu- 
merous sm.all braids, and negligently put up in a 
picturesque style that a painter might have been 
proud to have devised. 

Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, 
and not over-clean, but of a variety of most har- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



463 



monious and agreeable colours; for these beings 
have a singularly line eye for colours. Her straw 
hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over 
one arm. 

The Oxonian oflered at once to have his fortune 
told, and the girl began with the usual volubility of 
her race ; but he drew her on one side, near the 
hedge, as he said he had no idea of having his secrets 
overheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of 
she to him, and by his glancing towards us now and 
then, that he was giving the baggage some private 
hints. When they returned to us, he assumed a 
very serious air. "Zounds!" said he, "it's very 
astonishing how these creatures come by their 
knowledge ; this girl has told me some things that I 
thought no one knew but myself! " The girl now 
assailed the general: "Come, your honour," said 
she, " I see by your face you're a lucky man ; but 
you're not happy in your mind; you're not, indeed, 
sir; but have a good heart, and give me a good 
piece of silver, and I'll tell you a nice fortune." 

The general had received all her approaches with 
a banter, and had suffered her to get hold of his 
hand ; but at the mention of the piece of silver, he 
hemmed, looked grave, and, turning to us, asked if 
we had not better continue our walk. " Come, my 
master," said the girl, archly, "you'd not be in such 
a hurry, if you knew all that I could tell you about 
a fair lady that has a notion for you. Come, sir ; 
old love burns strong ; there's many a one coines to 
see weddings, that go away brides themselves." — 
Here the girl whispered something in a low voice, 
at which the general coloured up, was a little flut- 
tered, and suffered himself to be drawn aside under 
the hedge, where he appeared to listen to her with 
great earnestness, and at the end paid her half-a- 
crown with the air of a man that has got the worth 
of his money. The girl next made her attack upon 
Master Simon, who, however, was too old a bird to 
be caught, knowing that it would end in an attack 
upon his purse, about which he is a little sensitive. 
As he has a great notion, however, of being con- 
sidered a royster, he chucked her under the chin, 
played her off with rather broad jokes, and put on 
something of the rake-helly air, that we see now and 
then assumed on the stage, by the sad-boy gentle- 
men of the old school. "Ah, your honour," said 
the girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such 
a tantrum last year, when I told you about the 
widow, you know who ; but if j ou had taken a 
friend's advice, you'd never have come away from 
Doncaster races with a flea in your ear ! " There 
was a secret sting in this speech, that seemed quite 
to disconceit iVlaster Simon. He jerked away his 
hand in a pet, smacked his whip, whistled to his 
dogs, and intimated that it was high time to go 
home. The girl, however, was determined not to 
lose her harvest. She now turned upon me, and, as 
I have a weakness of spirit where there is a pretty 
face concerned, she soon wheedled me out of my 
money, and, in return, read me a fortune : which, 
if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, 
will make me one of the luckiest men in the chroni- 
cles of Cupid. 

I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all 
this oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse 
himself with the general, whose tender approaches 
to the widow have attracted the notice of the wag. 
I was a little curious, however, to know the meaning 
of the dark hints which had so suddenly disconcerted 
Master Simon ; and took occasion to fall in the rear 
with the Oxonian on our way home, when he laughed 
heartily at my questions, and gave me ample informa- 
tion on the subject. 

The truth of the matter is, th.at Master Simon has 



met with a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to 
the Hall. He used at that time to be joked about a 
widow, a fine dashing woman, as he privately in- 
formed me. I had supposed the pleasure he betrayed 
on these occasions resulted from the usual fondness 
of old bachelors for being teased about getting mar- 
ried, and about flirting, and being fickle and false- 
hearted. I am assured, however, that Master Simon 
had really persuaded himself the widow had a kind- 
ness for him ; in consequence of which, he had been 
at some extraordinary expense in new clothes, and 
had actually got Frank Bracebridge to order him a 
coat from Stultz. He began to throw out hints about 
the importance of a man's settling himself in life be- 
fore he grew old ; he would look grave, whenever the 
widow and matrimony were mentioned in the same 
sentence ; and privately asked the opinion of the 
Squire and parson about the prudence of marrying a 
widow with a rich jointure, but who had several 
children. 

An important member of a great family connexion 
cannot harp much upon the theme of matrimony, 
without its taking wind ; and it soon got buzzed 
about that Mr. Simon Bracebridge was actually gone 
to Doncaster races, with a new horse ; but that he 
meant to return in a curricle with a lady by his side. 
Master Simon did, indeed, go to the races, and that 
with a new horse ; and the dashing widow did make 
her appearance in a curricle ; but it was unfortunate- 
ly driven by a strapping young Irish dragoon, with 
whom even Master Simon's self-complacency would 
not allow him to venture into competition, and to 
whom she was married shortly after. 

It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon 
for several months, having never before been fully 
committed. The dullest head in the family had a 
joke upon him ; and there is no one that likes less to 
be bantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge 
for a time at Lady Lillycraft's. until the matter should 
blow over ; and occupied himself by looking over 
her accounts, regulating the village choir, and incul- 
cating loyalty into a pet bulhnch, by teaching him 
to wdiistle " God save the King." 

He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mor- 
tification ; holds up his head, and laughs as much as 
any one ; again affects to pity married men, and is 
particularly facetious about widows, when Lady 
Lillycrart is not by. His only time of trial is when 
the general gets hold of him, who is infinitely heavy 
and persevering in his waggery, and will interweave 
a dull joke through the various topics of a whole 
dinner-time. Master Simon often parries these at- 
tacks by a stanza from his old work of " Cupid's 
Solicitor for Love : " 

*"Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, 

In once or twice her mind you may perceive ; 
Widows are subtle, be they old or young. 

And by theii wiles young men they will deceive." 



LOVE-CHARMS. 



Come, do not weep, my girl, 

Forget him, pretty Pensiveness ; there will 
Come others, every day, as good as he. 

Sir J. Sickling. 

The approach of a wedding in a family is always 
an event of great importance, but particularly so in 
a household like this, in a retired part of the country. 
Master Simon, who is a pervading spirit, and, through 
means of the butler and housekeeper, knows every 
thing that goes forward, tells me that the maid serv- 
ants are continuallv trying their fortunes, and that 



464 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the servants'-hall has of late been quite a scene of 
incantation. 

It is amusing- to notice how the oddities of the head 
of a family flow down through all the branches. The 
Squire, in the indulgence ol his love of every thing 
that smacks of old times, has held so many grave 
conversations with the parson at table, about popular 
superstitions and traditional rites, that they have been 
carried from the parlour to the kitchen by the listen- 
ing domestics, and, being apparently sanctioned by 
such high authority, the whole house has become 
infected by them. 

The servants are all versed in the common modes 
of trying luck, and the charms to insure constancy. 
They read their fortunes by drawing strokes in the 
ashes, or by repeating a form of words, and looking 
in a pail of water. St. Mark's Eve, I am told, was 
a busy time with them ; being an appointed night 
for certain mystic ceremonies. Several of them 
sowed hemp-seed to be reaped by their true lovers ; 
and they even ventured upon the solemn and fearful 
preparation of the dumb-cake. This must be done 
fasting, and in silence. The ingredients are handed 
down in traditional form : " An eggshell full of salt, 
an eggshell full of malt, and an eggshell full of bar- 
ley-meal." When the cake is ready, it is put upon 
a pan over the tire, and the future husband will ap- 
pear, turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is 
spoken or a fast is broken during this awful cere- 
mony, there is no knowing what horrible conse- 
quences would ensue ! 

The experiments, in the present instance, came to 
no result ; they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the 
magic rhyme that they were to pronounce — so the 
true lover never appeared ; and as to the dumb-cake, 
what between the awful stillness they had to keep, 
and the awfulness of the midnight hour, their hearts 
failed them when they had put the cake in the pan ; 
.so that, on the striking of the great house-clock in 
the servants'-hall, they were seized with a sudden 
panic, and ran out of the room, to which they did 
not return until morning, when they found the mystic 
cake burnt to a cinder. 

The most persevering at these spells, however, is 
Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. As she 
is a kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she 
has more time to occupy herself with these matters. 
She has always had her head full of love and matri- 
mony. She knows the dream-book by heart, and is 
quite an oracle among the little girls of the family, 
who always come to her to interpret their dreams in 
the mornings. 

During the present gayety of the house, however, 
the poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to 
use the housekeeper's words, " has fallen into a sad 
hystericky way lately." It seems that she was born 
and brought up in the village, where her father was 
parish-clerk, and she was an early playmate and 
sweetheart of young Jack Tibbets. Since she has 
come to live at the Hall, however, her head has been 
a little turned. Being very pretty, and naturally 
genteel, she has been much noticed and indulged ; 
and being the housekeeper's niece, she has held an 
equivocal station between a servant and a compan- 
ion. She has learnt something of fashions and no- 
tions among the young ladies, which have effected 
quite a metamorphosis ; insomuch that her finery at 
church on Sundays has given mortal offence to her 
former intimates in the village. This has occasioned 
the misrepresentations which have awakened the 
implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets. But what 
is worse, Phoebe, having a spice of coquetry in her 
disposition, showed it on one or two occasions to her 
lover, which produced a downright quarrel ; and 
lack, bemg very proud and fiery, has absolutely 



turned his back upon her for several successive 
Sundays. 

The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and 
would fain make up with her lover ; but he feels his 
security, and stands aloof. In this he is doubtless 
encouraged by his mother, who is continually re- 
minding him what he owes to his family ; for this 
same family pride seems doomed to be the eternal 
bane of lovers. 

As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have 
felt quite concerned for the luckless Phoebe, ever 
since I heard her story. It is a sa-d thing to be 
thwarted in love at any time, but particularly so at 
this tender season of the year, when every living 
thing, even to the very butterfly, is sporting with its 
mate ; and the green fields, and the budding groves, 
and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell of 
the flowers, are enough to turn the head of a love- 
sick girl. I am told that the coolness of young 
Ready-Money lies very hea\7 at poor Phoebe's heart. 
Instead of singing about the house as formerly, she 
goes about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into 
tears when her companions are full of merriment. 

Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady 
Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, 
up and down the avenue of an evening ; and has en- 
deavoured to squeeze some of her own verjuice into 
the other's milky nature. She speaks with contempt 
and abhorrence of the whole sex, and advises Phoebe 
to despise all the men as heartily as she does. But 
Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled ; she has 
no such thing as hatred or contempt for mankind in 
her whole composition. She has all the simple fond- 
ness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman ; and her 
only thoughts at present are how to conciliate and 
reclaim her wayward swain. 

The spells and love-charms, which are matters of 
sport to the other domestics, are serious concerns 
with this love-stricken damsel. She is continually 
trying her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told 
that she has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays 
and three Fridays successively, having understood 
that it was a sovereign charm to insure being mar- 
ried to one's liking within the year. She carries 
about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, and a 
riband he once gave her, being a m.ode of producing 
constancy in a lover. She even went so far as to 
try her fortune by the moon, which has always had 
much to do with lovers' dreams and fancies. For 
this purpose, she went out in the night of the full 
moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, and repeated 
the old traditional rhyme : 

" All hall to thee, moon, all hail to thee ; 
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me 
The youth who my future husband shall be." 

When she came back to the house, she was faint 
and pale, and went immediately to bed. The next 
morning she told the porter's wife that she had seen 
some one close by the hedge in the meadow, which 
she was sure was young Tibbets ; at any rate, she 
had dreamt of him all night; both of which, the old 
dame assured her, were most happy signs. It has 
since turned out that the person in the meadow was 
old Christy, the huntsman, who was walking his 
nightly rounds with the great stag-hound ; so that 
Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely shaken. 



THE LIBRARY. 



Yesterday the fair Julia made her first appear- 
ance down-stairs since her accident ; and the sight 
of her spread an universal cheerfulness through the 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



465 



household. She was extremely pale, however, and 
could not walk without pain and difficulty. She was 
assisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which is 
pleasant and retired, looking out among trees ; and 
so quiet, that the little birds come hopping upon the 
windows, and peering curiously into the apartment. 
Here several of the family gathered round, and de- 
vised means to amuse her, and make the day pass 
pleasantly. Lady Lillycraft lamented the want of 
some new novel to while away the time ; and was 
almost in a pet, because the " Author of Waverley " 
had not produced a work for the last three months. 

There was a motion made to call on the parson 
for some of his old legends or ghost stories ; but 
to this Lady Lillycraft objected, as they were apt 
to give her the vapours. General Harbottle gave a 
minute account, for the sixth time, of the disaster 
of a friend in India, who had his leg bitten off by a 
liger, whilst he was hunting ; and was proceeding 
to menace the company with a chapter or two about 
Tippoo Saib. 

At length the captain bethought himself and said, 
he believed he had a manuscript tale lying in one 
corner of his campaigning trunk, which, if he could 
fmd, and the company were desirous, he would read 
to them. The offer was eagerly accepted. He re- 
tired, and soon returned with a roll of blotted manu- 
script, in a very gentlemanlike, but nearly illegible, 
hand, and a great part written on cartridge-paper. 

" It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my 
poor friend, Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. He 
was a curious, romantic, studious, fanciful fellow ; 
the favourite, and often the unconscious butt of his 
fellow-officers, who entertained themselves with his 
eccentricities. He was in some of the hardest serv- 
ice in the peninsula, and distinguished himself by 
his gallantry. When the intervals of duty per- 
mitted, he was fond of roving about the country, 
visiting noted places, and was extremely fond of 
Moorish ruins. When at his quarters, he was a great 
scribbler, and passed much of his leisure with his 
pen in his hand. 

" As I was a much younger officer, and a very young 
man, he took me, in a manner, under his care, and 
we became close friends. He used often to read 
his writings to me, having a great confidence in my 
taste, for I always praised them. Poor fellow ! he 
was shot down, close by me, at Waterloo. We lay 
wounded together for some time, during a hard con- 
test that took place near at hand. As I was least 
hurt, I tried to relieve him, and to stanch the blood 
which fiov.'ed from a wound in his breast. He lay 
with his head in my lap, and looked up thankfully in 
my face, but shook his head faintly, and made a 
sign that it was all over with him ; and, indeed, he 
died a few minutes afterwards, just as our men 
had repulsed the enemy, and came to our relief. I 
have his favourite dog and his pistols to this day, 
and several of his manuscripts, which he gave 
to me at different times. The one I am now going 
to read, is a tale which he said he wrote in Spain, 
during the time that he lay ill of a wound received at 
Salamanca." 

We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. The 
captain seated himself on the sofa, beside the fair 
Julia, who 1 had noticed to be somewhat affected by 
the picture he had carelessly drawn of wounds and 
dangers in a field of battle. She now leaned her arm 
fondly on his shoulder, and her eye glistened as it 
rested on the manuscript of the poor literary dra- 
goon. Lady Lillycraft buried herself in a deep, well- 
cushioned elbow-chair. Her dogs were nestled on 
soft mats at her feet ; and the gallant general took 
his station in an arm-chair, at her side, and toyed 
with her elegantly ornamented work-bag. The rest 
30 



of the circle being all equally well accommodated, 
the captain began his story ; a copy of which I have 
procured for the benefit of the reader. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 



What a life do I lead with my master ; nothing but blowing 
of bellowes, beating of spirits, and scraping of croslets ! It is 
.1 very secret science, for none almost can understand the lan- 
guage of it. Sublimation, almigation. calcination, rubification, 
albification, and fermentation ; with as many lermcs impos- 
sible to be uttered as the arte to be compassed. 

Lilly's Gallathea. 

Once upon a time, in the ancient city of Granada, 
there sojourned a young man of the name of Antonio 
de Castros. He wore the garb of a student of Sala- 
manca, and was pursuing a course of reading in the 
library of the university ; and, at intervals of leisure, 
indulging his curiosity by examining those remains 
of Moorish magnificence for which Granada is re- 
nowned. 

Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently 
noticed an old man of a singular appearance, who 
was likewise a visitor to the library. He was 
lean and withered, though apparently more from 
study than from age. His eyes, though bright and 
visionary, were sunk in his head, and thrown into 
shad^ by overhanging eyebrows. His dress was 
always the same : a black doublet ; a short black 
cloak, very rusty and threadbare ; a small ruff and a 
large overshadowing hat. 

His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He 
would pass whole days in the library, absorbed in 
study, consulting a multiplicity of authors, as though 
he were pursuing some interesting subject through 
all its ramifications ; so that, in general, when even- 
ing came, he was almost buried among books and 
manuscripts. 

The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he in- 
quired of the attendants concerning the stranger. 
No one could give him any information, excepting 
that he had been for some time past a casual fre- 
quenter of the library ; that his reading lay chiefly 
among works treating of the occult sciences, and 
that he was particularly curious in his inquiries after 
Arabian manuscripts. They added, that he never 
held communication with any one, excepting to ask 
for particular works ; that, after a fit of studious ap- 
plication, he would disappear for several days, and 
even weeks, and when he revisited the library, he 
would look more withered and haggard than ever. 
The student felt interested by this account ; he was 
leading rather a desultory life, and had all that ca- 
pricious curiosity which springs up in idleness. He 
determined to make himself acquainted with this 
book-worm, and find out who and what he was. 

The next time that he saw the old man at the li- 
brary, he commenced his approaches by requesting 
permission to look into one of the volumes with 
which the unknown appeared to have done. The 
latter merely bowed his head, in token of assent. 
After pretending to look through the volume with 
great attention, he returned it with many acknowl- 
edgments. The stranger made no reply. 

" May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some hes- 
itation, " may I ask what you are searching after in 
all these books } " 

The old man raised his head, with an expression 
of surprise, at having his studies interrupted for the 
first time, and by so intrusive a question. He sur- 
veyed the student with a side glance from head to 



466 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



foot: "Wisdom, my son," said he, calmly; "and 
the search requires every moment of my attention." 
He then cast his eyes upon his book', and resumed 
his studies. 

"But, father," said Antonio, "cannot you spare a 
moment to point out the road to others .'' It is to 
experienced travellers like you, that we strangers in 
the paths of knowledge must look for directions on 
our journey." 

The stranger looked disturbed : " I have not time 
enough, my son, to learn," said he, " much less to 
teach. I am ignorant myself of the path of true 
knowledge ; how then can I show it to others .' " 

" Well, but father—" 

"Senor," said the old man, mildly, but earnestly, 
"you must see that I have but few steps more to 
the grave. In that short space have I to accom- 
plish the whole business of my existence. I have no 
time for words ; every word is as one grain of 
sand of my glass wasted. Suffer me to be alone." 

There was no replying to so complete a closing 
of the iloor of intimacy. The student found him- 
self calmly but totally repulsed. Though curious 
and inquisitive, yet he was naturally modest, and on 
after-thoughts he blushed at his own intrusion. His 
mind soon became occupied by other objects. He 
passed several days wandering among the moulder- 
ing piles of Moorish architecture, those melancholy 
monuments of an elegant and voluptuous people. 
He paced the deserted halls of the Alhambra, the 
paradise of the Moorish kings. He visited the great 
court of the lions, famous for the perfidious mas- 
sacre of the gallant .^bencerrages. He gazed with 
admiration at its mosaic cupolas, gorgeously painted 
in gold and azure ; its basins of marble, its alabas- 
ter vase, supported by lions, and stoiied with in- 
scriptions. 

His imagination kindled as he wandered among 
these scenes. They were calculated to awaken all 
the enthusiasm of a youthful mind. Most of the 
halls have anciently been beautified by fountains. 
The fine taste of the Arabs delighted in the spark- 
ling purity and reviving freshness of water; and 
they erected, as it were, altars on every side, to that 
delicate element. Poetry mingles with architecture 
in the Alhambra. It breathes along the very walls. 
Wherever Antonio turned his eye, he beheld inscrip- 
tions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish 
.power and splendour within these walls was confi- 
dently predicted. Alas ! how has the prophecy been 
falsified ! Many of the basins, where the fountains 
had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were 
dry and dusty. Some of the palaces were turned 
into gloomy convents, and the barefoot monk paced 
through those courts, which had once glittered with 
the array, and echoed to the music, of Moorish chiv- 
alry. 

In the course of his rambles, the student more 
than once encountered the old man of the library. 
He was always alone, and so full of thought as not 
to notice any one about him. He appeared to be 
intent upon studying those half-buried inscriptions, 
which are found, here and there, among the Moor- 
ish ruins, and seem to murmur from the earth the 
tale of former greatness. The greater part of these 
have since been translated ; but they were supposed 
by many at the time, to contain symbolical revela- 
tions, and golden maxims of the Arabian sages and 
astrologers. As Antonio saw the stranger appar- 
ently deciphering these inscriptions, he felt an eager 
longing to make his acquaintance, and to participate 
in his curious researches ; but the repulse he had 
met with at the library deterred him from making 
any further advances. 

He had directed his steps one evening to the sa- 



cred mount, which overlooks the beautiful valley wa- 
tered by the Darro, the fertile plain of the Vega, and 
all that rich diversity of vale and mountain that 
surrounds Granada with an earthly paradise. It was 
twilight when he found himself at the place, where, 
at the present day, are situated the chapels, known 
by the name of the Sacred Furnaces. They are so 
called from grottoes, in which some of the primitive 
saints are said to have been burnt. At the time of 
Antonio's visit, the place was an object of much cu- 
riosity. In an excavation of these grottoes, several 
manuscripts had recently been discovered, engraved 
on plates of lead. They were written in the Ara- 
bian language, excepting one, which was in un- 
known characters. The Pope had issued a bull, 
forbidding any one, under pain of excommunication, 
to speak of these manuscripts. The prohibition 
had only excited the greater curiosity ; and many 
reports were whispered about, that these manu- 
scripts contained treasures of dark and forbidden 
knowledge. 

As Antonio was examining the place from whence 
these mysterious manuscripts had been drawn, he 
again observed the old man of the library wandering 
among the ruins. His curiosity was now fully 
awakened ; the time and place served to stimulate 
it. He resolved to watch this groper alter secret 
and forgotten lore, and to trace him to his habita- 
tion. There was something like adventure in the 
thing, that charmed his romantic disposition. He 
followed the stranger, therefore, at a little distance ; 
at first cautiously, but he soon observed him to be 
so wrapped in his own thoughts, as to take little 
heed of external objects. 

They passed along the skirts of the mountain, and 
then by the shady banks of the Darro. They pur- 
sued their way, for some distance from Granadn, 
along a lonfly road that led among the hills. The 
gloom of evening was gathering, and it was quite 
dark when the stranger stopped at the portal of a 
solitary mansion. 

It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined frag- 
ment, of what had once been a pile of some conse- 
quence. The walls were of great thickness ; the 
windows narrow, and generally secured by iron bars. 
The door was of planks, studded with iron spikes, 
and had been of great strength, though at present it 
was much decayed. At one end of the mansion 
was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of archi- 
tecture. The edifice had probably been a country 
retreat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation 
of Granada by the Moors, and rendered sufficiently 
strong to withstand any casual assault in those war- 
like times. 

The old man knocked at the portal. A light ap- 
pea|-ed at a small window just above it, and a female 
head looked out : it might have served as a model 
for one of Raphael's saints. The hair was beauti- 
fully braided, and gathered in a silken net ; and the 
complexion, as well as could be judged from the 
light, was that soft, rich brunette, so becoming in 
southern beauty. 

'■ It is I, my child," said the old man. The face 
instantly disappeared, and soon after a wicket-door 
in the large portal opened. Antonio, who had ven- 
tured near to the building, caught a transient sight 
of a delicate female form. A pair of fine black eyes 
darted a look of surprise at seeing a stranger hover- 
ing near, and the door was precipitately closed. 

There was something in this sudden gleam of 
beauty that wonderfully struck the imagination of 
the student. It was like a brilliant, flashing from 
' its dark casket. He sauntered alxjut, regarding the 
gloomy pile with increasing interest. A few simple, 
wild notes, from among some rocks and trees at a 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



467 



little distance, attracted his attention. He found 
there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond gipsy race, 
which at iliat time abounded in Spain, and lived in 
hovels and caves of the hills about the neighbour- 
hood of Granada. Some were busy about a fire, 
and others were listening to the uncouth music 
which one of their companions, seated on a ledge of 
the rock, was making with a split reed. 

Antonio endeavoured to obtain some information 
of them, concerning the old building and its inhab- 
itants. The one who appeared to be their spokes- 
man was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whis- 
pering voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He 
shrugged his shoulders on the student's inquiries, 
and said that all was not right in that building. An 
old man inhabited it, whom nobody knew, and 
whose tamily appeared to be only a daughter and a 
female servant. He and his companions, he added, 
lived up among the neighbouring hills ; and as they 
had been about at night, they had often seen strange 
lights, and heard strange sounds from the tower. 
Some of the country people, who worked in the 
vineyards among the hills, believed the old man to 
be one that dealt in the black art, and were not 
over-fond of passing near the tower at night ; " but 
for our parts," said the Gitano, "we are not a people 
that trouble ourselves much with fears of that kind." 

The student endeavoured to gain more precise in- 
formation, but they had none to furnish him. They 
began to be solicitous for a compensation for what 
they had already imparted ; and, recollecting the 
loneliness of the place, and the vagabond character 
of his companions, he was glad to give them a 
gratuity, and to hasten homewards. 

He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too 
full of what he had seen and heard ; his eye was 
upon the page, but his fancy still returned to the 
tower; and he was continually picturing the little 
window, with the beautiful head peeping out ; or the 
door half open, and the nymph-like form within. He 
retired to bed, but the same object haunted his 
dreams. He was young and susceptible ; and the 
excited state of his feelings, from wandering among 
the abodes of departed grace and gallantry, had 
predisposed him for a sudden impression from fe- 
male beauty. 

The next morning, he strolled agaii\ in the direc- 
tion of the tower. It was still more forlorn, by the 
broad glare of day, than in the gloom of evening. 
The walls were crumbling, and weeds and moss 
were growing in every crevice. It had the look of a 
prison, rather than a dwelling-house. In one angle, 
however, he remarked a window which seemed an ex- 
ception to the surrounding squalidness. There was 
a curtain drawn within it, and flowers standing on 
the window-stone. Whilst he was looking at it, the 
curtain was partially withdrawn, and a delicate 
white arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was put 
forth to water the flowers. 

The student made a noise, to attract the attention 
of the fair florist. He succeeded. The curtain was 
further drawn, and he had a glance of the same 
lovely face he had seen the evening before ; it was 
but a mere glance — the curtain again fell, and the 
casement closed. All this was calculated to excite 
the feelings of a romantic youth. Had he seen the 
unknown under other circumstances, it is probable 
that he would not have been struck with her beauty ; 
but this appearance of being shut up and kept apart, 
gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed 
and repassed before the house several times in the 
course of the day, but saw nothing more. He was 
there again in the evening. The whole aspect of 
the house was dreary. The narrow windows emit- 
ted no rays of cheerful light, to indicate that there 



was social life within. Antonio listened at the 
portal, but no sound of voices reached his ear. Just 
then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and 
fearing to be detected in the unworthy act of eaves- 
dropping, he precipitately drew off to the opposite 
side of the road, and stood in the shadow of a 
ruined archway. 

He now remarked a light from a window in the 
tower. It was fitful and changeable; commonly 
feeble and yellowish, as if from a lamp; with an oc- 
casional glare of some vivid metallic colour, followed 
by a dusky glow. A column of dense smoke would 
now and then rise in the air, and hang like a canopy 
over the tower. There was altogether such a loneliness 
and seeming mystery about the building and its inhab- 
itants, that Antonio was half inclined to mdulge the 
country people's notions, and to fancy it the den of 
some powerful sorcerer, and the fair damsel he had 
seen to be some spell-bound beauty. 

After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in 
the window where he had seen the beautiful arm. 
The curtain was down, but it was so thin that he 
could perceive the shadow of some one passing and 
repassing between it and the light. He fancied that 
he could distinguish that the form was delicate ; and, 
from the alacrity of its movements, it was evidently 
youthful. He had not a doubt but this was the bed- 
chamber of his beautiful unknown. 

Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a 
femMe voice singing. He drew near cautiously, and 
listened. It was a plaintive Moorish ballad, and he 
recognized in it the lamentations of one of the Aben- 
cerrages on leaving the walls of lovely Granada. It 
was full of passion and tenderness. It spoke of the 
delights of early life ; the hours of love it had enjoy- 
ed on the banks of the Darro, and among the blissful 
abodes of the Alhambra. It bewailed the fallen hon- 
ours of the Abencerrages, and imprecated vengeance 
on their oppressors. Antonio was affected by the 
music. It singularly coincided with the place. It 
was like the voice of past times echoed in the pres- 
ent, and breathing among the monuments of its 
departed glory. 

The voice ceased ; after a time the light dis- 
appeared, and all was still. " She sleeps ! " said An- 
tonio, fondly. He lingered about the building, with 
the devotion with which a lover lingers about the 
bower of sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw 
its silver beams on the gray walls, and glittered on 
the casement. The late gloomy landscape gradually 
became flooded with its radiance. Finding, therefore, 
that he could no longer move about in obscurity, and 
fearful that his loiterings might be observed, he reluc- 
tantly retired. 

The curiosity which had at first drawn the young 
man to the tower, was now seconded by feelings of 
a more romantic kind. His studies were almost en- 
tirely abandoned. He maintained a kind of blockade 
of the old mansion ; he would take a book with him, 
and pass a great part of the day under the trees in its 
vicinity ; keeping a vigilant eye upon it, and endeav- 
ouring to ascertain what were the walks of his mys- 
terious charmer. He found, however, that she never 
went out except to mass, when she was accompanied 
by her father. He waited at the door of the church, 
and offered her the holy water, in the hope of touch- 
ing her hand ; a little office of gallantry common in 
Catholic countries. She, however, modestly declined 
without raising her eyes to see who made the offer, 
and always took it herself from the font. She was 
attentive in her devotion ; her eyes were never taken 
from the altar or the priest ; and, on returning home, 
her countenance was almost entirely concealed by 
her mantilla. 

Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several 



468 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



days, and was hourly getting more and more interest- 
ed in the chase, but never a step nearer to the game. 
His lurkings about the house had probably been no- 
ticed, for he no longer s,i\v the fair face at the win- 
dow, nor the white arm put forth to water the flowers. 
His only consolation was to repair nightly to his post 
of observation, and listen to her warbling ; and if 
by chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, 
passing and repassing before the window, he thought 
himseh" most fortunate. 

As he was indulging in one of these evening vigils, 
which were complete revels of the imagination, the 
sound of approaching footsteps made him withdraw 
into the deep shadow of the ruined archway oppo- 
site to the tower. A cavalier approached, wrapped in 
a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window 
of the tower, and after a little while began a sere- 
nade, accompanied by his guitar, in the usual style 
of Spanish gallantry. His voice was rich and manly ; 
he touched the instrument with skill, and sang with 
amorous and impassioned eloquence. The plume of 
his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled in the 
itioon-beams ; and as he played on the guitar, his 
cloak falling off Irom one shoulder, showed him to 
be richly dressed. It was evident that he was a 
person of rank. 

The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that 
the affections of his unknown beauty might be en- 
gaged. She was young, and doubtless susceptible ; 
and it was not in the nature of Spanish females to be 
deaf and insensible to music and admiration. The 
surmise brought with it a feeling of dreariness. There 
was a pleasant dream of several days suddenly dis- 
pelled. He had never before experienced any thing 
of the tender passion ; and, as its morning dreams 
are always delightful, he would fain have continued 
in the delusion. 

•■ But what have I to do with her attachments? " 
thought he ; " I have no claim on her heart, nor even 
on her acquaintance. How do 1 know that she is 
worthy of affection .' Or if she is, must not so gallant 
a lover as this, with his jewels, his rank, and his 
detestable music, have completely captivated her? 
What idle humour is this that I have fallen into ? I 
must again to my books. Study, study, will soon 
chase away all these idle fixncies ! " 

The more he thought, however, the more he be- 
came entangled in the spell which his lively imagi- 
nation had woven round him ; and now that a rival 
had appeared, in addition to the other obstacles that 
environed this enchanted beauty, she appeared ten 
times more lovely and desirable. It was some slight 
consolation to him to perceive that the gallantry of 
the unknown met with no apparent return from the 
tower. The light at the window was extinguished. 
The curtain remained undrawn, and none of the 
customary signals were given to intimate that the 
serenade was accepted. 

The cavalier lingered for some time about the 
place, and sang several other tender airs with a 
taste and feeling that made Antonio's heart ache ; at 
length he slowly retired. The student remained 
with folded arms, leaning against the rumed arch, 
endeavouring to summon up resolution enougli to 
depart ; but there was a romantic fascination that 
still enchained him to the place. " It is the last 
time," said he, willing to compromise between his 
feelings and his judgment, " it is the last time ; then 
let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer." 

As his eye ranged about the old building to take a 
farewell look, he observed the strange light in the 
tower, which he had noticed on a former occasion. 
It kept beaming up, and declining, as before. A 
pillar of smoke rose in the air, and hung in sable 
volumes. It was evident the old man was busied in 



some of those operations that had gained him the 
reputation of a sorcerer throughout the neighbour- 
hood. 

Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone 
through the casement, followed by a loud report, 
and then a fierce and ruddy glow. A figure appear- 
ed at the window, uttering cries of agony or alarm, 
but immediately disappeared, and a body of smoke 
and flame whirled out of the narrow aperture. An- 
tonio rushed to the portal, and knocked at it with 
vehemence. He was only answered by loud shrieks, 
and found that the females were already in helpless 
consternation. With an exertion of desperate strength 
he forced the wicket from its hinges, and rushed into 
the house. 

He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and, by 
the light of the moon which entered at the door, he 
saw a staircase to the left. He hurried up it to a 
narrow corridor, through which was rolling a volume 
of smoke. He found here the two females in a frantic 
state of alarm ; one of them clasped her hands, and 
implored him to save her father. 

■Phe corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, 
leading up to the tower. He sprang up it to a small 
door, through the chinks of which came a glow of 
light, and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open, 
and found himself in an antique vaulted chamber, 
furnished with a furnace and various chemical ap- 
paratus. A shattered retort lay on the stone floor; 
a quantity of combustibles, nearly consumed, with 
various half-burnt books and papers, were sending 
up an expiring flame, and filling the chamber with 
stifling smoke. Just within the threshold lay the re- 
puted conjuror. He was bleeding, his clothes were 
scorched, and he appeared lifeless. Antonio caught 
him up, and bore him down the stairs to a chamber, 
in which there was a light, and laid him on a bed. 
The female domestic was despatched for such ap- 
pliances as the house afforded ; but the daughter 
threw herself frantically beside her parent, and could 
not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress was 
all in disorder; her dishevelled hair hung in rich 
confusion about her neck and bosom, and never 
was there beheld a lovelier picture of terror and 
affliction. 

The skilful assiduities of the scholar soon pro- 
duced signs of returning animation in his patient. 
The old man's wounds, though severe, were not 
dangerous. They had evidently been produced liy 
the bursting of the retort ; in his bewilderment he 
had been enveloped in the stifling metallic vapours, 
which had overpowered his feeble frame, and had 
not Antonio arrived to his assistance, it is possible 
he might never have recovered. 

By slow degrees he came to his senses. He look- 
ed about with a bewildered air at the chamber, the 
agitated group around, and the student who v/as 
leaning over him. 

" Where am I ? " said he wildly. 

At the sound of his voice, his daughter uttered a 
faint exclamation of delight. " My poor Inez ! " said 
he, embracing her ; then, putting his hand to his 
head, and- taking it away stained with blood, he 
seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and to be over- 
come with emotion. 

"Ah ! " cried he, "all is over with me ! all gone ! 
all vanished ! gone in a moment ! the labour of a 
lifetime lost ! " 

His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he be- 
came slightly delirious, and raved incoherently about 
malignant demons, and about the habitation of the 
green lion being destroyed. His wounds being dress- 
ed, and such other remedies administered as his 
situation required, he sunk into a state of quiet. 
Antonio now turned his attention to the daughter, 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



460 



whose sufferings had been little inferior to those of 
her father. Having with great difficulty succeeded 
in tranquillizing her fears, he endeavoured to prevail 
upon her to retire, and seek the repose so necessary 
to her frame, proffering to remain by her father untd 
morning. "I am a stranger," said he, "it is true, 
and my offer may appear intrusive ; but I see you 
ire lonely and helpless, and I cannot help venturing 
over the limits of mere ceremony. Should you feel 
iny scruple or doubt, however, say but a word, and 
[ will instantly retire." 

There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty, 
iiingled in Antonio's deportment, that inspired in- 
stant confidence ; and his simple scholar's garb was 
1 recommendation in the house of poverty. The fe- 
iiales consented to resign the sufferer to his care, as 
;hey would be the better able to attend to him on the 
norrow. On retiring, the old domestic was profuse 
n her benedictions ; the daughter only looked her 
;hanks ; but as they shone through the tears that 
illed her fine black eyes, the student thought them a 
;housand times the most eloquent. 

Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of chance, 
completely housed within this mysterious mansion. 
When left to himself, and the bustle of the scene 
,vas over, his heart throbbed as he looked round the 
chamber in which he was sitting. It was the daugh- 
;er's room, the promised land toward which he had 
:ast so many a longing gaze. The furniture was old, 
md had probably belonged to the building in its 
prosperous days ; but every thing was arranged with 
propriety. The flowers that he had seen her attend 
Jtood in the window ; a guitar leaned against a table, 
Dn which stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal 
ind a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and 
serenity about this little nestling-place of innocence ; 
t was the emblem of a chaste and quiet mind. Some 
few articles of female dress lay on the chairs; and 
there was the very bed on which she had slept — the 
pillow on which her soft cheek had reclined ! The 
poor scholar was treading enchanted ground ; for 
ivhat fairy land has more of magic in it, than the 
Ded-chamber of innocence and beauty? 

From various expressions of the old man in his 
rax ings, and from what he had noticed on a subse- 
:\uent visit to the tower, to see that the fire was ex- 
tinguished, Antonio had gathered that his patient was 
m alchymist. The philosopher's stone was an object 
Mgerly sought after by visionaries in those days ; but 
;n consequence of the superstitious prejudices of the 
times, and the frequent persecutions of its votaries, 
they were apt to pursue their experiments in secret ; 
in lonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the 
privacy of cloistered cells. 

In the course of the night, the old man had several 
fits of restlessness and delirium ; he would call out 
upon Theophrastus, and Geber, and Albertus Mag- 
nus, and other sages of his art ; and anon would 
murmur about fermentation and projection, until, 
toward daylight, he once more sunk into a salutary 
sleep. When the morning sun darted his rays into 
the casement, the fair Inez, attended by the female 
domestic, came blushing into the chamber. The stu- 
dent now took his leave, having himself need of re- 
pose, but obtaining ready permission to return and 
inquire after the sufferer. 

When he called again, he found the alchymist lan- 
guid and in pain, but apparently suffering more in 
mind than in body. His delirium had left him, and 
he had been informed of the particulars of his deliv- 
erance, and of the subsequent attentions of the 
scholar. He could do little more than look his 
thanks, but Antonio did not require them ; his own 
heart repaid him for all that he had done, and he 
almost rejoiced in the disaster that had gained him 



an entrance into this mysterious habitation. The al- 
chymist was so helpless as to need much assistance; 
Antonio remained with him, therefore, the greater 
part of the day. He repeated his visit the next day, 
and the next. Every day his company seemed more 
pleasing to the invalid ; and every day he felt his in- 
terest in the latter increasing. Perhaps the presence 
of the daughter might have been at the bottom of 
this solicitude. 

He had frequent and long conversations with the 
alchymist. He found him, as men of his pursuits 
were apt to be, a mixture of enthusiasm and simplic- 
ity ; of curious and extensive reading on points of 
little utility, with great inattention to the every-day 
occurrences of life, and profound ignorance of the 
world. He was deeply versed in singular and ob- 
scure branches of knowledge, and much given to 
visionary speculations. Antonio, whose mind was 
of a romantic cast, had himself given some attention 
to the occult sciences, and he entered upon these 
themes with an ardour that delighted the philoso- 
pher. Their conversations frequently turned upon 
astrology, divination, and the great secret. The old 
man would forget his aches and wounds, rise up like 
a spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his 
favourite topics. When gently admonished of his 
situation, it would but prompt him to another sally 
of thought. 

" Alas, my son ! " he would say, " is not this very 
decrepitude and sufferir.g another proof of the im- 
portance of those secrets with which we are sur- 
rounded ? Why are we trammelled by disease, 
withered by old age, and our spirits quenched, as it 
were, within us, but because we have lost those se- 
crets of life and youth which were known to our 
parents before their fall .' To regain these, have 
philosophers been ever since aspiring; but just as 
they are on the point of securing the precious secrets 
for ever, the brief period of life is at an end ; they 
die, and with them all their wisdom and experience. 
' Nothing,' as De Nuysment observes, ' nothing is 
wanting for man's perfection but a longer life, less 
crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attaining 
of the full and perfect knowledge of things.' " 

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of 
his patient, as to draw from him the outlines of his 
story. 

Felix de Vasques, the alchymist, was a native of 
Castile, and of an ancient and honourable line. 
Early in life he had married a beautiful female, a 
descendant from one of the Moorish families. The 
marriage displeased his father, who considered the 
pure Spanish blood contaminated by this foreign 
mixture. It is true, the lady traced her descent from 
one of the Abencerrages, the most gallant of Moor- 
ish cavaliers, who had embraced the Christian faith 
on being exiled from the walls of Granada. The in- 
jured pride of the father, however, was not to be 
appeased. He never saw his son afterwards, and on 
dying left him but a scanty portion of his estate ; be- 
queathing the residue, in the piety and bitterness of 
his heart, to the erection of convents, and the per- 
formance of masses for souls in purgatory. t)on 
Felix resided for a long time in the neighbourhood 
of Valladolid. in a state of embarrassment and ob- 
scurity. He devoted himself to intense study, having, 
while at the university of Salamanca, imbibed a taste 
for the secret sciences. He was enthusiastic and 
speculative ; he went on from one branch ot knowl- 
edge to another, .until he became zealous in the 
search after the grand Arcanum. 

He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the 
hopes of raising himself from his present obscurity, 
and resuming the rank and dignity to which his birth 
entitled him ; but, as usual, it ended in absorbing 



470 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ever/ thought, and becoming the business of his 
existence. He was at length aroused from this men- 
tal abstraction, by the calamities of his household. 
A malignant fever swept off his wife and all his chil- 
dren, excepting an infant daughter. These losses for 
a time overwhelmed and stupefied him. His home 
had in a manner died away from around him, and 
he felt lonely and forlorn. When his spirit revived 
within him, he determined to abandon the scene of 
his humiliation and disaster; to bear away the child 
that was still left him, beyond the scene of conta- 
gion, and never to return to Castile until he should 
be enabled to reclaim the honours of his line. 

He had ever since been wandering and unsettled 
in his abode ; — sometimes the resident of populous 
cities, at other times of absolute solitudes. He had 
searched libraries, meditated on inscriptions, visited 
adepts of different countries, and sought to gather 
and concentrate the rays which had been thrown by 
various minds upon the secrets of alchymy. He had 
at one time travelled quite to Padua to search for 
the manuscripts of Pietro d'Abano, and to inspect 
an urn which had been dug up near Este, supposed 
to have been buried by Ma.\;imus Olybius, and to 
have contained the grand elixir.* 

While at Padua, he had met with an adept versed 
in Arabian lore, who talked of the invaluable manu- 
scripts that must remain in the Spanish libraries, 
preserved from the spoils of the Moorish academies 
and universities ; of the probability of meeting with 
precious unpublished writings of Geber, and Alfara- 
bius, and Avicenna, the great physicians of the Ara- 
bian schools, who, it was well known, had treated 
much of alchymy ; but, above all, he spoke of the 
Arabian tablets of lead, which had recently been dug 
up in the neighbourhood of Granada, and which, it 
was confidently believed among adepts, contained 
the lost secrets of the art. 

The indefatigable alchymist once more bent his 
steps for Spain, full of renovated hope. He had 
made his way to Granada : he had wearied himself 
in the study of Arabic, in deciphering inscriptions, 
in rummaging libraries, and exploring every possible 
trace left by the Arabian sages. 

In all his wanderings, he had been accompanied 
by Inez through the rough and the smooth, the pleas- 
ant and the adverse ; never complaining, but rather 
seeking to soothe his cares by her innocent and playful 
caresses. Her instruction had been the employment 
and the delight of his hours of relaxation. She 
had grown up while they were wandering, and had 
scarcely ever known any home but by his side. He 
was family, friends, home, every thing to her. He 
had carried her in his arms, when they first began 
their wayfaring ; had nestled her, as an eagle does 
its young, among the rocky heights of the Sierra 
Morena; she had sported about him in childhood, 
in the solitudes of the Bateucas ; had followed him, 
as a lamb does the shepherd, over the rugged Pyr- 
enees, and into the fair plains of Languedoc ; and 
now she was grown up to support his feeble steps 
among the ruined abodes of her maternal ancestors. 

His property had gradually wasted away, in the 
course of his travels and his experiments. Still hope, 
the constant attendant of the alchymist, had led him 



* Ttiis urn was found in 15^3. It contained a lesser one, in 
which was a burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the one of gold, 
the other of silver, both of them lull of a very clear liquor. On 
the largest was an inscription, staling that Maximus Olyhius shut 
lip in this small vessel elements which he had prepared with great 
toil. There were many disquisitions among the learned on the 
subject. It was the most received opinion, that this Maximus 
Olybius was an inhabitant of Padua, that he had discovered the 
great secret, and that these vessels contained liquor, one to trans- 
mute metals to gold, the other to silver. Tne peasants who 
found the urns, imagining this precious liquor to be common 
water, spilt every drop, so that the art of transmuting metals re- 
mains as much a secret as ever. 



on ; ever on the point of reaping the reward of his 
labours, and ever disappointed. With the credulity 
that often attended his art, he attributed many of his 
disappointments to the machinations of the malig- 
nant spirits that beset the paths of the alchymist 
and torment him in his solitary labours. " It i? their 
constant endeavour," he observed, "to close up 
every avenue to those sublime truths, which would 
enable man to rise above the abject state into which 
he has fallen, and to return to his original perfec- 
tion." To the evil offices of these demons, he at- 
tributed his late disaster. He had been on the very 
verge of the glorious discovery ; never were the in- 
dications more completely auspicious ; all was going 
on prosperously, when, at the critical moment which 
should have crowned his labours with success, and 
have placed him at the very summit of human power 
and felicity, the bursting of a retort had reduced his 
laboratory and himself to ruins. 

"I must now," said he, "give up at the very 
threshold of success. My books and papers are 
burnt ; my apparatus is broken. I am too old to 
bear up against these evils. The ardour that once 
inspired me is gone ; my poor frame is exhausted by 
study and watchfulness, and this last misfortune has 
hurried me towards the grave." He concluded in a 
tone of deep dejection. Antonio endeavoured to 
comfort and reassure him ; but the poor alchymist 
had for once awakened to a consciousness of the 
worldly ills that were gathering around him, and 
had sunk into despondency. After a pause, and 
some thoughtfulness and perplexity of brow, Anto- 
nio ventured to make a proposal. 

" I have long." said he, "been filled with a love 
for the secret sciences, but have felt too ignorant 
and diffident to give myself up to them. You have 
acquired experience ; you have amassed the knowl- 
edge of a lifetime ; it were a pity it should be thrown 
away. You say you are too old to renew the toils 
of the laboratory ; suffer me to undertake them. 
Add your knowledge to my youth and activity, and 
what shall we not accomplish .' As a probationary 
fee, and a fund on which to proceed, I will bring in- 
to the common stock a sum of gold, the residue of a 
legacy, which has enabled me to complete my edu- 
cation. A poor scholar cannot boast much ; but I 
trust we shall soon put ourselves beyond the reach 
of want ; and if we should fail, why, I must depend, 
like other scholars, upon my brains to carry me 
through the world." 

The philoso|)her's spirits, however, were more de- 
pressed than the student had imagined. This last 
shock, following in the rear of so many disappoint- 
ments, had almost destroyed the reaction of his mind. 
The fire of an enthusiast, however, is never so low 
but that it may be blown again into a flame. By 
degrees, the old man was cheered and reanimated 
by the buoyancy and ardour of his sanguine com- 
panion. He at length agreed to accept of the serv- 
ices of the student, and once more to renew his ex- 
periments. He objected, however, to using the stu- 
dent's gold, notwithstanding that his own was nearly 
exhausted ; but this objection was soon overcome ; 
the student insisted on making it a common stock 
and common cause ; — and then how absurd was any 
delicacy about such a trifle, with men who looked 
forward to discovering the philosopher's stone ! 

While, therefore, the alchymist was slowly recov- 
ering, the student busied himself in getting the 
laboratory once more in order. It was strewed with 
the wrecks of retorts and alembics, with old cruci- 
bles, bo.xes and phials of powders and tinctures, and 
half-burnt books and manuscripts. 

As soon as the old man was sutficiently recovered, 
the studies and experiments were renewed. Th« 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



471 



student became a privileged and frequent visitor, 
and was indcHitigable in his toils in the laboratory. 
The philosopher daily derived new zeal and spirits 
from the animation of his disciple. He was now 
enabled lo prosecute the enterprise with continued 
exertion, having so active a coadjutor to divide the 
toil. While he was poring over the writings of 
Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominusde Nuys- 
ment, and endeavouring to comprehend the sym- 
bolical language in which they have locked up their 
mysteries, Antonio would occupy himself among the 
retorts and crucibles, and keep the furnace in a per- 
petual glow. 

With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the 
golden art, the feelings of the student had not cooled 
as to the object that first drew him to this ruinous 
mansion. During the old man's illness, he had fre- 
quent opportunities of being near the daughter ; and 
every day made him more sensible to her charms. 
There was a pure simplicity, and an almost passive 
gentleness, in her manners ; yet with all this was 
mingled something, whether mere maiden shyness, 
or a consciousness of high descent, or a dash of Cas- 
tilian pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented un- 
due familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. 
The danger of her father, and the measures to be 
taken for his relief, had at first overcome this coy- 
ness and reserve ; but as he recovered and her alarm 
subsided, she seemed to shrink from the familiarity 
she had indulged with the youthful stranger, and to 
become every day more shy and silent. 

Antonio had read many books, but this was the 
first volume of womankind that he had ever studied. 
He had been captivated with the very title-page ; but 
the further he read, the more he was delighted. She 
seemed formed to love ; her soft black eye rolled 
languidly under its long silken lashes, and wherever 
it turned, it would linger and repose ; there was ten- 
derness in every beam. To him alone she was re- 
served and distant. Now that the common cares of 
the sick-room were at an end, he saw little more of 
her than before his admission to the house. Some- 
times he met her on his way to and from the labora- 
tory, and at such times there was ever a smile and a 
blush ; but, after a simple salutation, she glided on 
and disappeared. 

" 'Tis plain," thought Antonio, "my presence is 
indifferent, if not irksome to her. She has noticed 
my admiration, and is determined to discourage it ; 
nothing but a feeling of gratitude prevents her treat- 
ing me with marked distaste — and then has she not 
another lover, rich, gallant, splendid, musical? how 
can I suppose she would turn her eyes from so bril- 
liant a cavalier, to a poor obscure student, raking 
among the cinders of her father's laboratory ? " 

Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader con- 
tinually haunted his mind. He felt convinced that 
he was a favoured lover; yet, if so, why did he not 
frequent the tower .' — why did he not make his ap- 
proaches by noon-d.ay? There was mystery in this 
eaves-dropping and musical courtship. Surely Inez 
could not be encouraging a secret intrigue ! Oh ! 
no ! she was too artless, too pure, too ingenuous ! 
But then the Spanish females were so prone to love 
and intrigue ; and music and moonlight were so 
seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul languish- 
ing in every look. — " Oh ! " would the poor scholar 
exclaim, clasping his hands, " oh, that I could but 
once behold those loving eyes beaming on me with 
affection ! " 

It is incredible to those who have not experienced 
it, on what scanty aliment human life and human 
love may be supported. A dry crust, thrown now 
and then to a starving man, will give him a new 
lease of existence ; and a faint smile, or a kind look. 



bestowed at casual intervals, will keep a lover loving 
on, when a man in his sober senses would despair. 

When Antonio found himself alone in the labora- 
tory, his mind would be haunted by one of these 
looks, or smiles, which he had received in passing. 
He would set it in every possible light, and argue on 
it with all the self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a 
lover. 

The country around him was enough to awaken 
that voluptuousness of feeling so favourable to the 
growth oi passion. The window of the tower rose 
above the trees of the romantic valley of the Darro, 
and looked down upon some of the loveliest scenery 
of the Vega, where groves of citron and orange were 
refreshed by cool springs and brooks of the purest 
water. The Xenel and the Darro wound their shm- 
ing streams along the plain, and gleamed from 
among its bowers. The surrounding hills were 
covered with vineyards, and the mountains, crowned 
with snow, seemed to melt into the blue sky. The 
delicate airs that played about the tower were per- 
fumed by the fragrance of myrtle and orange-bljs- 
soms, and the ear was charmed with the fond war- 
blingofthe nightingale, which, in these happy regions, 
sings the whole day long. Sometimes, too, there 
was the idle song of the muleteer, sauntering along 
the solitary road ; or the notes of the guitar, from 
some group of peasants dancing in the shade. All 
these were enough to fill the head of a young lover 
with poetic fancies; and Antonio would picture to 
himself how he could loiter among those happy 
groves, and wander by those gentle rivers, and love 
away his life with Inez. 

He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, 
and would endeavour to brush awav these cobwebs 
of the mind. He would turn his thoughts, with sud- 
den effort, to his occult studies, or occupy himself in 
some perplexing process ; but often, when he had 
partially succeeded in fixing his attention, the sound 
of Inez's lute, or the soft notes of her voice, would 
come stealing upon the stillness of the chamber, and, 
as it were, floating round the tower. There was no 
great art in her performance ; but Antonio thought 
he had never heard music comparable to this. It 
was perfect witchcraft to hear her warble forth some 
of her national melodies ; those little Spanish ro- 
mances and Moorish ballads, that transport the hearer, 
in idea, to the banks of the Guadalquivir, or the 
walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream of 
beauties, and balconies, and moonlight serenades. 

Never was poor student more sadly beset than 
Antonio. Love is a troublesome companion in a 
study, at the best of times; but in the laboratory 
of an alchymist, his intrusion is terribly disastrous. 
Instead of attending to the retorts and crucibles, and 
watching the process of some experiment intrusted 
to his charge, the student would get entranced in 
one of these love-dreams, from which he would often 
be aroused by some fatal catastrophe. The philoso- 
pher, on returning from his researches in the libra- 
ries, would find every thing gone wrong, and Antonio 
in despair over the ruins of the whole day's work. 
The old man, however, took all quietly, for his had 
been a life of experiment and failure. 

" We must have patience, my son," would he say, 
" as all the great masters that have gone before us 
have had. Errors, and accidents, and delays are 
what we have to contend with. Did not Pontanus 
err two hundred times, before he could obtain even 
the matter on which to found his experiments.' The 
great Flamel, too, did he not labour four-and-twenty 
years, before he ascertained the first agent? What 
difficulties and hardships did not Cartilaceus en- 
counter, at the very threshold of his discoveries? 
And Bernard de Treves, even after he had attained 



472 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



a knowledge of all the requisites, was he not delayed 
lull three years ? What you consider accidents, my 
son, are the machinations of our invisible enemies. 
The treasures and golden secrets of nature are sur- 
rounded by spirits hostile to man. The air about us 
teems with them. They lurk in the lire of the fur- 
nace, in the bottom of the crucible, and the alembic, 
and are ever on the alert to take advantage of those 
moments when our minds are wandering from in- 
tense meditation on the great truth that we are 
seeking. We must only strive the more to purify 
ourselves from those gross and earthly feelings 
which becloud the soul, and prevent her Irom pierc- 
ing into nature's arcana." 

" Alas ! " tliought Antonio, " if to be purified from 
all earthly feeling requires that I should cease to love 
Inez, I fear I shall never discover the philosopher's 
stone ! " 

In this way, matters went on for some time, at the 
alchymist's. Day after day was sending the stu- 
dent's gold in vapour up the chimney ; eveiy blast 
of the furnace made him a ducat the poorer, without 
apparently helping him a jot nearer to the golden 
secret. .Still the young man stood by, and saw piece 
after piece disappearing without a murmur: he had 
daily an opportunity ol seeing Inez, and felt as if her 
favour would be better than silver or gold, and that 
every smile was worth a ducat. 

Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when the 
toils of the laboratory happened to be suspended, he 
would walk with the alchymist in what had once 
been a garden belonging to the mansion. There 
were still the remains of terraces and balustrades, 
and here and there a marble urn, or mutilated statue 
overturned, and buried among weeds and flowers run 
wild. It was the favourite resort of the alchymist 
in his hours of relaxation, where lie would give full 
scope to his \isionary flights. His mind was tinct- 
ured with the Rosicrucian doctrines. He believed in 
elementary beings ; some favourable, others adverse 
to his pursuits ; and, in the exaltation of his fancy, 
had often imagined that he held communion with 
them in his solitary walks, about the whispering 
groves and echoing walls of this old garden. 

When accompanied by Antonio, he would prolong 
these evening recreations. Indeed, he sometimes did 
it out of consideration for his disciple, for he feared 
lest his too close application, and his incessant seclu- 
sion in the tower, should be injurious to his health. 
He was delighted and surprised by this extraordinary 
zeal and perseverance in so young a tyro, and looked 
upon him as destined to be one of the great lumina- 
ries of the art. Lest the student shoiUd repine at 
the time lost in these relaxations, the good alchymist 
would fill them up with wholesome knowledge, in 
matters connected with their pursuits ; and would 
walk up and down the alleys with his disciple, im- 
parting oral instruction, like an ancient philosopher. 
In all his visionary schejnes, there breathed a sjiirit 
of lofty, though chimerical philanthropy, that won 
the admiration of the scholar. Nothing sordid nor 
sensual, nothing petty nor selfish, seemed to enter 
into his views, m respect to the grand discoveries he 
was anticipating. On the contrary, his imagination 
kindled with conceptions of widely dispensated hap- 
piness. He looked forward to the time when he 
should be able to go about the earth, relieving the 
indigent, comforting the distressed ; and, by his im- 
limited means, devising and executing plans for the 
complete extirpation of poverty, and all its attendant 
sufferings and crimes. Never were grander schemes 
for general good, for the distribution of boundless 
wealth and universal competence, devised than by 
this poor, indigent alchymist in his ruined tower. 

Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures 



with all the ardour of a devotee ; but there was an- 
other circumstance which may have given a secret 
charm to them. The garden was the resort also of 
Inez, where she took her walks of recreation ; the 
only exercise that her secluded life permitted. As 
Antonio was duteously pacing by the side of his 
instructor, he would often catch a glimpse of the 
daughter, walking pensively about the alleys in the 
soft twilight. Sometimes they would meet her un- 
expectedly, and the heart of the student would throb 
with agitation. A blush too would crimson the 
cheek of Inez, but still slie passed on and never joined 
them. 

He had remained one evening until rather a late 
hour with the alchymist in this favourite resort. It 
was a delightful night after a sultry day, and the 
balmy air of the garden was peculiarly reviving. 
The old man was seated on a fragment of a pedes- 
tal, looking like a part of the ruin on which he sat. 
He was edifying his pupil by long lessons of wisdom 
from the stars, as they shone out with brilliant lustre 
in the dark-blue vault of a southern sky ; for he was 
deeply versed in Behmen, and other of the Rosicru- 
cians, and talked much of the signature of earthly 
things and passing events, which may be discerned 
in the heavens ; of the power of the stars over cor- 
poreal beings, and their influence on the fortunes of 
the sons of men. 

By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming 
light among the groves. Antonio apparently listened 
with fixed attention to the snge, but his ear was 
drinking in the melody of Inez's voice, who was sing- 
ing to her lute in one of the moonlight glades of the 
garden. The old man, having exhausted his theme, 
sat gazing in silent reverie at the heavens. Antonio 
could not resist an inclination to steal a look at this 
coy beauty, who was thus playing the part of the 
nightingale, so sequestered and musical. Leaving 
the alchymist in his celestial reverie, he stole gently 
along one of the alleys. The music had ceased, and 
he thought he heard the sound of voices. He came 
to an angle of a copse that had screened a kind of 
green recess, ornamented by a marble fountain. The 
moon shone full upon the place, and by its light he 
beheld his unknown, serenading rival at the feet of 
Inez. He was detaining her by the hand, which he 
covered with kisses ; but at sight of Antonio he 
started up and half drew his sword, while Inez, dis- 
engaged, fled back to the house. 

All the jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were 
now confirmed. He did not re.main to encounter the 
resentment of his happy rival at being thus inter- 
rupted, but turned from the place in sudden wretch- 
edness of heart. That Inez should love another, 
would have been misery enough ; but that she should 
be capable of a dishonourable amour, shocked him 
to the soul. The idea of deception in so young and 
apparently artless a being, brought with it that sudden 
distrust in human nature, so sickening to a youthful 
and ingenuous mind; but when he thought of the kind, 
simple parent she was deceiving, whose affections all 
centered in her, he felt for a moment a sentiment ol 
indignation, and almost of aversion. 

He found the alchymist still seated in his visionary 
contemplation of the moon. " Come hither, my son," 
said he, with his usual enthusiasm, " come, read with 
me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightly un- 
folded for our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean 
sages affirm, that the heaven is as a mystic page, 
uttering speech to those who can rightly understand ; 
warning them of good and evil, and instructing them 
in the secret decrees of fate." 

The student's heart ached for his venerable master; 
and, for a moment, he felt the futility of his occult 
wisdom. " Alas ! poor old man ! " thought he, " of 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



473 



what avails all thy study? Little dost thou dream, 
while busied in airy speculations amono^ the stars, 
what a treason against thv happiness is going on under 
thine eyes ; as it were, in thy very bosom! — Oh Inez ! 
Inez ! where shall we look for truth and innocence, 
where shall we repose confidence in woman, if even 
you can deceive ? " 

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes 
when he finds his mistress not quite such a goddess 
as he had painted her. With the student, however, 
it sprung from honest anguish of lieart. He returned 
to his lodgings, in pitiable confusion of mind. He now 
deplored the infatuation that had led him on until 
his feelings were so thoroughly engaged. He resolved 
to abandon his pursuits at the tower, and trust to 
absence to dispel the fascination by which he had 
been spell-bound. He no longer thirsted after the 
discovery of the grand elixir : the dream of alchymy 
was over; for, without Inez, what was the value of 
the philosopher's stone ? 

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determina- 
tion of taking his leave of the alchymist, and tearing 
himself from Granada. For several days did he rise 
with the same resolution, and every night saw him 
come back to his pillow, to repine at his want of 
resolution, and_ to make fresh determinations for the 
morrow. In the meanwhile, he saw less of Inez than 
ever. She no longer walked in the garden, but re- 
mained almost entirely in her apartment. When she 
met him, she blushed more than usual ; and once 
hesitated, as if she would have spoken ; but, after a 
temporarj' embarrassment, and still deeper blushes, 
she niade some casual observation, and retired. An- 
tonio read, in this confusion, a consciousness of fault, 
and of that i'auk's being discovered. " What could 
she have wished to communicate .'' Perhaps to ac- 
count lor the scene in the garden ; — but how can she 
account for it, or why should she account for it to 
me .' What am I to her.' — or rather, what is she to 
me .'' " exclaimed he, impatiently, with a new resolu- 
tion to break through these entanglements of the 
heart, and fly from this enchanted spot for ever. 

He was returning that veiy night to his lodgings, 
full of this excellent determination, when, in a shad- 
owy part of the road, he passed a person whom he 
recognised, by his height and form, for his rival : he 
was going in the direction of the tower. If any lin- 
gering doubts remained, here was an opportunity of 
settling them completely. He determined to follow 
this unknown cavalier, and, under favour of the 
darkness, observe his movements. If he obtained 
access to the tower, or in any way a favourable re- 
ception, Antonio felt as if it would be a relief to his 
mind, and would enable him to fix his wavering reso- 
lution. 

The unknown, as he came near the tower, was 
more cautious and stealthy in his approaches. He 
was joined under a clump of trees by another person, 
and they had much whispering together. A light was 
burning in the chamber of Inez ; the curtain was 
down, but the casement was left open, as the night 
was warm. After some time, the light was extin- 
guished. A considerable interval elapsed. The cava- 
lier and his companion remained under covert of the 
trees, as if keeping watch. At length they approached 
the tower, with silent and cautious steps. The cava- 
lier received a dark-lantern from his companion, 
and threw off his cloak. The other then softly 
brought something from the clump of trees, which 
Antonio perceived to be a light ladder : he placed it 
against the wall, and the serenader gently ascended. 
A sickening sensation came over Antonio. Here was 
indeed a confirmation of every fear. He was about 
to leave the place, never to return, when he heard a 
stifled shriek from Inez's chamber. 



In an instant, the fellow that stood at the foot of 
the ladder lay prostrate on the ground. Antonio 
wrested a stiletto from his nerveless hand, and hur- 
ried up the ladder. He sprang in at the window, 
and Ibund Inez struggling in the grasp of his fancied 
rival : the latter, disturbed from his prey, caught 
up his lantern, turned its light full upon Antonio, 
and, drawing his sword, made a furious assault ; 
luckily the student saw the light gleam along the 
blade, and parried the thrust with the stiletto. A 
fierce, but unequal combat ensued. Antonio fought 
exposed to the full glare of the light, while his an- 
tagonist wa5 in shadow : his stiletto, too, was but a 
poor defence against a rapier. He saw that nothing 
would save him but closing with his adversary, and 
getting within his weapon : he rushed furiously upon 
him, and gave him a severe blow with the stiletto ; 
but received a wound in return from the shortened 
sword. At the same moment, a blow was inflicted 
from behind, by the confederate, who had ascended 
the ladder ; it felled him to the floor, and his antag- 
onists made their escape. 

By this time, the cries of Inez had brought her 
father and the domestic into the room. Antonio was 
found weltering in his blood, and senseless. He was 
conveyed to the chamber of the alchymist, who now 
repaid in kind the attentions which the student had 
once bestowed upon him. Among his varied knowl- 
edge he possessed some skill in surgery, which at 
this moment was of more value than even his chym- 
icai lore. He stanched and dressed the wounds of 
his disciple, which on examination proved less des- 
perate than he had at first apprehended. For a few 
days, however, his case was anxious, and attended 
with danger. The old man watched over him with 
the affection of a parent. He felt a double debt of 
gratitude towards him, on ac.count of his daughter 
and himself; he loved him too as a faithful and zeal- 
ous disciple ; and he dreaded lest the world should 
be deprived of the promising talents of so aspiring 
an alchymist. 

An excellent constitution soon medicined his 
wounds ; and there was a balsam in the looks and 
words of Inez, that had a healing effect on the still 
severer wounds which he carried in his heart. She 
displayed the strongest interest in his safety ; she 
called him her deliverer, her preserver. It seemed 
as if her grateful disposition sought, in the warmth 
of its acknowdedgments, to repay him for past cold- 
ness. But what most contributed to Antonio's re- 
covery, was her explanation concerning his supposed 
rival. It was some time since he had first beheld 
her at church, and he had ever since persecuted her 
with his attentions. He had beset her in her walks, 
until she had been obliged to confine herself to the 
house, e.xcept when accompanied by her father. He 
had besieged her with letters, serenades, and every 
art by which he could urge a vehement, but clandes- 
tine and dishonourable suit. The scene in the garden 
was as much of a surprise to her as to Antonio. Her 
persecutor had been attracted by her voice, and had 
found his way over a ruined part of the wall. He 
had come upon her unawares ; was detaining her by 
force, and pleading his insulting passion, when the 
appearance of the student interrupted him, and en- 
abled her to make her escape. She had forborne to 
mention to her father the persecution which she 
suffered ; she wished to spare him unavailing anxiety 
and distress, and had determined to confine herself 
more rigorously to the house ; though it appeared 
that even here she had not been safe from his daring 
enterprise. 

Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of 
this impetuous admirer.' .She replied that he had 
made his advances under a fictitious name ; but that 



474 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



she had heard him once called by the name of Don 
Ambrosio de Loxa. 

Antonio l<ne\v him, by report, for one of the most 
determined and dangerous libertines in all Granada. 
Artful, accomplished, and, if he chose to be so, in- 
sinuating- ; but daring and headlong in the pursuit of 
his pleasures; violent and implacable in his resent- 
ments. He rejoiced to find that Inez had been proof 
against his seductions, and had been inspired with 
aversion by his splendid profligacy ; but he trembled 
to think of the dangers she had run, and he felt 
solicitude about the dangers that must yet environ 
her. 

At present, however, it was probable the enemy 
had a temporary quietus. The traces of blood had 
been found for some distance from the ladder, until 
they were lost among thickets ; and as nothing had 
been heard or seen of him since, it was concluded 
that he had been seriously wounded. 

As the student recovered from his wounds, he was 
enabled to join Inez and her father in their domestic 
intercourse. The chamber in which they usually met 
had probably been a saloon of state in former times. 
The floor was of marble ; the walls partially covered 
with remains of tapestry ; the chairs, richly carved 
and gilt, were crazed with age, and covered with 
tarnished and tattered brocade. Against the wall 
hung a long rusty rapier, the only relic that the old 
man retained of the chivalry of his ancestors. There 
might have been something to provoke a smile, in 
the contrast between the mansion and its inhabitants ; 
between present poverty and the graces of departed 
grandeur ; but the fancy of the student had thrown 
so much romance about the edifice and its inmates, 
that every thing was clothed with charms. The 
|)hilosopher, with his broken-down pride, and his 
strange pursuits, seemed to comport with the mel- 
ancholy ruin he inhabited ; and there was a native 
elegance of spirit about the daughter, that showed 
she would have graced the mansion in its happier 
days. 

What delicious moments were these to the student ! 
Inez was no longer coy and reserved. She was nat- 
urally artless and confiding ; though the kind of per- 
secution she had experienced from one admirer had 
rendered her, for a time, suspicious and circumspect 
toward the other. She now felt an entire confidence 
in the sincerity and worth of Antonio, mingled with 
an ov^erflowing gratitude. When her eyes met his, 
they beamed with sympathy and kindness ; and An- 
tonio, no longer haunted by the idea of a favoured 
rival, once more aspired to success. 

At these domestic meetings, however, he had little 
opportunity of paying his court, except by looks. 
The alchymist, supposing him, like himself, absorbed 
in the study of alchymy, endeavoured to cheer the 
tediousness of his recovery by long conversations on 
the art. He even brought several of his half-burnt 
volumes, which the student had once rescued from 
the flames, and rewarded him for their preservation, 
by reading copious passages. He would entertain 
him with the great and good acts of Flamel, which 
he effected through means of the philosopher's stone, 
relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals, 
building churches, and what not ; or with the inter- 
rogatories of King Kalid, and the answers of Mori- 
enus. the Roman hermit of Hierusalem; or the pro- 
found questions which Elardus, a necromancer of the 
province of Catalonia, put to the devil, touching the 
secrets of alchymy, and the devil's replies. 

All these were couched in occult language, almost 
unintelligible to the unpractised ear of the disciple. 
Indeed, the old man delighted in the mystic phrases 
and symbolical jargon in which the writers that have 
treated ot alchymy have wrapped their communica- 



tions ; rendering them incomprehensible except to 
the initiated. With what rapture would he elevate 
his voice at a triumphant passage, announcing the 
grand discovery ! "Thou shalt see," would he ex- 
claim, in the words of Henry Kuhnrade,* " the stone 
of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the bed- 
chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of 
this world ; that is to say, regenerated and made 
perfect, a shining carbuncle, a most temperate splen- 
dour, whose most subtle and depurated parts are in- 
separable, united into one with a concordial mixture, 
exceeding equal, transparent as chrystal, shining red 
like a ruby, permanently colouring or ringing, fixt in 
all temptations or tryals ; yea, in the examination of 
the burning sulphur itself, and the devouring waters, 
and in the most vehement persecution of the fire, 
alwa) s incombustible and permanent as a salaman- 
der ! " 

The student had a high veneration for the fathers 
of alchymy, and a profound respect for his instructor ; 
but what was Henry Kuhnrade, Geber, Lully, or 
even Albertus Magnus himself, compared to the 
countenance of Inez, which presented such a page 
of beauty to his perusal ? While, therefore, the 
good alchymist was doling out knowledge by the 
hour, his disciple would forget books, alchymy, every 
thing but the lovely object before him. Inez, too, 
unpractised in the science of the heart, was gradual- 
ly becoming fascinated by the silent attentions of her 
lover. Day by day, she seemed more and more per- 
plexed by the kindling and strangely pleasing emo- 
tions of her bosom. Her eye was often cast down 
in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek without any 
apparent cause, and light, half- suppressed sighs 
would follow these short fits of musing. Her little 
ballads, though the same that she had always sung, 
yet breathed a more tender spirit. Either the tones 
of her voice were more soft and touching, or some 
passages were delivered with a feeling which she had 
never before given them. Antonio, beside liis love 
for the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for music ; 
and never did philosopher touch the guitar more taste- 
fully. As, by degrees, he conquered the mutual em- 
barrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured to 
accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a 
voice full of fire and tenderness : as he sang, one 
wouki have thought, from the kindling blushes of his 
companion, that he had been pleading his own pas- 
sion in her ear. Let those who would keep two 
youthful hearts asunder, beware of music. Oh ! this 
leaning over chairs, and conning the same music- 
book, and entwining of voices, and melting away in 
harmonies I — the German waltz is nothing to it. 

The worthy alchymist saw nothing of all this. 
His mind could admit of no idea that was not con- 
nected with the discovery of the grand arcanum, 
and he supposed his youthful coadjutor equally de- 
voted. He was a mere child as to human nature ; 
and, as to the passion of love, whatever he might 
once have felt of it, he had long since forgotten that 
there was such an idle passion in existence. But, 
while he dreamed, the silent amour went on. The 
\'ery quiet and seclusion of the place were favour- 
able to the growth of romantic passion. The open- 
ing bud of love was able to put forth leaf by leaf, 
without an adverse wind to check its growth. There 
was neither officious friendship to chill by its advice, 
nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, nor an 
observing world to look on and stare it out of coun- 
tenance. There was neither declaration, nor vow, 
nor any other form of Cupid's canting school. Their 
hearts mingled together, and understood each other 
without the aid of language. They lapsed into the 



* Amphitheatre of the Ltemal Wisdom. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



475 



fall current of affection, unconscious of its deptli, 
and thouphtless of tlie rocks that might lurl< beneath 
its surface. Happy lovers ! who wanted nothing to 
make their felicity complete, but the discovery of the 
philosopher's stone I 

At length, Antonio's health was sufficiently re- 
stored to enable him to return to his lodgings in Gra- 
nada. He felt uneasy, however, at leaving the tower, 
while lurkmg danger might surround its almost de- 
fenceless inm^es. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, 
recovered from his wounds, might plot some new 
attempt, by secret art, or open violence. From all 
that he had heard, he knew him to be too implaca- 
ble to suffer his defeat to pass unavenged, and too 
rash and fearless, when his arts were unavailing, to 
stop at any daring deed in the accomplishment of 
his purposes. He urged his apprehensions to the al- 
chymist and his daughter, and proposed that they 
should abandon the dangerous vicinity of Granada. 

" I have relations," said he, " in Valentia, poor 
indeed, but worthy and affectionate. Among them 
you will find friendship and quiet, and we may there 
pursue our labours unmolested." He went on to 
paint the beauties and delights of Valentia, with all 
the fondness of a native, and all the eloquence with 
which a lover paints the fields and groves which he 
is picturing as the future scenes of his happiness. 
His eloquence, backed by the apprehensions of Inez, 
was successful with the alchymist, who, indeed, had 
led too unsettled a life to be particular about the 
place of his residence ; and it was determined, that, 
as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restored, 
they should abandon the tower, and seek the deli- 
cious neighbourhood of Valentia.* 

To recruit his strength, the student suspended his 
toils in the laboratoiy, and spent the few remaining 
days, before departure, in taking a farewell look at 
the enchanting environs of Granada. He felt return- 
ing health and vigour, as he inhaled the pure temper- 
ate breezes that play about its hills ; and the happy 
state of his mind contributed to his rapid recovery. 
Inez was often the companion of his walks. Her de- 
scent, by the mother's side, from one of the-ancient 
Moorish families, gave her an interest in this once 
favourite seat of Arabian power. She gazed with 
enthusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, and her 
memory was filled with the traditional tales and bal- 
lads of Moorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life 
she had led, and the visionary turn of her father's 
mind, had produced an effect upon her character, 
and given it a tinge of what, in modern days, would 
be termed romance. All this was called into full 
force by this new passage ; for, when a woman first 
begins to love, life is all romance to her. 

In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended 
to the mountain of the Sun, where is situated the 
Generaliffe, the palace of pleasure, in the days of 
Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy convent of 
Capuchins. They had wandered about its garden, 
among groves of orange, citron, and cypress, where 
the waters, leaping in torrents, or gushing in foun- 
tains, or tossed aloft in sparkling jets, fill the air with 
music,and freshness. There is a melancholy mingled 
with a,ll the beauties of this garden, that gradually 
stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place is 
full of the sad story of past times. It was the favour- 

* Here ni-e the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the excellent'st 
almonds, the best oyls, and beautifuH'st females of all Spain. The 
very bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary, and other 
fragrant flowers hereabouts ; and when one is at sea, if the winde 
blow from the shore, he may smell this soyl before he come in sight 
of it, many leagues ofl^, by the strong odoriferous scent it casts. As 
it is the most ple-isant, so it is also the temperat'st clime of all Spain, 
and they commonlycall it the second Italy, which made tlie Moors, 
whereof many thousands were disterr'd. and banish'd hence to 
Barb.Try, to think that Paradise was in that part of the heavens 
which hung over this iiie. — Howell's Letters, 



ite abode of the lovely queen of Granada, where she 
was surrounded by the delights of a gay and volup- 
tuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own bow- 
ers of roses, that her slanderers laid the base story of 
her dishonour, and struck a fatal blow to the line of 
the gallant Abencerrages. 

The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. 
Many of the fountains are dry and broken ; the 
streams have wandered from their marble channels, 
and are choked by weeds and yellow leaves. The 
reed whistles to the wind, where it had once sport- 
ed among roses, and shaken perfume from the 
orange-blossom. The convent-bell flmgs its sullen 
sound, or the drowsy vesper-hymn floats along these 
solitudes, which once resounded with the song, and 
the dance, and the lover's serenade. Well may the 
Moors lament over the loss of this earthly paradise ; 
well may they remember it in their prayers, and be- 
seech Heaven to restore it to the taithful ; well may 
their ambassadors smite their breasts when they be- 
hold these monuments of their race, and sit down 
and weep among the fading glories of Granada I 

It is impossible to wander about these scenes of 
departed love and gaiety, and not feel the tenderness 
of the heart awakened. It was then that Antonio 
first ventured to breathe his passion, and to express 
by words what his eyes had long since so eloquently 
revealed. He made his avowal with fervour, but 
with frankness. He had no gay prospects to hold 
out : he was a poor scholar, dependent on his " good 
spirits to feed and clothe him." But a woman in 
love is no interested calculator. Inez listened to 
him with downcast eyes, but in them was a humid 
gleam that showed her heart was with him. She 
had no prudery in her nature ; and she had not 
been sufficiently in society to acquire it. Siie loved 
him with all the absence of worldliness of a gen- 
uine woman ; and, amidst timid smiles and blushes, 
he drew from her a modest acknowledgment ol her 
affection. 

They wandered about the garden, with that sweet 
into.xication of the soul which none but happy lovers 
know. The world about them was all fairy land ; 
and, indeed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenes 
before their eyes, as if to fulfil their dream of earthly 
happiness. "They looked out from between groves of 
orange, upon the towers of Granada below them ; 
the magnificent plain of the Vega beyond, streaked 
with evening sunshine, and the distant hills tinted 
with rosy and purple hues: it seemed an emblem of 
the happy future, that love and hope were decking 
out for them. 

As if to make the scene complete, a group of An- 
dalusians struck up a dance, in one of the vistas of 
the garden, to the guitars of two wandering musi- 
cians. The Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet 
the people dance to it with spirit and enthusiasm. 
The picturesque figures of the dancers ; the girls 
with their hair in silken nets that hung in knots and 
tassels down their backs, their mantillas floating 
round their graceful forms, their slender feet peeping 
from under their basquinas, their arms tossed up in 
the air to play the castanets, had a beautiful effect 
on this airy height, with the rich evening landscaiJe 
spreading out below them. 

When the dance was ended, two of the parties 
approached Antonio and Inez ; one of them began 
a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied by 
the other on the lute. It alluded to the story of the 
garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of Granada, and 
the misfortunes of the Abencerrages. It was one of 
those old ballads that abound in this part of Spain, 
and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish 
greatness. The heart of Inez was at that moment 
open to every tender impression ; the tears rose into 



476 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



her eyes, as she listened to the tale. The singer ap- 
proached nearer to her ; she was striking in her 
appearance ; — young, beautiful, with a mixture of 
wiidness and melancholy in her fine black eyes. 
She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, 
and, suddenly varying her manner, sang another bal- 
lad, which treated of impending danger and treach- 
ery. All this might have passed for a mere accident- 
al caprice of the singer, had there not been some- 
thing in her look, manner, and gesticulation that 
made it pointed and startling. 

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently 
personal application of the song, when she was in- 
terrupted by Antonio, who gently drew her from the 
])lace. Whilst she had been lost in attention to the 
music, he had remarked a group of men, in the 
shadows of the trees, whispering to,^ether. They 
were enveloped in the broad hats and great cloaks 
so much worn by the Spanish, and, while they were 
regarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anx- 
ious to avoid observation. Not knowing what might 
be their character or intention, he hastened to quit 
a place where the gathering shadows of evenir.g 
might expose them to intrusion and insult. On their 
way down the hill, as they passed through the wood 
of elms, mingled with poplars and oleanders, that 
skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he again 
saw these men apparently following at a distance ; 
and he afterwards caught sight of them among the 
trees on the banks of the Darro. He said nothing 
on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would 
not awaken unnecessary alarm ; but he felt at a loss 
how to ascertain or to avert any machinations that 
might be devising against the helpless inhabitants of 
the tower. 

He took his leave of them late at night, full of this 
perplexity. As he left the dreary old pile, he saw 
some one lurking in the shadow of the wall, appar- 
ently watching his movements. He hastened after 
the figure, but it glided away, and disappeared among 
some ruins. Shortly after he heard a low whistle, 
which was answered from a little distance. He had 
no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on 
foot, and turned to hasten back to the tower, and 
put its inmates on their guard. He had scarcely 
turned, however, before he found himself suddenly 
seized from behind by some one of Herculean 
strength. His struggles were in vain ; he was sur- 
rounded by armed men. One threw a mantle over 
him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its 
lolds ; and he was hurried off with irresistible ra- 
pidity. 

The next day passed without the appearance of 
Antonio at the alchymist's. Another, and another day 
succeeded, and yet he did not come ; nor had any 
thing been heard of him at his lodgings. His absence 
caused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length 
alarm. Inez recollected the singular intimations of 
the ballad-singer upon the mountain, which seemed 
to warn her of impending danger, and her mind was 
full of vague forebodings. She sat listening to every 
sound at the gate, or footstep on the stairs. She 
would take up her guitar and strike a few notes, but 
it would not do; her heart was sickening with sus- 
pense and anxiety. She had never before felt what 
it was to be really lonely. She now was conscious 
of the force of that attachment which had taken 
possession of her breast ; for never do we know how 
much we love, never do we know how necessary the 
object of our love is to our happiness, until we ex- 
perience the weary void of separation. 

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple 
almost as sensibly as did his daughter. The animat- 
ing buoyancy of the youth had inspired him with new 
ardour, and had given to his labours the charm of 



full companionship. However, he had resources and 
consolations of which his daughter was destitute. 
His pursuits were of a nature to occupy every 
thought, and keep the spirits in a state of continual 
excitement. Certain indications, too, had lately man- 
ifested themselves, of the most favourable nature. 
Forty days and forty nights had the process gone on 
successfully ; the old man's hopes were constantly 
rising, and he now considered the glorious moment 
once more at hand, when he should obtain not merely 
the major lunaria, but likewise the tinctura Solaris, 
the means of multiplying gold, and of prolonging ex- 
istence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up 
in his laboratory, watching his furnace ; for a mo- 
ment's inadvertency might once more defeat all his 
expectations. 

He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary 
vigils, wrapped up in meditation ; the hour was late, 
and his neighbour, the owl, was hooting from the 
battlement of the tower, when he heard the door 
open behind him. Supposing it to be his daughter 
coming to take her leave of him for the night, as was 
her frequent practice, he called her by name, but a 
harsh voice met his ear in reply. He was grasped 
by the arms, and, looking up, perceived three strange 
men in the chamber. He attempted to shake them 
off, but in vain. He called for help, but they scoffed 
at his cries. " Peace, dotard ! " cried one : " think'st 
thou the servants of the most holy inquisition are to 
be daunted by thy clamours ? Comrades, away with 
him ! " 

Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, 
they seized upon his books and papers, took some 
note of the apartment, and the utensils, and then 
bore him off a prisoner. 

Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely 
evening; seated by a casement which looked into 
the garden, she had pensively watched star after 
star sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, and 
was indulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her 
lover, until the rising tears began to flow. She was 
suddenly alarmed by the sound of voices, that seemed 
to come from a distant part of the mansion. There 
was, not long after, a noise of several pzrrsons de- 
scending the stairs. Surprised at these unusual 
sounds in their lonely habitation, she remained lor a 
few moments in a state of trembling, yet indistinct 
apprehension, when the servant rushed into the room, 
with terror in her countenance, and informed her 
that her father was carried off by armed men. 

Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down- 
stairs to overtake them. She had scarcely passed the 
threshold, when she found herself in the grasp of 
strangers. — "Away! — away!" cried she, wildly; 
"do not stop me — let me follow my father." 

" We come to conduct you to him, senora," said 
one of the men, respectfully. 

" Where is he, then .' " 

"He is gone to Granada," replied the man: "an 
unexpected circumstance requires his presence there 
immediately ; but he is among friends." 

" We have no friends in Granada," said Inez, 
drawing back; but then the idea of Antonio rushed 
into her mind ; something relating to him might 
have called her father thither. "Is senor Antonio 
de Castros with him.'" demanded she, with agita- 
tion. 

" I know not, senora," replied the man. " It 
is very possible. I only know that your father is 
among friends, and is anxious for you to follow 
him." 

"Let us go, then," cried she, eagerly. The men 
led her a little distance to where a mule was wait- 
ing, and, assisting her to mount, they conducted her 
slowly towards the city. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



477 



Granada was on that evening a scene of fanciful 
revel. It was one of the festivals of the Maestranza, 
an association of the nobility to keep up some of the 
gallant customs of ancient chivalry. There had 
been a representation of a tournament in one of 
the squares ; the streets would still occasionally re- 
sound with the beat of a solitary drum, or the bray 
of a trumpet from some straggling party of revellers. 
Sometimes they were met by cavaliers, richly dressed 
in ancient costumes, attended by their squires ; and 
at one time they passed in sight of a palace bril- 
liantly illuminated, from whence came the mingled 
sounds of music and the dance. Shortly after, they 
came to the square where the moci< tournament had 
been held. It was thronged by the populace, recre- 
ating themselves among booths and stalls where re- 
freshments were sold, and the glare of torches 
showed the temporary galleries, and gay-coloured 
awnings, and armorial trophies, and other parapher- 
nalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endeav- 
oured to keep out of observation, and to traverse a 
gloomy part of the square ; but they were detained 
at one place by the pressure of a crowd surrounding 
a party of wandering musicians, singing one of those 
ballads of which the Spanish populace are so pas- 
sionately fond. The torches which were held by 
some of the crowd, threw a strong mass of light 
upon Inez, and the sight of so beautiful a being, 
without mantilla or veil, looking so bewildered, and 
conducted by men who seemed to take no gratifica- 
tion in the surrounding gaiety, occasioned expres- 
sions of curiosity. One of the ballad-singers ap- 
proached, and striking her guitar with peculiar ear- 
nestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of sinister 
forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was 
the same ballad-singer that had addressed her in 
the garden of the Generaliffe. It was the same air 
that she had then sung. It spoke of impending 
dangers ; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening 
around her. She was anxious to speak with the 
girl, and to ascertain whether she really had a 
knowledge of any definite evil that was threatening 
her ; but, as she attempted to address her, the 
mule, on which she rode, was suddenly seized, and 
led forcibly through the throng by one of her con- 
ductors, while she saw another addressing men- 
acing words to the ballad-singer. The latter raised 
her hand with a warning gesture, as Inez lost sight 
of her. 

While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by 
this singular occurrence, they stopped at the gate of 
a large mansion. One of her attendants knocked, 
the door was opened, and they entered a paved 
court. "Where are we?" demanded Inez, with 
anxiety. "At the house of a friend, senora," re- 
plied the man. " Ascend this staircase with me, 
and in a moment you will meet your father." 

They ascended a staircase, that led to a suite of 
splendid apartments. They passed through several, 
until they came to an inner chamber. The door 
opened — some one approached ; but what was her 
terror at perceiving, not her lather, but Don Am- 
brosio ! 

The men who had seized upon the alchymist had, 
at least, been more honest in their professions. 
They were, indeed, familiars of the inquisition. He 
was conducted in silence to the gloomy prison ot 
that horrible tribunal. It was a mansion whose 
very aspect withered joy, and almost shut out hope. 
It was one of those hideous abodes which the bad 
passions of men conjure up in this fair world, to ri- 
val the fancied dens of demons and the accursed. 

Day after day went heavily by, without .any thing 
to mark the lapse of time, but the decline and reap- 
pearance of the light that feebly glimmered through 



the narrow window of the dungeon in which the un- 
fortunate alchymist was buried rather than confined. 
His mind was harassed with uncertainties and fears 
about his daughter, so helpless and inexperienced. 
He endeavoured to gather tidings of her from the 
man who brought his daily portion of food. The 
fellow stared, as if astonished at being asked a ques- 
tion in that mansion of silence and mystery, but de- 
parted without saying a word. Every succeeding 
attempt was equally fruitless. 

The poor alchymist was oppressed by many griefs ; 
and it was not the least, that he had been again in- 
terrupted in his labours on the vei7 point of success. 
Never was alchvmist so near attaining the golden 
secret — a little longer, and all his hopes would have 
been realized. The thoughts of these disappoint- 
ments afflicted him more even than the fear of^ all 
that he might suffer from the merciless inquisition. 
His waking thoughts would follow him into his 
dreams. He would be transported in fancy to his 
laboratory, busied again among retorts and alem- 
bics, and surrounded by Lully, by D'Abano, by Oly- 
bius, and the other masters of the sublime art. The 
moment of projection would arrive ; a seraphic form 
would rise out of the furnace, holding forth a vessel 
containing the precious elixir; but, before he could 
grasp the prize, he would awake, and find himself 
in a dungeon. 

All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were em- 
ployed to ensnare the old man, and to draw from 
him evidence that might be brought against himself, 
and might corroborate certain secret information 
that had been given against him. He had been ac- 
cused of practising necromancy and judicial astrol- 
ogy, and a cloud of evidence had been secretly 
brought forward to substantiate the charge. It 
would be tedious to enumerate all the circum- 
stances, apparently corroborative, which had been 
industriously cited by the secret accuser. The 
silence which prevailed about the tower, its deso- 
lateness, the very quiet of its inhabitants, had been 
adduced as proofs that something sinister was per- 
petrated within. The alchymist's conversations and 
soliloquies in the garden had been overheard and 
misrepresented. The lights and strange appear- 
ances at night, in the tower, were given with vio- 
lent exaggerations. Shrieks and yells were said to 
have been heard from thence at midnight, when, it 
was confidently asserted, the old man raised familiar 
spirits by his incantations, and even compelled the 
dead to rise from their graves, and answer to his 
questions. 

The alchymist, according to the custom of the 
inquisition, was kept in complete ignorance of his 
accuser ; of the witnesses produced against him ; 
even of the crimes of which he was accused. He 
was examined generally, whether he knew why he 
was arrested, and was conscious of any guilt that 
might deserve the notice of the holy office ? He was 
examined as to his country, his life, his habits, his 
pursuits, his actions, and opinions. The old man 
was frank and simple in his replies; he was con- 
scious of no guilt, capable of no art, practised in no 
dissimulation. After receiving a general admoni- 
tion to bethink himself whether he had not com- 
mitted any act deserving of punishment, and to 
prepare, by confession, to secure the well-known 
mercy of the tribunal, he was remanded to his cell. 

He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty 
familiars of the inquisition ; who, under pretence of 
sympathy and kindness, came to beguile the tedious- 
ness of his imprisonment with friendly conversation. 
They casually introduced the subject of alchymy, on 
which they touched with great caution and pre- 
tended indifference. There was no need of such 



478 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



craftiness. The honest enthusiast had no suspicion 
m his nature : the moment they touched upon his 
favourite theme, he forg-ot his misfortunes and im- 
prisonment, and broke forth into rhapsodies al:)Out 
the divine science. 

The conversation was artfully turned to the dis- 
cussion of elementary being's. The alchymist readily 
avowed his belief in them; and that there had been 
instances ol their attending upon philosophers, and 
administering to their wishes. He related many 
miracles said to have been performed by Apollonius 
Thyaneus, through the aid of spirits or demons ; in- 
somuch that he was set up by the heathens in oopo- 
sition to the Messiah ; and was even regarded with 
reverence by many Christians. The famifiars eagerly 
demanded whether he believed Apollonius to be a 
true and worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety 
of the alchymist protected him even in the midst of 
his simplicity; for he condemned Apollonius as a 
sorcerer and an impostor. No art could draw from 
him an admission that he had ever employed or in- 
voked spiritual agencies in the prosecution of his 
pursuits, though he believed himself to have been 
Irequently impeded by their invisible interference. 

The inquisitors were sorely ve.xed at not being 
able to inveigle him into a confession of a criminsTl 
nature; they attributed their failure to craft, to ob- 
stinacy, to every cause but the right one, namely, 
that the harmless visionary had nothing guilty to 
confess. They had abundant proof of a secret nature 
against him ; but it was the practice of the inquisi- 
tion to endeavour to procure confession from the 
prisoners. An auto da fe was at hand ; the worthy 
lathers were eager for his conviction, for they were 
always an.xious to have a good number of culprits 
condemned to the stake, to grace these solemn tri- 
umphs. He was at length brought to a final exam- 
ination. 

The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. 
At one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of the 
inquisition. A long- table extended through the 
centre of the room, at which sat the inquisitors and 
their secretary ; at the other end, a stool was placed 
for the prisoner. 

He was brought in, according to custom, bare- 
headed and bare-legged. He was enfeebled tiy con- 
finement and affliction ; by constantly brooding over 
the unknown fate of his child, and the disastrous 
interruption of his experiments. He sat bowed down 
and listless ; his head sunk upon his breast • his 
whole appearance that of one "past hope, abandon- 
ed, and by himself given over." 

The accusation alleged against him was now 
brought forward in a specific form ; he was called 
upon by name, Felix de Vasquez, formerly of Cas- 
tile, to answer to the charges of necromancy and 
demonology. He was told that the charges were 
amply substantiated; and was asked whether he 
was ready, by full confession, to throw himself upon 
the well-known mercy of the holy inquisition. 

The philosopher testified some slight surprise at 
the nature of the accusation, but simply replied, " I 
am innocent." 

" What proof have you to give of your inno- 
cence .' " 

" It rather remains for you to prove your charo-es," 
said the old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner 
in the land, and know no one out of the doors of my 
dwelling. I can give nothing in my vindication but 
the word of a nobleman and a Casti'lian." 

The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to re- 
peat the various inquiries that had before been made 
as to his mode of life and pursuits. The poor alchy- 
mist was too feeble and too weary at heart to make 
any but brief replies. He requested that some man 



of science might examine his laboratory, and all his 
books and papers, by which it would be made 
abundantly evident that he was merely engaged in 
the study of alchymy. 

To this the inquisitor observed, that alchymy had 
become a mere covert for secret and deadly sins. 
That the practisers of i^ were apt to scruple at no 
means to satisfy their inordinate greediness of gold. 
Some had been known to use spells and impious 
ceremonies; to conjure the aid of evil spirits; nay, 
even to sell their souls to the enemy of mankind, so 
that they might riot in boundless wealth while 
living. 

The poor alchymist had heard all patiently, or, at 
least, passively. He had disdained to vindicate his 
name otherwise than by his word ; he had smiled 
at the accusations of sorcery, when applied merely 
to himself; but when the sublime art, which had 
been the study and passion of his life, was assailed, 
he could no longer listen in silence. His head grad- 
ually rose from his bosom ; a hectic colour came in 
faint streaks to his cheek ; played about there, dis- 
appeared, returned, and at length kindled into a 
burning glow. The clammy dampness dried from 
his forehead ; his eyes, which had neariy been ex- 
tinguished, lighted up again, and burned with their 
wonted and visionary fires. He entered into a vin- 
dication of his favourite art. His voice at first was 
feeble and broken; but it gathered strength as he 
proceeded, until it rolled in a deep and sonorous 
volume. He gradually rose from his seat, as he rose 
with his subject ; he threw back the scanty black 
mantle which had hitherto wrapped his limbs ; the 
very uncouthness of hisJbrm and looks gave an im- 
pressive effect to what he uttered ; it was as though 
a corpse had become suddenly animated. 

He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon 
alchymy by the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed 
it to be the mother of all art and science, citing the 
opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, Raymond Lully, 
and others, in support of his assertions. He main- 
tained that it was pure and innocent and honourable 
both in its purposes and means. What were its ob- 
jects .? The perpetuation of life and youth, and the 
production of gold. " The elixir vitE," said he, " is 
no charmed potion, but merely a concentration of 
those elements of vitality which nature has scattered 
through her works. The philosopher's stone, or tinct- 
ure, or powder, as it is variously called, is no necro- 
mantic talisman, but consists simply of those particles 
which gold contains within itself for its reproduction ; 
for gold, like other things, has its seed within itself, 
though bound up with inconceivable firmness, from 
the vigour of innate fixed salts and sulphurs. In 
seeking to discover the elixir of life, then," con- 
tinued he, " we seek only to apply some of nature's 
own specifics against the disease and decay to which 
our bodies are subjected ; and what else does the 
physician, when he tasks his art, and uses subtle 
compounds and cunning distillations, to revive our 
languishing powers, and avert the stroke of death 
for a season .•" 

" In seeking to multiply the precious metals, also, 
we seek but to germinate and multiply, by natural 
means, a particular species of nature's productions ; 
and what else does the husbandman, who consults 
times and seasons, and, by what might be deemed 
a natural magic, from the mere scattering of his 
hand, covers a whole plain with golden vegetation ? 
The mysteries of our art, it is true, are deeply and 
darkly hidden ; but it requires so much the more 
nnocence and purity of thought, to penetrate unto 

be 



them, 
in mi 
chaste, watchful, meek, humble, devout. 



No, father! the true alchymist must be pure 
in mind and body ; he must be temperate, jiatient, 

My son,' 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



479 



says Hermes Trismegestes, the great master of our 
art, ' my son, I recommend you above all things to 
fear God.' And indeed it is only by devout castiga- 
tion of the senses, and purification of the soul that 
the alchymist is enabled to enter into the sacred cham- 
bers of truth. ' Labour, pray, and read,' is the motto 
of our science. As De Nuysment well observes, 
' These high and singular favours are granted unto 
none, save only unto the sons of God, (that is to 
say, the virtuous and devout,) who, under his pa- 
ternal benediction, have obtained the opening of the 
same, by the helping hand of the queen of arts, divine 
Philosophy.' Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this 
knowledge been considered, that we are told it has 
four times been expressly communicated by God to 
man. having made a part of that cabalistical wisdom 
which was revealed to Adam to console him for the 
loss of Paradise ; and to Moses in the bush, and to 
Solomon in a dream, and to Esdras by the angel. 

" So far from demons and malign spirits being the 
friends and abettors of the alchymist, they are the 
continual foes with which he has to contend. It is 
their constant endeavour to shut up the avenues to 
those truths which would enable him to rise above 
the abject state into which he has fallen, and return 
to that excellence which was his original birthright. 
For what would be the effect of this length of days, 
and this abundant wealth, but to enable the possess- 
or to go on from art to art, from science to science, 
with energies unimpaired by sickness, uninterrupted 
by death ? For this have sages and philosophers shut 
themselves up in cells and solitudes ; buried them- 
selves in caves and dens of the earth ; turning from 
the joys of life, and the pleasance of the world ; en- 
during scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was 
Raymond Lully stoned to death in Mauritania. For 
this did the immortal Pietro D'Abano suffer perse- 
cution at Padua, and, when he escaped from his op- 
pressors by death, was despitefully burnt in effigy. 
For this have illustrious men of all nations intrep- 
idly suffered martyrdom. For this, if unmolested, 
have they assiduously employed the latest hour of 
life, the expiring throb of existence ; hoping to the 
last that they might yet seize upon the prize for 
which they had struggled, and pluck themselves back 
even from the very jaws of the grave ! 

" For, when once the alchymist shall have attained 
the object of his toils ; when the sublime secret shall 
be revealed to his gaze, how glorious will be the 
change in his condition ! How will he emerge from 
his solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth from 
the darksome chamber of the night, and darting his 
beams throughout the earth ! Gifted with perpetual 
youth and boundless riches, to what heights of wis- 
dom may he attain ! How may he carry on, uninter- 
rupted, the thread of knowledge, which has hitherto 
been snapped at the death of each philosopher ! And, 
as the increase of wisdom is the increase of virtue, 
how may he become the benefactor of his fellow- 
men ; dispensing, with liberal but cautious and dis- 
criminating hand, that inexhaustible wealth which is 
at his disposal ; banishing poverty, which is the cause 
of so much sorrow and wickedness ; encouraging 
the arts ; promoting discoveries, and enlarging all the 
means of virtuous enjoyment ! His life will be the 
connecting band of generations. History will live 
in his recollection ; distant ages will speak with his 
tongue. The nations of the earth will look to him 
as their preceptor, and kings will sit at his feet and 
learn wisdom. Oh glorious ! oh celestial alchymy ! " — 

Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who 
had suffered him to go on thus far, in hopes of gath- 
ering something from his unguarded enthusiasm. 
" Senor," said he, " this is all rambling, visionary 
talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence 



you give us a rhapsody about alchymy. Have you 
nothing better than this to offer in your defence .'" 

The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did not 
deign a reply. The fire that had beamed in his eye 
gradually expired. His cheek resumed its wonted 
paleness ; but he did not relapse into inanity. He 
sat with a steady, serene, patient look, like one pre- 
pared not to contend, but to suffer. 

His trial continued for a long time, with cruel 
mockery of justice, for no witnesses were ever in this 
court confronted with the accused, and the latter 
had continually to defend himself in the dark. Some 
unknown and powerful enemy had alleged charges 
against the unfortunate alchymist, but who he could 
not imagine. Stranger and sojourner as he was in 
the land, solitary and harmless in his pursuits, how 
could he have provoked such hostility.'' The tide 
of secret testimony, however, was too strong against 
him ; he was convicted of the crime of magic, and 
condemned to expiate his sins at the stake, at the 
approaching auto da fe. 

While the unhappy alchymist was undergoing his 
trial at the inquisition, his daughter was exposed to 
trials no less severe. Don Ambrosio, into whose 
hands she had fallen, was, as has before been inti- 
mated, one of the most darmg and lawless profligates 
in all Granada. He was a man of hot blood and 
fiery passions, who stopped at nothing in the gratifi- 
cation of his desires; yet with all this he possessed 
manners, address, and accomplishments, that had 
made him eminently successful among the sex. From 
the palace to the cottage he had extended his amor- 
ous enterprises ; his serenades harassed the slum- 
bers of half the husbands in Granada; no balcony 
was too high for his adventurous attempts, nor any 
cottage too lowly for his perfidious seductions. Yet 
he was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made 
him vain and capricious ; he had no sentiment to at- 
tach him to the victim of his arts ; and many a pale 
cheek and fading eye, languishing amidst the spark- 
ling of jewels, and many a breakmg heart, throbbing 
under the rustic boddice, bore testimony to his tri- 
umphs and his faithlessness. 

He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and 
wearied of a life of continual and prompt gratifica- 
tion. There had been a degree of difficulty and 
enterprise in the pursuit of Inez that he had never be- 
fore experienced. It had aroused him from the mo- 
notony of mere sensual life, and stimulated him with 
the charm of adventure. He had become an epicure 
in pleasure; and now that he had this coy beauty in 
his power, he was determined to protract his enjoy- 
ment, by the gradual conquest of her scruples and 
downfall of her virtue. He was vain of his person 
and address, which he thought no woman could long 
withstand ; and it was a kind of trial of skill to en- 
deavour to gain, by art and fascination, what he was 
secure of obtaining at any time by violence. 

When Inez, therefore, was brought into his pres- 
ence by his emissaries, he affected not to notice her 
terror and surprise, but received her with formal and 
stately courtesy. He was too wary a fowler to flut- 
ter the bird when just entangled in the net. To her 
eager and wild inquiries about her father, he begged 
her not to be alarmed ; that he was safe, and had 
been there, but was engaged elsewhere in an affair 
of moment, from which he would soon return ; in 
the meantime, he had left word that she should 
await his return in patience. After some stately ex- 
pressions of general civility, Don Ambrosio made a 
ceremonious bow and retired. 

The mind of Inez was full of trouble and perplex- 
ity. The stately formality of Don Ambrosio was so 
unexpected as to check the accusations and re- 
proaches that were springing to her lips. Had he 



480 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



had evil designs, would he have treated her with 
such frigid ceremony when he had her in his power? 
But why, then, was she brought to his house ? Was 
not the mysterious disappearance of Antonio con- 
nected with this ? A thought suddenly darted into 
her mind. Antonio had again met with Don Am- 
brosio — they had fought — Antonio was wounded — 
perhaps dying ! It was him to whom her fatlier had 
gone — it was at his request that Don Ambrosio had 
sent for them, to soothe his dying moments ! These, 
and a thousand such horrible suggestions, harassed 
her mind ; but she tried in vain to get information 
from the domestics ; they knew nothing but that her 
father had been there, had gone, and would soon 
return. 

Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought, and 
vague yet cruel apprehensions. She knew not what 
to do or what to believe — whether she ought to fly, 
or to remain ; but if to {\y, how was she to extricate 
herself? — and where was she to seek her father? 
As the day dawned without any intelligence of him, 
her alarm increased ; at length a message was 
brought from him, saying that circumstances pre- 
vented his return to her, but begging her to hasten 
to him without delay. 

With an eager and throbbing heart did she set 
forth with the men that were to conduct her. She 
little thought, however, that she was merely changing 
her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had feared lest 
she should be traced to his residence in Granada ; 
or that he might be interrupted there before he could 
accomplish his plan of seduction. He had her now 
conveyed, therefore, to a mansion which he possessed 
in one of the mountain solitudes in the neighbour- 
hood of Granada ; a lonely, but beautiful retreat. 
In vain, on her arrival, did she look around for her 
father or Antonio ; none but strange faces met her 
eye ; menials, profoundly respectful, but who knew 
nor saw any thing but what their master pleased. 

She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio 
made his appearance, less stately in his/nanner, but 
still treating her with the utmost delicacy and defer- 
ence. Inez was too much agitaled and alarmed to 
be baffled by his courtesy, and became vehement in 
her demand to be conducted to her father. 

Don Ambrosio now put on an appearance of the 
greatest embarrassment and emotion. After some 
delay, and much pretended confusion, he at length 
confessed that the seizure of her father was all a 
stratagem ; a mere false alarm, to procure him the 
present opportunity of having access to her, and en- 
deavouring to mitigate that obduracy, and conquer 
that repugnance, which he declared had almost 
driven him to distraction. 

He assured her that her father was again at home 
in safety, and occupied in his usual pursuits; having 
been fully satisfied that his daughter was in honour- 
able hands, and would soon be restored to him. It 
was in vain that she threw herself at his feet, and 
implored to be set at liberty ; he only replied by 
gentle entreaties, that she would pardon the seeming 
violence he had to use ; and that she would trust a 
little while to his honour. "You are here," said he, 
" absolute mistress of every thing : nothing shall be 
said or done to oftend you : I will not even intrude 
upon your ear the unhappy passion that is devouring 
my heart. Should you require it, I will even absent 
myself from your presence ; but to part with you 
entirely at present, with your mind full of doubts 
and resentments, would be worse than death to me. 
No, beautiful Inez, you must first know me a little 
better, and know by my conduct that my passion for 
you is as delicate and respectful as it is vehement." 

The assurance of her father's safety had relieved 
Inez from one cause of torturing anxiety, only to 



render her fears the more violent on her own ac- 
count. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to treat 
her with artful deference, that insensibly lulled her 
apprehensions. It is true she found herself a captive, 
but no advantage appeared to be taken of her help- 
lessness. She soothed herself with the idea that a 
little while would suffice to convince Don Ambrosio 
of the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would be in- 
duced to restore her to her home. Her transports 
of terror and affliction, therefore, subsided, in a few 
days, into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, with 
which she awaited the hoped-for event. 

In the meanwhile, all those artifices were employ- 
ed that are calculated to charm the senses, ensnare 
the feelings, and dissolve the heart into tenderness. 
Don Ambrosio was a master of the subtle arts of 
seduction. His very mansion breathed an enervating 
atmosphere of languor and delight. It was here, 
amidst twilight saloons and dreamy chambers, bur- 
ied among groves of orange and myrtle, that he shut 
himself up at times from the prying world, and gave 
free scope to the gratification of his pleasures. 

The apartments were furnished in the mcst sump- 
tuous and voluptuous manner ; the silken couches 
swelled to the touch, and sunk in downy softness 
beneath the slightest pressure. The paintings and 
statues, all told some classic tale of love, managed, 
however, with an insidious delicacy ; which, while 
it banished thegrossness that might disgust, was the 
more calculated to excite the imagination. There 
the blooming Adonis was seen, not breaking away 
to pursue the boisterous chase, but crowned with 
flowers, and languishing in the embraces of celestial 
beauty. There Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, 
with the Sicilian sea spreading in halcyon serenity 
before them. There were depicted groups of fawns 
and dryads, fondly reclining in summer bowers, and 
listening to the liquid pipmg of the reed ; or the 
wanton satyrs, surprismg some wood-nymph during 
her noontide slumber. There, too, on the storied 
tapestry, might be seen the chaste Diana, stealing, 
in the mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping 
Endymion ; while Cupid and Psyche, entwined in 
immortal marble, breathed on each other's lips the 
early kiss of love. 

The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from 
these balmy halls ; soft and tender music from un- 
seen musicians floated around, seeming to mingle 
with the perfumes that were exhaled from a thou- 
sand flowers. At night, when the moon shed a fairy 
light over the scene, the tender serenade would rise 
from among the bowers of the garden, in which the 
fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often be distin- 
guished ; or the amorous flute would be heard along 
the mountain, breathing in its pensive cadences the 
very soul of a lover's melancholy. 

Various entertainments were also devised to dis- 
pel her loneliness, and to charm away the idea of 
confinement. Groups of Andalusian dancers per- 
formed, in the splendid saloons, the various pictur- 
esque dances of their country ; or represented little 
amorous ballets, which turned upon some pleasing 
scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. Sometimes 
there were bands of singers, who, to the romantic 
guitar, warbled forth ditties full of passion and ten- 
derness. 

Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and volup- 
tuousness ; but the heart of Inez turned with distaste 
from this idle mockery. The tears would rush into 
her eyes, as her thoughts reverted from this scene 
of profligate splendour, to the humble but virtuous 
home from whence she had been betrayed ; or if the 
witching power of music ever soothed her into a 
tender reverie, it was to dwell with fondnes-s on the 
image of Antonio. But if Don Ambrosio, decei\ed 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



481 



by this transient calm, should attempt at such time 
to whisper his passion, she would start as from a 
dream, and recoil from him with involuntary shud- 
dering. 

She had passed one long day of more than ordi- 
nary sadness, and in the evening a band of these 
hired performers were exerting all the animating 
powers of song and dance to amuse her. But while 
the lofty saloon resounded with their warblings, and 
the light sound of feet upon its marble pavement 
kept time to the cadence of the song, poor Inez, with 
her face buried in the silken couch on which she re- 
clined, was only rendered more wretched by the 
sound of gaiety. 

At length her attention was caught by the voice 
of one of the singers, that brought with it some in- 
definite recollections. She raised her head, and cast 
an anxious look at the performers, who, as usual, 
were at the lower end of the saloon. One of them 
advanced a little before the others. It was a female, 
dressed in a fanciful, pasloral garb, suited to the 
character she was sustaming ; but her countenance 
was not to be mistaken. It was the same ballad- 
singer that had twice crossed her path, and given 
her mysterious intimations of the lurking mischief 
that surrounded her. When the rest of the perform- 
ances were concluded, she seized a tambourine, and, 
tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of her 
own voice. In the course of her dancing, she ap- 
proached to where Inez reclined :.and as she struck 
the tambourine, contrived dexterously to throw a 
folded paper on the couch. Inez seized it with 
avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. The singing 
and dancing were at an end ; the motley crew re- 
tired ; and Inez, left alone, hastened with anxiety to 
unfold the paper thus mysteriously conveyed. It was 
written in an agitated, and almost illegible hand- 
writing : " Be on your guard ! you are surrounded 
by treachery. Trust not to the forbearance of Don 
Ambrosio ; you are marked out for his prey. An 
humble victim to his perfidy gives you this warning ; 
she is encompassed by too many dangers to be more 
explicit. — Your father is in the dungeons of the in- 
quisition ! " 

The brain of Inez reeled, as she read this dreadful 
scroll. She was less filled with alarm at her own 
danger, than horror at her father's situation. The 
moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she rushed and 
threw herself at his feet, imploring him to save her 
father. Don Ambrosio stared with astonishment ; 
but immediately regaining his self-possession, en- 
deavoured to soothe her by his blandishments, and 
by assurances that her father was in safety. She was 
not to be pacified ; her fears were too much aroused 
to be trifled with. She declared her knowledge of 
her father's being a prisoner of the inquisition, and 
reiterated her frantic supplications that he would 
save him. 

Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in perplexity, 
but was too adroit to be easily confounded. " That 
your father is a prisoner," replied he, " I have long 
known. I have concealed it from you, to save you 
from fruitless anxiety. You now know the real 
reason of the restraint I have put upon your liberty : 
I have been protecting instead of detaining you. 
Every exertion has been made in your father's favour ; 
but I regret to say, the proofs of the offences of 
which he stands charged have been too strong to be 
controverted. Still," added he, " I have it in my 
power to save him ; I have influence, I have means 
at my beck ; it may involve me, it is true, in difiicul- 
ties, perhaps in disgrace ; but what would I not do, 
in the hope of being rew'arded by your favour.' 
Speak, beautiful Inez," said he, his eyes kindling 
with sudden eagerness ; " it is with you to say the 
31 



word that seals your father's fate. One kind word 
— say but you will be mine, and you will behold me 
at your feet, your father at liberty and in affluence, 
and we shall all be happv ! " 

Inez drew back from him with scorn and disbelief. 
" My father," exclaimed she, " is too innocent and 
blameless to be convicted of crime ; this is some 
base, some cruel artifice ! " Don Ambrosio repeated 
his asseverations, and with them also his dishonour- 
able proposals ; but his eagerness overshot its mark ; 
her indignation and her incredulity were alike 
awakened by his base suggestions ; and he retired 
from her presence, checked and awed by the sudden 
pride and dignity of her demeanour. 

The unfortunate Inez now became a prey to the 
most harrowing anxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that 
the mask had fallen from his face, and that the 
nature of his machinations was revealed. He had 
gone too far to retrace his steps, and assume the 
affectation of tenderness and respect ; indeed, he 
was mortified and incensed at her insensibility to his 
attractions, and now only sought to subdue her 
through her fears. He daily represented to her the 
dangers that threatened her father, and that it was 
in his power alone to avert them. Inez was still in- 
credulous. She was too ignorant of the nature of 
the inquisition, to know that even innocence was 
not always a protection from its cruelties ; and she 
confided too surely in the virtue of her father, to be- 
lieve that any accusation could prevail against him. 

At length Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual blow 
to her confidence, brought her the proclamation of 
the approaching auto da fe, in which the prisoners 
were enumerated. .She glanced her eye over it, and 
beheld her father's name, condemned to the stake 
for sorcery ! 

For a moment she stood transfixed with horror. 
Don Ambrosio seized upon the transient calm. 
"Think, now, beautiful Inez," said he, with a tone 
of affected tenderness, " his life is still in your hands ; 
one word from you, one kind word, and I can yet 
save him." 

" Monster ! wretch ! " cried she, coming to herself, 
and recoiling from him with insuperable abhorrence : 
" 'Tis you that are the cause of this — 'tis you that 
are his murderer ! " Then, wringing her hands, she 
broke forth into exclamations of the most frantic 
agony. * 

The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her 
soul, and anticipated from it a triumph. He saw that 
she was in no mood, during her present paroxysm, 
to listen to his words ; but he trusted that the hor- 
rors of lonely rumination would break down her 
spirit, and subdue her to his will. In this, how^ever, 
he was disappointed. Many were the vicissitudes of 
mind of the wretched Inez ; at one time, she would 
embrace his knees, with piercing supplications ; at 
another, she would shrink with nervous horror at his 
very approach ; but any intimation of his passion 
only excited the same emotion of loathing and de- 
testation. 

At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-morrow," 
said Don Ambrosio. as he left her one evening, "to- 
morrow is the auto da fe. To-morrow you will hear 
the sound of the bell that tolls your father to his 
death. You will almost see the smoke that rises 
from the funeral pile. I leave you to yourself. It is 
yet in my power to save him. Think whether you 
can stand to-morrow's horrors without shrinking! 
Think whether you can endure the after-reflection, 
that you were the cause of his death, and that 
merely through a perversity in refusing proffered 
happiness." 

What a night was it to Inez I — her heart already 
harassed and almost broken, by repeated and pro- 



482 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



traded anxieties ; her stren^h wasted and enfeebled. 
On every side, horrors awaited her ; her father's 
death, her own dishonour — there seemed no escape 
from misery or perdition. " Is there no relief from 
man — no pity in heaven ? " exclaimed she. " What — 
what have we done, that we should be thus wretch- 
ed ? •• 

As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind 
arose to agony ; a thousand times did she try the 
doors and windows of her apartment, in the desper- 
ate hope of escaping. Alas ! with all the splendour 
of her prison, it was too faithfully secured for her 
weali hands to work deliverance. Lilce a poor bird, 
that beats its wings against its gilded cage, until it 
sinks panting in despair, so she tiirew herself on the 
floor in hopeless anguish. Her blood grew hot in 
her veins, her tongue was parched, her temples 
throbbed with violence, she gasped rather than 
breathed ; it seemed as if her brain was on fire. 
" Blessed Virgin ! " exclaimed she, clasping her hands 
and turning up her strained eyes, " look down with 
pity, and support me in this dreadful hour ! " 

Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key 
turn softly in the door of her apartment. She dread- 
ed lest it should be Don Ambrosio ; and the very 
thought of him gave her a sickening pang. It was a 
female clad in a rustic dress, with her face concealed 
by her mantilla. She stepped silently into the room, 
looked cautiously round, and then, uncovering her 
face, revealed the well-known features of the ballad- 
singer. Inez uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
almost of joy. The unknown started back, pressed 
her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and beckoned 
her to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in her 
veil, and obeyed. They passed with quick, but noise- 
less steps through an antechamber, across a spacious 
hall, and along a corridor ; all was silent ; the house- 
hold was yet locked in sleep. They came to a door, 
to which the unknown applied a key. Inez's heart 
misgave her ; she knew not but some new treachery 
w.as menacing her; she laid her cold hand on the 
stranger's arm : " Whither are you leading me ? " 
said she. " To liberty," replied the other, in a whis- 
per. 

" Do you know the passages about this mansion ? " 

" But too well ! " replied the girl, with a melancholy 
shake of the head. There was an expression of sad 
veracity in her countenance, that was not to be dis- 
trusted. The door opened on a small terrace, which 
was overlooked by several windows of the mansion. 

" We must move across this quickly," said the girl, 
" or we may be observed." 

They glided over it, as if scarce touching the 
ground. A flight of steps led down into the garden ; 
a wicket at the bottom was readily unbolted : they 
passed with breathless velocity along one of the al- 
leys, still in sight of the mansion, in which, however, 
no person appeared to be stirring. At length they 
came to a low private door in the wall, partly hidden 
by a fig-tree. It was secured by rusty bolts, that re- 
fused to yield to their t'eeble efforts. 

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the stranger, "what 
is to be djne.? one moment more, and we may be 
discovered." 

She seized a stone that lay near by : a few blows, 
r.nd the bolt flew back ; the door grated harshly as 
ihey opened it, and the next moment they found 
themselves in a narrow road. 

" Now," said the stranger, " for Granada as 
quickly as possible ! The nearer we approach it, 
the safer we shall be ; for the road will be more 
frequented." 

The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and 
taken, gave supernatural strength to their limbs ; 
they flew, rather than ran. The day had dawned ; 



the crimson streaks on the edge of the horizon gave 
tokens of the appro.aching sunrise ; already the light 
clouds that floated in the western sky were tinged 
with gold and purple; though the broad plain of 
the Vega, which now began to open upon their 
view, was covered with the dark haze of morning. 
As yet they only passed a few straggling peasants on 
the road, who could have yielded them no assistance 
in case of their being overtaken. They continued 
to hurry forward, and had gained a considerable 
distance, when the strength of Inez, which had only 
been sustained by the lever of her mind, began to 
yield to fatigue : she slackened her pace, and fal- 
tered. 

" Alas ! " said she, " my limbs fail me ! I can go 
no farther ! " 

" Bear up, bear up," replied her companion, cheer- 
ingly ; " a little farther, and we shall be safe : look ! 
yonder is Granada, just showing itself in the valley 
below us. A little farther, and we shall come to the 
main road, and then we shall find plenty of passen- 
gers to piotect us." 

Inez, encouraged, made fresh efforts to get for- 
ward, but her weary limbs were unequal to the ea- 
gerness of her mind ; her mouth and throat were 
parched by agony and terror : she gasped for breath, 
and leaned for support against a rock. " It is all in 
vain ! " exclaimed she ; " I feel as though I should 
faint." 

" Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get into 
the shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us from 
the view; I hear the sound of water, which will 
refresh you." 

With much difficulty they reached the thicket, 
which overhung a small mountain-stream, just where 
its sparkling waters leaped over the rock and tell 
into a natural basin. Here Inez sank upon the 
ground, exhausted. Her companion brouglit water 
in the palms of her hands, and bathed her pallid 
temples. The cooling drops revived her ; she was 
enabled to get to the margin of the stream, and drink 
of its crystal current ; then, reclining her head on the 
bosom of her deliverer, she was first enabled to mur- 
mur forth her heartfelt gratitude. 

" Alas ! " said the other, " I deserve no thanks ; I 
deserve not the good opinion you express. In me 
you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In 
early years he seduced me from the cottage of my 
parents : look ! at the foot of yonder blue mountain, 
in the distance, lies my native village : but it is no 
longer a home for me. From thence he lured me, 
when I was too young for reflection ; he educated 
me, taught me various accomplishments, made me 
sensible to love, to splendour, to refinement ; then, 
having grown weary of me, he neglected me, and 
cast me upon the world. Happily the accomplish- 
ments he taught me have kept me from utter want ; 
and the love with which he inspired me has kept 
me from farther degradation. Yes ! I confess my 
weakness ; all his perfidy and wrongs cannoi efface 
him from my heart. I have been brought up to love 
him ; I have no other idol : I know him to be base, 
yet I cannot help adoring him. I am content to 
mingle among the hireling throng that administer to 
his amusements, that I may still hover about him, 
and linger in those halls where I once reigned mis- 
tress. What merit, then, have I in assisting your 
escape ? I scarce know whether 1 am acting Irom 
sympathy and a desire to rescue another victim from 
his power ; or jealousy, and an eagerness to remove 
too powerful a rival ! " 

While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in all its 
splendour ; first lighting up the mountain summits, 
then stealing down height by height, until its rays 
gilded the domes and towers of Granad^, which 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



483 



they could partially see from between the trees, 
below thein. Just then the heavy tones of a bell 
came sounding from a distance, echoing, in sullen 
clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale at the 
sound. She knew it to be the great bell of the cathe- 
dral, rung at sunrise on the day of the auto da (i, to 
give note of funeral preparation. Every stroke beat 
upon her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal 
pang. She started up wildly. "Let us be gone ! " 
cried she ; " there is not a moment for delay I " 

" Stop ! " exclaimed the other; " yonder are horse- 
men coming over the brow of that distant height ; 
if I mistake not, Don Ambrosio is at their head. — 
Alas ! 'tis he ! we are lost. Hold ! " continued she ; 
" give me your scarf and veil ; wrap yourself in this 
mantilla. I will fly up yon footpath that leads to the 
heights. I will let the veil flutter as I ascend ; per- 
haps they may mistake me for you, and they must 
dismount to follow me. Do you hasten forward : 
you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels 
on your fingers : bribe the first muleteer you meet, to 
assist you on your way." 

All this was said with hurried and breathless ra- 
pidity. The exchange of garments was made in an 
instant. The girl darted up the mountain-path, her 
white veil fluttering among the dark shrubbery, while 
Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new 
terror, flew to the road, and trusted to Providence to 
guide her tottering steps to Granada. 

All Granada was in agitation on the morning of 
this dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathedral 
continued to utter its clanging tones, that pervaded 
every part of the city, summoning all persons to the 
tremendous spectacle that was about to be exhib- 
ited. The streets through which the procession 
was to pass were crowded with the populace. The 
windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a 
face or a foothold, were alive with spectators. In 
the great square, a spacious scaffolding, like an 
amphitheatre, was erected, where the sentences ol 
the prisoners were to be read, and the sermon of 
faith to be preached ; and close by were the stakes 
prepared, where the condemned were to be burnt to 
death. Seats were arranged for the great, the gay, 
the beautiful ; for such is the horrible curiosity of 
human nature, that this cruel sacrifice was attended 
with more eagerness than a theatre, or even a bull- 
feast. 

As the day advanced, the scaff'olds and balconies 
were filled with expecting multitudes ; the sun shone 
brightly upon fair faces and gallant dresses ; one 
would have thought it some scene of elegant festiv- 
ity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and 
death. Rut what a different spectacle and ceremony 
was this, from those which Granada exhibited in the 
days of her Moorish splendour ! " Her galas, her 
tournaments, her sports of the ring, her fetes of St. 
John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tilts 
of canes ! Her serenades, her concerts, her songs 
in Generaliffe ! The costly liveries of the Abencer- 
rages, their exquisite inventions, the skill and valour 
of the Alabaces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, 
Mazas, and Gomeles ! " * — All these were at an end. 
The days of chivalry were over. Instead of the 
prancing cavalcade, with neighing steed and lively 
trumpet ; with burnished lance, and helm, and 
buckler ; with rich confusion of plume, and scarf, 
and banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, 
and orange, and every gay colour, were mingled 
with cloth of gold and fair embroidery ; instead of 
this, crept on the gloomy pageant of superstition, in 
cowl and sackcloth ; with cross and coffin, and 
frightful symbols of human suffering. In place of 



the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, with his 
lady's favour in his casque, and amorous motto on 
his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the 
smile of beauty, came the shaven, unmanly monk, 
with downcast eyes, and head and heart bleached m 
the cold cloister, secretly exulting in this bigot 
triumph. 

The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal 
procession was advancing. It passed slowly through 
the principal streets of the city, bearing in advance 
the awful banner of the Holy Office. The prisoners 
walked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded 
by familiars of the inquisition. They were clad in 
different garments, according to the nature of their 
punishments ; those who were to suffer death wore 
the hideous Samarra, painted with flames and de- 
mons. The procession was swelled by choirs of 
boys, different religious orders and public dignita- 
ries, and above all, by the fathers of the faith, mov- 
ing " with slow pace, and profound gravity, truly 
triumphing as becomes the principal generals of that 
great victor)'."* 

As the sacred banner of the inquisition advanced, 
the countless throng sunk on their knees before it ; 
they bowed their faces to the very earth as it passed, 
and then slowly rose again, like a great undulating 
billow. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the pris- 
oners approached, and eager eyes were strained, 
and fingers pointed, to distinguish the different or- 
ders of penitents, whose habits denoted the degree 
of punishment they were to undergo. But as those 
drew near whose frightful garb marked them as 
destined to the flames, the noise of the rabble sub- 
sided ; they seemed almost to hold in their breath ; 
filled with that strange and dismal interest with 
which we contemplate a human being on the verge 
of suffering and death. 

It is an awful thing — a voiceless, noiseless multi- 
tude ! The hushed and gazing stillness of the sur- 
rounding thousands, heaped on walls, and gates, and 
roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clusters, height- 
ened the effect of the pageant that moved drearily 
on. The low murmuring of the priests could now 
be heard in prayer and exhortation, with the faint 
responses of the prisoners, and now and then the 
voices of the choir at a distance, chanting the litanies 
of the saints. 

The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and dis- 
consolate. Even those who had been pardoned, and 
wore the Sanbenito, or penitential garment, bore 
traces of the horrors they had undergone. Some 
were feeble and tottering, from long confinement ; 
some crippled and distorted by various tortures ; 
every countenance was a dismal page, on which 
might be read the secrets of their prison-house. But 
in the looks of those condemned to death, there was 
something fierce and eager. They seemed men 
harrowed up by the past, and desperate as to the 
future. They were anticipating, with spirits fevered 
by despair, and fixed and clenched determination, 
the vehement struggle with agony and death which 
they were shortly to undergo. .Some cast now and 
then a wild and anguished look about them, upon 
the shining day; the "sun-bright palaces," the gay, 
the beautiful world, which they were soon to quit 
for ever ; or a glance of sudden indignation at the 
thronging thousands, happy in liberty and life, who 
seemed, in contemplating their frightful situation, to 
exult in their own comparative security. 

One among the condemned, however, was an ex- 
ception to these remarks. It was an aged man, 
somewhat bowed down, with a serene, though de- 
jected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. 



* Rodd's Civil Ware cf Granada. 



* Gonsalvius, p. 135. 



484 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



It was the alchymist. The populace looked upon 
him with a degree of compassion, which they were 
not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by 
the inquisition ; but when they were told that he was 
convicted of the crime of magic, they drew back 
with awe and abhorrence. 

The procession had reached the grand square. 
The first part had already mounted the scaffolding, 
and the condemned were approaching. The press 
of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, 
as it were, in billows by the guards. Just as the 
condemned were entering the square, a shrieking 
was heard among the crowd. A female, pale, frantic, 
dishevelled, was seen struggling through the multi- 
tude. " My father ! my father ! " was all the cry she 
uttered, but it thrilled through every heart. The 
crowd instinctively drew back, and made way for 
her as she advanced. 

The poor alchymist had made his peace with 
Heaven, and, by a hard struggle, had closed his 
heart upon the world, when the voice of his child 
calleJ him once more back to worldly thought and 
agony. He turned towards the well-known voice ; 
his knees smote together ; he endeavoured to stretch 
forth his pinioned arms, and felt himself clasped in 
the embraces of his child. The emotions of both 
were too agonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs 
and broken exclamations, and embraces more of 
anguish than tenderness, were all that passed be- 
tween them. The procession was interrupted for a 
moment. The astonished monks and familiars were 
filled with involuntary respect, at the agony of nat- 
ural affection. Ejaculations of pity broke from the 
crowd, touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary 
and hopeless anguish, of so young and beautiful a 
being. 

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her 
to retire, was unheeded ; at length they endeavoured 
to separate her from her father by force. The move- 
ment roused her from her temporary abandonment. 
With a sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a 
sword from one of the familiars. Her late pale 
countenance was flushed with rage, and fire flashed 
from her once soft and languishing eyes. The guards 
shrunk back with awe. There was something in this 
filial frenzv, this feminine tenderness wrought up to 
desperation, that touched even their hardened hearts. 
They endeavoured to pacify her, but in vain. Her 
eye was eager and quick, as the she-wolf's guarding 
her young. With one arm she pressed her father to 
her bosom, with the other she menaced every one 
that approached. 

The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. 
They had held back in awe, but not in fear. With 
all her desperation the weapon was soon wrested 
from her feeble hand, and she was borne shrieking 
and struggling among the crowd. The rabble mur- 
mured compassion ; but such was the dread ins|)ired 
by the inquisition, that no one attempted to interfere. 

The procession again resumed its march. Inez 
was ineffectually struggling to release herself from 
the hands of the familiars that detained her. when 
suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. 
" Wretched girl ! " exclaimed he with fur)', " why 
have you fled from your friends? Deliver her," said 
he to the familiars, " to my domestics ; she is under 
my protection." 

His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh, no ! 
oh, no! " cried she, with new tenors, and chnging 
to the familiars, " I have fled from no friends. He 
is not my protector! He is the murderer of my 
father ! " 

The familiars were perplexed ; the crowd pressed 
on, with eager curiosity. "Stand off!" cried the 
fiery Ambrosio, dashing the throng from around 



him. Then turning to the familiars, with sudden 
moderation, "My friends," said he, "deliver this 
poor girl to me. Her distress has turned her brain ; 
she has escaped from her friends and protectors this 
morning ; but a little quiet and kind treatment will 
restore her to tranquillity." 

"I am not mad ! I am not mad ! " cried she, ve- 
hemently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from these 
men ! I have no protector on earth but my father, 
and him they are murdering ! " 

The familiars shook their heads ; her wildness 
corroborated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and 
his apparent rank commanded respect and belief. 
They relinquished their charge to him, and he was 
consigning the struggling Inez to his creatures. 

" Let go your hold, villain ! " cried a voice from 
among the crovi'd — and Antonio was seen eagerly 
tearing his way through the press of people. 

" Seize him ! seize him ! " cried Don .Ambrosio 
to the familiars, " 'tis an accomplice of the sorcer- 
er's." 

" Liar ! " retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob 
to the right and left, and forced himself to the spot. 

The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant 
from the scabbard ; the student was armed, and 
equally alert. There was a fierce clash of weapons : 
the crowd made way for them as they fought, and 
closed again, so as to hide them from the view of 
Inez. All was tumult and confusion for a moment ; 
when there was a kind of shout from the specta- 
tors, and the mob again opening, she beheld, as she 
thought, Antonio weltering in his blood. 

This new shock was too great for her already over- 
strained intellects. A giddiness seized upon her ; 
every thing seemed to whirl before her eyes ; she 
gasped some incoherent words, and sunk senseless 
upon the ground. 

Days — weeks elapsed, before Inez returned to con- 
sciousness. At leng-th she opened her eyes, as if out 
of a troubled sleep. She was lying upon a magnifi- 
cent bed, in a chamber richly furnished with pier- 
glasses, and massive tables inlaid with silver, of ex- 
quisite workmanship. The walls were covered with 
tapestry ; the cornices richly gilded ; through the 
door, which stood open, she perceived a superb sa- 
loon, with statues and crystal lustres, and a magnifi- 
cent suite of apartments beyond. The casements of 
the room were open to admit the soft breath of 
summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes from a 
neighbouring garden ; from whence, also, the re- 
freshing sound of fountains and the sweet notes of 
birds came in mingled music to her ear. 

Female attendants were moving, with noiseless 
step, about the chamber ; but she feared to address 
them. She doubted whether this were not all delu- 
sion, or whether she was not still in the palace of 
Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and all its cir- 
cumstances, had not been but a feverish dream. She 
closed her eyes again, endeavouring to recall the past, 
and to separate the real from the imaginary. The 
last scenes of consciousness, however, rushed too 
forcibly, with all their horrors, to her mind to he 
doubted, and she turned shuddering from the rec- 
ollection, to gaze once more on the quiet and serene 
magnificence around her. As she again opened her 
eyes, they rested on an object that at once dispelled 
every alarm. At the head of her bed sat a venerable 
form, watching over her with a look of fond anxiety 
— it was her father ! 

I will not attempt to describe the scene that en- 
sued ; nor the moments of rapture which more than 
repaid all the sufterings that her affectionate heart 
had undergone. As soon as their feelings had become 
more calm, the alchymist stepped out of the room 
to introduce a stranger, to whom he was indebted 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



485 



for his life and liberty. He returned, leading in An- 
tonio, no longer in his poor scholar's garb, but in the 
rich dress of a nobleman. 

The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by 
these sudden reverses, and it was some time before 
she was sufficiently composed to comprehend the ex- 
planation of this seeming romance. 

It appeared that the lover, who had sought her 
affections in the lowly guise of a student, was only 
son and heir of a powerful grandee of V'alentia. He 
had been placed at the university of Salamanca ; but 
a livelv curiosity, and an eagerness for adventure, 
had induced him to abandon the university, without 
his father's consent, and to visit various parts of 
Spain. His rambling inclination satisfied, he had 
remained incognito for a time at Granada, until, by 
farther study and self-regulation, he could prepare 
himself to return home with credit, and atone for his 
transgressions against paternal authority. 

How hard he had studied, does not remain on 
record. All that we know is his romantic adventure 
of the tower. It was at first a mere youthful caprice, 
excited by a glimpse of a beautiful face. In be- 
coming a disciple of the alchymist, he probably 
thought of nothing more than pursuing a light love 
affair. Farther acquaintance, however, had com- 
pletely fixed his affections; and he had determined 
to conduct Inez and her father to Valentia, and to 
trust to her merits to secure his father's consent to 
their union. 

In the meantime, he had been traced to his con- 
cealment. His father had received intelligence of 
his being entangled in the snares of a mysterious ad- 
venturer and his daughter, and likely to become the 
dupe of the fascinations of the latter. Trusty emis- 
saries had been despatched to seize upon him by 
main force, and convey him without delay to the 
paternal home. 

What eloquence he had used with his father, to 
convince him of the innocence, the honour, and the 
high descent of the alchymist, and of the exalted 
worth of his daughter, does not appear. All that 
we know is, that the father, though a very pas- 
sionate, was a very reasonable man, as appears by 
his consenting that his son should return to Gra- 
nada, and conduct Inez as his affianced bride to 
Valentia. 

Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full of 
joyous anticipations. He still forbore to throw off 
his disguise, fondly picturing to himself what would 
be the surprise of Inez, when, having won her heart 
and hand as a poor wandering scholar, he should 
raise her and her father at once to opulence and 
splendour. 

On his arrival he had been shocked at finding 
the tower deserted by its inhabitants. In vain he 
sought for intelligence concerning them ; a mystery 
hung over their disappearance which he could not 
penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, on accidentally 
reading a list of the prisoners at the impending auto 
da fe, to find the name of his venerable master among 
the condemned. 

It was the very morning of the execution. The 
procession was already on its way to the grand 
square. Not a moment was to be lost. The grand 
inquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, though 
they had never met. His first impulse was to make 
himself known ; to exert all his family influence, the 
weight of his name, and the power of his eloquence, 
in vindication of the alchymist. But the grand in- 
quisitor was already proceeding, in all his pomp, to 
the place where the fatal ceremony was to be per- 
formed. How was he to be approached .' Antonio 
threw himself into the crowd, in a fever of anxiety, 
and was forcing his way to the scene of horror, 



where he arrived just in time to rescue Inez, as has 
been mentioned. 

It was Don Ambrosio that fell in their contest. 
Being desperately wounded, and thinking his end 
approaching, he had confessed to an attending father 
of the inquisition, that he was the sole cause of the 
alchymist's condemnation, and that the evidence on 
which it was grounded was altogether false. The 
testimony of Don Antonio came in corroboration of 
this avowal ; and his relationship to the grand in- 
quisitor had, in all probability, its proper weight. 
Thus was the poor alchjTiiist snatched, in a man- 
ner, from the very flames ; and so great had been 
the sympathy awakened in his case, that for once 
a populace rejoiced at being disappointed of an exe- 
cution. 

The residue of the story may readily be imagined, 
by every one versed in this valuable kind of history. 
Don Antonio espoused the lovely Inez, and took 
her and her father with him to Valentia. As 
she had been a loving and dutiful daughter, so she 
proved a true and tender wife. It was not long 
before Don Antonio succeeded to his father's titles 
and estates, and he and his fair spouse were re- 
nowned for being the handsomest and happiest 
couple in all \'alentia. 

As to Don .Ambrosio, he partially recovered to 
the enjoyment of a broken constitution and a blasted 
name, and hid his remorse and disgrace in a con- 
vent ; while the poor victim of his arts, who had as- 
sisted Inez in her escape, unable to conquer the early 
passion that he had awakened in her bosom, though 
convinced of the baseness of the object, retired from 
the world, and became an humble sister in a nun- 
nery. 

The worthy alchymist took up his abode with his 
children. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, 
was assigned to him as a laboratory, where he re- 
sumed his researches with renovated ardour, after 
the grand secret. He was now and then assisted by 
his son-in-law ; but the latter slackened grievously in 
his zeal and diligence, after marriage. Still he would 
listen with profound gravity and attention to the old 
man's rhapsodies, and his quotations from Paracel- 
sus, Sandivogius, and Pietro D'Abano, which daily 
grew longer and longer. In this way the good al- 
chymist lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is 
called a good old age, that is to say, an age that is 
good for nothing; and unfortunately lor mankind, 
was hurried out of life in his ninetieth year, just as 
he was on the point of discovering the Philosopher's 
Stone. 



Such was the story of the captain's friend, with 
which we whiled away the morning. The captain 
was, every now and then, interrupted by questions 
and remarks, which I have not mentioned, lest I 
should break the continuity of the tale. He was a 
little disturbed, also, once or twice, by the general, 
who fell asleep, and breathed rather hard, to the 
great horror and annoyance of Lady Lillycralt. In 
a long and tender love scene, also, which was par- 
ticularly to her ladyship's taste, the unlucky general, 
having his head a little sunk upon his breast, kept 
making a sound at regular intervals, very much like 
the word p/s//, long drawn out. At length he made 
an odd abrupt guttural sound, that suddenly awoke 
him ; he hemmed, looked about with a slight degree 
of consternation, and then began to play with her 
ladyship's work-bag, which, however, she rather 
pettishly withdrew. The steady sound of the cap- 
tain's voice was still too potent a soporific for the 
poor general ; he kept gleaming up and sinking in 
the socket, until the cessation of the tale again roused 



486 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



him, when he started awake, put his foot down upon 
Lady Lillycraft's cur, the sleeping Beauty, which 
yelped and seized him by the leg, and, in a moment, 
the whole library resounded with yelpings and ex- 
clamations. Never did man more completely mar 
his fortunes while he was asleep. Silence being at 
length restored, the company expressed their thanks 
to the captain, and gave various opinions of the 
story. The parson's mind, I found, had been con- 



tinually running upon the leaden manuscripts, men- 
tioned in the begmning, as dug up at Granada, and 
he put several eager questions to the captain on the 
subject. The general could not well make out the 
drift of the story, but thought it a little confused, 
" I am glad, however," said he, " that they burnt the 
old chap of the tower ; I have no doubt he was a 
notorious impostor." 

[END OF VOL. ONE.] 



Bracebridge Hall: or, The Humourists. 



BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 



VOLUME SECOND. 



Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. 
I am a traveller, who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles 
of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot. 

Chkistmas Ordinary. 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 



His certain life, that never can deceive him. 
Is fi:ll of thousand sweets, and rich content ; 

The smooth-leaved beeches ni the field receive him 
With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. 

His life is neither tost in boitcrous seas 

Or the vexatious world ; or lost m slothful ease. 

Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. 

Phineas Fletcher. 

I TAKE great pleasure in accompanying the Squire 
in his perambulations about his estate, in which he 
is often attended by a kind of cabinet council. His 
prime minster, the steward, is a very worthy and 
honest old man, that assumes a right of way ; that is 
to say, a right to have his own way, from having 
lived time out of mind on the place. He loves the 
estate even better than he does the Squire ; and 
thwarts the latter sadly in many of his projects of 
improvement, being a little prone to disapprove of 
every plan that does not originate with liimself 

In the course of one of these perambulations, I 
have known the Squire to point out some important 
alteration which he was contemplating, in the dispo- 
sition or cultivation of the grounds ; this, of course, 
would be opposed by the steward, and a long argu- 
ment would ensue, over a stile, or on a rising piece 
of ground, until the Squire, who has a high opinion 
of the other's ability and integrity, would be fain to 
give up the point. This concession, I observed, 
would immediately mollify the old man ; and, aftei 
walking over a field or two in silence, with his hands 
behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he 
would suddenly turn to the Squire, and observe, that 
" he had been turning the matter over in his mind, 
and, upon the whole, he believed he would take his 
honour's advice." 

Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's 
occasional attendants, to whom he continually refers 
in all matters of local history, as to a chronicle of 
the estate, having, in a manner, been acquainted 
with many of the trees, from the very time that 



they were acorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, 
is rather pragmatical in those points of knowledge 
on which he values himself; but the Squire rarely 
contradicts him, and is, in fact, one of the most in- 
dulgent potentates that ever was henpecked by his 
ministry. 

He often laughs about it himself, and evidently 
yields to these old men more from the bent of his 
own humour than from any want of proper author- 
ity. He likes this honest independence of old age, 
and is well aware that these trusty followers love 
and honour him in their hearts. He is perfectly at 
ease about his own dignity, and the respect of those 
around him ; nothing disgusts him sooner than any 
appearance of fawning or sycophancy. 

I really have seen no display of royal state, that 
could compare with one of the Squire's progresses 
about his paternal fields and through his hereditary 
woodlands, with several of these faithful adherents 
about him, and followed by a body-guard of dogs. 
He encourages a frankness and manliness of deport- 
ment among his dependants, and is the personal 
friend of his tenants ; inquiring into their concerns, 
and assisting them in times of difficulty and hardship. 
This has rendered him one of the most popular, and 
of course one of the happiest, of landlords. 

Indeed, 1 do not know a more enviable condition 
of life, than that of an English gentleman, of sound 
judgment and good feelings, who passes the greater 
part of his time on an hereditary estate in the country. 
From the excellence of the roads, and the rapidity 
and exactness of the public conveyances, he is en- 
abled to command all the comforts and conven- 
iences, all the intelligence and novelties of the capital, 
while he is removed from its hurry and distraction. 
He has ample means of occupation and amusement, 
within his own domains; he may diversify his time, 
by rural occupations, by rural sports, by studv, and 
by the delights of friendly society collected within 
his own hospitable halls. 

Or, if his views and feelings are of a more exten- 
sive and liberal nature, he has it greatly in his power 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



487 



to do good, and to have that good immediately re- 
flected back upon himself. He can render essential 
services to his country, by assisting in the disinterest- 
ed administration of the laws ; by watching over the 
opinions and principles of the lower orders around 
him ; by diffusing among them those lights which 
may be important to their welfare ; by mingling 
frankly among them, gaining their confidence, be- 
coming the immediate auditor of their complaints, 
informing himself of their wants, making hmiself a 
channel through which their grievances may be 
quietly communicated to the proper sources of miti- 
gation and relief ; or by becoming, if need be, the 
intrepid and incorruptible guardian of their liber- 
ties — the enlightened champion of their rights. 

All this, it appears to me, can be done without 
any sacrifice of personal dignity, without any de- 
grading arts of popularity, without any truckling to 
vulgar prejudices or concurrence in vulgar clamour ; 
but by the steady influence of sincere and friendly 
counsel, of fair, upright, and generous deportment. 
Whatever may be said of English mobs and English 
demagogues, I have never met with a people more 
open to reason, more considerate in their tempers, 
more tractable by argument in the roughest times, 
than the English. They are remarkably quick at dis- 
cerning and appreciating whatever is manly and hon- 
ourable. They are, by nature and habit, methodical 
and orderly ; and they feel the value of all that is 
regular and respectable. They may occasionally be 
deceived by sophistry, and excited into turbulence 
by public distresses and the misrepresentations of de- 
signing men ; but open their eyes, and they will 
eventually rally round the landmarks of steady truth 
and deliberate good sense. They are fond of estab- 
lished customs ; they are fond of long-established 
names ; and that love of order and quiet which char- 
acterizes the nation, gives a vast influence to the 
descendants of the old families, whose forefathers 
have been lords of the soil from time immemorial. 

It is when the rich and well-educated and highly- 
privileged classes neglect their duties, when they 
neglect to study the interests, and conciliate the 
affections, and instruct the opinions, and champion 
the rights of the people, that the latter become dis- 
contented and turbulent, and fall into the hands of 
demagogues : the demagogue always steps in, where 
the patriot is wanting. There is a common high- 
handed cant among the high-feeding, and, as they 
fancy themselves, high-minded men, about putting 
down the mob ; but all true physicians know that 
it is better to sweeten the blood than attack the tu- 
mour, to apply the emollient rather than the cautery. 
It is absurd, in a country like England, where there 
is so much freedom, and such a jealousy of right, 
for any man to assume an aristocratical tone, and to 
talk superciliously of the common people. There is 
no rank that makes him independent of the opinions 
and affections of his fellow-men ; there is no rank 
nor distinction that severs him from his fellow-sub- 
jects ; and if, by any gradual neglect or assumption 
on the one side, and discontent and jealousy on the 
other, the orders of society should really separate, 
let those who stand on the eminence beware that the 
chasm is not mining at their feet. The orders of 
society, in all well-constituted governmentc, are 
mutually bound together, and important to each 
other ; there can be no such thing in a free govern- 
ment as a vacuum ; and whenever one is likely to 
take place, by the drawing off of the rich and intelli- 
gent from the poor, the bad passions of society will 
rush in to fill up the space, and rend the whole 
asunder. 

Though born and brought up in a republic, and 
more and more confirmed in repabiican principles 



by every year's observation and experience, yet I am 
not insensible to the excellence that may exist in 
other forms of government, nor to the fact that they 
may be more suitable to the situation and circum- 
stances of the countries in which they exist: I have 
endeavoured rather to look at them as they are, and 
to observe how they are calculated to effect the end 
which they propose. Considering, therefore, the 
mixed nature of the government of this country, and 
its representative form, I have looked with admira- 
tion at the manner in which the wealth and influence 
and intelligence were spread over its whole surface ; 
not as in some monarchies, drained from the coun- 
try, and collected in towns and cities. I have con- 
sidered the great rural establishments of the nobility, 
and the lesser establishments of the gentry, as so 
many reservoirs of wealth and intelligence distributed 
about the kingdom, apart from the towns, to irrigate, 
freshen, and fertilize the surrounding country. I 
have looked upon them, too, as the august retreat of 
patriots and statesmen, where, in the enjoyment of 
honourable independence and elegant leisure, they 
might train up their minds to appear in those legis- 
lative assemblies, whose debates and decisions form 
the study and precedents of other nations, and in- 
volve the interests of the world. 

1 have been both surprised and disappointed, there- 
fore, at finding that on this subject I was often in- 
dulging in an Utopian dream, rather than a well- 
founded opinion. I have been concerned at finding 
that these fine estates were too often involved, and 
mortgaged, or placed in the hands of creditors, and 
the owners exiled from their paternal lands. There 
is an extravagance, I am told, that runs parallel with 
wealth ; a lavish expenditure among the great ; a 
senseless competition among the aspiring; a heed- 
less, joyless dissipation among all the upper ranks, 
that often beggars even these splendid establishments, 
breaks down the pride and principles of their posses- 
sors, and makes too many of them mere place-hunt- 
ers, or shifting absentees. It is thus that so many 
are thrown into the hands of government ; and a 
court, which ought to be the most pure and honour- 
able in Europe, is so often degraded by noble, but 
importunate time-servers. It is thus, too, that so 
many become exiles from their native land, crowd- 
ing the hotels of foreign countries, and expending 
upon thankless strangers the wealth so hardly drain- 
ed from their laborious peasantry. I have looked 
upon these latter with a mixture of censure and con- 
cern. Knowing the almost bigoted fondness of an 
Englishman for his native home, I can conceive what 
must be their comi)unction and regret, when, amidst, 
the sunburnt plains of France, they call to mind the 
green fields of England ; the hereditary groves which 
they have abandoned ; and the hospitable roof of 
their fathers, which they have left desolate, or to be 
inhabited by strangers. But retrenchment is no plea 
for abandonment of country. They have risen with 
the prosperity of the land ; let them abide its fluctua- 
tions, and conform to its fortunes. It is not for the 
rich to fly, because the country is suffering : let them 
share, in their relative proportion, the common lot ; 
they owe it to the land that has elevated them to 
honour and affluence. When the poor have to di- 
minish their scanty morsels of bread ; when they 
have to compound with the cravings of nature, and 
study with how little they can do, and not be starved ; 
it is not then for the rich to fly. and diminish still 
farther the resources of the poor, that they them- 
selves may live in splendour in a cheaper country. 
Let them rather retire to their estates, and there 
practise retrenchment. Let them return to that 
noble simplicity, that practical good sense, that 
honest pride, which form the foundation of true En- 



488 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



glish character, and from them they may again rear 
the edifice of fair and honourable prosperity. 

On the rural habits of the English nobility and 
gentry, on the manner in which they discharge their 
duties of their patrimonial possessions, depend 
greatly the virtue and welfare of the nation. So 
long as they pass the greater part of their time in 
the quiet and purity of the country ; surrounded by 
the monuments of their illustrious ancestors ; sjr- 
rounded by every thing that can inspire generous 
pride, noble emulation, and amiable and magnani- 
mous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and in them 
the nation may repose its interests and its honour. 
But the moment that they become the servile throng- 
ers of court avenues, and give themselves up to the 
political intrigues and heartless dissipations of the 
metropolis, that moment they lose the real nobility 
of their natures, and become the mere leeches of the 
country. 

That the great majority of nobility and gentry in 
England are endowed with high notions of honour 
and independence, I thoroughly believe. They have 
evidenced it lately on very important questions, and 
have given an example of adherence to principle, in 
preference to party and power, that must have as- 
tonished many of the venal and obsequious courts of 
Europe. Such are the glorious eflects of freedom, 
when infused into a constitution. But it seems to 
me, that they are apt to forget the positive nature 
of their duties, and to fancy that their eminent privi- 
leges are only so many means of self-indulgence. 
They should recollect, that in a constitution like that of 
England, the titled orders are intended to be as useful 
as they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone 
that can render them both. Their duties are divided 
between the sovereign and the subjects ; surrounding 
and giving lustre and dignity to the throne, and at 
the same time tempenng and mitigating its rays, un- 
til they are transmitted in mild and genial radiance 
to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, they 
owe the exercise of their talents, and the expenditure 
of their wealth, to their native country. They may 
be compared to the clouds; which, being drawn up 
by the sun, and elevated in the b.eavens, reflect and 
magnify his splendour ; while they repay the earth, 
from which they derive their sustenance, by return- 
ing their treasures to its bosom in fertilizing showers. 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 



" I'll live a private, pensive single life." 

The Collier of Croydon^ 

1 WAS sitting in my room, a morning or two since, 
reading, when some one tapped at the door, and 
Master Simon entered. He had an unusually fresh 
appearance ; he had put on a bright green riding- 
coat, with a bunch of violets in the button-hole, and 
had the air of an old bachelor tr\ing to rejuvenate 
himself. He had not, however, his usual briskness 
and vivacity ; but loitered about the room with some- 
what of absence of manner, hunmiJng the old song — 
" Go, lovely rose, tell her that wastes her time and 
me ; " and then, leaning against the window, and 
looking upon the landscape, he uttered a very audi- 
ble sigh. As I had not been accustomed to see 
Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought there 
might be some vexation preying on his mind, and I 
endeavoured to introduce a cheerful strain of con- 
versation ; but he was not in the vein to follow it up, 
and proposed that we should take a walk. 



It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal 
temperature, that seems to thaw all the frost out 
of one's blood, and to set all nature in a ferment. 
The very tishes felt its influence ; the cautious trout 
ventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate ; the 
roach and the dace rose up to the surface of the 
brook to bask in the sunshine, and the amorous frog 
piped from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can 
really fall in love, as has been said or sung, it must 
be on such a morning. 

The weather certainly had its effect even upon 
Master Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon 
the pensive mood. Instead of stepping briskly along, 
smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or 
telling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, 
and talked about the approaching nuptials ; from 
whence he made several digressions upon the char- 
acter of womankind, touched a little upon the tender 
passion, and made sundry very excellent, though 
rather trite, observations upon disappointments in 
love. It was evident that he had something on his 
mind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward 
in approaching it. I was curious to see to what this 
strain would lead ; but was determined not to assist 
him. Indeed, I mischievously pretended to turn the 
conversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, 
horses, and hunting ; but he was very brief in his 
replies, and invarial)lv got back, by hook or by crook, 
into the sentimental vein. 

At length we came to a clump of trees that over- 
hung a whispering brook, with a rustic bench at 
their feet. The trees were grievously scored with 
letters and devices, which had grown out of all shape 
and size by the growth of the bark ; and it appeared 
that this grove nad served as a kind of register of 
the t'amily loves from time immemorial. Here Master 
Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of flowers, 
threw them one by one into the water, and at length, 
turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if I 
had ever been in love. I confess the question star- 
tled me a little, as 1 am not over-fond ol making con- 
fessions of my amorous follies ; and above all, should 
never dream of choosing my friend Master Simon 
for a confidant. He did not wait, however, for a 
reply ; the inquiry was merely a prelude to a confes- 
sion on his own part, and after several circumlocu- 
tions and whimsical preambles, he fairly disburthened 
himself of a very tolerable story of his having been 
crossed in love. 

The reader will, very probably, suppose that it re- 
lated to the gay widow who jilted him not long since 
at Doncaster races ; — no such thing. It was about 
a sentimental passion that he once had for a most 
beautil'ul young lady, who wrote poetry and played 
on the harp. He used to serenade her ; and, in- 
deed, he described several tender and gallant scenes, 
in which he was evidently picturing himself m his 
mind's eye as some elegant hero of romance, though, 
unfortunately for the tale, I only saw him as he stood 
before me, a dapper little old bachelor, with a face 
like an apple that has dried with the bloom on it. 

What were the particulars of this tender tale, I 
have already forgotten ; indeed, I listened to it with 
a heart like a very pebble-stone, having hard work to 
repress a smile while Master Simon was putting on 
the amorous swain, uttering every now and then a 
sigh, and endeavouring to look sentimental and mel- 
ancholy. 

All that I recollect is that the lady, according to 
his account, was certainly a little touched ; for she 
used to accept all the music that he copied for her 
harp, and all the patterns that he drew for her dress- 
es ; and he began to flatter himself, after a long 
course of delicate attentions, that he was gradually 
fanning up a gentle flame in her heart, when she 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



489 



suddenly accepted the hand of a rich, boisterous, 
fox-hunting baronet, without either music or senti- 
ment, who carried her by storm after a fortnight's 
courtship. 

Master Simon could not help concluding by some 
observation about " modest merit," and the power 
of gold over the sex. As a remembrance of his 
passion, he pointed out a heart carved on the bark 
of one of the trees ; but which, in the process of 
time, had grown out into a large excrescence ; and 
he showed me a lock of her hair, which he wore in 
a true-lover's knot, in a large gold brooch. 

I have seldom met with an old bachelor that had 
not, at some time or other, his nonsensical moment, 
when he would become tender and sentimental, talk 
about the concerns of the heart, and have some con- 
fession of a delicate nature to mal-ce. Almost every 
man has some little trait of romance in his life, which 
he looks back to with fondness, and about which he 
is apt to grow garrulous occasionally. He recollects 
himself as he was at the time, young and gamesome ; 
and forgets that his hearers have no other idea of 
the hero of the tale, but such as he may appear at 
the time of telling it ; peradventure, a withered, 
whimsical, spindle-shanked old gentleman. With 
married men, it is true, this is not so frequently the 
case : their amorous romance is apt to decline after 
marriage ; why, I cannot for the life of me imagine ; 
but with a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never 
dies. It is always liable to break out again in tran- 
sient flashes, and never so much as on a spring 
morning in the country ; or on a winter evening 
when seated in his solitary chamber stirring up the 
lire and talking of matrimony. 

The moment that Master Simon had gone through 
his confession, and, to use the common phrase, " had 
made a clean breast of it," he became quite himself 
again. He had settled the point which had been 
worrying his mind, and doubtless considered himself 
established as a man of sentiment in my opinion. 
Before we had finished our morning's stroll, he was 
singing as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his 
dogs, and telling- droll stories ; and I recollect that 
he was particularly facetious that day at dinner on 
the subject of matrimony, and uttered several excel- 
lent jokes, not to be lound in Joe Miller, that made 
the bride elect blush and look down ; but set all the 
old gentlemen at the table in a roar, and absolutely 
brought tears into the general's eyes. 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 



*'Merric England!" 

Ancient Phrase. 

There is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his 
hobby without molestation. I find the Squire has 
not so undisturbed an indulgence in his humours as 
I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly thwarted 
of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning per- 
secution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of 
some weight, at least of purse, who has recently 
moved into the neighbourhood. He is a worthy and 
substantial manufacturer, who, having accumulated 
a large fortune by dint of steam-engines and spinning- 
jennies, has retired from business, and set up for a 
country gentleman. He has taken an old country- 
seat, and refitted it ; and painted and plastered it, 
until it looks not unlike his own manufactory. He 
has been particularly carehil in mending the walls 
and hedges, and putting up notices of spring-guns 
and man-traps in every part of his premises. Indeed, 



he shows great jealousy about his territorial rights, 
having stopped up a footpath that led across his 
fields, and given warning, in staring letters, that who- 
ever was found trespassing on those grounds would 
be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law. 
He has brought into the country with him all the 
practical maxims of town, and the bustling habits of 
business ; and is one of those sensible, useful, pros- 
ing, troublesome, intolerable old gentlemen, that go 
about wearying and worrying society with excellent 
plans for public utility. 

He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms 
with the Squire, and calls on him every now and 
then, with some project for the good of the neigh- 
bourhood, which happens to run diametrically oppo- 
site to some one or other of the Squire's peculiar 
notions ; but which is " too sensible a measure " to 
be openly opposed. He has annoyed him excessively, 
by enforcing the vagrant laws ; persecuting the gip- 
sies, and endeavouring to suppress country wakes 
and holiday games ; which he considers great nui- 
sances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of 
idleness. 

There is evidently in all this a little of the osten- 
tation of newly-acquired consequence ; the trades- 
man is gradually swelling into the aristocrat ; and he 
begins to grow excessively intolerant of every thing 
that is not genteel. He has a great deal to say about 
" the common people ; " talks much of his park, his 
preserves, and the necessity of enforcing the game- 
laws more strictly ; and makes frequent use of the 
phrase, "the gentry of the neighbourhood." 

He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of 
business, that he and the Squire, to use his own 
words, " might lay their heads together," to hit upon 
some mode of putting a stop to the frolicking at the 
village on the approaching May-day. It drew, he 
said, idle people together from all parts of the neigh- 
bourhood, who spent the day fiddling, dancing, and 
carousing, instead of staying at home to work for 
their families. 

Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of 
these May-day revels, it may be supposed that the 
suggestions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy were not re- 
ceived with the best grace in the world. It is true, 
the old gentleman is too courteous to show any tem- 
per to a guest in his own house ; but no sooner was 
he gone, than the indignation of the Squire found 
vent, at having his poetical cobwebs invaded by this 
buzzing, blue-bottle fly of traffic. In his warmth, he 
inveighed against the whole race of manufacturers, 
who, I found, were sore disturbers of his comfort. 
" Sir," said he, with emotion, " it makes my heart 
bleed, to see all our fine streams dammed up, and 
bestrode by cotton-mills ; our valleys smoking with 
steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the 
loom scaring away all our rural delight. What's to 
become of merry old England, when its manor- 
houses are all turned into manufactories, and its 
sturdy peasantry into pin-makers and stocking- 
weavers ? I have looked in vam for merry Sherwood, 
and all the greenwood haunts of Robin Hood ; the 
whole country is covered with manufacturing towns. 
I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, and 
looked round, with an aching heart, on what were 
once its feudal domains of verdant and beautiful 
country. Sir, I beheld a mere campus phlegras ; a 
region of fire ; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, 
and smelting-houses, vomitmg forth fiames and 
smoke. The pale and ghastly people, toiling among 
vile exhalations, looked more like demons than hu- 
man beings ; the clanking wheels and engines, seen 
through the murky atmosphere, looked like instru- 
ments of torture in this pandemonium. What is to 
become of the country, with these evils rankling in 



490 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



its very core? Sir, these manufacturers will be the 
ruin of our rural manners ; they will destroy the 
national character ; they will not leave materials for 
a single line of poetry ! " 

The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes ; 
and I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical 
lamentation over national industry and public im- 
provement. I am tokl, however, that he really 
grieves at the growing spirit of trade, as destroying 
the charm of life. He considers every new short- 
hand mode of doing things, as an inroad of snug 
sordid method ; and thinks that this will soon be- 
come a mere matter-of-fact world, where life will be 
reduced to a mathematical calculation of conveni- 
ences, and every thing will be done by steam. 

He maintains, also, that the nation has declined 
in its free and joyous spirit, in proportion as it has 
turned its attention to commerce and manufactures ; 
and that, in old times, when England was an idler, 
it was also a merrier little island. In support of this 
opinion, he adduces the frequency and splendour of 
ancient festivals and merry-makings, and the hearty 
spirit with which they were kept up by all classes of 
people. His memory is stored with the accounts 
given by Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holi- 
day revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- 
meries, and the masquings and bonfires abo\it the 
streets. London, he says, in those days, resembled 
the continental cities in its picturesque manners and 
amusements. The court used to dance after dinner, 
on public occasions. After the coronation dinner of 
Richard II. for example, the king, the prelates, the 
nobles, the knights, and the rest of the company, 
danced in Westminster Hall to the music of the 
minstrels. The example of the court was followed 
by the middling classes, and so down to the lowest, 
and the whole nation was a dancing, jovial nation. 
He quotes a lively city picture of the times, given by 
Stow, which resembles the lively scenes one may 
often see in the gay city of Paris ; for he tells us that 
on holidays, after evening prayers, the maidens in 
London used to assemble before the door, in sight 
of their masters and dames, and while one played on 
a timbrel, the others danced for garlands, hanged 
athwart the street. 

" Where will we meet with such merry groups 
now-a-days?" the Squire will exclaim, shaking his 
head mournfully ;—" and then as to the gaiety 
that prevailed in dress throughout all ranks of so- 
ciety, and made the very streets so fine and pictur- 
esque : ' I have myself,' says Gervaise Markham, 
' met an ordinary tapster in his silk stockings, gar- 
ters deep fringed with gold lace, the rest of his 
apparel suitable, with cloak lined with velvet ! ' 
Nashe, too, who wrote in 1593, exclaims at the 
finery of the nation: 'England, the player's stage 
of gorgeous attire, the ape of all nations' super- 
fluities, the continual masquer in outlandish habili- 
ments.' " 

Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the 
Squire, by way of contrasting what he supposes to 
have been the former vivacity of the nation with its 
present monotonous character. "John Bull," he 
will say, " was then a gay cavalier, with his sword 
by his side and a feather in his cap ; but he is now a 
plodding citizen, in snuff-coloured coat and gaiters." 

By the by, there really appears to have been 
some change in the national character, since the 
days of which the Squire is so fond of talking; 
those days when this little island acquired its favour- 
ite old title of "merry England." This may be 
attributed in part to the growing hardships of the 
times, and the necessity of turning the whole atten- 
tion to the means of subsistence ; but England's 
gayest customs prevailed at times when her common 



people enjoyed coinparatively few of the comforts 
and conveniences that they do at present. It may 
be still more attributed to the universal spirit of 
gain, and the calculating habits that commerce has 
introduced ; but I am inclined to attribute it chiefly 
to the gradual increase of the liberty of the subject, 
and the growing freedom and activity of opinion. 

A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. 
They have high and important matters to occupy 
their minds. They feel that it is their right, their 
interest, and their duty, to mingle in public con- 
cerns, and to watch over the general welfare. The 
continual exercise of the mind on political topics 
gives intenser habits of thinking, and a more serious 
and earnest demeanour. A nation becomes less gay, 
but more intellectually active and vigorous. It 
evinces less play of the fancy, but more power of 
the imagination ; less taste and elegance, but more 
grandeur of mind ; less animated vivacity, but deeper 
enthusiasm. 

It is when men are shut out of the regions of 
manly thought, by a despotic government ; when 
every grave and lofty theme is rendered perilous to 
discussion and almost to reflection ; it is then that 
they turn to the safer occupations of taste and 
amusement ; trifles rise to importance, and occupy 
the craving activity of intellect. No being is more 
void of care and reflection than the slave ; none 
dances more gayly, in his intervals of labour; but 
make him free, give him rights and interests to guard, 
and he becomes thoughtful and laborious. 

The French are a gayer people than the English. 
Why ? Partly from temperament, perhaps ; but great- 
ly because they have been accustomed to govern- 
ments which surrounded the free exercise of thought 
with danger, and where he only was safe who shut 
his eyes and ears to public events, and enjoyed the 
passing pleasure of the day. Within late years, they 
have had more opportunity of exercising their minds ; 
and within late years, the national character has 
essentially changed. Never did the French enjoy 
such a degree of freedom as they do at this moment ; 
and at this moment the French are comparatively a 
grave people. 



GIPSIES. 



Wliat's tliat to absolute freedom ; such as tlie very beggars have ; 
to feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day 
where they please ; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom 
over ? There's liberty ! the birds of the air can take no more. 

Jovial Crew. 

Since the meeting with the gipsies, which I have 
related in a former paper, I have observed several 
of them haunting the purlieus of the Hall, in spite 
of a positive interdiction of the Squire. They are 
part of a gang that has long kept about this neigh- 
bourhood, to the great annoyance of the farmers, 
whose poultry-yards often suffer from their noc- 
turnal invasions. They are, however, in some 
measure patronized by the Squire, who considers 
the race as belonging to the good old times ; which, 
to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded 
with good-for-nothing characters. 

This roving crew is called " Starlight Tom's Gang," 
from the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. 
I have heard repeatedly of the misdeeds of this 
"minion of the moon ; " for every midnight depre- 
dation that takes place in park, or Ibid, or farm-yard, 
is laid to his charge. Starlight Tom, in f;ict, answers 
to his name ; he seems to walk in darkness, and, 
like a fox, to be traced in the morning by the mis- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



491 



chief he has done. He reminds me of that fearful 
personage in the nursery rhyme : 

Who goes round the house at night ? 

None but bloody Tom ! 
Who steals all the sheep at night ? 

None but one by one ! 

In short, Starlin;ht Tom is the scape-goat of the 
neighbourhood, but so cunning and adroit, that there 
is no detecting him. Old Christy and the game- 
keeper have watched many a night, in hopes of en- 
trapping him ; and Christy often patrols the park 
with his dogs, for the purpose, but all in vain. It is 
said that the Squire winks hard at his misdeeds, 
having an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, 
because of his being very expert at all kinds of games, 
a great shot with the cross-bow, and the best mor- 
ris-dancer in the country. 

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmo- 
lested aljout the skirts of his estate, on condition 
that they do not come about the house. The ap- 
proaching wedding, however, has made a kind of 
Saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a suspen- 
sion of all sober rule. It has produced a great 
sensation throughout the female part of the house- 
hold ; not a housemaid but dreams of wedding 
favours, and has a husband running in her head. 
Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies : there is a 
public footpath leading across one part of the park, 
by which they have tree ingress, and they are con- 
tinually hovering about the grounds, telling the 
servant-girls' fortunes, or getting smuggled in to the 
young ladies. 

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much 
by furnishing them with hints in private, and be- 
wildering all the weak brains in the house with 
their wonderful revelations. The general certainly 
was very much astonished by the communications 
made to him the other evening by the gipsy girl : 
he kept a wary silence towards us on the subject, 
and affected to treat it lightly ; but I have noticed 
that he has since redoubled his attentions to Lady 
Lillycraft and her dogs. 

I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the house- 
keeper's pretty and love-sick niece, holding a long 
conference with one of these old sibyls behind a 
large tree in the avenue, and often looking round to 
see that she was not observed. I make no doubt that 
she was endeavouring to get some favourable augury 
about the result of her love - quarrel with young 
Ready-Money, as oracles have always been more 
consulted on love affairs than upon any thing else. I 
fear, however, that in this instance the response was 
not so favourable as usual ; for I perceived poor 
Phcebe returning pensively towards the house, her 
head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the 
riband trailing along the ground. 

At another time, as I turned a comer of a terrace, 
at the bottom of the garden, just by a clump of 
trees, and a large stone urn, I came upon a bevy of 
the young girls of the family, attended by this same 
Phoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the 
meaning of their blushing and giggling, and their 
apparent agitation, until I saw the red cloak of a 
gipsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few mo- 
ments after, I caught sight of Master Simon and the 
Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the gar- 
den, chuckling and laughing at their successful wag- 
gery ; having evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, 
and instructed her what to say. 

After all, there is something strangely pleasing in 
these tamperings with the future, even where we 
are convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. 
It is singular how vi'illingly the mind will half de- 
ceive itself, and with what a degree of awe we will 
listen to these babblers about futurity. For my 



part, I cannot fee! angry with these poor vagabonds, 
that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and ex- 
pectations. I have always been something of a castle- 
builder, and have found my liveliest pleasures to 
arise from the illusions which fancy has cast over 
commonplace realities. As I get on in life, I find it 
more difficult to deceive myself in this delightful 
manner; and I should be thankful to any prophet, 
however false, that would conjure the clouds which 
hang over futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful 
regions into fairy-land. 

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a pri- 
vate good-will towards gipsies, has suffered con- 
siderable annoyance on their account. Not that they 
requite his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do 
not depredate very flagrantly on his estate; but 
because their pilferings and misdeeds occasion loud 
murmurs in the village. I can readily understand 
the old gentleman's humour on this point ; I have 
a great toleration for all kinds of vagrant sunshiny 
existence, and must confess I take a pleasure in 
observing the ways of gipsies. The English, who 
are accustomed to them from childhood, and often 
suffer from their petty depredations, consider them 
as mere nuisances ; but I have been very much 
struck with their peculiarities. I like to behold 
their clear olive complexions, their romantic black 
eyes, their raven locks, their lithe, slender figures ; 
and hear them in low silver tones dealing forth 
magniticent promises of honours and estates, of 
world's wealth, and ladies' love. 

Their mode of life, too, has something in it very 
fanciful and picturesque. They are the free deni- 
zens of nature, and maintain a primitive indepen- 
dence, in spite of law and gospel ; of county gaols 
and country magistrates. It is curious to see this 
obstinate adherence to the wild, unsettled habits of 
savage life transmitted from generation to genera- 
tion, and preserved in the midst of one of the most 
cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the 
world. They are totally distinct from the busy, 
thrifty people about them. They seem to be, like the 
Indians of America, either above or below the ordi- 
nary cares and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of 
power, of honours, of wealth ; and indifferent to the 
fluctuations of times ; the rise or fall of grain, or 
stock, or empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, 
fretting world around them, and to live according 
to the philosophy of the gld song : 

'^ Who would ambition shun. 

And loves to lie i' the sun, 

Seeking the food he eats, 

And pleased with what he gets. 

Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 

Here shall he see 

No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather." 

In this way, they wander from county to county ; 
keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plen- 
teous neighbourhoods, where there are fat farms 
and rich country-seats. Their encampments are 
generally made in some beautiful spot — either a 
green shady nook of a road ; or on tiie border of a 
common, under a sheltering hedge ; or on the skirts 
of a fine spreading wood. They are always to be 
found lurking about fairs, and races, and rustic 
gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, 
and idleness. They are the oracles of milk-maids 
and simple serving-girls ; and sometimes have even 
the honour of perusing the white hands of gentle- 
men's daughters, when rambling about their fathers' 
grounds. They are the bane of good housewives 
and thrifty farmers, and odious in the eyes of coun- 
try justices; but, like all other vagabond beings, they 
have something to commend them to the fancy. 
They are among the last traces, in these matter-oU 



492 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



fact days, of the motley population of former times ; 
and are whimsically associated-in my mind with fair- 
ies and witches, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Hood, and 
the other fantastical personages of poetry. 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS, 



Happy the a^e, and harmless were the dayes, 

(For then true love and amity was found,) 
When every village did a May-pole raise, 

And Whitsnn ales and May-games did abound : 
And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, 
With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about. 
Then friendship to their banquets bid the guests, 
And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. 

Pasquil's Palinodia. 

The month of April has nearly passed away, and 
we are fast approaching that poetical day, which 
was considered, in old times, as the boundary that 
parted the frontiers of winter and summer. With all 
its caprices, however, I like the month of April. I 
hke these laughing and crying days, when sun and 
shade seem to run in billows over the landscape. I 
like to see the sudden shower coursing over the 
meadow, and giving all nature a greener smile ; and 
the bright sunbeams chasing the flying cloud, and 
turning all its drops into diamonds. 

I was enjoying a morning of the kind, in company 
with the Squire, in one of the finest parts of the 
park. We were skirting a beautiful grove, and he 
was giving me a kind of biographical account of 
several of his favourite forest trees, when he heard 
the strokes of an axe from the midst of a thick 
copse. The Squire paused and listened, with man- 
ifest signs of uneasiness. He turned his steps in the 
direction of the sound. The strokes grew louder 
and louder as v.'e advanced ; there was evidently a 
vigorous arm wielding the axe. The Squire quick- 
ened his pace, but in vain ; a loud crack, and a suc- 
ceeding crash, told that the mischief had been done, 
and some child of the forest laid low. When we 
came to the place, we found Master Simon and sev- 
eral others standing about a tall and beautifully 
straight young tree, which had just been felled. 

The Squire, though a man of most harmonious 
dispositions, was completely put out of tune by this 
circumstance. He felt like a monarch witnessing 
the murder of one of his liege subjects, and demand- 
ed, with some asperity, the meaning of the outrage. 
It turned out to be an affair of Master Simon's, who 
had selected the tree, from its height and straight- 
ness, for a May- pole, the old one which stood on the 
village green being unfit for farther service. If any 
thing could have soothed the ire of my worthy host, 
it would have been the reflection that his tree had 
fallen in so good a cause ; and I saw that there was 
a great struggle between his fondness for his groves, 
and his devotion to May-day. He could not con- 
template the prostrate tree, however, without indulg- 
ing in lamentation, and making a kind of funeral 
eulogy, like Mark Antony over the body of Cffisar ; 
and he forbade that any tree should thenceforward 
be cut down on his estate, without a warrant from 
himself; being determined, he said, to hold the sov- 
ereign power of life and death in his own hands. 

This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, 
and 1 inquired whether the old customs connected 
with it were really kept up in this part of the coun- 
tr)'. The Squire shook his head mournfully; and I 
found I had touched on one of his tender points, for 
he grew quite melancholy in bewailing the total de- 
cline of old May-day. Though it is regularly cele- 
brated in the neighbouring village, yet it has been 



merely resuscitated by the worthy Squire, and Is 
kept up in a forced state of existence at his expense. 
He meets with continual discouragements ; and finds 
great difficulty in getting the country bumpkins to 
play their parts tolerably. He manages to have 
every year a " Queen of the May ; " but as to Robin 
Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby-Horse, 
and all the other motley crew that used to enliven 
the day with their mummer)-, he has not ventured to 
introduce them. 

Still I look forward with some interest to the 
promised shadow of old May-day, even though it be 
but a shadow ; and I feel more and more pleased 
with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of my host, 
which is surrounding him with agreeable associa- 
tions, and making a little world of poetry about him. 
Brought up, as 1 have been, in a new country, I may 
appreciate too highly the faint vestiges of ancient 
customs which I now and then meet with, and the 
interest I express in them may provoke a smile from 
those who are negligently suffering them to pass 
away. But with whatever indifference they may be 
regarded by those " to the manner born," yet in my 
mind the lingering flavour of them imparts a charm 
to rustic life, which nothing else could readily supply. 

1 shall never forget the delight I f;lt on first see- 
ing a May-pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, 
close by the picturesque old bridge that stretches 
across the river from the quaint little city of Chester. 
I had already been carried back into former days, 
by the antiquities of that venerable place; the ex- 
amination of which is equal to turning over the 
pages of a black-letter volume, or gazing on the 
pictures in Froissart. The May-pole on the margin 
of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My 
fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peo- 
pled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of 
May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a 
glow to my feelings, and spread a charm over the 
country for the rest of the day ; and as I traversed 
a part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beauti- 
ful borders of Wales, and looked from among swell- 
ing hills down a long green valley, through which 
'■ the Deva wound its wizard stream," my imagina- 
tion turned all into a perfect Arcadia. 

Whether it be owing to such poetical associations 
early instilled into my mind, or whether there is, as 
it were, a sympathetic revival and budding forth 
of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that I 
always experience, wherever I may be placed, a de- 
lightful expansion of the heart at the return of May. 
It is said that birds about this time will become 
restless in their cages, as if instinct with the season, 
conscious of the revelry that is going on in the 
groves, and impatient to break from their bondage, 
and join in the jubilee of the year. In like manner I 
have felt myself excited, even in the midst of the 
metropolis, when the windows, which had been 
churlishly closed all winter, were again thrown open 
to receive the balmy breath of May ; when the sweets 
of the country were breathed into the town, and 
flowers were cried about the streets. I have con- 
sidered the treasures of flowers thus poured in, as so 
many missives from nature, inviting us forth to en- 
joy the virgin beauty of the year, before its freshness 
is exhaled by the heats of sunny summer. 

One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must 
have been in jolly old London, when the doors were 
decorated with flowering branches, when every hat 
was decked with hawthorn, and Robin Hood, Friar 
Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the 
other fantastic masks and revellers, were perform- 
ing their antics about the May-pole in every part of 
the city. 

I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



493 



customs, merely because of their antiquity : but 
while I rejoice in the decline of many of the rude 
usages and coarse amusements of former days, I 
cannot but regret that this innocent and fanciful 
festival has faljen into disuse. It seemed appropriate 
to this verdant and pastoral country, and calculated 
to light up the too-pervading gravity of the nation. 
I value every custom that tends to infuse poetical 
feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and 
soften the rudeness of rustic manners, without des- 
troying their simplicity. Indeed, it is to the decline 
of this happy simplicity, that the decline of this 
custom may be traced ; and the rural dance on the 
green, and the homely May-day pageant, have 
gradually disappeared, in proportion as the peasantry 
have become expensive and artificial in their pleas- 
ures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. 

Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been 
made of late years, by men of both taste and learn- 
ing, to rally back the popular feeling to these stand- 
ards of primitive simplicity ; but the time has gone 
by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain 
and traffic, the country apes the manners and amuse- 
ments of the town, and little is heard of May-day at 
present, except from the lamentations of authors, 
who sigh after it from among the brick walls of the 
city : 

'' For O, for O, the Hobby-Horse is forgot." 



VILLAGE WORTHIES. 



Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the 
worst dog in the street will hurt my little linger. 

CoiUer of Croydon. 

As the neighbouring village is one of those out- 
of-the-way, but gossiping, little places where a small 
matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed 
that the approach of a festival like that of May-day 
can be regarded with indifference, especially since it 
is made a matter of such moment by the great folks 
at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful fac- 
totum of the worthy Squire, and jumps with his hu- 
mour in everj' thing, is frequent just now in his visits 
to the village, to give directions for the impending 
fete ; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of 
accompanying him, I have been enabled to get some 
insight into the characters and internal politics of 
this very sagacious little community. 

Master Simon is in fact the Csesar of the village. 
It is true the Squire is the protecting power, but his 
factotum is the active and busy agent. He inter- 
meddles in all its concerns, is acquainted with all 
the inhabitants and their domestic history, gives 
counsel to the old folks in their business matters, 
and the young folks in their love affairs, and enjoys 
the proud satisfaction of being a great man in a 
little world. 

He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's charity, 
which is bounteous ; and, to do Master Simon jus- 
tice, he performs this part of his functions with great 
alacrity. Indeed, I have been entertained with the 
mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness 
which he displays. He is of too vivacious a tempera- 
ment to conijbrt the afflicted by sitting down, mo- 
ping and whining, and blowing noses in concert ; but 
goes whisking about like a sparrow, chirping conso- 
lation into every hole and corner of the village. 1 
have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him 
for half an hour together with some long phthisical 
tale of distress, which Master Simon listened to 
with many a bob of the head, smack of his dog- 
whip, and other symptoms of impatience, though he 



afterwards made a most faithful and circumstantia. 
report of the case to the Squire. I have watched 
him, too, during one of his pop visits into the cot- 
tage of a superannuated villager, who is a pensioner 
of the Squire, where he fidgeted about the room 
without sitting down, made many excellent off-hand 
reflections with the old invalid, who W'as propped 
up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the cer- 
tainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for 
" that awful change ; " quoted several texts of script- 
ure very incorrectly, but much to the edification of 
the cottager's wife ; and on "coming out, pinched the 
daughter's rosy cheek, and wondered what was in 
the young men that such a pretty face did not get a 
husband. 

He has also his cabinet counsellors in the village, 
with whom he is very busy just now, preparing for 
the May-day ceremonies. Among these is the vil- 
lage tailor, a pale-faced fellow, that plays the clar- 
ionet in the church choir; and, being a great mu- 
sical genius, has frequent meetings of the band at his 
house, where they "make night hideous" by their 
concerts. He is, in consequence, high in favour with 
Master Simon ; and, through his influence, has the 
making, or rather marring, of all the liveries of the 
Hall ; which generally look as though they had been 
cut out by one of those scientific tailors of the Fly- 
ing Island of Laputa, who took measure of their 
customers with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, 
might rise to be one of the moneyed men of the vil- 
lage, was he not rather too prone to gossip, and keep 
holidays, and give concerts, and blow all his sub- 
stance, real and personal, through his clarionet ; 
which literally keeps him poor, both in body and 
estate. He has for the present thrown by all his 
regular work, and suffered the breeches of the vil- 
lage to go unmade and unmended, while he is occu- 
pied in making garlands of party-coloured rags, in 
imitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May- 
pole. 

Another of Master Simon's counsellors is the 
apothecary, a short and rather fat man, with a pair 
of prominent eyes, that diverge like those of a lob- 
ster. He is the village wise man ; very sententious, 
and full of profound remarks on shallow subjects. 
Master Simon often quotes his sayings, and men- 
tions him as rather an extraordinary man ; and even 
consults him occasionally, in desperate cases of the 
dogs and horses. Indeed, he seems to have been 
overwhelmed by the apothecary's philosophy, which 
is exactly one observation deep, consisting of indis- 
putable maxims, such as may be gathered from the 
mottoes of tobacco-boxes. I had a specimen of his 
philosophy, in my very first conversation with him ; 
in the course of which he observed, with great so- 
lemnity and emphasis, that " man is a compound of 
wisdom and folly ; " upon which .Master Simon, who 
had hold of my arm, pressed very hard upon it, and 
whispered in my ear, " that's a de^'ilish shrewd re- 
mark I " 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 



There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no .^a<;se 
hang on the hecles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a 
traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which 
maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country 
loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by 
buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny — 
repentance. Lilly's Euphues, 

Among the worthies of the village that enjoy the 
peculiar confidence of Master Simon, is one who has 
struck my fancy so much that I have thought hi:n 



494 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



wonhy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the 
schoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare 
and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and 
with an easy, good-humoured look, not often met 
with in his craft. I have been interested in his fa- 
vour by a few anecdotes which I have picked up con- 
cerning him. 

He is a native of the village, and was a contem- 
porary and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the 
days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried on a 
kind of league of mutual good offices. Slingsby 
was rather puny, and withal somewhat of a coward, 
but very apt at his learning; Jack, on the contrary, 
was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at 
his books. Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all 
his lessons ; Jack fought all Slingsby 's battles ; and 
they were inseparable friends. This mutual kind- 
ness continued even after they left the school, not- 
withstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. 
Jack took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared 
himself to till his paternal acres; while the other 
loitered negligently on in the path of learning, until 
he penetrated even into the confines of Latin and 
mathematics. 

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading 
voy.ages and travels, and was smitten with a desire 
to see the world. This desire increased upon him 
as he grew up ; so, early one bright, sunny niornmg, 
he put all his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his 
back, took staff in hand, and called in his way to 
take leave of his early schoolmate. Jack was just 
going out with the plough : the friends shook hands 
over the farm-house gate ; Jack drove his team 
a-field, and Slingsby whistled " Over the hills and far 
away," and sallied forth gayly to " seek his fortune." 

Years and years passed by, and young Tom 
Slingsby was forgotten ; when, one mellow Sunday 
afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat ad- 
vanced in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of 
old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a hand- 
kerchief and slung on the end of a stick, was seen 
loitering through the village. He appeared to 
regard several houses attentively, to peer into the 
windows that were open, to eye the villagers wist- 
fully as they returned from church, and then to pass 
some time in the church-yard reading the tomb- 
stones. 

At length he found his way to the farm-house of 
Ready-Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the 
wicket; contemplating the picture of substantial in- 
dependence before him. In the porch of the house 
sat Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress ; with 
his hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his 
tankard IJefore him, the monarch of all he suiTeyed. 
Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds 
of poultry were heard from the well-stocked farm- 
yard ; the bees hummed from their hives in the gar- 
den ; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow ; while the 
crammed bajns and ample stacks bore proof of an 
abundant harvest. 

The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubi- 
ously toward the house. The mastiff growled at the 
sight of the suspicious-looking intruder ; but was im- 
mediately silenced by his master, who, taking his 
pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect 
the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger 
eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimen- 
sions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel ; then cast 
a glance upon his own thread-bare and starveling 
condition, and the scanty bundle which he held in 
his hand ; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch 
to make it meet its receding waistband, and casting 
another look, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy 
yeoman, "I suppose," said he, "Mr. Tibbets, you 
have forgot old times and old playmates." 



The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, 
but acknowledged that he had no recollection of 
him. 

"Like enough, like enough," said the stranger; 
" every body seems to have forgotten poor Slings- 
by ! " 

" Wh)', no, sure ! it can't be Tom Slingsby ? " 

" Yes, but it is, though ! " replied the stranger, 
shaking his head. 

Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling; 
thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe 
of a giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, 
" Sit down there," cried he, " Tom Slingsby ! " 

A long conversation ensued about old times, while 
Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the 
farm-house afforded ; for he was hungry as well as 
wayworn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pe- 
destrian. The early playmates then talked over their 
subsequent lives and adventures. Jack had but little 
to relate, and was never good at a long story. A 
prosperous life, passed at liome, has little incident 
for narrative ; it is only poor devils, tliat are tossed 
about the world, that are the true heroes of story. 
Jack had stuck by the paternal farm, followed the 
same plow that his forefathers had driven, and had 
waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to 
Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old 
proverb, "a rolling stone gathers no moss." He 
had sought his fortune about the world, without ever 
finding it, being a thing ol'tener found at home than 
abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and 
had learned a dozen different modes of making a liv- 
ing ; but had found his way back to his native village 
rather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack hav- 
ing dwindled down to a scanty bundle. 

As luck would have it, the Squire was passing by 
the farm-house that very evening, and called there, 
as is often his custom. He found the two school- 
mates still gossiping in the porch, and, according to 
the good old Scottish song, ''taking a cup of kmd- 
ness yet, for auld lang syne. " The Squire was 
struck by the contrast in appearance and fortunes 
of these early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated 
in lordly state, surrounded by the good things of this 
life, with golden guineas hanging to his very watch- 
chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a 
weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, 
and walking-staff, lying on the ground beside him. 

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the 
luckless cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like 
such half-vagrant characters. He cast about in his 
mind how he should contrive once more to anchor 
Slingsby in his native village. Honest Jack had al- 
ready offered him a present shelter under his roof, in 
spite of the hints, and winks, and half remonstrances 
of the shrewd Dame Tibbets ; but how to provide 
for his permanent maintenance, was the question. 
Luckily the Squire bethought himself that the village 
school was without a teacher. A little further con- 
versation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for 
that as for any thing else, and in a day or two he was 
seen swaying the rod of empire in the very school- 
house where he had often been horsed in the days 
of his boyhood. 

Here he has remained for several years, and, be- 
ing honoured by the countenance of the Squire, and 
the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into 
much importance and consideration in the village. 
I am told, however, that he still shows, now and 
then, a degree of restlessness, and a disposition to 
rove abroad again, and see a little more of the 
world; an inclination which seems particularly to 
haunt him about spring-time. There is nothing so 
difticult to conquer as the vagrant humour, when 
once it has been fully indulged. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



495 



Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slings- 
by, I have more than once mused upon the picture 
presented by him and his schoohiiatc, Ready-Money 
Jack, on their coming- together again alter so long a 
separation. It is difficult to determine between lots 
in life, where each one is attended with its peculiar 
discontents. He who never leaves his home repines 
at his monotonous existence, and envies the travel- 
ler, whose life is a constant tissue of wonder and ad- 
venture ; wnile he who is tossed about the world, 
looks back with many a sigh to the safe and quiet 
shore which he has abandoned. I cannot help think- 
ing, however, that the man that stays at home, and 
cultivates the coml'orts and pleasures daily springing 
up around him, stands the best chance for happi- 
ness. There is nothing so fascinating to a young 
mind as the idea of travelling; and there is very 
witchcraft in the old phrase found in every nursery 
tale, of "going to seek one's fortune." A continual 
change of place, and change of object, promises a 
continual succession of adventure and gratification 
of curiosity. But there is a limit to all our enjoy- 
ments, and every desire bears its death in its very 
gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeated 
stimulants, novelties cease to excite surprise, until at 
length we cannot wonder even at a miracle. 

He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor 
Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds too soon 
how different the distant scene becomes when 
visited. The smooth place roughens as he ap- 
proaches ; the wild place becomes tame and barren ; 
the fairy tints that beguiled him on, still fly to the 
distant hill, or gather upon the land he has left 
behind ; and every part of the landscape seems 
greener than the spot he stands on. 



THE SCHOOL. 



But to comedown from great men and higher matters to my little 
children and poor school-house again ; I will, God willing, go fur- 
ward orderly, as I purposed, to instruct children and young men both 
for learning and manners. Roger Ascham. 

Having given the reader a slight sketch of the 
village schoolmaster, he may be curious to learn 
something concerning his school. As the Squire 
takes much interest in the education of the neigh- 
bouring children, he put into the hands of the teach- 
er, on first installing him in office, a copy of Roger 
Ascham's Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, 
to con over that portion of old Peacham which treats 
of the duty of masters, and which condemns the 
favourite method of making boys wise by flagella- 
tion. 

He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or de- 
press the free spirit of the boys, by harshness and 
slavish fear, but to lead them freely and joyously on 
in the path of knowledge, making it pleasant and 
desirable in their eyes. He wished to see the youth 
trained up in the manners and habitudes of the 
peasantry of the good old times, and thus to lay a 
foundation for the accomplishment of his lavourite 
object, the revival of old English customs and char- 
acter. He recommended that all the ancient holi- 
days should be observed, and that the sports of the 
boys, in their hours of play, should be regulated 
according to the standard authorities laid down in 
Strutt, a copy of whose invaluable work, decorated 
with plates, was deposited in the school-house. 
Above all, he exhorted the pedagogue to abstain 
from the use of birch, an instrument of instruction 
which the good Squire regards with abhorrence, 



as fit only for the coercion of brute natures that 
cannot be reasoned with. 

Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instruc- 
tions, to the best of his disposition and abilities. He 
never flogs the boys, because he is too easy, good- 
humoured a creature to inflict pain on a worm. 
He is bountiful in holidays, because he loves holi- 
days himself, and has a sympathy with the urchins' 
impatience of confinement, from having divers 
times experienced its irksomeness during the time 
that he was seeing the world. As to sports and 
pastimes, the boys are faithfully exercised in all 
that are on record, quoits, races, prison-bars, tipcat, 
trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and what 
not. The only misfortune is, tliat having banished 
the birch, honest Slingsby has not studied Roger 
Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute ; or 
rather, he has not the management in his nature 
to apply one ; his school, therefore, though one of 
the happiest, is one of the most unruly in the 
country ; and never was a pedagogue more liked, 
or less heeded by his disciples, than Slingsby. 

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of him- 
self, being another stray sheep that has returned 
to the village fold. This is no other than the son 
of the musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost 
upon his education, hoping to see him one day ar- 
rive at the dignity of an exciseman, or at least of 
a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, as idle 
and musical as his father ; and, being captivated 
by the drum and fife of a recruiting party, he 
followed them off to the army. He returned not 
long since, out of money, and out at the elbows, 
the prodigal son of the village. He remained for 
some time lounging about the place in half-tatter- 
ed soldier's dress, with a foraging-cap on one side 
of his head, jerking stones across the broolc, or 
loitering about the tavern-door, a burthen to his 
father, and regarded with great coldness by all warm 
householders. 

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby to- 
wards the youth. It might be the kindness he bore 
to his lather, who is one of the schoolmaster's 
great cronies ; it might be that secret sympathy 
which draws men of vagrant propensities toward 
each other ; for there is something truly magnetic 
in the vagabond feeling ; or it might be, that he 
remembered the time when he himself had come 
back, like this youngster, a wreck, to his native 
place. At any rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby 
drew towards the youth. They had many conver- 
sations in the village tap-room about foreign parts, 
and the various scenes and places they had witness- 
ed during their wayfaring about the world. The 
more Slingsby talked with him, the more he found 
him to his taste ; and finding him almost as learned 
as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an assistant, 
or usher, in the school. 

Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may 
be supposed, flourishes apace ; and if the scholars 
do not become versed in all the holiday accomplish- 
ments of the good old times, to the Squire's heart's 
content, it will not be the fault of their teachers. 
The prodigal son has become almost as popular 
among the boys as the pedagogue himself. His in- 
structions are not limited to school hours ; and hav- 
ing inherited the musical taste and talents of his 
father, he has bitten the whole school with the 
mania. He is a great hand at beating a drum, 
which is often heard rumbling from the rear of the 
school-house. He is teaching half the boys of the 
village, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes ; 
and they weary the whole neighbourhood with their 
vague pipings, as they sit perched on stiles, or loiter- 
ing about the barn-doors in the evenings. Among 



496 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the other exercises of the school, also, he has intro- 
duced the ancient art of archery, one of the Squire's 
favourite themes, with such success, that the whip- 
sters roam in truant bands about the neighbourhood, 
practising with their bows and arrows upon the birds 
of the air, and the beasts of the field ; and not un- 
frequently making a foray into the Squire's domains, 
to the great indignation of the gamekeepers. In a 
word, so completely are the ancient English customs 
and habits cultivated at this school, that I should 
not be surprised if the Squire should live to see one 
of his poetic visions realized, and a brood reared up, 
worthy successors to Robin Hood and his merry 
gang of outlaws. 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 



I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state ; 
I am so full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, 
and carried it against the stream of a faction, with as much ease as 
a skipper would laver against the wind. The Goblins. 

In one of my visits to the village with Master 
Simon, he proposed that we should stop at the inn, 
which he wished to show me, as a specimen of a 
real country inn, the head-quarters of village gossips. 
I had remarked it before, in my perambulations about 
the place. It has a deep, old-fashioned porch, lead- 
ing into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and 
travellers'-room ; having a wide fire-place, with high- 
backed settles on each side, where the wise men of 
the village gossip over their ale, and hold their ses- 
sions during the long winter evenings. The land- 
lord is an easy, indolent fellow, shaped a little like 
one of his own beer-barrels, and is apt to stand gos- 
siping at his door, with his wig on one side, and his 
hands in his pockets, whilst his wife and daughter 
attend to customers. His wife, however, is fully com- 
petent to manage the establishment ; and, indeed, 
irom long habitude, niles over all the frequenters of 
the tap-room as completely as if they were her de- 
pendants instead of her patrons. Not a veteran ale- 
bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, 
been often in her arrears. I have already hinted that 
she is on very good terms with Ready-Money Jack. 
He was a sweetheart of hers in early life, and has 
always countenanced the tavern on her account. In- 
deed, he is quite the "cock of the walk " at the tap- 
room. 

As we approached the inn, we heard some one 
talking with great volubility, and distinguished the 
ominous words, " taxes," " poor's rates," and " agri- 
cultural distress." It proved to be a thin, loquacious 
fellow, who had penned the landlord up in one corner 
of the porch, with his hands in his pockets as usual, 
listening with an air of the most vacant acquiescence. 

The sight seemed to have a curious effect on 
Master Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and, altering 
his course, sheered wide of the porch, as though he 
had not had any idea of entering. This evident 
evasion induced me to notice the orator more par- 
ticularly. He was meagre, but active in his make, 
with a long, pale, bilious face ; a black beard, so ill- 
shaven as to bloody his shirt-collar, a feverish eye, 
and a hat sharpened up at the sides, into a most 
pragmatical shape. He had a newspaper in his hand, 
and seemed to be commenting on its contents, to the 
thorough conviction of mine host. 

At sight of Master Simon, the landlord was evi- 
dently a little flurried, and began to rub his hands, 
edge away from his corner, and make several pro- 
found publican bows ; while the orator took no other 



notice of my companion than to talk rather louder 
than before, and with, as I thought, something of an 
air of defiance. Master Simon, however, as I have 
before said, sheered off from the jiorch, and passed 
on, pressing my arm within his, and whispering, as 
we got by, in a tone of awe and horror, " That's a 
radical ! he reads Cobbett ! " 

I endeavoured to get a more particular account of 
him from my companion, but he seemed unwilling 
even to talk about him, answering only in general 
terms, that he was " a cursed busy fellow, that had a 
confounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother 
one about the national debt, and such nonsense ; " 
from which I suspected that Master Simon had been 
rendered wary of him by some accidental encounter 
on the field of argument ; for these radicals are con- 
tinually roving about in quest of wordy warfare, and 
never so happy as when they can tilt a gentleman 
logician out of his saddle. 

On subsequent inquiry, my suspicions have been 
confirmed. I find the radical has but recently found 
his way into the village, where he threatens to com- 
mit fearful devastations with his doctrines. He has 
already made two or three complete converts, or new 
lights; has shaken the faith of several others ; and 
has grievously puzzled the brains of many of the oldest 
villagers, w'ho had never thought about politics, or 
scarce any thing else, during their whole lives. 

He is lean and meagre from the constant restless- 
ness of mind and body ; worrying about with news- 
papers and pamphlets in his pockets, which he is 
ready to pull out on all occasions. He has shocked 
several of the staunchest villagers, by talking lightly 
of the Squire and his family; and hinting that it 
would be better the park should be cut into small 
farms and kitchen-gardens, or feed good mutton in- 
stead of worthless deer. 

He is a great thorn in the side of the Squire, who 
is sadly afraid that he will introduce politics into the 
village, and turn it into an unhappy, thinking com- 
munity. He is a still greater grievance to Master 
Simon, who has hitherto been able to sway the 
political opinions of the place, without much cost of 
learning or logic ; but has been much puzzled of late 
to weed out the doubts and heresies already sown by 
this champion of reform. Indeed, the latter has 
taken complete comtnand at the tap-room of the 
tavern, not so much because he has convinced, as 
because he has out-talked all the old-established 
oracles. The apothecary, with all his philosophy, 
was as nought before him. He has convinced and 
converted the landlord at least a dozen times ; who, 
however, is liable to be convinced and converted the 
other way, by the next person with whom he talks. 
It is true the radical has a violent antagor.ist in the 
landlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thoroughly 
devoted to the king, Master Simon, and the Squire. 
She now and then comes out upon the reformer with 
all the fierceness of a cat-o'-mountain, and does not 
spare her own soft-headed husband, for listening to 
what she terms such " low-lived politics." What 
makes the good woman the more violent, is the per- 
fect coolness with which the radical listens to her 
attacks, driwing his face up into a provoking super- 
cilious smile; and when she has talked herself out 
of breath, quietly asking her for a taste of her home- 
brewed. 

The only person that is in any way a match for 
this redoubtable politician, is Ready-Money Jack 
Tibbets, who maintains his stand in the tap-room, 
in defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack 
is one of the most loyal men in the country, without 
being able to reason about the matter. He has that 
admirable quality for a tough arguer, also, that he 
never knows when he is beat. He has half-a-dozen 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



497 



old maxims, which he advances on all occasions, and 
though his antagonist may overturn them never so 
often, yet he always brings them anew to the field. 
He is like the robber in Ariosto, who, though his 
head might be cut off half-a-hundred times, yet 
whipped it on his shoulders again in a twinkling, 
and returned as sound a man as ever to the charge. 
Whatever does not square with Jack's simple and 
obvious creed, he sets down for " French politics ; " 
for, notwithstanding the peace, he cannot be per- 
suaded that the French are not still laying plots to 
ruin the nation, and to get hold of the Bank of En- 
gland. The radical attempted to overwhelm him, 
one day, by a long passage from a newspaper ; but 
Jack neither reads nor believes in newspapers. In 
reply, he gave him one of the stanzas which he has 
by heart from his favourite, and indeed only author, 
old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Rules : 

Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, 
And tend to such doings as stand thee upon ; 
Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, 
And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws. 

When Tibbets had pronounced this with great 
emphasis, he pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, 
took out a handful of gold and silver, paid his score 
at the bar with great punctuality, returned his 
money, piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into 
his pocket, which he buttoned up ; and then, giving 
his cudgel a stout thump upon the floor, and bidding 
the radical " good-morning, sir ! " with the tone of a 
man who conceives he has completely done for his 
antagonist, he walked with lion - like gravity out 
of the house. Two or three of Jack's admirers 
who were present, and had been afraid to take the 
field themselves, looked upon this as a perfect triumph, 
and winked at each other when the radical's back was 
turned. " Ay, ay ! " said mine host, as soon as the 
radical was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; Fll 
warrant he'll give him his own ! " 



THE ROOKERY. 



But crawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
In still repeated circles, screaming loud ; 
The jay, the pie, and e en the boding owl, 
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me 



CowpER. 



In a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns 
a terrace-walk, just on the skirts of the garden, is 
an ancient rookery, which is one of the most im- 
portant provinces in the Squire's rural domains. 
The old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, 
and will not suffer one of them to be killed : in con- 
sequence of which, they have increased amazingly ; 
the tree-tops are loaded with their nests ; they have 
encroached upon the great avenue, and have even 
established, in times long past, a colony among the 
elms and pines of the church-yard, which, like other 
distant colonies, has already thrown off allegiance to 
the mother country. 

The rooks are looked up by the Squire as a very 
ancient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristo- 
cratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached 
to church and state ; as their building so loftily, 
keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the 
venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, 
sufficiently manifests. The good opinion thus ex- 
pressed by the Squire put me upon observing more 
narrowly these very respectable birds, for I confess, 
to my shame, I had been apt to confound them with 
their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the 
32 



first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. 
Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious 
than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, 
among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and 
Portuguese are among nations, the least loving, in 
consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. 
The rooks are old established housekeepers, high- 
minded gentlefolk, that have had their hereditary 
abodes time out of mind ; but as to the poor crows, 
they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, 
roving about the country without any settled home ; 
" their hands are against every body, and every body's 
against them ; " and they are gibbeted in every 
corn-field. Master Simon assures me that a female 
rook, that should so far forget herself as to consort 
with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and 
indeed would be totally discarded by all her gsnteel 
acquaintance. 

The Squire is very watchful over the interests and 
concerns of his sable neighbours. As to Master 
Simon, he even pretends to know many of thern by 
sight, and to have given names to them ; he points 
out several, which he says are old heads of families, 
and compares them to worthy old citizens, before- 
hand in the world, that wear cocked hats, and silver 
buckles in their shoes. Notwithstanding the pro- 
tecting benevolence of the Squire, and their being 
residents in his empire, they seem to acknowltpdgc 
no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse or intima- 
cy. Their airy tenements are built almost out of 
the reach of gun-shot ; and, notwithstanding their 
vicinity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved 
and distrustful shyness of mankind. 

There is one season of the year, however, which 
brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames 
the pride of the loftiest high-fiyer— which is the 
season of building their nests. This takes place 
early in the spring, when the forest trees first begin 
to show their buds; the long, withy ends of the 
branches to turn green ; when the wild strawberry, 
and other herbage of the sheltered woodlands, put 
forth their tender and tinted leaves ; and the daisy 
and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At 
this time there is a general bustle among the feath- 
ered tribes; an incessant fluttering about, and a 
cheerful chirping; indicative, like the germination 
of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fe- 
cunditv of the year. 

It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateli- 
ness and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keep- 
ing up in the high regions of the air, swinging on the 
breezy tree-tops, and looking down with sovereign 
contempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, they 
are fain to throw off for a time the dignity of the 
gentleman, to come down to the ground, and put on 
the pains-taking and industrious character of a la- 
bourer. They now lose their natural shyness, become 
fearless and familiar, and may be seen plying about 
in all directions, with an air of great assiduity, in 
search of building materials. Every now and then 
your path will be crossed by one of these busy old 
gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as il 
troubled with the gout, or with corns on his toes, 
casting about many a prying look, turning down 
first one eve, then the other, in earnest consideration, 
upon every straw he meets with ; until, espying 
some mighty twig, large enough to make a rafter for 
his air-castle, he will seize upon it with avidity, 
and hurry away with it to the tree-top ; fearing, ap- 
parently, lest you should dispute with him the invalu- 
able prize. 

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects 
seem rather fanciful in the materials with which 
they build, and to like those most which come from 
a distance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry 



498 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



twigs on the surrounding trees, yet they never think 
of making use of them, but go foraging in distant 
lands, and come sailing home, one by one, from the 
ends of the earth, each bearing in his bill some 
precious piece of timber. 

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what I grieve to say, 
rather derogates from the grave and honourable 
character of these ancient gentlefolk; that, during 
the architectural season, they are subject to great 
dissensions among themselves ; that they make no 
scruple to defraud and plunder each other ; and that 
sometimes the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl 
and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency 
of the kind. One of the partners generally remains 
on the nest, to guard it from depredation and I 
have seen severe contests, when some sly neighbour 
has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that 
had captivated his eye. As I am not willing to ad- 
mit any suspicion hastily, that should throw a stigma 
on the general character of so worshipful a people, I 
am inclined to think that these larcencies are very 
much discountenanced by the higher classes, and 
even rigorously punished by those in authority ; for I 
have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall 
upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, 
carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless pro- 
prietor. I have concluded this to be some signal 
punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the 
police, for some pilfering misdemeanour ; or, perhaps, 
that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution 
into his house. 

I have been amused with another of their move- 
ments during the building season. The steward has 
suffered a considerable number of sheep to graze on 
a lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance 
of the Squire, who thinks this an innovation on the 
dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer 
only. Be this as it may, there is a green knoll, not 
far from the drawing-room window, where the ewes 
and lambs are accustomed to assemble towards 
evening, for the benefit of the setting sun. No 
sooner were they gathered here, at the time when 
these politic birds were building, than a stately old 
rook, who Master Simon assured me was the chief 
magistrate of this community, would settle down 
upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming 
conscious of this condescension, would desist from 
grazing, and stand lixed in motionless reverence of 
her august burthen ; the rest of the rookei-y would 
then come wheeling down, in imitation of their lead- 
er, until every ewe had two or three of them cawing, 
and fluttering, and battling upon her back. Whether 
they requited the submission of the sheep, by levy- 
ing a contribution upon their fleece for the benefit of 
the rookery, I am not certain ; though I presume 
they followed the usual custom of protecting powers. 

The latter part of May is the time of great tribula- 
tion among the rookeries, when the young are just 
able to leave their nests, and balance themselves on 
the neighbouring branches. Now comes on the sea- 
son of " rook shooting ; " a terrible slaughter of the 
innocents. The Squire, of course, prohibits all in- 
vasion of the kind on his territories ; but I am told 
that a lamentable havoc takes place in the colony 
about the old church. Upon this devoted common- 
wealth the Village charges "with all its chivalry." 
Every idle wight that is lucky enough to possess an 
old gun or blunderbuss, together with all the archery 
of Slingsby's school, take the field on the occasion. 
In vain does the little parson interfere, or remon- 
strate, in angry tones from his study window that 
looks into the churchyard ; there is a continual pop- 
ping, from morning till night. Being no great 
marksmen, their shots are not often effective ; but 
every now and then, a great shout from the besieg- 



ing army of bumpkins makes known the downfall of 
some unlucky squab rook, which comes to the ground 
with the emphasis of a squashed apple-dumpling. 

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles 
and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded 
a community, which boasts so much ancient blood 
and hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose that 
questions of etiquette will sometimes arise and 
affairs of honour ensue. In fact, this is very often 
the case ; bitter quarrels break out between indi- 
viduals, which produce sad scufflings on tree-tops, 
and I have more than once seen a regular duel take 
place between two doughty heroes of the rooker}'. 
Their field of battle is generally the air; and their 
contest is managed in the most scientific and elegant 
manner ; wheeling round and round each other, and 
towering higher and higher, to get the vantage- 
ground, until they sometimes disappear in the clouds 
before the combat is determined. 

They have also fierce combats now and then with 
an invading hawk, and will drive him off from their 
territories by a posse comitatits. They are also ex- 
tremely tenacious of their domains, and will suffer 
no other bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. 
There was a very ancient and respectable old bach- 
elor owl, that had long had his lodgings in a corner 
of the grove, but has been fairly ejected by the 
rooks ; and has retired, disgusted with the world, to 
a neighbouring wood, where he leads the life of a 
hermit, and makes nightly complaints of his ill- 
treatment. 

The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may gen- 
erally lie heard in the still evenings, when the rooks 
are all at rest ; and I have often listened to them of 
a moonlight night with a kind of mysterious gratifi- 
cation. This gray-bearded misanthrope, of course, 
is highly respected by the Squire ; but the servants 
have superstitious notions about him, and it would 
be difficult to get the daii7-niai(l to venture after 
dark near to the wood which he inhabits. 

Beside the private quarrels of the rooks, there are 
other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which 
often bring distress into the most respectable fami- 
lies of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit 
of the good old feudal times, they are apt now and 
then to issue forth from their castles on a foray, and 
to lay the plebeian fields of the neighbouring country 
under contribution ; in the course of which chival- 
rous expeditions, they now and then get a shot from 
the rusty artillery of some refractory famier. Occa- 
sionally, too, while they are quietly taking the air 
beyond the park boundaries, they have the incaution 
to come within the reach of the truant bowmen of 
Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from 
some unlucky urchin's arrow. In such case, the 
wounded adventurer will sometimes have just 
strength enough to bring himself home, and, giving 
up the ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling "all 
abroad" on a bough, like a thief on a gibbet — an 
awful warning to his friends, and an object of great 
commiseration to the Squire. 

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the 
rooks have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life of 
it. When their young are reared and fairly launched 
upon their native element, the air, the cares of the 
old folks seem over, and they resume all their aristo- 
cratical dignity and idleness. I have envied them 
the enjoyment which they appear to have in their 
ethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultation 
about their lofty bowers ; sometimes hovering over 
them, sometimes partially alighting upon the top- 
most branches, and there balancing with outstretched 
wings and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes they 
seem to take a fashionable drive to the church and 
amuse themselves by circling in airy rings about its 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



499 



spire ; at other times a mere garrison is left at home 
to mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, 
while the rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. 
About sunset the garrison gives notice of their re- 
turn ; their faint cawing will be heard from a great 
distance, and they will be seen far off like a sable 
cloud, and then nearer and nearer, until they all 
come soaring home. Then they perform several 
grand circuits in the air over the Hall and garden, 
wheeling closer and closer until they gradually settle 
down, when a prodigious cawing takes place, as 
though they were relating their day's adventures. 

I like at such times to walk about these dusky 
groves, and hear the various sounds of these airy 
people roosted so high above me. As the gloom in- 
creases, their conversation subsides, and they seem 
to be gradually dropping asleep ; but every now and 
then there is a querulous note, as if some one was 
quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more of the blank- 
et. It is late in the evening before they completely 
sink to repose, and then their old anchorite neigh- 
bour, the owl, begins his lonely hootings from his 
bachelor's-hall in the wood. 



MAY-DAY. 



It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets now appear ; 
Now the rose receives its birth, 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 

Then to the May-pole come away. 

For it is now a hohday. 

Acteon and Diana. 

As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one 
of those half dreams, half reveries, which are so 
pleasant in the country, when the birds are singing 
about the window, and the sunbeams peeping 
through the curtains, I was roused by the sound 
of music. On going down-stairs I found a number 
of villagers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing 
a pole ornamented with garlands and ribands, and 
accompanied by the village band of music, under the 
direction of the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on 
the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, 
as it is called, "the May," in their hats, and had 
brought green branches and flowers to decorate the 
Hall door and windows. They had come to give 
notice that the May-pole w.as reared on the green, 
and to invite the household to witness the sports. 
The Hall, according to custom, became a scene of 
hurry and delighted confusion. The servants were 
all agog with May and music ; and there was no 
keeping either the tongues or the feet of the maids 
quiet, who were anticipating the sports of the green 
and the evening dance. 

I repaired to the village at an early hour, to enjoy 
the merry-making. The morning was pure and 
sunny, such as a May morning is always described. 
The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn 
was covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee 
hummed about every bank, and the swallow played 
high in the air about the village steeple. It was one 
of those genial days when we seem to draw in pleas- 
ure with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy 
we know not why. Whoever has felt the worth of 
worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, on 
such a day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his 
heart all alive with long-buried recollections. " For 
thenne," says the excellent romance of King Arthur, 
" lovers call ageyne to their mynde old gentilnes and 
old sei-vyse, and many kind dedes that were forgotten 
by neglygence." 



Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole 
towering above tlie cottages with its gay garlands 
and streamers, and heard the sound of music. I 
found that there had been booths set up near it, for 
the reception of company ; and a bower of green 
branches and flowers for the Queen of May, a fresh, 
rosy-cheeked girl of the village. 

A band of morris-dancers were capering on the 
green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with hawks' 
bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid Marian, and 
the attendant fool rattling his box to collect contri- 
butions from the bystanders. The gipsy-women too 
were already plying their mystery in by-corners of 
the village, reading the hands of the simple country 
girls, and no doubt promising them all good hus- 
bands and tubes of children. 

The Squire made his appearance in the course of 
the mornmg, attended by the parson, and was re- 
ceived with loud acclamations. He mingled among 
the country people throughout the day, giving and 
receiving pleasure wherever he went. The amuse- 
ments of the day were under the management of 
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord 
of misrule in his school, but master of the revels to 
the village. He was bustling about, with the per- 
plexed and anxious air of a man who has the op- 
pressive burthen of promoting other people's merri- 
ment upon his mind. He had involved himself in a 
dozen scrapes, in consequence of a politic intrigue, 
which, by-the-by. Master Simon and the Oxonian 
were at the bottom of, which had for object the elec- 
tion of the Queen of May. He had met with vio- 
lent opposition from a faction of ale-drinkers, who 
were in favour of a bouncing bar-inaid, the daughter 
of the innkeeper; but he had been too strongly 
backed not to carry his point, though it shows that 
these rural crowns, like all others, are objects of 
great ambition and heart-burning. I am told that 
Master Simon takes great interest, though in an 
underhand way, in the election of these May-day 
Queens, and that the chaplet is generally secured 
tor some rustic l)e.auty that has found favour in his 
eyes. 

In the course of the day, there were various games 
of strength and agility on the green, at which a knot 
of village veterans presided, as judges of the lists. 
Among these I perceived that Ready-Money Jack 
took the lead, looking with a learned and critical 
eye on the merits of the diff"erent candidates ; and, 
though he was very laconic, and sometimes merely 
expressed himself by a nod, yet it was evident that 
his opinions far outweighed those of the most loqua- 
cious. 

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and 
carried oft" most of the prizes, though in some of the 
feats of agility he was rivalled by the " prodigal son," 
who appeared much in his element on this occasion ; 
but his most formidable competitor was the notori- 
ous gipsy, the redoubtable " Starlight Tom." I was 
rejoiced at having an opportunity of seeing this 
" minion of the moon" in broad daylight. I found 
him a tall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty 
air, something like what I have seen in an Indian 
chieftain ; and with a certain lounging, easy, and al- 
most graceful carriage, which 1 have often remarked 
in beings of the lazaroni order, that lead an idle 
loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of 
labour. 

Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred 
the ground together, and indulged a vast deal of 
harmless raking among the buxom country girls. 
Master Simon would give some of them a kiss on 
meeting with them, and would ask after their sisters, 
for he is acquainted with most of the farmers' fami- 
, lies. Sometimes he would whisper, and affect to 



500 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



talk mischievously with them, and, if bantered on 
the subject, would turn it off with a laugh, though 
it was evident he lil<ed to be suspected of being a 
■gay Lothario amongst them. 

He had much to say to the farmers about their 
farms ; and seemed to know all their horses by name. 
There was an old fellow, with round ruddy face, and 
a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, who took 
several occasions to crack a joke with him in the 
hearing of his companions, to whom he would turn 
and wink hard when Master Simon had passed. 

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at 
one time, been interrupted l)y the appearance of the 
radical on the ground, with two or three of his dis- 
ciples. He soon got engaged in argument in the 
veny thick of the throng, above which I could hear 
his voice, and now and then see his meagre hand, 
half a mile out of the sleeve, elevated in the air in 
violent gesticulation, and flourishing a pamphlet by 
way of truncheon. He was decrying these idle non- 
sensical amusements in time of public distress, when 
it was every one's business to think of other matters, 
and to be miserable. The honest vUlage logicians 
could make no stand against him, especially as he 
was seconded by his proselytes ; when, to their great 
joy. Master Simon and the general came drifting 
down into the field of action. I saw that Master 
Simon was for making off, as soon as he found him- 
self in the neighbourhood of this fire-ship; but the 
general was too loyal to suffer such talk in his hear- 
ing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word 
from a gentleman would be sufficient to shut up so 
shabby an orator. The latter, however, was no re- 
specter of persons, but rather seemed to exult in 
having such important antagonists. He talked with 
greater volubility than ever, and soon drowned them 
in declamation on the subject of taxes, poor's rates, 
and the national debt. JVIaster Simon endeavoured 
to brush along in his usual excursive manner, which 
had always answered amazingly well with the vil- 
lagers ; but the radical was one of those pestilent 
fellows that pin a man down to facts ; and, indeed, 
he had two or three pamphlets in his pocket, to sup- 
port every thing he advanced by printed documents. 
The general, too, found himself betrayed into a more 
serious action than his dignity could brook ; and 
looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman, grievously 
peppered by a petty privateer. It was in vain that 
he swelled and looked big, and talked large, and 
endeavoured to make up by pomp of manner for 
poverty of matter ; every home-thrust of the radical 
made him wheeze like a bellows, and seemed to let 
a volume of wind out of him. In a word, the two 
worthies from the Hall were completely dumbfound- 
ed, and this too in the presence of several of Master 
Simon's staunch admirers, who had always looked 
up to him as infallible. I do not know how he and 
the general would have managed to draw their forces 
decently from the field, had there not been a match 
at grinning through a horse-collar announced, 
whereupon the radical retired with great expression 
of contempt, and, as soon as his back was turned, 
the argument was carried against him all hollow. 

" Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general .' " 
said Master Simon ; " there's no talking with one of 
these chaps, when he once gets that confounded 
Cobbett in his head." 

" S'blood, sir ! " said the general, wiping his fore- 
head, " such fellows ought all to be transported ! " 

In the latter part of the day, the ladies from the 
Hall paid a visit to the green. The fair Julia made 
her appearance leaning on her lover's arm, and 
looking extremely pale and interesting. As she is 
a great favourite in the village, where she has been 
known from childhood ; and as her late accident had 



been much talked about, the sight of her caused very 
manifest delight, and some of the old women of the 
village blessed her sweet face as she passed. 

While they were walking about, I noticed the 
schoolmaster in earnest conversation with the young 
girl that represented the Queen of May, evidently 
endeavouring to spirit her up to some formidable 
undertaking. At length, as the party from the Hall 
approached her bower, she came forth, faltering at 
every step, until slie reached the spot where the fair 
Julia stood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. 
The little Queen then took the chaplet of flowers 
from her head, and attempted to put it on that of 
the bride elect ; but the confusion of both was so 
great, that the wreath would have fallen to the 
ground, had not the officer caught it, and, laughing, 
placed it upon the blushing brows of his mistress. 
There was something charming in the very embar- 
rassment of these two young creatures, both so beau- 
tiful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. Master 
Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of May 
was to have spoken a few verses which the school- 
master had written for her ; but that she had neither 
wit to understand, nor memory to recollect them. 
" Besides," added he, " between you and I, she mur- 
ders the king's English abominably ; so .she has act- 
ed the part of a wise woman, in holding her tongue, 
and trusting to her pretty face." 

Among the other characters from the Hall was 
Mrs. Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft 's gentlewoman ; 
to my surprise, she was escorted by old Christy, the 
huntsman, and followed by his ghost of a grayhound ; 
but I find they are very old acquaintances, being 
drawn together by some sympathy of disposition. 
Mrs. Hannah moved about with starched dignity 
among the rustics, who drew back from her with 
more awe than they did from her mistress. Her 
mouth seemed shut as with a clasp ; excepting that 
I now and then heard the word '" fellows ! " escape 
from between her lips, as she got accidentally jostled 
in the crowd. 

But there was one other heart present that did 
not enter into the merriment of the scene, which was 
that oi the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's 
niece. The poor girl has continued to pine and 
whine for some time past, in consequence of the 
obstinate coldness of her lover; never was a little 
flirtation more severely punished. She appeared 
this day on the green, gallanted by a smart servant 
out of lively, and had evidently resolved to try the 
hazardous experiment of awakening the jealousy of 
her lover. She was dressed in her very best ; affect- 
ed an air of great gaiety; talked loud and girlishly, 
and laughed when there was nothing to laugh at. 
There was, however, an aching, heavy heart in the 
poor baggage's bosom, in spite of all her levity. Her 
eye turned every now and then in quest of her reck- 
less lover, and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious 
gaiety vanished, on seeing him paying his rustic 
homage to the little May-day Queen. 

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and 
bustle. Music was heard from a distance ; a banner 
was seen advancmg up the road, preceded by a rustic 
band playing something like a march, and followed 
by a sturdy throng of country lads, the chivalry of a 
neighbouring and rival village. 

No soonei had they reached the green, than they 
challenged the heroes of the day to new trials of 
strength and activity. Several gymnastic contests 
ensued, for the honour of the respective villages. In 
the course of these exercises, young Tibbets and the 
champion of the adverse party' had an obstinate 
match at wrestling. They tugged, and strained, 
and panted, without either getting the masters, 
until both came to the ground, and rolled upon the 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



501 



green. Just then, the disconsolate Phoebe came by. 
bhe saw her recreant lover in fierce contest, as she 
thought, and in danger. In a moment pride, pique, 
and coquetry, were forgotten ; she rushed into the 
ring, seized upon the rival champion by the 
hair, and was on the point of wreaking on him her 
puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping country 
lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate swain, pounced 
upon her like a hawk, and would have stripped her 
of her fine plumage in a twinkling, had she also not 
been seized in her turn. 

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the 
two villages became embroiled. Blows began to be 
dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was car- 
ried off from the field in hysterics. In vain did the 
sages of the village interfere. The sententious 
apothecary endeavoured to pour the soothing oil of 
his philosophy upon this tempestuous sea of passion, 
but was tumbled into the dust. Slingsby, the peda- 
gogue, who is a great lover of peace, went into the 
midst of the throng, as marshal of the day, to put an 
end to the commotion ; but was rent in twain, and 
came out with his garment hanging in two strips 
from his shoulders ; upon which the prodigal son 
dashed in with fury, to revenge the insult which his 
patron had sustained. The tumult thickened ; I 
caught glimpses of the jockey-cap of old Christy, 
like the helmet of a chieftain, bobbing about in the 
midst of the scuffle ; whilst Mistress Hannah, sepa- 
rated from her doughty protector, was squalling and 
striking at right and left with a faded parasol ; be- 
ing tossed and tousled about by the crowd in such 
wise as never happened to maiden gentlewoman 
before. 

At length I beheld old Ready-Money Jack mak- 
ing his way into the very thickest of the throng; 
tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcing peace. 
vi cf anm's. It was surprising to see the sudden 
quiet that ensued. The storm settled down at once 
into tranquillity. The parties, having no real grounds 
of hostility, were readily pacified, and in fact were 
a little at a loss to know why and how they had got 
by the ears. Slingsby was speedily stitched together 
again by his friend the tailor, and resumed his usual 
good-humour. Mrs. Hannah drew on one side, to 
plume her rumpled feathers ; and old Christy, hav- 
ing repaired his damages, took her under his arm, 
and they swept back again to the Hall, ten times 
more bitter against mankind than ever. 

The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recover- 
ing from the agitation of the scene. Young Jack 
was evidently very much moved by the heroism of 
the unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who had been 
summoned to the field of action by news of the 
affray, was in a sad panic, and had need of all her 
management to keep him from following his mis- 
tress, and coming to a perfect reconciliation. 

What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the 
good managing dame was, that the matter had 
aroused the slow apprehension of old Ready-Money 
himself; who was very much struck by the intrepid 
interference of so pretty and delicate a girl, and was 
sadly puzzled to understand the meaning of the vio- 
lent agitation in his family. 

When all this came to the ears of the Squire, he 
was grievously scandalized that his May-day fete 
should have been disgraced by such a brawl. He 
ordered Phoebe to appear before him ; but the girl 
was so frightened and distressed, that she came sob- 
bing and trembling, and, at the first question he 
asked, fell again into hysterics. Lady Lillycraft, who 
had understood that there was an affair of the heart 
at the bottom of this distress, immediately look the 
girl into great favour and protection, and made her 
peace with the Squire. This was the only thing that 



disturbed the harmony of the day, if we except the 
discomfiture of Master Simon and the general by the 
radical. Upon the whole, therefore, the Squire had 
very fair reason to be satisfied that he had rode his 
hobby throughout the day without any other molesta- 
tion. 

The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive 
that all this was but a faint shadow of the once gay 
and fanciful rites of May. The peasantry have lost 
the proper feeling for these rites, and have grown 
almost as strange to them as the boors of La 
Mancha were to the customs of chivalry, in the days 
of the valorous Don Quixote. Indeed, I considered 
it a proof of the discretion with which the -Squire 
rides his hobby, that he had not pushed the thing 
aiiy farther, nor attempted to revive many obsolete 
usages of the day, which, in the present inatter-of- 
fact times, would appear affected and absurd. I 
must say, though I do it under the rose, the general 
brawl in which this festival had nearly terminated, 
has made me doubt whether these rural customs of 
the good old times were always so very loving and 
innocent as we are apt to fancy them ; and whether 
the peasantry in those times were really so Arcadian 
as they have been fondly represented. I begin to 
fear — 

" ThoKe days were never ; airy dream 

Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand. 
Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it; I still must envy them an age 
That favoiir'd such a dream." 



THE MANUSCRIPT. 



Yesterday was a day of quiet and repose, after 
the bustle of May-day. During the morning, I 
joined the ladies in a small sitting-room, the win- 
dows of which came down to the floor, and opened 
upon a terrace of the garden, which was set out with 
delicate shrubs and flowers. The soft sunshine that 
fell into the room through the branches of trees that 
overhung the windows, the sweet smell of the flow- 
ers, and the singing of the birds, seemed to produce 
a pleasing yet calming effect on the whole party ; 
for some time elapsed without any one speaking. 
Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were sitting by 
an elegant work-table, near one of the windows, 
occupied with some pretty lady-like work. The 
captain was on a stool at his mistress' feet, looking 
over some music ; and poor Phoebe Wilkins, who 
has always been a kind of ])et among the ladies, but 
who has risen vastly in favour with Lady Lillycraft, 
in consequence of some tender confessions, sat in 
one corner of the room, with swoln eyes, working 
pensively at some of the fair Julia's wedding orna- 
ments. 

The silence was interrupted by her ladyship, who 
suddenly proposed a task to the captain. " I am in 
your debt," said she, "for that tale you read to us 
the other day; I will now furnish one in return, if 
you'll read it : and it is just suited to this sweet May 
morning, for it is all about love ! "' 

The proposition seemed to delight every one pres- 
ent. The captain smiled assent. Her ladyship rung 
for her page, and despatched him to her room for 
the manuscript. " As the captain," said she, " gave 
us an account of the author of his story, it is but 
right I should give one of mine. It was written by 
the parson of the parish where I reside. He is a 
thin, elderly man. of a delicate constitution, but pos- 
itively one of the most charming men that ever 



502 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



lived. He lost his wife a few years since ; one of 
the sweetest women you ever saw. He has two 
sons, whom he educates himself; both of whom al- 
ready write delightful poetry. His parsonage is a 
lovely place, close by the church, all overrun with 
ivy and honeysuckles ; with the sweetest flower- 
garden about it ; for, you know, our country clergy- 
men are almost always fond of flowers, and make 
their parsonages perfect pictures. 

" His living is a very good one, and he is very 
much beloved, and does a great deal of good in the 
neighbourhood, and among the poor. And then such 
sermons as he preaches ! Oh, if you could only hear 
one taken from a text in Solomon's Song, all about 
love and matrimony, one of the sweetest things you 
ever heard ! He preaches it at least once a year, in 
spring-time, for he knows I am fond of it. He always 
dines with me on Sundays, and often brings me some 
of the sweetest pieces of poetry, all about the pleas- 
ures of melancholy, and such subjects, that make me 
cry- so, you can't think. I wish he would publish. I 
think he has some things as sweet as any thing of 
Moore or Lord Byron. 

" He fell into very ill health some time ago, and 
was advised to go to the continent ; and I gave him 
no peace until he went, and promised to take care 
of his tv\'o boys until he returned. 

" He was gone for above a year, and was quite re- 
stored. When he came back, he sent me the tale 
I'm going to show you. — Oh, here it is!" said she, 
as the page put in her hands a beautiful box of satin- 
wood. She unlocked it, and from among several 
parcels of notes on embossed paper, cards of cha- 
rades, and copies of verses, she drew out a crimson 
velvet case, that smelt very much of perfumes. From 
this she took a manuscript, daintily written on gilt- 
edged vellum paper, and stitched with a light blue 
riband. This she handed to the captain, who read 
the following tale, which I have procured for the 
entertainment of the reader. 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 



The soldier frae the war returns, 
And the merchant from the main. 
But 1 hae parted with my love, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

When day is gone, and night is come, 
And a' are boun to sleep, 
I think on them that's far awa 
The lee-lang night, and weep, 

My dear. 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 

Old Scotch Ballad. 

In the course of a tour that I once made in 
Lower Normandy, I remained for a day or two at 
the old town of Honfleur, which stands near the 
mouth of the Seine. It was the time of a fete, and 
all the world was thronging in the evening to dance 
at the fair, held before the chapel of Our Lady of 
(■race. As I like all kinds of innocent merry-making, 
1 joined the throng. 

The chapel is situated at the top of a high hill, or 
promontory, from whence its bell may be heard at a 
distance by the mariner at night. It is sard to have 
given the name to the port of Havre-de-Grace, which 
lies directly opposite, on the other side of the Seine. 
The road up to the chapel went in a zigzag course,along 
the brow of the steep coast ; it was shaded by trees, 
from between which I had beautiful peeps at the an- 
cient towers of Honfleur below, the varied scenery 



of the opposite shore, the white buildings of Havre 
in the distance, and the wide sea beyond. The road 
was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in their 
bright crimson dresses and tall caps ; and I found all 
the flower of the neighbourhood assembled on the 
green that crowns the summit of the hill. 

The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a favourite 
resort of the inhabitants of Honfleur and its vicinity, 
both for pleasure and devotion. At this little chapel, 
prayers are put up by the mariners of the port pre- 
vious to their voyages, and by their friends during 
their absence ; and votive offerings are hung about 
its walls, in fulfilment of vows made during times of 
shipwreck and disaster. The chapel is surrounded 
by trees. Over the portal is an image of the Virgin 
and child, with an mscription which struck me as 
being quite poetical : 

'*Etoile de I.-i mer, priez pour nous ! " 
(Star of the sea, pray for us.) 

On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove of 
noble trees, the populace dance on fine summer 
evenings ; and here are held frequent fairs and fetes, 
which assemble all the rustic beauty of the loveliest 
parts of Lower Normandy. The present was an oc- 
casion of the kind. Booths and tents were erected 
among the trees ; there were the usual displays 
of finery to tempt the rural coquette, and of won- 
derful shows to entice the curious ; mountebanks 
wei'e exerting their eloquence ; jugglers and for- 
tune-tellers astonishing the credulous ; while whole 
rows of grotesque saints, in wood and wax-work, 
were offered for the purchase of the pious. 

The fete had assembled in one view all the pictur- 
esque costumes of the Pays d'Auge, and the Cote 
de Caux. I beheld tall, stately caps, and trim bod- 
dices, according to fashions which have been handed 
down from mother to daughter for centuries, the 
exact counterparts of those worn in the time of the 
Conqueror ; and which surprised me by their faith- 
ful resemblance to those which I had seen in the 
old pictures of Froissart's Chronicles, and in the 
paintings of illuminated manuscripts. Any one, 
also, that has been in Lower Normandy, must have 
remarked the beauty of the peasantry, and that air 
of native elegance that prevails among them. It is 
to this country, undoubtedly, that the English owe 
their good looks. It was from hence that the bright 
carnation, the fine blue eye, the light, auburn hair, 
passed over to England in the train of the Con- 
queror, and filled the land with beauty. 

The scene before me was perfectly enchanting : 
the assemblage of so many fresh and blooming 
faces ; the gay groups in fanciful dresses ; some dan- 
cing on the green, others strolling about, or seated 
on the grass ; the fine clumps of trees in the fore- 
ground, bordering the brow of this airy height, and 
the broad green sea, sleeping in summer tranquillity, 
in the distance. 

Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I 
was struck with the appearance of a beautiful girl, 
who passed through the crowd without seeming to 
take any interest m their amusements. She was 
slender and delicate in her form ; she had not the 
bloom upon her cheek that is usual among the peas- 
antry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had a singu- 
lar and melancholy expression. She was accom- 
panied by a venerable-looking man, whom I pre- 
sumed to be her father. There was a whisper 
among the bystanders, and a wistful look after her 
as she passed ; the young men touched their hats, 
and some of the children followed her at a little dis- 
tance, watching her movements. She approached 
the edge of the hill, where there is a little platform, 
from whence the people of Honfleur look out for 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



503 



the approach of vessels. Here she stood for 
some time waving her handkerchief, though there 
was nothing to be seen but two or three tishing- 
boats, like mere specks on the bosom of the distant 
ocean. 

These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I 
made some inquiries about her, which were answer- 
ed with readiness and intelligence by a priest of the 
neighbouring chapel. Our conversation drew to- 
gether several of the by-standers, each of whom had 
something to communicate, and from them all I 
gathered the following particulars. 

Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one 
of the higher order of farmers, or small proprietors, 
as they are called, who lived at Pont I'Eveque, a 
pleasant village not far from Honfleur, in that rich 
pastoral part of Lower Normandy called the Pays 
d'Auge. Annette was the pride and delight of her 
parents, and was brought up with the fondest indulg- 
ence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and suscep- 
tible. All her feelings were quick and ardent ; and 
having never experienced contradiction or restraint, 
she was little practised in self-control : nothing but 
the native goodness of her heart kept her from run- 
ning continually into error. 

Lven while a child, her susceptibility was evinced 
in an attachment which she formed to a playmate, 
Eugene La Forgue, the only son of a widow, who 
lived in the neighbourhood. Their childish love 
was an epitome of maturer passion ; it had its 
caprices, and jealousies, and quarrels, and recon- 
ciliations. It was assuming something of a graver 
character, as Annette entered her fifteenth and Eu- 
guene his nineteenth year, when he was suddenly 
carried off to the army by the conscription. 

It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, for 
he was her only pride and comfort ; but it was one 
of those sudden bereavements which mothers were 
perpetually doomed to feel in France, during the 
time that continual and bloody wars were incessantly 
draining her youth. It was a temporary affliction 
also to Annette, to lose her lover. With tender 
embraces, half childish, half womanish, she parted 
from him. The tears streamed from her blue eyes, 
as she bound a braid of her fair hair round his 
wrist ; but the smiles still broke through ; for she 
was yet too young to feel how serious a thing is 
separation, and how many chances there are, when 
parting in this wide world, against our ever meeting 
again. 

Weeks, months, years flew by. .A.nnette increased 
in beauty as she increased in years, and was the 
reigning belle of the neighbourhood. Her time 
passed innocently and happily. Her father was a 
man of some consequence in the rural community, 
and his house was the resort of the gayest of the 
village. Annette held a kind of rural court ; she 
was always surrounded by companions of her own 
age, among whom she alone unrivalled. Much of 
their time was passed in making lace, the prevalent 
manufacture of th; neighbourhood. As they sat 
at this delicate and feminine labour, the merry 
tale and sprightly song went round ; none laughed 
with a lighter heart than Annette ; and if she 
sang, her voice was perfect melody. Their even- 
ings were enlivened by the dance, or by those 
pleasant social games so prevalent among the 
French ; and when she appeared at the village ball 
on Sunday evenings, she was the theme of universal 
admiration. 

As she was a rural heiress, she did not want for 
suitors. Many advantageous offers were made her, 
but she refused ihem all. She laughed at the pre- 
tended pangs of her admirers, and triumphed over 
tlum with the caprice of buoyant youth and con- 



scious beauty. With afU her apparent levity, how- 
ever, could any one have read the story of her heart, 
they might have traced in it some fond remembrance 
of her early playmate, not so deeply graven as to 
be painful, but too deep to be easily obliterated ; 
and they might have noticed, amidst all her gaiety, 
the tenderness that marked her manner towards 
the mother of Eugene. She would often steal away 
from her youthful companions and their amuse- 
ments, to pass whole days with the good widow ; 
listening to her fond talk about her boy, and blush- 
ing with secret pleasure, when his letters were read, 
at finding herself a constant theme of recollection 
and inquiry. 

At length the sudden return of peace, which sent 
many a warrior to his native cottage, brought back 
Eugene, a young sun-burnt soldier, to the village. I 
need not say how rapturously his return was greeted 
by his mother, who saw in him the pride and staff 
of her old age. He h.ad risen in the service by his 
merits ; but brought away little from the wars, ex- 
cepting a soldier-like air, a gallant name, and a scar 
across the forehead. He brought back, however, a 
nature unspoiled by the camp. He was frank, open, 
generous, and ardent. His heart wa3 quick and 
kind in its impulses, and was perhaps a little softer 
from having suffered : it was full ol tenderness for 
Annette. He had received frequent accounts of her 
from his mother ; and the mention of her kindness 
to his lonely parent, had rendered her doubly dear 
to him. He had been wounded ; he had been a 
prisoner ; he had been in various troubles, but had 
always preserved the braid of her hair, which she 
had bound round his arm. It had been a kind of 
talisman to him ; he had many a time looked upon 
it as he lay on the hard ground, and the thought 
that he might one day see Annette again, and the 
fair fields about his native village, had cheered his 
heart, and enabled him to bear up against every 
hardship. 

He had left Annette almost a child — he found 
her a blooming woman. If he had loved her before, 
he now adored her. Annette was equally struck 
with the improvement which time had made in her 
lover. She noticed, with secret admiration, his 
superiority to the other young men of the village ; 
the frank, lofty, military air, that distinguished him 
from all the rest at their rural gatherings. The 
more she saw him, the more her light, playful 
fondnes; of former years deepened into ardent and 
powerful affection. But Annette was a rural belle. 
She had tasted the sweets of dominion, and had 
been rendered wilful and capricious by constant 
indulgence at home, and admiration abroad. She 
was conscious of her power over Eugene, and de- 
lighted in exercising it. She sometimes treated 
him with petulant caprice, enjoying the pain which 
she inflicted by her frowns, from the idea how soon 
she would chase it away again by her smiles. She 
took a pleasure in alarming his fears, by affecting a 
temporary preference to some one or other of his 
rivals ; and then would delight in allaying them, by 
an ample measure of returning kindness. Perhaps 
there was some degree of vanity gratified by all 
this ; it might be a matter of triumph to show her 
absolute power over the young soldier, who was 
the universal object of female admiration. Eugene, 
however, was of too serious and ardent a nature 
to be trifled with. He loved too fervently not to be 
filled with doubt. He saw Annette surrounded by 
admirers, and full of animation ; the gayest among 
the gay at all their rural festivities, and apparently 
most gay when he was most dejected. Every one 
saw through this caprice, but himself; every one 
saw that in reality she doted on him ; but Eugene 



504 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



alone suspected the sincerity of her affection. For 
some time he bore this coquetry with secret im- 
patience and distrust; but his feelings grew sore 
and irritable, and overcame his self-command. A 
slight misunderstanding took place ; a quarrel en- 
sued. Annette, unaccustomed to be thwarted and 
contradicted, and full of the insolence of youthful 
beauty, assumed an air of disdain. She refused all 
explanations to her lover, and they parted in anger. 
That very evening Eugene saw her, full of gaiety, 
dancing with one of his rivals ; and as her eye 
caught his, fixed on her with unfeigned distress, it 
sparkled with more than usual vivacity. It was a 
finishing blow to his hopes, already so much im- 
paired by secret distrust. Pride and resentment 
both struggled in his breast, and seemed to rouse 
his spirit to all its wonted energy. He retired from 
her presence, with the hasty determination never to 
see her again. 

A woman is more considerate in affairs of love 
than a man ; because love is more the study and 
business of her life. Annette soon repented of her 
indiscretion ; she felt that she had used her lover 
unkindly ; she felt that she had trifled with his sin- 
cere and generous nature — and then he looked so 
handsome when he parted after their quarrel — his 
fine features lighted up by indignation. She had 
intended making up with him at the evening dance ; 
but his sudden departure prevented her. She now 
promised herself that when next they met she 
would amply repay him by the sweets of a perfect 
reconciliation, and that, thenceforward, she woukl 
never — never tease him more ! That promise was 
not to be fulfilled. Day after day passed — but 
Eugene did not make his appearance. Sunday 
evening came, the usual time when all the gaiety 
of the village assembled — but Eugene was not there. 
She inquired after him ; he had left the village. She 
now became alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and 
affected indifference, called on Eugene's mother for 
an explanation. She found her full of affliction, and 
learnt with surprise and consternation that Eugene 
had gone to sea. 

While his feelings were yet smarting with her 
affected disdain, and his heart a prey to alternate 
indignation and despair, he had suddenly embraced 
an invitation which had repeatedly been made him 
by a relation, who was fitting out a ship from the 
port of Honfleur, and who wished him to be the 
companion of his voyage. Absence appeared to 
him the only cure for his unlucky passion ; and in 
the temporary transports of his feelings, there was 
something gratifying in the idea of having half the 
world intervene between them. The hurry neces- 
sary for his departure left no time for cool reflec- 
tion ; it rendered him deaf to the remonstrances of 
his afflicted mother. He hastened to Honfleur just 
in time to make the needful preparations for the 
voyage ; and the first news that Annette received 
of this sudden determination was a letter delivered 
by his mother, returning her pledges of affection, 
particularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, and 
bidding her a last farewell, in terms more full of sor- 
row and tenderness than upbraiding. 

This was the first stroke of real anguish that 
Annette had ever received, and it overcame her. 
The vivacity of her spirits were apt to hurry her 
to extremes ; she for a time gave way to ungovern- 
able transports of affliction and remorse, and mani- 
fested, in the violence of her grief, the real ardour 
of her affection. The thought occurred to her that 
the ship might not yet have sailed ; she seized on 
the hope with eagerness, and hastened with her 
father to Honfleur. The ship had sailed that very 
morning. From the heights above the town she 



saw it lessening to a speck on the broad bosom of 
the ocean, and before evening the white sail had 
faded from her sight. She turned full of anguish to 
the neighbouring chapel of Our Lady of Grace, 
and throwing herself on the pavement, poured out 
prayers and tears for the safe return of her lover. 

VVhen she returned home, the cheerfulness of her 
spirits was at an end. She looked back with remorse 
and self-upbraiding at her past caprices ; she turned 
with distaste from the adulation of her admirers, and 
had no longer any relish for the amusements of the 
village. With humiliation and diffidence, she sought 
the widowed mother of Eugene ; but was received 
by her with an overflowing heart ; for she only beheld 
in Annette one who could sympathize in her doting 
fondness for her son. It seemed some alleviation of 
her remorse to sit by the mother all day, to study 
her wants, to beguile her heivy hours, to hang about 
her with the caressing endearments of a daughter, 
and to seek by every means, if possible, to supply the 
place of the son, whom she reproached herself with 
having driven away. 

In the mean time, the ship made a prosperous 
voyage to her destined port. Eugene's mother re- 
ceived a letter from him. in which he lamented the 
precipitancy of his departure. The voyage had given 
him time for sober reflection. If Annette had been 
unkind to him, he ought not to have forgotten what 
was due to his mother, who was now advanced in 
years. He accused himself of selfishness, in only 
Ustening to the suggestions of his own inconsiderate 
passions. He promised to return with tlie ship, to 
make his mind up to his disappointment, and to 

think of nothing but making his mother happy 

" And when he does return," said Annette, clasping 
her hands with transport, " it shall not be my fault 
if he ever leaves us again." 

The time approached for the ship's return. She 
was daily expected, when the weather became dread- 
fully tempestuous. Day after day brought news of 
vessels I'oundered, or driven on shore, and the coast 
was strewed with wrecks. Intelligence was received 
of the looked-for ship having been seen dismasted in 
a violent storm, and the greatest fears were enter- 
tained for her safety. 

Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. 
She watched every change of her countenance with 
painful solicitude, and endeavoured to cheer her with 
hopes, while her own mind was racked by anxiety. 
She tasked her efforts to be gay ; but it was a forced 
and unnatural gaiety : a sigh from the mother would 
completely check it; and when she could no longer 
restrain the rising tears, she would hurry away and 
pour out her agony in secret. Every anxious look, 
every anxious inquiry of the mother, whenever a door 
opened, or a strange face appeared, was an arrow to 
her soul. She considered every disappointment as a 
pang of her own infliction, and her heart sickened 
under the careworn expression of the maternal eye. 
.\t length this suspense became insupportable. 
She left the village and hastened to Honfleur, hoping 
every hour, every moment, to receive some tidings 
of her lover. She paced the pier, and wearied the 
seamen of the port with her inquiries. She made a 
daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Lady of Grace ; 
hung votive garlands on the wall, and passed hours 
either kneeling before the altar, or looking out from 
the brow of the hill upon the angry sea. 

At length word was brought that the long-wished- 
for vessel was in sight. She was seen standing into 
the mouth of the Seine, shattered and crippled, bear- 
ing marks of having been sadly tempest-tost. There 
was a general joy diffused by her return ; and there 
was not a brighter eye, nor a lighter heart, than An- 
nette's, in the little port of Honfleur. The ship came 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



505 



to anchor in the river, and shortly after a boat put off 
for the shore. The populace crowded down to the 
pier-head, to welcome it. Annette stood blushing, 
and smiling, and trembling, and weeping ; for a thou- 
sand painfully-pleasing emotions agitated her breast 
at the thoughts of the meeting and reconciliation 
about to take place. 

Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone 
to her gallant lover for all its errors. At one mo- 
ment she would place herself in a conspicuous situ- 
ation, where she might catch his view at once, and 
surprise him by her welcome ; but the next moment 
a doubt would come across her mind, and she would 
shrink among the throng, trembling and faint, and 
gasping with her emotions. Her agitation increased 
as the boat drew near, until it became distressing ; 
and it was almost a relief to her when she perceived 
that her lover was not there. .She presumed that 
some accident had detained him on board of the ship ; 
and she felt that the delay would enable her to gather 
more self-possession for the meeting. As the boat 
neared the shore, many inquiries were made, and 
laconic answers returned. At length Annette heard 
some inquiries after her lover. Her heart palpitated 
— there was a moment's pause : the reply was brief 
but awful. He had been washed from the deck, with 
two of the crew, in the midst of a stormy night, when 
it was impossible to render any assistance. A pierc- 
ing shriek broke from among the crowd ; and An- 
nette had nearly fallen into the waves. 

The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a 
transient gleam of happiness, was too much for her 
harassed frame. She was carried home senseless. 
Her life was for some time despaired of, and it was 
months before she recovered her health ; but she 
never had perfectly recovered her mind : it still re- 
mained unsettled with respect to her lover's fate. 

" The subject," continued my informer, " is never 
mentioned in her hearing ; but she sometimes speaks 
of it herself, and it seems as though there were some 
vague train of impressions in her mind, in which 
hope and fear are strangely mingled — some imper- 
fect idea of her lover's shipwreck, and yet some ex- 
pectation of his return. 

" Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, 
and to banish these gloomy images from her thoughts. 
They assemble round her the young companions in 
whose society she used to delight ; and they will work, 
and chat, and sing, and laugh, as formerly ; but she 
will sit silently among them, and will sometimes 
weep in the midst of their gaiety ; and, if spoken to, 
will make no reply, but look up with streaming eyes, 
and sing a dismal little song, which she has learned 
somewhere, about a shipwreck- It makes every one's 
heart ache to see her in this way, for she used to be 
the happiest creature in the village. 

"She passes the greater part of the time with 
Eugene's mother ; whose only consolation is her 
society, and who dotes on her with a mother's ten- 
derness. She is the only one that has perfect influ- 
ence over Annette in every mood. The poor girl 
seems, as formerly, to make an effort to be cheerful 
in her company ; but will sometimes gaze upon her 
with the most piteous look, and then kiss her gray 
hairs, and fall on her neck and weep. 

" She is not always melancholy, however ; she has 
occasional intervals, when she will be bright and 
animated for days together ; but there is a degree of 
wildness attending these fits of gaiety, that prevents 
their yielding any satisfaction to her friends. At 
such times she will arrange her room, which is all 
covered with pictures of ships and legends of saints ; 
and will wreathe a white chaplet, as if for a wedding, 
and prepare wedding ornaments. She will listen 
anxiously at the door, and look frequently out at the 



window, as if expecting some one's arrival. It is 
supposed th.Tt at such times she is looking for her 
lover's return ; hut, as no one touches upon the 
theme, nor mentions his name in her presence, 
the current of her thoughts is mere matter of con- 
jecture. Now and then she will make a pilgrimage 
to the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace ; where she 
will pray for hours at the altar, and decorate the im- 
ages with wreaths that she had woven ; or will wave 
her handkerchief from the terrace, as you have seen, 
if there is any vessel in the distance." 

Upwards of a vear, he informed me, had now 
elapsed without effacing from her mind this singular 
taint of insanity ; still her friends hoped it might 
gradually wear away. They had at one time re- 
moved her to a distant part ol the country, in hopes 
that absence from the scenes connected with her 
story might have a salutary effect ; but, when her 
periodical melancholy returned, she became more 
restless and wretched than usual, and, secretly es- 
caping from her friends, set out on foot, without 
knowing the road, on one of her pilgrimages to the 
chapel. 

This little story entirely drew my attention from 
the gay scene of the fete, and fixed it upon the beau- 
tiful Annette. While she was yet standing on the 
terrace, the vesper-bell was rung from the neigh- 
bouring chapel. She listened for a moment, and 
then drawing a small rosary from her bosom, walked 
in that direction. Several of the peasantry followed 
her in silence ; and I felt too much interested, not to 
do the same. 

The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of a 
grove, on the high promontory. The inside is hung 
round with little models of ships, and rude paintings 
of wrecks and perils at sea, and providential deliver- 
ances — the votive offerings of captains and crews 
that have been saved. On entering, Annette paused 
for a moment before a picture of the Virgin, which, 
I observed, had recently been decorated with a 
wreath of artificial flowers. When she reached the 
middle of the chapel she knelt down, and those who 
followed her involuntarily did the same at a little 
distance. The evening sun shone softly through the 
checkered grove into one window of the chapel. A 
perfect stillness reigned within ; and this stillness 
was the more impressive contrasted with the distant 
sound of music and merriment from the fair. I 
could not take my eyes off from the poor suppliant ; 
her lips moved as she told her beads, but her prayers 
were breathed in silence. It might have been mere 
fancy excited by the scene, that, as she raised her 
eyes to heaven, I thought they had an expression 
truly seraphic. But I am easily affected by female 
beauty, and there was something in this mixture of 
love, devotion, and partial insanity, that was inex- 
pressibly touching. 

As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet 
serenity in her looks ; and I was told that she would 
return home, and in all probability be calm and 
cheerful for days, and even weeks ; in which time 
it was supposed that hope predominated in her 
mental malady; and that, when the dark side of 
her mind, as her friends call it, was about to turn 
up, it would be known by her neglecting her distaff 
on her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weeping in 
silence. 

She passed on from the chapel without noticing 
the fjte, but smiling and speaking to many as she 
passed. I followed her with my eye as she descend- 
ed the winding road towards Honfleur, leaning on 
her father's arm. " Heaven," thought I, " has ever 
its store of balms for the hurt mind and wounded 
spirit, and may in time rear up this broken flower to 
be once more the pride and joy of the valley. The 



506 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



verj' delusion in whicli the poor girl walks, may be 
one ol those mists kindly diffused by Providence over 
the regions of thought, when they become too fruit- 
ful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised 
which obscures the horizon of her mind, as she is 
enabled steadily and calmly to contemplate the sor- 
rows at present hidden in mercy from her view." 

On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, 
I turned off from the beaten route at Rouen, to re- 
visit some of the most striking scenes of Lower Nor- 
mandy. Having passed through the lovely country 
of the Pays d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a fine 
afternoon, intending to cross to Havre the next 
morning, and embark for England. As I had no 
better way of passing the evening, I strolled up the 
hill to enjoy the fine prospect from the chapel of 
Notre Dame de Grace ; and while there, I thought of 
inquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. The 
priest who had told me her story was officiating at 
vespers, after which I accosted him, and learnt from 
him the remaining circumstances. He told me that 
from the time I had seen her at the chapel, her dis- 
order took a sudden turn for the worse, and her 
health rapidly declined. Her cheerful intervals be- 
came shorter and less frequent, and attended with 
more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, and 
moody in her melancholy ; her form was wasted, her 
looks pale and disconsolate, and it was feared she 
would never recover. She became impatient of all 
sounds of gaiety, and was never so contented as 
when Eugene's mother was near her. The good 
woman watched over her with patient, ye.irning 
solicitude ; and in seeking to beguile her .sorrows, 
would half forget her own. Sometimes, as she sat 
looking upon her pallid face, the tears would fill her 
eyes, which, when Annette perceived, she would 
anxiously wipe them away, and tell her not to grieve, 
for that Eugene would soon return ; and then she 
would affect a forced gaiety, as in former times, and 
sing a lively air ; but a sudden recollection would 
come over her, and she would burst into tears, hang 
on the poor mother's neck, and entreat her not to 
curse her for having destroyed her son. 

Just at this time, to the astonishment of every one, 
news was received of Eugene ; who, it appeared, 
was still living. When almost drowned, he had for- 
tunately seized upon a spar which had been washed 
from the ship's deck. Finding himself nearly ex- 
hausted, he had fastened himself to it, and floated 
for a day and night, until all sense had left him. 
On recovering, he had found himself on board a 
vessel bound to India, but so ill as not to move with- 
out assistance. His health had continued precari- 
ous throughout the voyage ; on arrivirjg in India, he 
had experienced many vicissitudes, and had been 
transferred from ship to ship, and hospital to 
hospital. His constitution had enabled him to strug- 
gle through every hardship ; and he was now in a 
distant port, waiting only for the sailing of a ship to 
return home. 

Great caution was necessary in imparting these 
tidings to the mother, and even then she was nearly 
overcome by the transports of her joy. But how to 
impart them to Annette, was a matter of still greater 
perplexity. Her state of mind had been so morbid ; 
she had been subject to such violent changes, and 
the cause of her derangement had been of such an in- 
consolable and hopeless kind, that her friends had 
always forborne to tamper with her feelings. They 
had never even hinted at the subject of her griefs, 
nor encouraged the theme when she adverted to it, 
but had passed it over in silence, hoping that time 
would gradually wear the traces of it from her recol- 
lection, or, at least, would render them less painful. 



They now felt at a loss how to undeceive her even 
in her miser)', lest the sudden recurrence of happi- 
ness might confirm the estrangement of her reason, 
or might overpower her enfeebled frame. They 
ventured, however, to probe those wounds which 
they formerly did not dare to touch, for they now had 
the balm to pour into them. They led the conversa- 
tion to those topics which they had hitherto shun- 
ned, and endeavoured to ascertain the current of her 
thoughts in those varying moods that had formerly 
perplexed them. They found, however, that her 
mind was even more affected than they had imagined. 
All her ideas were confused and wandering. Her 
bright and cheerful moods, which now grew seldomer 
than ever, were all the effects of mental delusion. 
At such times she had no recollection of her lover's 
having been in danger, but was only anticipating 
his arrival. " When the winter has passed away," 
said she, " and the trees put on their blossoms, and 
the swallow comes back over the sea, he will return." 
When she was drooping and desponding, it was in 
vain to remind her of what she had said in her gayer 
moments, and to assure her that Eugene would in- 
deed return shortly. .She wept on in silence, and ap- 
peared insensible to their words. But at times her 
agitation became violent, when she would upbraid 
herself with having driven Eugene from his mother, 
and brought sorrow on her gray hairs. Her mind 
admitted but one leading idea at a time, which noth- 
ing could divert or efface ; or if they ever succeeded 
in interrupting the current of her fancy, it only be- 
came the more incoherent, and increased the fever- 
ishness that preyed upon both mind and body. Her 
friends felt more alarm for her than ever, for they 
feared that her senses were irrecoverably gone, and 
her constitution completely undermined. 

In the mean time, Eugene returned to the village. 
He was violently affected, when the story of Annette 
was told him. With bitterness of heart he upbraided 
his own rashness and infatuation that had hurried 
him away from her, and accused himself as the 
author of all her woes, His mother would describe 
to him all the anguish and remorse of poor Annette ; 
the tenderness with which she clung to her, and en- 
deavoured, even in the midst of her insanity, to con- 
sole her for the loss of her son, and the touching ex- 
pressions of affection that were mingled with her 
most incoherent wanderings of thought, until his 
feelings would be wound up to agony, and he would 
entreat her to desist from the recital. They did 
not dare as yet to bring him into Annette's sight ; 
but he was permitted to see her when she was 
sleeping. The tears streamed down his sun-burnt 
cheeks, as he contemplated the ravages which grief 
and malady had made ; and his heart swelled ahiiost 
to breaking, as he beheld round her neck the very 
braid of hair which she once gave him in token of 
girlish affection, and which he had returned to her 
in anger. 

At length the physician that attended her de- 
termined to adventure upon an experiment, to take 
advantage of one of those cheerful moods when her 
mind was visited by hope, and to endeavour to in- 
graft, as it were, the reality upon the delusions of 
her fancy. These moods had now become very rare, 
for nature was sinking under the continual pressure 
of her mental malady, and the principle of reaction 
was daily growing weaker. Every effort was tried 
to bring on a cheerful interval of the kind. Several 
of her most favourite companions were kept contin- 
ually about her ; they chatted gayly, they laughed, 
and sang, and danced ; but Annette reclined with 
languid frame and hollow eye, and took no part in 
their gaiety. At length the winter was gone ; the 
trees put forth their leaves ; the swallows began to 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



507 



build in the eaves of the house, and the robin and 
wren piped all day beneath the window. Annette's 
spirits gradually revived. She began to deck her 
person with unusual care ; and bringing lorth a 
basket of artificial flowers, she went to work to 
wreathe a bridal chaplet of white roses. Her com- 
panions asked her why she prepared the chaplet. 
" What ! " said she with a smile, " have you not no- 
ticed the frees putting on their wedding dresses of 
blossoms ? Has not the swallow flown back over 
the sea.? Do you not know that the time is come 
for Eugene to return ? that he will be home to-mor- 
row, and that on Sunday we are to be married ? " 

Her words were repeated to the physician, and he 
seized on them at once. He directed that her idea 
should be encouraged and acted upon. Her words 
were echoed through the house. Every one talked 
of the return of Eugene, as a matter of course ; they 
congratulated her upon her approaching happiness, 
and assisted her in her preparations. The next 
morning, the same theme was resumed. She was 
dressed out to receive her lover. Every bosom 
fluttered with anxiety. A cabriolet drove into the 
village. " Eugene is coming ! " was the cry. She 
saw him alight at the door, and rushed with a shriek 
into his arms. 

Her friends trembled for the result of this critical 
experiment ; but she did not sink under it, lor her 
fancy had prepared her for his return. She was as 
one in a dream, to whom a tide of unlooked-for pros- 
perity, that would have overwhelmed his waking 
reason, seems but the natural current of circum- 
stances. Her conversation, however, showed that 
her senses were wandering. There was an absolute 
forgetfulness of all past sorrow — a wild and feverish 
gaiety, that at times was incoherent. 

The next morning, she awoke languid and ex- 
hausted. All the occurrences of the preceding day 
had passed av/ay from her mind, as though they had 
been the mere illusions of her fancy. She rose 
melancholy and abstracted, and, as she dressed her- 
self, was heard to sing one of her plaintive ballads. 
When she entered the parlour, her eyes were swoln 
with weeping. She heard Eugene's voice without, 
and started. She passed her hand across her fore- 
head, and stood musing, like one endeavouring to 
recall a dream. Eugene entered the room, and ad- 
vanced towards her ; she looked at him with an 
eager, searching look, murmured some indistinct 
words, and, belbre he could reach her, sank upon 
the floor. 

She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of 
mind; but now that the first shock was over, the 
physician ordered that Eugene should keep con- 
tinually in her sight. Sometimes she did not know 
him ; at other times she would talk to him as if he 
were going to sea, and would implore him not to 
part from her in anger ; and when he was not pres- 
ent, she would speak of him as if buried in the ocean, 
and would sit, with clasped hands, looking upon the 
ground, the picture of despair. 

As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her 
frame recovered from the shock which it had re- 
ceived, she became more placid and coherent. Eu- 
gene kept almost continually near her. He formed 
the real object round which her scattered ideas once 
more gathered, and which linked them once more 
with the realities of life. But her changeful disorder 
now appeared to take a new turn. She became 
languid and inert, and would sit for hours silent, 
and almost in a state of lethargy. If roused from 
this stupor, it seemed as if her mind would make 
some attempts to follow up a train of thought, but 
would soon become confused. She would regard 
every one that approached her with an anxious and 



inquiring eye, that seemed continually to disappoint 
itself. Sometimes, as her lover sat holding her hand, 
she would look pensively in his face without saying a 
word, until his heart was overcome ; and after these 
transient fits of intellectual e.xertion, she would sink 
again into lethargy. 

By degrees, this stupor increased ; her mind ap- 
peared to have subsided into a stagnant and almost 
death-like calm. For the greater part of the time, 
her eyes were closed ; her face almost as fixed and 
passionless as that of a corpse. She no longer took 
any notice of surrounding objects. There was an 
awfulness in this tranquillity, that filled her friends 
with apprehensions. The physician ordered that 
she should be kept perfectly quiet ; or that, if she 
evinced any agitation, she should be gently lulled, 
like a child, by some favourite tune. 

She remained in this state for hours, hardly seem- 
ing to breathe, and apparently sinking into the sleep 
of death. Her chamber was profoundly still. The 
attendants moved about it with noiseless tread; 
every thing was communicated by signs and whispers. 
Her lover sat by her side, watching her with painful 
anxiety, and fearing that every breath which stole 
from her pale lips would be the last. 

At length she heaved a deep sigh ; and, from some 
convulsive motions, appeared to be troubled in her 
sleep. Her agitation increased, accompanied by an 
indistinct moaning. One of her companions, remem- 
bering the physician's instructions, endeavoured to 
lull her by singing, in a low voice, a tender little air, 
which was a particular favourite of Annette's. Prob- 
ably it had some connexion in her mind with her 
own story ; for every fond girl has some ditty of the 
kind, linked in her thoughts with sweet and sad re- 
membran;es. 

As she sang, the agitation of Annette subsided. 
A streak of faint colour came into her cheeks ; her 
eyelids became swoln with rising tears, which trem- 
bled there for a moment, and then, stealing forth, 
coursed down her pallid cheek. When the song was 
ended, she opened her eyes and looked about her, as 
one awakening in a strange place. 

"Oh, Eugene! Eugene ! " said she, "it seems as 
if I have had a long and dismal dream ; what has 
happened, and what has been the matter with me ? " 

The questions were embarrassing; and before 
they could be answered, the physician, who was in 
the next room, entered. She took him by the hand, 
looked up in his face, and made the same inquiry. 
He endeavoured to put her off with some evasive 
answer ; — " No, no ! " cried she, " I know I have 
been ill, and I have been dreaming strangely. I 
thought Eugene had left us — and that he had gone 
to sea — and that — and that he was drowned ! — But 
he Aas been to sea ! " added she, earnestly, as recol- 
lection kept flashing upon her, " and he has been 
wrecked — and we were all so wretched — and he 

came home again one bright morning — and 

Oh ! " said she, pressing her hand against her fore- 
head, with a sickly smile, " I see how it is ; all has 
not been right here : I begin to recollect — but it is 
all past now — Eugene is here ! and his mother is 
happy — and we shall never — never part again — shall 
we, Eugene ? " 

She sunk back in her chair, exhausted ; the tears 
streamed down her cheeks. Her companions hov- 
ered round her, not knowing what to make of this 
sudden dawn of reason. Her lover sobbed aloud. 
She opened her eyes again, and looked upon them 
with an air of the sweetest acknowledgment. " You 
are all so good to me ! " said she, faintly. 

The physician drew the father aside. " Your 
daughter's mind is restored," said he ; " she is sen- 
sible that she has been deranged ; she is growing 



508 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



conscious of the past, and conscious of the present. 
All that now remains is to keep her calm and quiet 
until her health is re-established, and then let her be 
married in God's name ! " 

" The wedding took place," continued the good 
priest, " but a short time since ; they were here at 
the last fete during their honeymoon, and a hand- 
somer and happier couple was not to be seen as 
they danced under yonder trees. The young man, 
his wife, and mother, now live on a fine larm at 
Pont I'Eveque; end that model of a ship which you 
see yonder, with white flowers wreathed round it, is 
Annette's offering of thanks to Our Lady of Grace, 
for having listened to her prayers, and protected her 
lover in the hour of peril." 



The captain having finished, there was a moment- 
ary silence. The tender-hearted Lady Lillycraft, 
who knew the story by heart, had led the way in 
weeping, and indeed had often begun to shed tears 
before they had come to the right place. 

The fair Julia was a little flurried at the passage 
where wedding preparations were mentioned ; but the 
auditor most affected was the simple Phoebe Wilkins. 
She had gradually dropt her work in her lap, and 
sat sobbing through the latter part of the story, 
until towards the end, when the happy reverse had 
nearly produced another scene of hysterics. " Go, 
take this case to my room again, child," said Lady 
Lillycraft, kindly, "and don't cry so much." 

"1 won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help 
it ; — but I'm glad they made all up again, and were 
married." 

By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel 
begins to make some talk in the household, espec- 
ially among certain little ladies, not far in their teens, 
of whom she has made confidants. She is a great 
favourite with them all, but particularly so since she 
has confided to them her love secrets. They enter 
into her concerns with all the violent zeal and over- 
whelming sympathy with which little boarding- 
school ladies engage in the politics of a love affair. 

I have noticed them frequently clustering about 
her in private conferences, or walking up and down 
the garden terrace under my window, listening to 
some long and dolorous story of her afflictions; of 
which I could now and then distinguish the ever- 
recurring phrases, "says he," and "says she." 

I accidentally interrupted one of these little coun- 
cils of war, when they were all huddled together 
under a tree, and seemed to be earnestly consider- 
ing some interesting document. The flutter at my 
approach showed that there were some secrets under 
discussion ; and I observed the disconsolate Phoebe 
crumpling into her bosom either a love-letter or an 
old valentine, and brushing away the tears from her 
cheeks. 

The girl is a good girl, of a soft melting nature, 
and shows her concern at the cruelty of her lover 
only in tears and drooping looks ; but with the little 
ladies who have espoused her cause, it sparkles up 
into fiery indignation : and I have noticed on Sunday 
many a glance darted at the pew of the Tibbets's, 
enough even to melt down the silver buttons on old 
Ready-Money's jacket. 



TRAVELLING, 



A citizen, for recreation sake. 

To see the country would a journey lake 

Some dozen mile, or very little more ; 

Taking his leave with friends two months before, 

With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand. 

As he had travail'd to some new-found land. 

Doctor Merrie-IMLin^ i6og. 

The Squire has lately received another shock in 
the saddle, and been almost unseated by his mar- 
plot neighbour, the indefatigable Mr. Faddy, who 
rides his jog-trot hobby with equal zeal; and is so 
bent upon improving and reforming the neighbour- 
hood, that the Squire thinks, in a little while, it will 
be scarce worth living in. The enormity that has 
thus discomposed my worthy host, is an attempt of 
the manufacturer to have a line of coaches estab- 
lished, that shall diverge from the old route, and 
pass through the neighbouring village. 

I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situ- 
ated in a retired part of the country, at a distance 
from any great coach-road ; insomuch that the ar- 
rival of a traveller is apt to make every one look out 
of the window, and to cause some talk among the 
ale-drinkers at the little inn. 1 was at a loss, there- 
fore, to account for the Squire's indignation at a 
measure apparently fraught with convenience and 
advantage, until I found that the conveniences of 
travelling were among his greatest grievances. 

In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post- 
chaises, and turnpike-roads, as serious causes of the 
I corruption of English rural manners. They have 
given facilities, he says, to eveiy humdrum citizen to 
trundle his family about the kingdom, and have sent 
the follies and fashions of town, whirling, in coach- 
loads, to the remotest parts of the island. The 
whole country, he says, is traversed by these flying 
cargoes ; every by-road is explored by enterprising 
tourists from Cheapside and the Poultry, and every 
gentleman's park and lawns invaded by cockney 
sketchers of both sexes, with portable chairs and 
portfolios for drawing. 

He laments over this, as destroying the charm of 
privacy, and interrupting the quiet of country life ; 
but more especially as affecting the simplicity of the 
peasantry, and filling their heads with half-city no- 
tions. A great coach-inn, he says, is enough to ruin 
the manners of a whole village. It creates a horde 
of sots and idlers ; makes gapers and gazers and 
newsmongers of the common people, and knowing 
jockeys of the country bumpkins. 

The Squire has something of the old feudal feeling. 
He looks back with regret to the " good old times " 
when journeys were only made on horseback, and the 
extraordinary difficulties of travelling, owing to bad 
roads, bad accommodations, and highway robbers, 
seemed to separate each village and Jiamlet from the 
rest of the world. The lord of the manor was then 
a kind of monarch in the little realm around him. 
He held his court in his paternal hall, and was looked 
up to with almost as much loyalty and deference as 
the king himself. Every neighbourhood was a little 
world within itself, having its local manners and 
customs, its local history and local opinions. The 
inhabitants were fonder of their homes, and thought 
less of wandering. It was looked upon as an expe- 
dition to travel out of sight of the parish steeple ; 
and a man that had been to London was a village 
oracle for the rest of his life. 

What a difference between the mode of travelling 
in those days and at present ! At that time, when 
a gentleman went on a distant visit, he sallied forth 
like a knight-errant on an enterprise, and every lam- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



509 



ily excursion was a pageant. How splendid and 
fanciful must one of those domestic cavalcades have 
been, where the beautiful dames were mounted on 
palfreys magnificently caparisoned, with embroidered 
harness, all tinkling with silver bells, attended by 
cavaliers richly attired on prancing steeds, and fol- 
lowed by pages and serving-men, as we see them 
represented in old tapestry ! The gentry, as they 
travelled about in those days, were like moving pict- 
ures. They delighted the eyes and awakened the 
admiration of the common people, and passed before 
them like superior beings ; and, indeed, they were 
so ; there was a hardy and healthful exercise con- 
nected with this equestrian style that made them 
generous and noble. 

In his fondness for the old style of travelling, the 
Squire makes most of his journeys on horseback, 
though he laments the modern deficiency of incident 
on the road, from the want of fellow-wayfarers, and 
the rapidity with which every one else is whirled 
along in coaches and post-chaises. In the " good 
old times," on the contrary, a cavalier jogged on 
through bog and mire, from town to town and ham- 
let to hamlet, conversing with friars and franklins, 
and all other chance companions of the road ; be- 
guiling the way with travellers' tales, which then 
were truly wonderful, for every thing beyond one's 
neighbourhood was full of marvel and romance ; stop- 
ping at night at some " hostel," where the bush over 
the door proclaimed good wine, or a pretty hostess 
made bad wine palatable ; meeting at supper with 
travellers, or listening to the song or merry story of 
the host, who was generally a boon companion, and 
presided at his own board ; for, according to old 
Tusser's " Innholder's Posie," 

" At meales my friend who vitleth here 
And sitteth with his host, 
Shall both be sure of better cheere, 
And 'scape with lesser cost." 

The Squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns 
which may be met with here and there in ancient 
houses of wood and plaster, or calimanco houses, as 
they are called by antiquaries, with deep porches, 
diamond-paned bow-windows, pannelled rooms, and 
great fire-places. 'He will prefer them to more spa- 
cious and modern inns, and would cheerfully put up 
with bad cheer and bad accommodations in the grat- 
ification of his humour. They give him, he says, the 
feelings of old times, insomuch that he almost ex- 
pects in the dusk of the evening to see some party 
of weary travellers ride up to the door with plumes 
and mantles, trunk-hose, wide boots, and long ra- 
piers. 

The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a 
visit that I once paid to the Tabbard Inn, famous for 
being the place of assemblage from whence Chau- 
cer's pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the 
borough of Southwark, nut far from London Bridge, 
and bears, at present, the name of " the Talbot." It 
has sadly declined in dignity since the days of Chau- 
cer, being a mere rendezvous and packing-place of 
the great wagons that travel into Kent. The court- 
yard, which was anciently the mustering-place of the 
pilgrims previous to their departure, was now lum- 
bered with huge wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, 
and baskets, containing the good things of town and 
country, were piled about them ; while, among the 
straw and litter, the motherly hens scratched and 
clucked, with their hungry broods at their heels. 
Instead of Chaucer's motley and splendid throng, 1 
only saw a group of w.igoners and stable-boys enjoy- 
ing a circulating pot of ale ; while a long-bodied dog 
sat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, and 
wistful gaze, as if waiting for his turn at the tankard. 

Notwithstanding this grievous declension, how- 



ever, I was gratified at perceiving that the present 
occupants were not unconscious of the poetical re- 
nown of their mansion. An inscription over the 
gateway proclaimed it to be the inn where Chaucer's 
pilgrims slept on the night previ'ous to their depart- 
ure ; and at the bottom of the yard was a magnifi- 
cent sign representing them in the act of sallying 
forth. I was pleased, too, at noticing that though 
the present inn was comparatively modern, yet the 
form of the old inn was preserved. There were 
galleries round the yard, as in old times, on which 
opened the chambers of the guests. To these an- 
cient inns have antiquaries ascribed the present 
forms of our theatres. Plays were originally acted 
in inn-yards. The guests lolled over the galleries, 
which answered to our modern-dress circle ; the 
critical mob clustered in the yard, instead of the pil ; 
and the groups gazing from- the garret-windows 
were no bad representatives of the gods of the shil- 
ling gallery. When, therefore, the drama grew im- 
portant enough to have a house of its own, the ar- 
chitects took a hint for its construction from the 
yard of the ancient " hostel." 

I was so well pleased at finding these remem- 
brances of Chaucer and his poem, that I ordered my 
dinner in the little parlour of the Talbot. Whilst it 
was preparing, I sat at the window musing and gaz- 
ing into the court-yard, and conjuring up recollec- 
tions of the scenes depicted in such lovely colours by 
the poet, until, by degrees, boxes, bales and hampers, 
boys, wagoners and clogs, faded from sight, and my 
fancy peopled the place with the motley throng 
of Canterbury pilgrims. The galleries once more 
swarmed with idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chau- 
cer's time, and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass 
before me. There was the stately knight on sober 
steed, who had ridden in Christendom and heathen- 
esse, and had " foughten for cur faith at Tramis- 
sene ;" — and his son, the young squire, a lover, and 
a lusty bachelor, with curled locks and gay embroid- 
ery ; a bold rider, a dancer, and a writer of verses, 
singing and fluting all day long, and " fresh as the 
month of May ; " — and his " knot-headed " yeoman ; 
a bora forester, in green, with horn, and baudrick, 
and dagger, a mighty bow in hand, and a sheaf of 
peacock arrows shining beneath his belt ; — and the 
coy, smiling, simple nun, with her gray eyes, her 
small red mouth, and fair forehead, her dainty per- 
son clad in featly cloak and " 'ypinched wimple," 
her choral beads about her arm, her golden brooch 
with a love motto, and her pretty oath by Saint 
Eloy ; — and the merchant, solemn in speech and 
high on horse, with forked beard and "Flaundrish 
bever hat ; " — and the lusty monk, " full fat and in 
good point," with berry brown palfrey, his hood fast- 
ened with gold pin, wrought with a love-knot, his 
bald head shining like glass, and his face glistening 
as though it had been anointed ; and the lean, logi- 
cal, sententious clerk of Oxenforde, upon his half- 
staiTed, scholar-like horse ; — and the bowsing somp- 
nour, with fiery cherub face, all knobbed with pim- 
ples, an eater of garlic and onions, and drinker of 
" strong wine, red as blood," that carried a cake for 
a buckler, and babbled Latin in his cups ; of whose 
brimstone visage " children were sore aferd ; " — and 
the buxom wife of Bath, the widow of five husbands, 
upon her ambling nag, with her hat broad as a buck- 
ler, her red stockings and sharp spurs ; — and the 
slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, bestriding his 
good gray stot ; with close-shaven beard, his hair 
cropped round his ears, long, lean, calfless legs, and 
a rusty blade by his side ; — and the jolly Limitour, 
with lisping tongue and twinkling eye, well-beloved 
franklins and housewives, a great promoter of mar- 
riages among young women, known at the taverns 



510 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



in evei'y town, and by every " hosteler and gay taps- 
tere." In short, before I was roused from my rev- 
erie by the less poetical but more substantial appa- 
rition of a smoking beef-steak, I had seen the whole 
cavalcade issue forth from the hostel-gate, with the 
brawny, double jointed, red-haired miller, playing 
the bagpipes before them, and the ancient host of 
the Tabbard giving them his farewell God-send to 
Canterbury. 

When 1 told the Squire of the existence of this 
legitimate descendant of the ancient Tabbard Inn, 
his eyes absolutely glistened with delight. He de- 
termined to hunt it up the very first time he visited 
London, and to eat a dinner there, and drink a cup 
of mine host's best wine in memory of old Chaucer. 
The general, who happened to be present, immedi- 
ately begged to be of the party ; for he liked to en- 
courage these long-established houses, as they are 
apt to have choice old wines. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 



Farewell rewards and fairies. 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now fowie sluls in dairies 

Do fare as well as they ; 
And though they sweepe their hearths no lesse 

Than maids were wont to doo, 
Yet who of late for cleanlinesse 

Finds sixpence in her shooe ? Bishop Corbet. 

I HAVE mentioned the Squire's fondness for the 
marvellous, and his predilection for legends and 
romances. His library contains a curious collection 
of old works of this kind, which bear evident marks 
of having been much read. In his great love for 
all that is antiquated, he cherishes popular supersti- 
tions, and listens, with very grave attention, to every 
tale, however strange ; so that, through his counte- 
nance, the household, and, indeed, the whole neigh- 
bourhood, is well stocked with wonderful stories ; 
and if ever a doubt is expressed of any one of them, 
the narrator will generally observe, that " the Squire 
thinks there's something in it." 

The Hall of course comes in for its share, the 
common people having always a propensity to 
furnish a great superannuated building of the kind 
with supernatural inhabitants. The gloomy gal- 
leries of such old family mansions ; the stately 
chambers, adorned with grotesque carvings and 
faded paintings ; the sounds that vaguely echo 
about them ; the moaning of the wind ; the cries of 
rooks and ravens from the trees and chimney-tops ; 
all produce a state of mind favourable to supersti- 
tious fancies. 

In one chamber of the Hall, just opposite a door 
which opens upon a dusky passage, there is a full- 
length portrait of a warrior in armour ; when, on 
suddenly turning into the passage, I have caught a 
sight of the portrait, thrown into strong relief by the 
dark pannelling against which it hangs, I have more 
than once been startled, as though it were a figure 
advancing towards me. 

To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed by 
the strange and melancholy stories that are con- 
nected with family paintings, it needs but little 
stretch of fancy, on a moonlight night, or by the 
flickering light of a candle, to set the old pictures on 
the walls in motion, sweeping in their robes and 
trains about the galleries. 

To tell the truth, the Squire confesses that he 
used to take a pleasure in his younger days in setting 
marvellous stories afloat, and connecting them with 
the lonely and peculiar places of the neighbourhood. 

1 



Whenever he read any legend of a striking nature, 
he endeavoured to transplant it, and give it a local 
habitation among the scenes of his boyhood. Many of 
these stories took root, and he says he is often amused 
with the odd shapes in which they will come back 
to him in some old woman's narrative, after they 
have been circulating for years among the peasantry, 
and undergoing rustic additions and amendments. 
Among these may doubtless be numbered that of 
the crusader's ghost, which I have mentioned in 
the account of my Christmas visit; and another 
about the hard-riding Squire of yore ; the family 
Nimrod ; who is sometimes heard in stormy winter 
nights, galloping, with hound and horn, over a wild 
moor a few miles distant from the Hall. This I ap- 
prehend to have had its origin in the famous stoiy 
of the wild huntsman, the favourite goblin in German 
tales ; though, by-the-by, as I was talking on the sub- 
ject with Master Simon the other evening in the 
dark avenue, he hinted that he had himself once or 
twice heard odd sounds at night, veiy like a pack 
of hounds in cry ; and that once, as he was returning 
rather late from a hunting dinner, he had seen a 
strange figure gallopmg along this same moor ; 
but as he was riding rather fast at the time, and in a 
hurry to get home, he did not stop to ascertain what 
it was. 

Popular superstitions are fast fading away in 
England, owing to the general diffusion of knowl- 
edge, and the bustling intercourse kept up through- 
out the country ; still they have their strong-holds 
and lingering places, and a retired neighbourhood 
like this is apt to be one of them. The parson tells 
me that he meets widi many traditional beliefs 
and notions among the common people, which he 
has been able to draw from them in the course ot 
familiar conversation, thoug"h they are rather shy 
of avowing them to strangers, and particularly to 
"the gentry," who are apt to laugh at them. He 
says there are several of his old parishioners who 
remember when the village had its bar-guest, or 
bar-ghost — a spirit supposed to belong to a town 
or village, and to predict any impending misfortune 
by midnight shrieks and wailings. The last time 
it was heard was just before the death of Mr. Brace- 
bridge's father, who was much beloved throughout 
the neighbourhood ; though there are not wanting 
some obstinate unbelievers, who insisted that it was 
nothing but the howling of a watch-dog. I have 
been greatly delighted, however, at meeting with 
some traces of my old favourite, Robin Goodfellow, 
though under a different appellation from any ot 
those by which I have heretofore heard him called. 
The parson assures me that many of the peasantry 
believe in household goblins, called Dubbies, which 
live about particular farms and houses, in the same 
way that Robin Goodfellow did of old. Sometimes 
they haunt the barns and outhouses, and now and 
then will assist the farmer wonderfully, by getting 
in all his hay or corn in a single night. In general, 
however, they prefer to live within doors, and are 
fond of keeping about the great hearths, and bask- 
ing, at night, after the family have gone to bed, by 
the glowing embers. When put in particular good- 
humour by the warmth of their lodgings, antl the 
tidiness of the house-maids, they will overcome their 
natural laziness, and do a vast deal of household 
work before morning ; churning the cream, brewing 
the beer, or spinning all the good dame's flax. All 
this is precisely the conduct of Robin Goodfellow, 
described so charmingly by Milton: 

'* Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
'I'o earn his cream-bowl duly set. 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowy flail had thresh d the coru 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



511 



That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lays him down the li:bber-fienj. 
And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length. 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
And crop-full, out of door he flings 
Ere the first cock his matin rings." 

But beside these household Dubbies, there are 
others of a more gloomy and unsocial nature, that 
keep about lonely barns at a distance from any 
dwelling-house, or about ruins and old bridges. 
These are full of mischievous and often malignant 
tricks, and are fond of playing pranks upon benight- 
ed travellers. There is a story, among the old peo- 
ple, of one that haunted a ruined mill, just by a 
bridge that crosses a small stream ; how that, late 
one night, as a traveller was passing on horseback, 
the Dubbie jumped up behind him, and grasped him 
so close round the body that he had no power to 
help himself, but expected to be squeezed to death : 
luckily his heels were loose, with which Be plied the 
sides of his steed, and was carried, with the wonder- 
ful instinct of a traveller's horse, straight to the 
village inn. Had the inn been at any greater dis- 
tance, there is no doubt but he would have been 
strangled to death ; as it was, the good people were 
a long time in bringing him to his senses, and it was 
remarked that the hrst sign he showed of returning 
consciousness was to call for a bottom of brandy. 

These mischievous Dubbies bear much resem- 
blance in their natures and habits to those sprites 
which Hey wood, in his Heirarchie, calls pugs or 
hobgoblins : 

" Their dwellings be 

In comers of old houses least frequented 

Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, 

Make fearfull noise in butteries and in dairies ; 

Robin Goodfelluw some, some call them fairies. 

In solitarie rooms these uprores keep. 

And beate at doores, to wake men from their slepe, 

Seeming to force lockes, be they nere so strong. 

And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. 

Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes and kettles. 

They will m.ike dance about the shelves and settles, 

As if about the kitchen tost and cast. 

Yet in the morning nothing found misplac't. 

Others such houses to their use have fitted, 

In which base murthers have been once committed. 

Some have their fearful habitations taken 

In desolate houses, rum'd and forsaken." 

In the account of our unfortunate hawking expe- 
dition, I mentioned an instance of one of these 
sprites, supposed to haunt the ruined grange that 
stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remarkable 
echo. The parson informs me, also, that the belief 
was once very prevalent, that a household Dubbie 
kept about the old farm-house of the Tibbets. It has 
long been traditional, he says, that one of these 
good-natured goblins is attached to the Tibbets' 
family, and came with them when they moved into 
this part of the country ; for it is one of the peculiari- 
ties of these household sprites, that they attach 
themselves to the fortunes of certain families, and 
tbllow them in all their removals. 

There is a large old-fashioned fire-place in the 
farm-house, which affords fine quarters for a chim- 
ney-corner sprite that likes to lie warm ; especially 
as Ready- Money Jack keeps up rousing fires in the 
winter-time. The old people of the village recollect 
many stories about this goblin, that were current in 
their young days. It was thought to have brought 
good luck to the house, and to be the reason why 
the Tibbets were always beforehand in the world, 
and why their farm was always in better order, their 
hay got in .sooner, and their com better stacked, than 
'that of their neighbours. The present Mrs. Tibbets, 
at the time of her courtship, had a number ot these 
stories told her by the country gossips ; and when 
married, was a little fearful about living in a house 
where such a hobgoblin was said to haunt : Jack, 
however, who has always treated this story with 



great contempt, assured her that there was no spirit 
kept about his house that he could not at any time 
lay in the Red Sea with one flourish of his cudgel. 
Still his wife has never got completely over her no- 
tions on the subject, but has a horseshoe nailed on 
the threshokl, and keeps a branch of rauntry, or 
mountain ash, with its red berries, suspended from 
one of the great beams in the parlour — a sure pro- 
tection from all evil spirits. 

These stories, however, as I before observed, are 
fast fading away, and in another generation or two 
will probably be completely forgotten. There is 
something, however, about these rural superstitions, 
that is extremely pleasing to the imagination ; par- 
ticularly those which relate to the good-humoured 
race of household demons, and indeed to the whole 
fairy mythology. The English have given an inex- 
plicable charm to these superstitions, by the manner 
in which they have associated them with whatever 
is most homefelt and delightful in nature. I do not 
know a more fascinating race of beings than these 
little fabled people, that haunted the southern sides 
of hills and mountains, lurked in flowers and about 
fountain-heads, glided through key-holes into ancient 
halls, watched over farm-houses and dairies, danced 
on the green by summer moonlight, and on the 
kitchen - hearth in winter. They seem to accord 
with the nature of English housekeeping and En- 
glish scenery. I always have them in mind, when I 
see a fine old English mansion, with its wide hall 
and spacious kitchen ; or a venerable farm-house, 
in which there is so much fireside comfort and good 
housewifery. There was something of national 
character in their love of order and cleanliness ; in 
the vigilance with which they watched over the 
economy of the kitchen, and the functions of the 
servants; munificently rewarding, with silver six- 
pence in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their 
direful wrath, in midnight bobs and pinches, upon 
the sluttish dairymaid. I think I can trace the good 
effects of this ancient fairy sw.ay over household con- 
cerns, in the care that prevails to the present day 
among English housemaids, to put their kitchens in 
order before they go to bed. 

I have said, too, that these fairy superstitions seemed 
to me to accord with the nature of English scener)-. 
They suit these small landscapes, which are divided by 
honeysuckled hedges into sheltered fields and mead- 
ows, where the grass is mingled with daisies, butter- 
cups, and harebells. When I first found myself 
among English scenery, I was continually reminded 
of the sweet pastoral images which distinguish their 
fairy mythology ; and when tor the first time a circle 
in the grass was pointed out to me as one of the 
rings where they were formerly supposed to have 
helcl their moonlight revels, it seemed for a moment 
as if fairy-land were no longer a fable. Brown, in his 
Britannia's Pastorals, gives a picture of the kind of 
scenery to which I allude : 

" A pleasant mead 

Where fairies often did their measures tread ; 
Which in the meadows makes such circles green, 
As if \vi:h garlands it had crowned been. 
Within one of these rounds was to be seen 
A hillock rise, where oft the fairy queen 
At twilight sat." 

And there is another picture of the same, in a poem 
ascribed to Ben Jonson. 

" By wells and rills in meadows green, 
We nightly dance our heyday guise, 

And to our fairy king and queen 

We chant our moonlight minstrelsies." 

Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British 
poets, with that true feeling for nature which dis- 
tinguishes them, have closely adhered to the simple 



512 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and familiar imagery which they found in these pop- 
ular superstitions ; and have thus given to their fairy 
mythology those continual allusions to the farm- 
house and the dairy, the green meadow and the 
fountain-head, that rill our minds with the delightful 
associations of rural life. It is curious to observe 
how the most beautiful fictions have their origin 
among the rude and ignorant. There is an inde- 
scribable charm about the illusions with which chi- 
merical ignorance once clothed every subject. These 
twilight views of nature are often more captivating 
than any which are revealed by the rays of enlight- 
ened philosophy. The most accomplished and po- 
etical minds, therefore, have been fain to search back 
into these accidental conceptions of what are termed 
barbarous ages, and to draw from them their finest 
imagery and machinery. If we look through our 
most admired poets, we shall find that their minds 
have been impregnated by these popular fancies, and 
that those have succeeded best who have adhered 
closest to the simplicity of their rustic originals. 
Such is the case with Shakspeare in his Midsummer- 
Night's Dream, which so minutely describes the em- 
ployments and amusements of fairies, and embodies 
all the notions concerning them which were current 
among the vulgar. It is thus that poetry in England 
has echoed back every rustic note, softened into per- 
fect melody ; it is thus that it has spread its charms 
over every-day life, displacing nothing, taking things 
as it found them, but tinting them up with its own 
magical hues, until every green hill and fountain- 
head, every fresh meadow, nay, every humble flower, 
is full of song and story. 

I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a thread- 
bare subject ; yet it brings up with it a thousand de- 
licious recollections of those happy days of child- 
hood, when the imperfect knowledge I have since 
obtained had not yet dawned upon my mind, and 
when a fairy tale was true history to me. I have 
often been so transported by the pleasure of these 
recollections, as almost to wish that I had been born 
in the days when the fictions of poetry were be- 
lieved. Even now I cannot look upon those fanciful 
creations of ignorance and credulity, without a lurk- 
ing regret that they have all passed away. The ex- 
perience of my early days tells me, that they were 
sources of exquisite delight ; and I sometimes ques- 
tion whether the naturalist who can dissect the 
flowers of the field, receives half the pleasure from 
contemplating them, that he did who considered 
them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel convinced 
that the true interests and solid happiness of man 
are promoted by the advancement of truth ; yet I 
cannot but mourn over the pleasant errors which it 
has trampled down in its progress. The fauns and 
sylphs, the household sprite, the moonlight revel, 
Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of 
fairy-land, all vanish before the light of true philos- 
ophy ; but who does not sometimes turn with dis- 
taste from the cold realities of morning, and seek to 
recall the sweet visions of the night.' 



THE CULPRIT. 



From fire, from water, and all things amiss, 
Deliver the house of an honest justice. 

The Widow, 

The serenity of the Hall has been suddenly in- 
terrupted by a very important occurrence. In the 
course of this morning a possS of villagers was seen 
trooping up the avenue, with bovs shouting in ad- 



vance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money 
Jack Tibbets striding along, wielding his cudgel in 
one hand, and with the other grasping the collar of 
a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we rec- 
ognised for the redoubtable gipsy hero, Starlight 
Tom. He was now, however, completely cowed 
and crestfallen, and his courage seemed to have 
quailed in the iron gripe of the lion-hearted Jack. 

The whole gang of gipsy women and children 
came draggling in the rear ; some in tears, others 
making a violent clamour about the ears of old 
Ready-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence 
with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a hawk 
that has pounced upon a barn-door hero regards 
the outcries and cacklings of his whole feathered 
seraglio. 

He had passed through the village on his way to 
the Hall, and of course had made a great sensation 
in that mSst excitable place, where every event is a 
matter of gaze and gossip. The report flew like 
wildfire, that Starlight Tom was in custody. The 
ale-drinkers forthwith abandoned the tap-room ; 
Slingsby's school broke loose, and master and boys 
swelled the tide that came rolling at the heels of old 
Ready-Money and his captive. 

The uproar increased, as they approached the 
Hall; it aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and 
the crew of hangers-on. The great mastiff barked 
from the dog-house ; the staghound, and the gray- 
hound, and the spaniel, issued barking from the hall- 
door, and my Lady Lillycraft's little dogs ramped 
and barked from the parlour window. I remarked, 
however, that the gipsy dogs made no reply to all 
these menaces and insults, but crept close to the 
gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and 
now and then glancing up a dubious eye to their 
owners ; which shows that the moral dignity, even 
of dogs, may be ruined by bad company ! 

When the throng reached the front of the house, 
they were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced 
guard, composed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, and 
two or three servants of the house, who had been 
brought out by the noise. The common herd of the 
village fell back with respect ; the boys were driven 
back by Christy and his compeers ; while Ready- 
Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of 
the prisoner, and was surrounded by the tailor, the 
schoolmaster, and several other dignitaries of the 
village, and by the clamorous brood of gipsies, who 
were neither to be silenced nor intimidated. 

By this time the whole household were brought 
to the doors and windows, and the Squire to the 
portal. An audience was demanded by Ready-Money 
Jack, who had detected the prisoner in the very act 
of sheep-stealing on his domains, and had borne him 
off to be examined before the Squire, who is in the 
commission of the peace. 

A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the 
servants' hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor, 
and a long table in the centre, at one end of which, 
just under an enormous clock, was placed the Squire's 
chair of justice, while Master Simon took his place 
at the table as clerk of the court. An attempt had 
been made by old Christy to keep out the gipsy gang, 
but in vain, and they, with the village worthies, and 
the household, half filled the hall. The old house- 
keeper and the butler were in a panic at this danger- 
ous irruption. They hurried away all the valuable 
things and portable articles that were at hand, and* 
even kept a dragon watch on the gipsies, lest they 
should carry off the house clock, or the deal table. 

Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the game- 
keeper, acted as constables to guard the prisoner, 
triumphing in having at last got this terrible offender 
in their clutches. Indeed, I am inclined to think the 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



513 



old man bore some peevish recollection of having 
been handled rather roughly by the gipsy, in the 
chance-medley affair of May-day. 

Silence was now commanded by Master Simon ; 
but it was difficult to be enforced, in such a motley 
assemblage. There was a continual snarling and 
yelping ot dogs, and, as fast as it was quelled in one I 
corner, it broke out in another. The poor gipsy curs, j 
who, like errant thieves, could not hold up their i 
heads in an honest house, were worried and insulted [ 
by the gentlemen dogs of the establishment, without 
offering to make resistance ; the very curs of ray 
Lady Lillycraft bullied them with impunity. 

The examination was conducted with great mild- 
ness and indulgence by the Squire, partly from the 
kindness of his nature, and partly, I suspect, because 
his heart yearned towards the culprit, who had found 
great favour in his eyes, as I have already observed, 
from the skill he had at various times displayed in 
archery, morris-dancing, and other obsolete accom- 
plishments. Proofs, however, were too strong. 
Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straight-for- 
ward, independent way, nothing daunted by the 
presence in which he found himself. He had suf- 
fered from various depredations on his sheepfold and 
poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and 
caught the delinquent in the very act of making off 
with a sheep on his shoulders. 

Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course 
of his testimony, by the culprit's mother, a furious 
old beldam.e, with an insufferable tongue, and who, 
in fact, was several times kept, with some difficulty, 
from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, of 
the pri-soner, whom I am told he does not beat above 
hall-a-dozen times a week, completely interested Lady 
Lillycraft in her husband's behalf, by her tears and 
supplications ; and several of the other gipsy women 
were awakening strong sympathy among the young- 
girls and maid-servants in the back-ground. The 
pretty, black-eyed gipsy girl, whom I have mentioned 
on a lormer occasion as the sibyl that read the for- 
tunes of the general, endeavoured to wheedle that 
doughty warrior into their interests, and even made 
some approaches to her old acquaintance. Master 
Simon ; tiut was repelled by the latter with all the 
dignity of office, having assumed a look of gravity 
and importance suitable to the occasion. 

I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest 
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his 
old crony Tibbets, and coming forward as a kind of 
advocate for the accused. It seems that he had 
taken compassion on the forlorn fortunes of Starlight 
Tom, and had been trying his eloquence in his favour 
the whole way from the village, but without effect. 
During the examination of Ready-.Money Jack. 
Slingsby had stood like "dejected Pity at his side," 
seeking every now and then, by a soft word, to 
soothe any exacerbation of his ire, or to qualify any 
harsh expression. He now ventured to make a few 
observations to the Squire, in palliation of the delin- 
quent's offence; but poor Slingsby spoke more from 
the heart than the head, and was evidently actuated 
merely by a general sympathy for every poor devil in 
trouble, and a liberal toleration for all kinds of vaga- 
bond existence. 

The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind- 
heartedness of the sex, were zealous on the side of 
mercy, and interceded strenuously with the Squire ; 
insomuch that the prisoner, finding himself unex- 
pectedly surrounded by active friends, once more 
reared his crest, and seemed disposed, for a time, to 
put on the air of injured innocence. The Squire, 
however, with all his benevolence of heart, and his 
lurking weakness towards the prisoner, was too con- 
scientious to swerve from the strict path of justice. 



There was abundant concurring testimony that made 
the proof of guilt incontrovertible, and Starlight 
Tom's mittimus was made out accordingly. 

The sympathy of the ladies was noiv greater than 
ever; thev even made some attempts to mollify the 
ire of Ready-Money Jack ; but that sturdy potentate 
had been too much incensed by the repeated incur- 
sions that had been made into his territories by the 
predatory band of Starlight Tom, and he was re- 
solved, he said, to drive the " varment reptiles " out 
of the neighbourhood. To avoid all further impor- 
tunities, as soon as the mittimus was made out, he 
girded up his loins, and strode back to his seat of 
empire, accompanied by his interceding friend, 
Slingsby, and loUowed by a detachment of the gipsy 
gang, who hung on his rear, assailing him with 
mingled prayers and execrations. 

The question now was, how to dispose of the 
prisoner — a matter of great moment in this peaceful 
establishment, where so t'ormidable a character as 
Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dove- 
cote. As the hubbub and examination had occupied 
a considerable time, it was too late in the day to 
send him to the county prison, and that of the village 
was sadly out of repair, from long want of occupa- 
tion, old Christy, who took great interest in the 
affair, proposed that the culprit should be committed 
for the night to an upper loft of a kind of tower in 
one of the outhouses, where he and the gamekeeper 
W'Ould mount guard. After much deliberation, this 
measure was adopted ; the premises in question were 
examined and made secure, and Christy and his 
trusty ally, the one armed with a fowling-piece, the 
other with an ancient blunderbuss, turned out as 
sentries to keep watch over this donjon-keep. 

Such is the momentous affair that has just taken 
place, and it is an event of too great moment in this 
quiet little world, not to turn it completely topsy- 
turvy. Labour is at a stand : the house has been a 
scene of confusion the whole evening. It has been 
beleagured by gipsy women, with their children on 
their backs, wailing and lamenting ; while the old 
virago of a mother has cruised up and down the 
lawn in front, shaking her head, and muttering to 
herself, or now and then breaking into a paroxysm 
of rage, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and de- 
nouncing ill-luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even 
upon the Squire himself. 

Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to 
the culprit's weeping wife, at the Hall door ; and the 
servant maids have stolen out, to confer with the 
gipsy women under the trees. As to the little ladies 
of the family, they are all outrageous on Ready-Money 
Jack, whom they look upon in the light of a tyran- 
nical giant of fairy tale. Phoebe Wilkins, contrary 
to her usual nature, is the only one that is pitiless in 
the affair. She thinks Mr. Tibbets quite in the 
right ; and thinks the gipsies deserve to be punished 
severely, for meddling with the sheep of the Tib- 
bets's. 

In the mean time, the females of the family evinced 
all the provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to 
soothe and succour the distressed, right or wrong. 
Lady Lillycraft has had a mattress taken to the out- 
iiouse, and comforts and delicacies of all kinds have 
been taken to the prisoner; even the little girls have 
sent their cakes and sweetmeats; so that. I'll war- 
rant, the vagabond has never fared so well in his life 
before. Old Christy, it is true, looks upon every 
thing with a wary eye ; struts about with his blun- 
derbuss with the air of a veteran campaigner, and 
will hardly allow himself to he spoken to. The gipsy 
women dare not come within gun-shot, and every 
tatterdemalion of a boy has been t'rightened from the 
park. The old fellow is determined to lodge Star- 



514 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



light Tom in prison with his own hands ; and hopes, 
he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an 
example of. 

I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is 
not the greatest sufferer in the whole affair. His 
honourable sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but 
the overflowing kindness of his nature makes this a 
grievous trial to him. 

He is not accustomed to have such demands upon 
his justice, in his truly patriarchal domain ; and it 
wounds his benevolent spirit, that while prosperity 
and happiness are flowing in thus bounteously upon 
him, he should have to inflict misery upon a fellow- 
being. 

He has been troubled and cast down the whole 
evening ; took leave of the family, on going to bed, 
with a sigh, instead of his usual hearty and affec- 
tionate tone ; and will, in all probability, have a far 
more sleepless night than his prisoner. Indeed, this 
unlucky affair has cast a damp upon the whole 
household, as there appears to be an universal 
opinion that the unlucky culprit will come to the 
gallows. 

Morning. — The clouds of last evening are all 
blown over. A load has been taken from the Squire's 
heart, and every face is once more in smiles. The 
gamekeeper made his appearance at an early hour, 
completely shamefaced and crestfallen. Starlight 
Tom had made his escape in the night ; how he had 
got out of the loft, no one could tell : the Devil, they 
think, must have assisted him. Old Christy was so 
mortified that he would not show his face, but had 
shut himself up in his stronghold at the dog-kennel, 
and would not be spoken with. What has particu- 
larly relieved the Squire, is, that there is very little 
likelihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone 
off on one of the old gentleman's best hunters. 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 



The night has been unruly ; where we lay, 
The chimneys were blown down. 

Mactetk. 

We have for a day or two past had a flaw of un- 
ruly weather, which has intruded itself into this fair 
and flowery month, and for a time has quite marred 
the beauty of the landscape. Last night, the storm 
attained its crisis ; the rain beat in torrents against 
the casements, and the wind piped and blustered 
about the old Hall with quite a wintry vehemence. 
The morning, however, dawned clear and serene ; 
the face of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, 
and the sun shone with a brightness that was un- 
dimmed by a single vapour. Nothing over-head 
gave traces of the recent storm ; but on looking from 
my window, I beheld sad ravage among the shrubs 
and flowers ; the garden-walks had formed the chan- 
nels for little torrents ; trees were lopped of their 
branches ; and a small silver stream that wound 
through the park, and ran at the bottom of the lawn, 
had swelled into a turbid yellow sheet of water. 

In an establishment like this, where the mansion 
is vast, ancient, and somewhat afflicted with the in- 
firmities of age, and where there are numerous and 
extensive dependencies, a storm is an event of a very 
grave nature, and brings in its train a multiplicity of 
cares and disasters. 

While the Squire was taking his breakfast in the 
great hall, he was continually interrupted by some 
bearer of ill-tidings from some part or other of his 
domains ; he appeared to me like the commander of 



a besieged city, after some grand assault, receiving 
at his headquarters reports of damages sustained in 
the various quarters of the place. At one time the 
housekeeper brought him intelligence of a chimney 
blown down, and a desperate leak sprung m the 
roof over the picture galler)', which threatened to 
obliterate a whole generation of his ancestors. Then 
the steward came in with a doleful story of the mis- 
chief done in the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper 
bemoaned the loss of one of his finest bucks, whose 
bloated carcass was seen floating along the swoln 
current of the river. 

When the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, 
before the door, by the old, paralytic gardener, with 
a face full of trouble, reporting, as I supposed, the 
devastation of his flower-beds, and the destruction 
of his wall-fruit. I remarked, however, that his in- 
telligence caused a peculiar expression of concern, 
not only with the Squire and Master Simon, but with 
the fair Julia and Lady Lillycraft, who happened to 
be present. From a few worfis which reached iny 
ear, I found there was some tale of domestic calam- 
ity in the case, and that some unfortunate family bad 
been rendered houseless by the storm. Many ejacu- 
lations of pity broke from the ladies ; I heard the 
expressions of "poor, helpless beings," and "un- 
fortunate little creatures," several times repeated ; 
to which the old gardener replied by veiy melan- 
choly shakes of the head. 

I felt so interested, that I could not help calling to 
the gardener, as he was retiring, and asking what 
unfortunate family it was that had suffered so se- 
verely } The old man touched his hat, and gazed 
at me for an instant, as if hardly comprehending my 
question. " Family ! " replied he, " there be no fam- 
ily in the case, your honour ; but here have been sad 
mischief done in the rookery ! " 

I had noticed, the day before, that the high and 
gusty winds which prevailed had occasioned great 
disquiet among these airy householders ; their nests 
being all filled with young, who were in danger of 
being tilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, 
the old birds themselves seemed to have hard work 
to maintain a foothold ; some kept hovering and 
cawing in the air ; or, if they ventured to alight, 
they had to hold fast, flap their wings, and spread 
their tails, and thus remain see-sawing on the top- 
most twigs. 

In the course of the night, however, an awful 
calamity had taken place in this most sage and 
politic community. There was a great tree, the 
tallest in the grove, which seemed to have been a 
kind of court-end of the metropolis, and crowded 
with the residence of those whom Master Simon 
considers the nobility and gentn'. A decayed limb 
of this tree had given way with the violence of 
this storm, and had come down with all its air- 
castles. 

One should be well aware of the humours of the 
good Squire and his household, to understand the 
general concern expressed at this disaster. It was 
quite a public calamity in this rural empire, and all 
seemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow-citi- 
zens in distress 

The ground had been strewed with the callow- 
young, which were now cherished in the aprons 
and bosoms of the maid-servants, and the little 
ladies of the family. I was pleased with this touch 
of nature ; this feminine sympathy in the sufferings 
of the offspring, and the maternal anxiety of the 
parent birds. 

It was interesting, too, to witness the general agi- 
tation and distress that seemed to prevail through- 
out the feathered community; the common cause 
that was made of it ; and the incessant hovering. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



515 



and fluttering, and lamenting, that took place in tlie 
whole rooker)'. There is a cord of sympathy, that 
runs through the whole feathered race, as to any 
misfortunes of the young ; and the cries of a 
wounded bird in the breeding season will throw a 
whole grove in a flutter and an alarm. Indeed, why 
should I confine it to the feathered tribe ? Nature 
seems to me to have implanted an exquisite sympa- 
thy on this subject, which extends through all her 
works. It is an invariable attribute of the female 
heart, to melt at the cry of early helplessness, and 
to take an instinctive interest in the distresses of the 
parent and its young. On the present occasion, the 
ladies of the family were full of pity and commisera- 
tion ; and I shall never forget the look that Lady 
Lillycraft gave the general, on his observing that the 
young birds would make an excellent curry, or an 
especial good rook-pie. 



LOVERS' TROUBLES, 



The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree. 

Sing all a green willow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 

Old Song. 

The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the 
effects of her hawking disaster, it begins to be 
thought high time to appoint a day for the wed- 
ding. As every domestic event in a venerable and 
aristocratic family connexion like this is a matter 
of moment, the fixing upon this important day has 
of course given rise to much conference and debate. 

Some slight dithculties and demurs have lately 
sprung up, originating in the peculiar humours that 
are prevalent at the Hall. Thus, I have overheard 
a very solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, 
the parson, and Master Simon, as to whether the 
marriage ought not to be postponed until the coming 
month. 

With all the charms of the flowery month of May, 
there is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a 
marrying month. An old proverb says, "Towed 
in May is to wed poverty." Now, as Lady Lillycraft 
is very much given to believe in lucky and unlucky 
times and seasons, and indeed is very superstitious 
on all points relating to the tender passion, this old 
proverb seems to have taken great hold upon her 
mind. I- he recollects two or three instances, in 
her own knowledge, of matches that took place in 
this month, and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, 
an own cousin of hers, who married on a May- 
day, lost her husband by a fall from his horse, after 
they had lived happily together for twenty years. 

The parson appeared to give great weight to her 
ladyship's objections, and acknowledged the exist- 
ence ol a prejudice of the kind, not merely confined 
to modern times, but prevalent likewise among the 
ancients. In confirmation of this, he quoted a pas- 
sage from Ovid, which had a great effect on Lady 
Lillycraft, being given in a language which she did 
not understand. Even Master Simon was staggered 
by it ; for he listened with a puzzled air; and then, 
shaking his head, sagaciously observed, that Ovid 
was certainly a very wise man. 

From this sage conference I likewise gathered 
several other important pieces of information, rela- 
tive to weddings; such as that, if two were celebra- 
ted in the same church, on the same day, the first 
would be happy, the second unfortunate. If, on go- 
ing to church, the bridal party should meet the 



funeral of a female, it was an omen that the bride 
would die first; if of a male, the bridegroom. If the 
newly-married couple were to dance together on 
their wedding-day, the wife would thenceforth rule 
the roast ; with many other curious and unquestion- 
able facts of the same nature, all which made me 
ponder more than ever upon the perils which sur- 
round this happy state, and the thoughtless ignorance 
of mortals as to the awful risks they run in venturing 
upon it. I abstain, however, from enlarging upon 
this topic, having no inclination to promote the in- 
crease of bachelors. 

Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire 
gives to traditional saws and ancient opinions, yet 
I am happy to find that he makes a firm stand for 
the credit of this loving month, and brings to his aid 
a whole legion of poetical authorities ; all which, I 
presume, have been conclusive with the young couple, 
as I understand they are perfectly willing to marry 
in May, and abide the consequences. In a few days, 
therefore, the wedding is to take place, and the Hall 
is in a buzz of anticipation. The housekeeper is 
bustling about from morning till night, with a look 
full of business and importance, having a thousand 
arrangements to make, the Squire intending to keep 
open house on the occasion ; and as to the house- 
maids, you cannot look one of them in the face, but 
the rogue begins to colour up and simper. 

While, however, this leading love affair is going 
on with a tranquillity quite inconsistent with the 
rules of romance, I cannot say that the under-plots 
are equally propitious. The " opening bud of love " 
between the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to 
have experienced some blight in the course of this 
genial season. I do not think the general has ever 
been able to retrieve the ground he lost, when he 
fell asleep during the captain's story. Indeed, 
Master Simon thinks his case is completely desper- 
ate, her ladyship having determined that he is quite 
destitute of sentiment. 

The season has been equally unpropitious to the 
lovelorn Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader will be 
impatient at having this humble amour so olten al- 
luded to ; but I confess I am apt to take a great 
interest in the love troubles of simple girls of this 
class. Few people have an idea of the world of care 
and perplexity that these poor damsels have, in man- 
aging the affairs of the heart. 

We talk and write about the tender passion ; we 
give it all the colourings of sentiment and romance, 
and lay the scene of its influence in high life ; but, 
alter all, I doubt whether its sway is not more abso- 
lute among females of an humbler sphere. How 
often, could we but look into the heart, should we 
find the sentiment throbbing in all its violence in the 
bosom of the poor lady's-maid, rather than in that 
of the brilliant beauty she is decking out for con- 
quest ; whose brain is probably bewildered with 
beaux, ball-rooms, and wax-light chandeliers. 

With these humble beings, love is an honest, en- 
grossing concern. They have no ideas of settle- 
ments, establishments, equipages, and pin-money. 
The heart — the heart, is all-in-all with them, poor 
things ! There is seldom one of them but has her 
love cares, and love secrets ; her doubts, and hopes, 
and fears, equal to those of any heroine of romance, 
and ten times as sincere. And then, too, there is 
her secret hoard of love documents ; — the broken 
sixpence, the gilded brooch, the lock of hair, the un- 
intelligible love scrawl, all treasured up in her box 
of Sunday finery, for private contemplation. 

How many crosses and trials is she exposed to 
from some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a 
mistress, who keeps a dragon watch over her virtue, 
and scouts the lover from the door ! But then, how 



516 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sweet are the little love scenes, snatched at distant 
intervals of holiday, and fondly dwelt on through 
many a long day of household labour and confine- 
ment ! If in the country, it is the dance at the fair 
or wake, the interview in the churchyard after ser- 
vice, or the evening stroll in the green lane. If in 
town, it is perhaps merely a stolen moment of deli- 
cious talk between the bars of the area, fearful every 
instant of being seen ; and then, how lightly will 
the simple creature carol all day afterwards at her 
labour ! 

Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difficulties, 
when she marries, what is it but to exchange a life 
of comparative ease and comfort, for one of toil and 
uncertainty.' Perhaps, too, the lover for whom in 
the fondness of her nature she has committed her- 
self to fortune's freaks, turns out a worthless churl, 
the dissoiute, hard-hearted husband of low life ; who, 
taking to the ale-house, leaves her to a cheerless 
home, to labour, penury, and child-bearing. 

When 1 see poor Phoebe going about with droop- 
ing eye, and her head hanging " all o' one side," I 
cannot help calling to mind the pathetic little picture 
drawn by Desdemona : — 

My mother had a maid, called Barbara ; 
She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, 
And did forsake her ; she had a song of willow. 
An old thing 'twas ; but it express'ti her fortune, 
And she died singing it. 

I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for 
Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet " rule the 
roast," in the ancient empire of the Tibbels ! She 
is not fit to battle with hard hearts or hard times. 
She was, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, who 
was proud of the beauty of her child, and brought 
her up more tenderly than a village girl ought to be ; 
and ever since she has been left an orphan, the good 
ladies at the Hall have completed the softening and 
spoiling of her. 

I have recently observed her holding long confer- 
ences in the church-yard, and up and down one of 
the lanes near the village, with Sllngsby, the school- 
master. I at first thought the pedagogue might be 
touched with the tender malady so prevalent in these 
parts of late; but I did him injustice. Honest 
.Slingsby, it seems, was a friend and crony of her 
late father, the parish clerk ; and is on intimate terms 
with the Tibbets family. Prompted, therefore, by 
his good-will towards all parties, and secretly insti- 
gated, perhaps, by the managing dame Tibbets, he 
has underiaken to talk with Phoebe upon the subject. 
He gives her, however, but little encouragement. 
Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the aristocrati- 
cal feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if 
Phoebe were even to make the matter up with the 
son, she would find the father totally hostile to the 
match. The poor damsel, therefore, is reduced al- 
most to despair ; and Slingsby, who is too good-nat- 
ured not to sympathize in her distress, has advised 
her to give up all thoughts of young Jack, and has 
proposed as a substitute his learned coadjutor, the 
prodigal son. He has even, in the fullness of his 
heart, offered to give up the school-house to them ; 
though it would leave him once more adrift in the 
uide world. 



THE HISTORIAN. 



Hermione. Pray yoil sit by us, 

And tell's a tale. 

Maniilins. Merry or sad shall' t be ? 

Hertniflne. As merry as you will. 

Mantitius. A sad tale's best for winter. 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Hermione. Let's have that, sir. 

Winter^ s Tale. 

As this is a story-telling age, I have been tempted 
occasionally to give the reader one of the many tales 
that are served up with supper at the Hall. I might, 
indeed, have furnished a series almost equal in num- 
ber to the Arabian Nights ; but some were rather 
hackneyed and tedious ; others I did not feel war- 
ranted in betraying into print ; and many more were 
of the old general's relating", and turned principally 
upon tiger-hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapa- 
tam ; enlivened by the wonderful deeds of Tippoo 
Saib, and the excellent jokes of Major Pendergast. 

I had all along maintained a quiet post at a corner 
of the table, where I had been able to indulge my 
humour undisturbed : listening attentively when 
the story was very good, and dozing a little when it 
was rather dull, which I consider the perfection of 
auditorship. 

I was roused the other evening from a slight trance 
into which I had fallen during one of the general's 
histories, by a sudden call from the Squire to furnish 
some entertainment of the kind in mv turn. Having 
been so profound a listener to others, I could not in 
conscience refuse ; but neither my memory nor in- 
vention being ready to answer so unexpected a de- 
mand, 1 begged leave to read a manuscript tale from 
the pen of my fcllow-countryinan, the late Mr. 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, the historian of New York. 
As this ancient chronicler may not be better known 
to my readers than he was to the company at the 
Hall, a word or two concerning him may not be 
amiss, before proceeding to his manuscript. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New- 
York, a descendant from one of the ancient Dutch 
families which originally settled that province, and re- 
mained there after it was taken possession of by the 
English in 1664. The descendants of these Dutch 
families still remain in villages and neighbourhoods in 
various parts of the country, retaining with singular 
obstinacy, the dresses, manners, and even language of 
their ancestors, and forming a very distinct and curi- 
ous feature in the motley population of the State. 
In a hamlet whose spire may be seen from New- 
York, rising from above the brow of a hill on the 
opposite side of the Hudson, many of the old folks, 
even at the present day, speak English with an ac- 
cent, and the Dominie preaches in Dutch ; and so 
completely is the hereditary love of quiet and silence 
maintained, that in one of these drowsy villages, in 
the middle of a warm summer's day, the buzzing of 
a stout blue-bottle lly will resound from one end of 
the place to the other. 

With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kept up 
among these worthy people, did Mr. Knickerbocker 
undertake to write a history of his native city, 
comprising the reign of its three Dutch governors 
during the time that it was yet under the domination 
of the Hogenmogens of Holland. In the execution 
of this design, the little Dutchman has displayed 
great historical research, and a wonderful conscious- 
ness of the dignity of his subject. His work, how- 
ever, has been so little understood, as to be pro- 
nounced a mere work of humour, satirizing the fol- 
lies of the times, both in politics and morals, and 
giving whimsical views of human nature. 

Be this as it may : — among the papers left b°h'nd 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



517 



him were several tales of a lighter nature, apparently 
thrown together from materials which he had gath- 
ered during his profound researches for liis history, 
and which he seems to have cast by with neglect, as 
unworthy of publication. Some of these have fallen 
into my hands, by an accident which it is needless 
at ]iresent to mention ; and one of these very stories, 
with its prelude in the words of Mr. Knickerbocker, 
I undertook to read, by way of acquitting myself of 
the debt which I owed to the other story-tellers at 
the Hall. I subjoin it, for such of my readers as are 
fond of stories.* 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE, 

FROM THE MSS. OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER. 



Formerly, almost every place had a house of this kind. If a house 
was seated on some melancholy place, or built in some old roman- 
tic manner, or if any particular accident had happened in it, such 
as murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house had a 
mark set upon it, and w^s afterwards esteemed the habitation of a 
ghost. Bourne's .4 «//^M///(?f. 

In the neighbourhood of the ancient city of the 
Manhattoes, there stood, not very many years since, 
an old mansion, which, when I was a boy, went by 
the name of the Haunted House. It was one of the 
very few remains of the architecture of the early 
Dutch settlers, and must have been a house of some 
consequence at the time when it was built. It con- 
sisted of a centre and two wings, the gable-ends of 
W'hich were shaped like stairs. It was built partly 
of wood, and partly of small Dutch bricks, such as 
the worthy colonists brought with them from Hol- 
land, before they discovered that bricks could be 
manufactured elsewhere. The house stood remote 
from the road, in the centre of a large field, with an 
avenue of old locustt trees leading up to it, several of 
which had been shivered by lightning, and two or 
three blown down. A few apple-trees grew strag- 
gling about the field ; there were traces also of what 
had been a kitchen-garden ; but the fences were 
broken down, the vegetables had disappeared, or 
had grown wild, and turned to little better than 
weeds, with here and there a ragged rose-bush, or a 
tall sunflower shooting up from among brambles, 
and hanging its head sorrowfully, as if contemplat- 
ing the surrounding desolation. Part of the roof of 
the old house had fallen in, the windows were shat- 
tered, tlie panels of the doors broken, and mended 
with rough boards ; and there were two rusty weath- 
ercocks at the ends of the house, which made a great 
jingling and whistling as they whirled about, but al- 
ways pointed wrong. The appearance of the whole 
place was forlorn and desolate, at the best of times ; 
but, in unruly weather, the howling of the wind about 
the crazy old mansion, the screeching of the weatli- 



*I find that the tale of Rip Van Winkle, given in the Sketch- 
Book, has been discovered by divers writers in magazines to have 
been founded on a little German tradition, and the matter has 
been revealed to the world as if it were a foul instance of plagiarism 
marvellously brought to light. In a note which follows that tale. 
I had alluded to the superstition on which it was founded, and I 
thoujht a mere allusion was sufficient, as the tradition was so 
notorious as to be inserted in almost every collection of German 
legends. I had seen it myself in three. I could hardly have hoped, 
therefore, in the present age, when every source of ghost and gob- 
lin story is ransacked, that the origin of the tale would escape dis- 
covery. In fact, I had considered popular traditions of the kind 
as fair foundations for authors of fiction to build upon, and made 
use of the one in question accordingly. I am not disposed to con- 
test the matter, however, and indeed consider myself so com- 
pletely overpaid by the public for my trivial performances, that I 
am content to submit to any deduction, which, iei their after- 
thoughts, they may think proper to make. 

t Acacias. 



ercocks, the slamming and banging of a few loose 
window-shutters, had altogether so wild and dreary 
an effect, that the neighbourhood stood perfectly in 
awe of.the place, and pronounced it the rendezvous 
of hobgoblins. I recollect the old building well ; for 
I remember how many times, when an idle, unlucky 
urchin, 1 have prowled round its precincts, with some 
of my graceless companions, on holiday afternoons, 
when out on a freebooting cruise among the or- 
chards. There was a tree standing near the house, 
that bore the most beautiful and tempting fruit ; but 
then it was on enchanted ground, for the place was 
so charmed l)y frightful stories that we dreaded to 
approach it. Sometimes we would venture in a body, 
and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye upon 
the old mansion, and darting fearful glances into its 
shattered window; when, just as we were about to 
seize upon our prize, an exclamation from some one 
of the gang, or an accidental noise, would throw us 
all into a panic, and we would scamper headlong 
from the place, nor stop until we had got quite into 
the road. Then there were sure to be a host ol fear- 
ful anecdotes told of strange cries and groans, or of 
some hideous face suddenly seen staring out of one 
of the windows. By degrees we ceased to venture 
into these lonely grounds, but would stand at a dis- 
tance and throw stones at the building ; and there 
was something fearfully pleasing in the sound, as 
they rattled along the roof, or sometimes struck some 
jingling fragments of glass out of the windows. 

The origin of this house was lost in the obscurity 
that covers the early period of the province, while 
under the government of their high mightinesses 
the states-general. Some reported it to have been a 
country residence of Wilhelmus Kieft, commonly 
called the Testy, one of the Dutch governors of 
New-Amsterdam ; others said that it had been Imilt 
by a naval commander who served under Van 
Tronip, and who, on being disappointed of prefer- 
ment, retired from the service in disgust, became a 
philosopher through sheer spite, and brought over 
all his wealth to the province, that he might live ac- 
cording to liis humour, and despise the world. The 
reason of its having fallen to decay, was likewise a mat- 
ter of dispute ; some said that it was in chancery, and 
had already cost more than its w orth in legal expenses; 
but the most current, and, of course, the most prob- 
able account, was that it was haunted, and that no- 
body could live quietly in it. There can, in fact, be 
very little doubt that this last was the case, there 
were so many corroborating stories to prove it, — not 
an old woman in the neighbourhood but could fur- 
nish at least a score. There was a gray-headed cur- 
mudgeon of a negro that lived hard by, who had a 
whole budget of them to tell, many of which had 
happened to himself. I recollect many a time stop- 
ping with my schoolmates, and getting him to relate 
some. The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst 
of a small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which 
his master had given him on setting him free. He 
would come to us, with his hoe in his hand, and as 
we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the rail 
of the fence, in the mellow twilight of a summer 
evening, he would tell us such fearful stories, accom- 
panied by such awful rollings of his white eyes, that 
we were almost afraid of our own footsteps as we 
returned home afterwards in the dark. 

Poor old Pompey ! many years are past since he 
died, and went to keep company with the ghosts he 
was so fond of talking about. He was buried in a 
corner of his own little potato-patch ; the plow 
soon passed over his grave, and levelled it with the 
rest of the field, and nobody thought any more of 
the gray-headed negro. By a singular chance, I was 
strolling in that neighbourhood several years after- 



518 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



wards, when I had grown up to be a young man, 
and I found a knot of gossips speculating on a skull 
which had just been turned up by a plowshare. 
They of course determined it to be the remains of 
some one that had been murdered, and they had 
raked up with it some of the traditionary tales of the 
haunted house. I knew it at once to be the relic of 
poor Pompey, but 1 held my tongue ; for I am too 
considerate of other people's enjoyment, ever to mar 
a story of a ghost or a murder. I took care, how- 
ever, to see the bones of my old friend once more 
buried in a place where they were not likely to be 
disturbed. As I sat on the turf and watched the 
interment, I fell into a long conversation with an old 
gentleman of the neighbourhood, John Jesse Vander- 
moere, a pleasant gossiping man, whose whole life 
was spent in hearing and telling the news of the 
province. He recollected old Pompey, and his 
stories about the Haunted House ; but he assured 
me he could give me one still more strange than any 
that Pompey had related : and on my expressing a 
great curiosity to hear it, he sat down beside me on 
the turf, and told the following tale. I have en- 
deavoured to give it as nearly as possible in his 
words; but it is now many years since, and I am 
grown old, and my memory is not over-good. 1 
cannot therefore vouch for the language, but I am 
always scrupulous as to facts. D. K. 



OOLPH HEYLIGER. 



*I take the town of Concord, where I dwell 
All Kilborn be my witness, if I were not 
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shaniefaccdness : 
Lei 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can 
Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault ; 
Or but a cat will swear upon a bnok, 
I have as much as -!et a vire her tail, . | I C^' 
And I'll give hin» or her a cro"" ^"' '■"»'"'= ' 



her tail, . | 
own for 'mVpd; 



\^ 



Fale of n Tub, 

In the early time of the province of New- York, 
while it groaned under the tyranny of the English 
governor. Lord Cornbury, who carried his cruelties 
towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to allow no 
Dominie, or schoolmaster, to officiate in their lan- 
guage, without his special license ; about this time, 
there lived in the jolly little old city of the Manhat- 
toes, a kind motherly dame, known by the name of 
Dame Heyliger. She was the widow of a Dutch 
sea-captain, who died suddenly of a fever, in conse- 
quence of working too hard, and eating too heartily, 
at the time when all the inhabitants turned out in 
a panic, to fortify the place against the invasion of 
a small French privateer.* He left her with veiy 
little money, and one infant son, the only survivor 
of several children. The good woman had need of 
much management, to make both ends meet, and 
keep up a decent appearance. However, as her 
husband had fallen a victim to his zeal for the 
public safety, it was universally agreed that " some- 
thing ought to be done for the widow;" and on 
the hopes of this " something " she lived tolera- 
bly for some years ; in the meantime, every body 
pitied and spoke well of her ; and that helped along. 

She lived in a small house, in a small street, called 
Garden-street, very probably from a garden which 
may have flourished there some time or other. As 
her necessities every year grew greater, and the 
talk of the public about doing " something for her " 
grew less, she had to cast about for some mode of 
doing something for herself, by way of helping out 



* 1705. 



her slender means, and maintaining her independ- 
ence, of which she was somewhat tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught some- 
thing of the spirit, and determined to venture a little 
in the great lottery of commerce. On a sudden, 
therefore, to the great surprise of the street, there 
appeared at her window a grand array of ginger- 
bread kings and queens, wilh their arms stuck 
a-kimbo, after the invariable royal manner. There 
were also several broken tu.Tiblers. some filled with 
sugar-plums, some with marbles ; there were, more- 
over, cakes of various kinds, and barley sugar, and 
Holland dolls, and wooden horses, with here and 
there gilt-covered picture-books, and now and then 
a skein of thread, or a dangling pound of candles. 
At the door of the house sat the good old dame's 
cat, a decent demure-looking personage, that seem- 
ed to scan every body that passed, to criticise their 
dress, and now and then to stretch her neck, and 
look out with sudden curiosity, to see what was 
going on at the other end of the street; but if by 
chance any idle \agabond dog came by, and offered 
to be uncivil — hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle 
up, and growl, and spit, and strike out her paws ! 
she was as indignant as ever was an ancient and 
ugly spinster, on the approach of some graceless 
profligate. 

But though the good woman had to come down 
to those humble means of subsistence, yet she still 
kept up a feeling of family pride, having descended 
from the Vanderspiegels, of Amsterdam ; and she 
had the family arms painted and framed, and hung 
over her mantel-piece. She was, in truth, much 
respected by all the poorer people of the place ; her 
house was quite a resort of the old wives of the 
neighbourhood ; they would drop in there of a win- 
ter's afternoon, as she sat knitting on one side of her 
fire-place, her cat purring on the other, and the tea- 
kettle singing before it ; and they would gossip with 
her until late in the evening. There was always an 
arm-chair for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called 
Long Peter, and sometimes Peter Longlegs, the 
clerk and sexton of the little Lutheran church, who 
was her great crony, and indeed the oracle of her 
fire-side. Nay, the Dominie himself did not disdain, 
now and then, to step in, converse about the state 
of her mind, and take a glass of her special good 
cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call on 
new-year's day, and wish her a happy new year; 
and the good dame, who was a little vain on some 
points, always piqued herself on giving him as large 
a cake as any one in town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the 
c'jtild of her old age ; but could hardly be called the 
comlbrt — for, of all unlucky urchins, Dolph Heyliger 
was the most mischievous. Not that the whipster 
was really vicious ; he was only full of fun and frolic, 
and had that daring, gamesome spirit, which is ex- 
tolled in a rich man's child, but execrated in a poor 
man's. He was continually getting into scrapes : his 
mother was incessantly harassed with complaints 
of some waggish pranks which he had played off; 
bills were sent in for windows that he had broken ; 
in a word, he had not reached his fourteenth year 
before he was pronounced, by all the neighbourhood, 
to be a " wicked dog, the wickedest dog in the 
street ! " Nay, one old gentleman, in a claret-col- 
oured coat, with a thin red face, and ferret eyes, 
went so far as to assure dame Heyliger, that her son 
would, one day or other, come to the gallows ! 

Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul 
loved her boy. It seemed as though she loved him 
the better, the worse he behaved ; and that he grew 
more in her favour, the more he grew out of favour 
with the world. Mothers are foolish, fond-hearted 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



C19 



beings ; there's no reasoning them out of their do- 
tage ; and, indeed, this poor woman's child was all 
that was left to lo\'e her in this world ; — so we must 
not think it hard that she turned a deaf ear to her 
good friends, who sought to prove to her that Dolph 
would come to a halter. 

To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly at- 
tached to his parent. He would not willingly have 
given her pain on any account ; and when he had 
been doing wrong, it was but for him to catch his 
poor mother's eye fixed wistfully and sorrowfully 
upon him, to fill his heart with bitterness and contri- 
tion. But he was a heedless youngster, and could 
not, for the life of him, resist any new temptation to 
fun and mischief. Though quick at his learning, 
whenever he could be brought to apply himself, yet 
he was always prone to be led away by idle company, 
and would play truant to hunt alter birds'-nests, to 
rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and 
his mother began to be greatly perplexed what 
to do with him, or how to put him in a way to do 
for himself; for he had acquired such an unlucky 
reputation, that no one seemed willing to employ 
him. 

Many were the consultations that she held with 
Peter de Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was her 
prime counsellor. Peter was as much perplexed as 
herself, for he had no great opinion of the boy, and 
thought he would never come to good. He at one 
time advised her to send him to sea — a piece of ad- 
vice only given in the most desperate cases ; but 
Dame Heyliger would not listen to such an idea; 
she could not think of letting Uolph go out of her 
sight. She was sitting one day knitting by her fire- 
side, in great perplexity, when the sexton entered 
with an air of unusual vivacity and briskness. He 
had just come from a funeral. It had been that of 
a boy of Dolph 's years, who had been apprentice to 
a famous German doctor, and had died of a con- 
sumption. It is true, there had been a whisper that 
the deceased had been brought to his end by being 
made the subject of the doctor's experiments, on 
which he was apt to try the effects of a new com- 
pound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is 
likely, was a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de 
Groodt did not think it worth mentioning; though, 
had we time to philosophize, it would be a curious 
matter for speculation, why a doctor's family is apt 
to be so lean and cadaverous, and a butcher's so 
jolly and rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the 
house of Dame Heyliger, with unusual alacrity. He 
was full of a bright idea that had popped into his 
head at the funeral, and over which he had chuckled 
as he shovelled the earth into the grave of the doc- 
tor's disci])le. It had occurred to him, that, as the 
situation of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, 
it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had 
parts, and could pound a pestle and run an errand 
with any boy in the town — and what more was 
wanted in a student ? 

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of 
glory to the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her 
mind's eye, with a cane at his nose, a knocker at his 
door, and an M. D. at the end of his name — one of 
the established dignitaries of the town. 

The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected ; 
the sexton had some influence with the doctor, they 
having had much dealing together in the way of 
their separate professions ; and the very next morn- 
ing he called and conducted the urchin, clad in his 
Sunday clothes, to undergo the inspection of Dr. 
Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. 

They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair. 



in one corner of his study, cr laboratory, with a large 
volume, in German print, before him. He was a 
short, fat man, with a dark, square face, rendered 
more dark by a black velvet cap. He had a little, 
nobbed nose, not unlike the ace of spades, with a 
pair of spectacles gleaming on each side of his dusky 
countenance, like a couple of bow-windows. 

Dolph felt struck with awe, on entering into the 
presence of this learned man ; and gazed about him 
with boyish wonder at the furniture of this chamber 
of knowledge, which appeared to him almost as the 
den of a magician. In the centre stood a claw-footed 
table, with pestle and mortar, phials and gallipots, 
and a pair of small, burnished scales. At one end 
was a heavy clothes-press, turned into a receptacle 
for drugs and compounds ; against which hung the 
doctor's hat and cloak, and gold-headed cane, and 
on the top grinned a human skull. Along the mantel- 
piece Vv'ere glass vessels, in which were snakes and 
lizards, and a human foetus preserved in spirits. A 
closet, the doors of which were taken off, contained 
three whole shelves of books, and some, too, of mighty 
folio dimensions — a collection, the like uf which Dulph 
had never before beheld. As, however, the library 
did not take up the whole of the closet, the doctor's 
thrifty housekeeper had occupied the rest with pots 
of pickles and preserves ; and had hung about the 
room, among awful implements of the healing art, 
strings of red pepper and corpulent cucumbers, care- 
fully preserved for seed. 

Peter de Groodt, and his protege, were received 
with great gravity and stateliness by the doctor, who 
was a very wise, dignified little man, and never 
smiled. He surveyed Dolph from head to foot, above, 
and under, and through his spectacles ; and the poor 
lad's heart quailed as these great glasses glared on 
him like two full moons. The doctor heard all that 
Peter de Groodt had to say in favour of the youthful 
candidate ; and then, wetting his thumb with the 
end of his tongue, he began deliberately to turn over 
page after page of the great black volume before 
him. At length, after many hums and haws, and 
strokings of the chin, and all that hesitation and de- 
liberatio'i with which a wise man proceeds to do 
what he intended to do from the very first, the doc- 
tor agreed to take the lad as a disciple ; to give him 
bed, board, and clothing, and to instruct him in the 
healing art; in return for which, he was to have his 
services until his twenty-first year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed 
from an unlucky urchin, running wild about the 
streets, to a student of medicine, diligently pounding 
a pestle, under the auspices of the learned Doctor 
Karl Lodovich Knipperhausen. It was a happy 
transition for his fond old mother. She was delighted 
with the idea of her boy's being brought up worthy 
of his ancestors; and anticipated the day when he 
would be able to hold up his head with the lawyer, 
that lived in the large house opposite , or, peradven- 
ture, with the Dominie himseli. 

Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Palati- 
nate of Germany ; from whence, in company with 
many of his countrymen, he had taken refuge in En- 
gland, on account of religious persecution. He was 
one of nearly three thousand Palatines, who came 
over from England in 1 710, under the protection of 
Governor Hunter. Where the doctor had studied, 
how he had acquired his medical knowledge, and 
where he had received his diploma, it is hard at 
present to say, for nobody knew at the time ; yet it 
is certain that his profound skill and abstruse knowl- 
edge were the talk and wonder of the common 
people, far and near. 

His practice was totally different from that of any 
other physician ; consisting in mysterious coinpounds, 



S20 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



known only to himself, in the preparing and ad- 
ministering of which, it was said, he always consult- 
ed the stars. So high an opinion was entertained of 
his skill, particularly by the German and Dutch in- 
habitants, that they always resorted to him in des- 
perate cases. He was one of those infallible doctors, 
that are always effecting sudden and surprising cures, 
when the patient has been given up by all the regular 
physicians ; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the case 
has been left too long before it was put into their 
hands. The doctor's libraiy was the talk and marvel 
of the neighbourhood, I might almost say of the en- 
tire burgh. The good people looked with reverence 
at a man that had read three whole shelves full of 
books, and some of them, too, as large as a family 
Bible. There were many disputes among the mem- 
bers of the little Lutheran church, as to which was 
the wisest man, the doctor or the Dominie. Some 
of his admirers even went so far as to say, that he 
knew more than the governor himself — in a word, it 
was thought that there was no end to his knowledge ! 

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's 
family, than he was put in possession of the lodging 
of his predecessor. It was a garret-room of a steep- 
roofed Dutch house, where the rain patted on the 
shingles, and the lightning gleamed, and the wind 
piped through the crannies in stormy weather ; and 
where whole troops of hungry rats, like Don Cos- 
sacks, galloped about in defiance of traps and rats- 
bane. 

He was soon up to his cars in medical studies, 
being employed, morning, noon, and night, in rolling 
pills, filtering tinctures, or pounding the pestle and 
mortar, in one corner of the laboratory ; while the 
doctor would take his seat in another corner, when 
he had nothing else to do, or expected visitors, and, 
arrayed in his morning-gown and velvet cap, would 
pore over the contents of some folio volume. It is 
true, that the regular thumping of Dolph's pestle, or, 
])erhaps, the drowsy buzzing of the summer flies, 
would now and then lull the little man into a slum- 
ber; but then his spectacles were always wide awake, 
and studiously regarding the book. 

There was another personage in the house, how- 
ever, to whom Dolph was obliged to pay allegiance. 
Though a bachelor, and a man of such great dignity 
and importance, yet the doctor was, like many other 
wise men. suliject to petticoat government. He was 
completely under the sway of his housekeeper ; a 
spare, busy, fretting housewife, in a little, round, 
quilted, German cap, with a huge bunch of keys 
jingling at the girdle of an exceedingly long waist. 
Frau Use (or Frow Ilsy, as it was pronounced) had 
accompanied him in his various migrations from 
Germany to England, and from England to the 
province ; managing his establishment and himself 
too : ruling him, it is true, with a gentle hand, but 
carrying a high hand with all the world beside. 
How she had acquired such ascendency, I do not 
pretend to say. People, it is true, did talk — but have 
not people been prone to talk ever since the world 
began.' Who can tell how women generally con- 
trive to get the upper hand ? A husband, it is true, 
may now and then be master in his own house ; but 
who ever knew a bachelor that was not managed by 
his housekeeper .' 

Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to the 
doctor's household. She was one of those prying 
gossips that know every one's business better than 
they do themselves ; and whose all-seeing eyes, and 
all-telling tongues, are terrors throughout a neigh- 
bourhood. 

Nothing of any moment transpired in the world 
of scandal of this little burgh, but it was known to 
Frau Ilsy. She had her crew of cronies, that were 



perpetually hunting to her little parlour, with some 
precious bit of news ; nay, she would sometimes 
discuss a whole volume of secret history, as she held 
the street-door ajar, and gossiped with one of these 
garrulous cronies in the very teeth of a December 
blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper, it may 
easily be supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. 
As Frau Ilsy kept the keys, and literally ruled the 
roast, it was starvation to offend her, though he 
found the study of her temper more perplexing 
even than that of medicine. When not busy in the 
laboratorv, she kept him running hither and tliither 
on her errands ; and on Sundays he was obliged to 
accompany her to and from church, and carry her 
Bible. Many a time has the poor varlet stood 
shivering and blowing his fingers, or holding his 
frost-bitten nose, in the church-yard, while Ilsy and 
her cronies were huddled together, wagging their 
heads, and tearing some unlucky character to pieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made 
very slow progress in his art. This was no fault 
of the doctor's, certainly, for he took unwearied 
pains with the lad, keeping him close to the pestle 
and mortar, or on the trot about town with phials 
and pill-boxes ; and if he ever flagged in his in- 
dustry, which he was rather apt to do, the doctor 
would fly into a passion, and ask him if he ever 
expected to learn his profession, unless he applied 
himself closer to the study. The fact is. he still re- 
tained the fondness for sport and mischief that 
had marked his childhood ; the habit, indeed, had 
strengthened with his years, and gained force from 
being thwarted and constrained. He daily grew 
more and more untractable, and lost favour in the 
eyes both of the doctor and the housekeeper. 

In the meantime the doctor went on, waxing 
wealthy and renowned. He was famous for his 
skill in managing cases not laid down in the books. 
He had cured several old women and young girls of 
witchcraft ; a terrible complaint, nearly as prev- 
alent in the province in those days as hydrophobia 
is at present. He had even restored one strapping 
country girl to perfect health, who had gone so 
far as to vomit crooked puis and needles ; which is 
considered a desperate stage of the malady. It was 
whispered, also, that he was possessed of the art 
of preparing love-powders ; and many applications 
had he in consequence from love-sick patients of 
both sexes. But all these cases formed the mys- 
terious part of his practice, in which, according to 
the cant phrase, " secrecy and honour might be 
depended on." Dolph, therefore, was obliged to 
turn out of the study whenever such consultations 
occurred, though it is said he learnt more of the 
secrets of the art at the key-hole, than by all the rest 
of his studies put together. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to 
extend his possessions, and to look forward, like 
other great men. to the time when he should retire 
to the repose of a country-scat. For this purpose 
he had purchased a farm, or, as the Dutch settlers 
called it, a howerie, a few miles from town. It had 
been the residence of a wealthy family, that had 
returned some time since to Holland. A large 
mansion-house stood in the centre of it, very much 
out of repair, and which, in consequence of certain 
reports, had received the appellation of the Haunt- 
ed House. Either from these reports, or from its 
actual dreariness, the doctor h:'-d found it impos- 
sible to get a tenant ; and, that the place might 
not fall to ruin before he could reside in it himself, 
he had placed a country boor, with his family, in 
one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the farm 
on shares. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



521 



The doctor now felt all the dignity of a land- 
holder rising within him. He had a little of the 
German pride of territory in his composition, and 
almost looked upon himself as owner of a princi- 
pality. He began to complain of the fatigue of 
business; and was fond of riding out "to look at 
his estate." His little expeditions to his lands were 
attended with a bustle and parade that created a 
sensation throughout the neighbourhood. His wall- 
eyed horse stood, stamping and whisking off the 
flies, for a full hour before the house. Then the 
doctor's saddle-bags would be brought out and ad- 
justed ; then, after a little while, his cloak would 
be rolled up and strapped to the saddle ; then his 
umbrella would be buckled to the cloak ; while, in 
the meantime, a group of ragged boys, that obser- 
vant class of beings, would gather belore the door. 
At length, the doctor would issue forth, in a pair 
of jack-boots that reached above his knees, and a 
cocked hat flapped down in front. As he was a 
short, fat man, he took some time to mount into 
the saddle ; and when there, he took some time to 
have the saddle and stirrups properly adjusted, en- 
joying the wonder and admiration of the urchin 
crowd. Even after he had set off, he would pause 
in the middle of the street, or trot back two or three 
times to give some parting orders ; which were an- 
swered by the housekeeper from the door, or Dolph 
from the study, or the black cook from the cellar, or 
the chambermaid from the garret-window ; and there 
were generally some last words bawled after him, 
just as he was turning the corner. 

The whole neighbourhood would be aroused by 
this pomp and circumstance. The cobbler would 
leave his last ; the barber would thrust out his frizzed 
head, with a comb sticking in it ; a knot would col- 
lect at the grocer's door ; and the word would be 
buzzed from one end of the street to the other, 
" The doctor's riding out to his country-seat ! " 

These were golden moments for Dolph. No 
sooner was the doctor out of sight, than pestle and 
mortar were abandoned ; the laboratory was left to 
take care of itself, and the student was off on some 
madcap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he 
grew up, seemed in a fair way to fulhl the prediction 
of the old claret-coloured gentleman. He w.as the 
ringleader of all holiday sports, and midnight gam- 
bols ; ready for all kinds of mischievous pranks, and 
harebrained adventures. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a 
small scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph 
soon became the abhorrence of all drowsy, house- 
keeping old citizens, who hated noise, and had no 
relish tor waggery. The good dames, too, considered 
him as little better than a reprobate, gathered their 
daughters under their wings whenever he ap- 
proached, and pointed him out as a warning to their 
sons. No one seemed to hold him in much regard, 
excepting the wild striplings of the place, who were 
captivated by his open-hearted, daring manners, and 
the negroes, who always look upon every idle, do- 
nothing youngster as a kind of gentleman. Even 
the good Peter de Groodt, who had considered him- 
self a kind of patron of the lad, began to despair of 
him ; and would shake his head dubiously, as he 
listened to a long complaint from the housekeeper, 
and sipped a glass of her raspberry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her 
affection, by all the waywardness of her boy ; nor 
disheartened by the stories of his misdeeds, with 
which her good friends were continually regaling 
her. She had, it is true, very little of the pleasure 
which rich people enjoy, in always hearing their 
children praised ; but she considered all this ill-will 



as a kind of persecution which he suffered, and she 
liked him the better on that account. She saw him 
growing up, a fine, tall, good-looking youngster, and 
she looked at him with the secret pride of a mother's 
heart. It was her great desire that Dolph should 
appear" like a gentleman, and all the money she 
could save went towards helping out his pocket and 
his wardrobe. She would look out of the window 
after him, as he sallied forth in his best array, and 
her heart would yearn with delight ; and once, when 
Peter de Groodt, struck with the youngster's gallant 
appearance on a bright Sunday morning, observed, 
" Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fellow ! " 
the tear of pride started into the mother's eye : "Ah, 
neighbour ! neighbour ! " exclaimed she, " they may 
say what they please ; poor Dolph v/ill yet hold up 
his head v.'ith the best of them." 

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one- 
and-twentieth year, and the term of his medical 
studies was just expiring; yet it must be confessed 
that he knew little more of the profession than when 
he first entered the doctor's doors. This, however, 
could not be from want of quickness of parts, for he 
showed amazing aptness in mastering other branches 
of knowledge, which he could only have studied at 
intervals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, 
and won all the geese and turkeys at Christmas holi- 
days. He was a bold rider ; he was famous for leap- 
ing and wrestling ; he played tolerably on the fiddle ; 
could swim like a fish ; and was the best hand in the 
whole place at fives or nine-pins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured him 
no favour in the eyes of the doctor, who grew more 
and more crabbed and intolerant, the nearer the 
term of apprenticeship approached. Frau Ilsy, too, 
was for ever finding some occasion to raise a windy 
tempest about his ears ; and seldom encountered 
him about the house, without a clatter of the tongue ; 
so that at length the jingling of her keys, as she ap- 
proached, was to Dolph like the ringing of the 
prompter's bell, that gives notice of a theatrical 
thunder-storm. Nothing but the infinite good- 
humour of the heedless youngster, enabled him to 
bear all this domestic tyranny without open rebel- 
lion. It was evident that the doctor and his house- 
keeper were preparing to beat the poor youth out of 
the nest, the moment his term should have expired ; 
a shorthand mode which the doctor had of providing 
for useless disciples. 

Indeed, the little man had been rendered more 
than usually irritable lately, in consequence of va- 
rious cares and vexations which his country estate 
had brought upon him. The doctor had been re- 
peatedly annoyed by the rumours and tales which 
prevailed concerning the old mansion ; and found it 
difficult to prevail even upon the countryman and 
his family to remain there rent-free. Every time he 
rode out to the farm, he was teased by some fresh 
complaint of strange noises and fearful sights, with 
which the tenants were disturbed at night ; and the 
doctor would come home fretting and fuming, and 
vent his spleen upon the whole household. It was 
indeed a sore grievance, that affected him both in 
pride and purse. He was threatened with an abso- 
lute loss of the profits of his property ; and then, 
what a blow to his territorial consequence, to be the 
landlord of a haunted house ! 

It was observed, however, that with all his vexa- 
tion, the doctor never proposed to sleep in the house 
himself; nay, he could never be prevailed upon to 
remain in the premises after dark, but made the best 
of his way for town, as soon as the bats began to flit 
about in the twilight. The fact was, the doctor had 
a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the early 
part of his life in a countiy where they particularly 



522 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



abound ; and indeed the stor^' went, that, when a 
boy, he had once seen the devil upon the Hartz 
mountains in Germany. 

At length, the doctor's vexations on this head 
were brought to a crisis. One morning, as he sat 
dozing over a volume in his study, he was suddenly 
started from his slumbers by the bustling in of the 
housekeeper. 

" Here's a fine to do ! " cried she, as she entered 
the room. " Here's Claus Hopper come in, bag and 
baggage, from the farm, and swears he'll have noth- 
ing more to do with it. The whole family have been 
frightened out of their wits ; for there's such racket- 
ing and rummaging about the old house, that they 
can't sleep quiet in tlieir beds ! " 

" Donner und blitzen ! " cried the doctor, impa- 
tiently ; " will they never have done chattering about 
that house } What a pack of fools, to let a few rats 
and mice frighten them out of good quarters ! " 

"Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her 
head knowingly, and piqued at having a good ghost 
story doubted, " there's more in it than rats and 
mice. All the neighbourhood talks about the house; 
and then such sights have been seen in it ! Peter de 
Groodt tells me, that the family that sold you the 
house and went to Holland, dropped several strange 
hints about it, and said, ' they wished you joy of your 
bargain ; ' and you know yourself there's no getting 
any family to live in it." 

" Peter de Groodt's a ninny — an old woman," said 
the doctor, peevishly ; " I'll warrant he's been filling 
these people's heads full of stories. It's just like his 
nonsense about the ghost that haunted the church 
belfry, as an excuse for not ringing the bell that cold 
night when Harmanus Brinkerhoff's house was on 
tire. Send Claus to me." 

Claus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple 
country lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very 
study of Dr. Knipperhausen, and too much embar- 
rassed to enter into much detail of the matters that 
had caused his alarm. He stood twirling his hat in 
one hand, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes 
on the other, looking occasionally at the doctor, and 
now and then stealing a fearful glance at the death's- 
head that seemed ogling him from the top of the 
clothes-press. 

The doctor tried every means to persuade him to 
return to the farm, but all in vain ; he maintained a 
dogged determination on the subject; and at the 
close of every argument or solicitation, would make 
the same brief, inflexible reply, " Ich kan nicht, myn- 
heer." The doctor was a " little pot, and soon hot ; " 
his patience was exhausted by these continual vexa- 
tions about his estate. The stubborn refusal of Claus 
Hopper seemed to him like flat rebellion ; his temper 
suddenly boiled over, and Claus was glad to make a 
rapid retreat to escape scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, 
he found Peter de Groodt, and several other true be- 
lievers, ready to receive him. Here he indemnified 
himself for the restraint he had sutTered in the study, 
and opened a budget of stories about the haunted 
house that astonished all his hearers. The house- 
keeper believed them all, if it was only to spite the 
doctor for having received her intelligence so un- 
courteously. Peter de Groodt matched them with 
many a wonderful legend of the times of the Dutch 
dynasty, and of the Devil's Stepping-stones ; and of 
the pirate that was hanged at Gibbet Island, and 
continued to swing there at night long after the gal- 
lows was taken down ; and of the ghost of the un- 
fortunate Governor Leisler, who was hanged for 
treason, which haunted the old fort and the govern- 
ment house. The gossiping knot dispersed, each 
charged with direful intelligence. The sexton dis- 



burdened himself at a vestry meeting that was held 
that very day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, 
and spent half the day at the street pump, that gos- 
siping place of servants, dealing forth the news to 
all that came for water. In a little time, the whole 
town was in a buzz with tales about the haunted 
house. Some said that Claus Hopper had seen the 
devil, while others hinted that the house was haunted 
by the ghosts of some of the patients whom the doc- 
tor had physicked out of the world, and that was the 
reason why he did not venture to live in it himself. 

All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. 
He threatened vengeance on any one who should 
affect the value of his property by exciting popular 
prejudices. He complained loudly of thus being in 
a manner dispossessed of his territories by mere 
bugbears ; but he secretly determined to have the 
house exorcised by the Dominie. Great was his re- 
lief, therefore, when, in the midst of his perplexities, 
Dolph stepped forward and undertook to garrisjn 
the haunted house. The youngster had been listen- 
ing to all the stories of Claus Hopper and Peter de 
Groodt : he was fond of adventure, he loved the 
marvellous, and his imagination had become quite 
excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he had 
led such an uncomfortable life at the doctor's, being 
subjected to the intolerable thraldom of early hours, 
that he was delighted at the prospect of having a 
house to himself, even though it should be a haunted 
one. His offer was eagerly accepted, and it was de- 
termined that he should mount guard that vei'y night. 
His only stipulation was, that the enterprise should 
be kept secret from his mother ; for he knew the 
poor soul would not sleep a wink, if she knew that 
her son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 

When night came on, he set out on this perilous 
expedition. The old black cook, his only friend in 
the household, had provided him with a little mess 
for supper, and a rushlight ; and she tied round his 
neck an amulet, given her liy an African conjuror, 
as a charm against evil spirits. Dolph was escorted 
on his way by the doctor and Peter de Groodt, who 
had agreed to accompany him to the house, and to 
see him safe lodged. The night was overcast, and 
it was very dark when they arrived at the grounds 
which surrounded the mansion. The sexton led the 
way with a lantern. As they walked along the ave- 
nue of acacias, the fitful light, catching from bush to 
bush, and tree to tree, often startled the doughty 
Peter, and made him fall back upon his followers ; 
and the doctor grabbled still closer hold of Dolph's 
arm, observing that the ground was very slippery 
and uneven. At one time they were nearly put to a 
total rout by a bat, which came flitting about the 
lantern ; and the notes of the insects from the trees, 
and the frogs from a neighbouring pond, formed a 
most drowsy and doleful concert. 

The front door of the mansion opened with a grat- 
ing sound, that made the doctor turn pale. They 
entered a tolerably large hall, such as is common in 
American country-houses, and which serves for a 
sitting-room in warm weather. From hence they 
went up a wide staircase, that groaned and creaked 
as they trod, every step making its particular note, 
like the key of a harpsichord. This led to another 
hall on the second story, from whence they entered 
the room where Dolph was to sleep. It was large, 
and scantily furnished; the shutters were closed; 
but as they were much broken, there was no want 
of a circulation of air. It appeared to have been that 
sacred chamber, known among Dutch housewives by 
the name of " the best bed-room ; " which is the best 
furnished room in the house, but in which scarce any 
body is ever permitted to sleep. Its splendour, how- 
ever, was all at an end. There were a few broken 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



523 



articles of furniture about the room, and in the cen- 
tre stood a heavy deal table and a large arm-chair, 
both of which had tlie look of being coeval with the 
mansion. The fire-place was wide, and had been 
faced with Dutch tiles, representing scripture stories ; 
but some of them had fallen out of their places, and 
lay sliattered about the hearth. The sexton had lit 
the rushlight ; and the doctor, looking fearfully about 
the room, was just exhorting Dolph to be of good 
cheer, and to pluck up a stout heart, when a noise in 
the chimney, like voices and struggling, struck a 
sudden panic into the sexton. He took to his heels 
with the lantern ; the doctor followed hard after 
him ; the stairs groaned and creaked as they hurried 
down, increasing their agitation and speed by its 
noises. The front door slammed after them ; and 
Dolph heard them scrabbling down the avenue, till 
the sound of their feet was lost in the distance. That 
he did not join in this precipitate retreat, might have 
been owing to his possessing a little more courage 
than his companions, or perhaps that he had caught 
a glimpse of the cause of their dismay, in a nest of 
chimney swallows, that came tumbling down into 
the fire-place. 

Being now left to himself, he secured the front 
door by a strong bolt and bar ; and having seen that 
the other entrances were fastened, he returned to his 
desolate chamber. Having made his supper from 
the basket which the good old cook had provided, 
he locked the chamber door, and retired to rest on a 
mattress in one corner. The night was calm and 
still ; and nothing broke upon the profound quiet 
but the lonely chirping of a cricket from the chimney 
of a distant chamber. The rushlight, which stood 
in the centre of the deal table, shed a feeble yellow- 
ray, dimly illumining the chamber, and making un- 
couth shapes and shadows on the walls, from the 
clothes which Dolph had thrown over a chair. 

With all his boldness of heart, there was some- 
thing subduing in this desolate scene; and he felt 
his spirits flag within him, as he lay on his hard bed 
and gazed about the room. He was turning over in 
his mind his idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and 
now and then heaving a heavy sigh, as he thought 
on his poor old mother ; for there is nothing like the 
silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shad- 
ows over the brightest mind. Ry-and-by, he thought 
he heard a sound as if some one was walking below 
stairs. He listened, and distinctly heard a step on 
the great staircase. It approached solemnly and 
slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It was evidently the 
tread of some heav)' personage ; and yet how could 
he have got into the house without making a noise? 
He had examined all the fastenings, and was certain 
that every entrance was secure. Still the steps ad- 
vanced, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It was evident that 
the person approaching could not be a robber — the 
step was too loud and deliberate; a robber would 
either be stealthy or precipitate. And now the foot- 
steps had ascended the staircase ; they were slowly 
advancing along the passage, resounding through 
the silent and empty apartments. The very cricket 
had ceased its melancholy note, and nothing inter- 
rupted their awful distinctness. The door, which 
had been locked on the inside, slowly swung open, 
as if self-moved. The footsteps entered the room ; 
but no one was to be seen. They passed slowly and 
audibly across it, tramp — tramp — tramp ! but what- 
ever made the sound was invisible. Dolph rubbed 
his eyes, and stared about him ; he could see to ev- 
ery part of the dimly-lighted chamber; all was va- 
cant ; yet still he heard those mysterious footsteps, 
sole.nnly walking about the chamber. They ceased, 
and all was dead silence. There was something 
more appalling in this invisible visitation, than there 



would have been in anything that addressed itself to 
the eyesight. It was awfully vague and indefinite. 
He felt his heart beat against his ribs ; a cold sweat 
broke out upon his forehead ; he lay for some time 
in a state of violent agitation ; nothing, however, 
occurred to increase his alarm. His light gradually 
burnt down into the socket, and he fell asleep. 
When he awoke it was broad daylight ; the sun was 
peering through the cracks of the window-shutters, 
and the birds were merrily singing about the house. 
The bright, cheery day soon put to flight all the 
terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or 
rather tried to laugh, at all that had passed, and 
endeavoured to persuade himself that it was a mere 
freak of the imagination, conjured up by the stories 
he had heard ; but he was a little puzzled to find 
the door of his room locked on the inside, notwith- 
standing that he had positively seen it swing open 
as the footsteps had entered. He returned to town 
in a state of considerable perplexity; but he de- 
termined to say nothing on the subject, until his 
doubts were either confirmed or removed by an- 
other night's watching. His silence was a grievous 
disappointment to the gossips who had gathered at 
the doctor's mansion. They had prepared their 
minds to hear direful tales ; and they were almost 
in a rage at being assured that he had nothing to 
relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. 
He now entered the house with some trepidation. 
He was particular in examining the fastenings of all 
the doors, and securing them well. He locked the 
door of his chamber, and placed a chair against it ; 
then, having despatched his supper, he threw him- 
self on his mattress and endeavoured to sleep. It 
was all in vain — a thousand crowding fancies kept 
him waking. The time slowly dragged on, as if 
minutes were spinning out themselves into hours 
As the night advanced, he grew more and more 
nervous ; and he almost started from his couch, 
when he heard the mysterious footstep again on the 
staircase. Up it came, as before, solemnly and 
slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp! It approached 
along the passage ; the door again swung open, as 
if there had been neither lock nor impediment, and 
a strange-looking figure stalked into the room. It 
was an elderly man, large and robust, clothed in the 
old Flemish fashion. He had on a kind of short 
cloak, with a garment under it, belted round the 
waist ; trunk hose, with great bunches or bows at 
the knees ; and a pair of russet boots, very large at 
top, and standing widely from his legs. His hat 
was broad and slouciied, with a feather trailing 
over one side. His iron-gray hair hung in thick 
masses on his neck ; and he had a short grizzled 
beard. He walked slowly round the room, as if ex- 
amining that all was safe; then, hanging his hat on 
a peg beside the door, he sat down in the elbow- 
chair, and, leaning his elbow on the table, he fixed 
his eyes on Dolph with an unmoving and deadening 
stare. 

Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had 
been brought up in an implicit belief in ghosts and 
goblins. A thousand stories came swarming to his 
mind, that he had heard about this building ; and as 
he looked at this strange personage, with his un- 
couth garb, his pale visage, his grizzly beard, and his 
fixed, staring, fish-like eye, his teeth began to chat- 
ter, his hair to rise on his head, and a cold sweat to 
break out all over his body. How long he remained 
in this situation he could not tell, for he was like one 
fascinated. He could not take his gaze off from the 
spectre ; but lay staring at him with his whole intel- 
lect absorbed in the contemplation. The old man 
remained seated behind the table, without stirring. 



524 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



or turnin<^ an eye, always keeping a dead steady 
glare upon Dolph. At length the household cock 
from a neighbouring farm clapped his wings, and 
gave a load checrl'ul crow that rung over the fields. 
At the sound, the old man slowly rose and took 
down his hat from the peg ; the door opened and 
closed after him ; he was heard to go slowly down 
the staircase — tramp — tramp — tramp! — and when 
he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph 
lay and listened earnestly ; counted every footfall ; 
listened and listened if the steps should return — un- 
til, exhausted by watching and agitation, he fell into 
a troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and assur- 
ance. He would fain have considered all that had 
passed as a mere dream ; yet there stood the chair 
in which the unknown had seated himself; there 
was the table on which he had leaned ; there was 
the peg on which he had hung his hat ; and there 
was the door, locked precisely as he himself had 
locked it, with the chair placed against it. He hast- 
ened down stairs and ex.amined the doors and win- 
dows ; all were exactly in the same state in which 
he had left them, and there was no apparent way by 
which any being could have entered and left the 
house without leaving some trace behind. " Pooh ! " 
said Dolph to himself, "it was all a dream;" — but 
it would not do ; the more he endeavoured to shake 
the scene off from his mind, the more it haunted 
him. 

Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all 
that he had seen or heard, yet his looks betrayed the 
uncomfortable night that he had passed. It was 
evident that there was something wonderful hidden 
under this mysterious reserve. The doctor took him 
into the study, locked the door, and sought to have 
a full and confidential communication ; but he could 
get notlnng out of him. Frau Ilsy took him aside 
into the pantry, but to as little purpose ; and Peter 
de Groodt held him by the button for a full hour in 
the church-yard, the very place to get at the bottom 
of a ghost story, but came off not a whit wiser than 
the rest, it is always the case, however, that one 
truth concealed makes a dozen current lies. It is 
like a guinea locked up in a bank, that has a dozen 
paper representatives. Before the day was over, the 
neighbourhood was full of reports. Some said that 
Dolph Heyliger watched in the haunted house with 
pistols loaded with silver bullets ; others, that he 
had a long talk with the spectre without a head ; 
others, that Doctor Knipperhausen and the sexton 
had been hunted down the Bowery lane, and quite 
into town, by a legion of ghosts of their customers. 
Some shook their heads, and thought it a shame that 
the doctor should put Dolph to pass the night alone 
in that dismal house, where he might be spirited 
away, no one knew whither ; while others observed, 
with a shrug, that if the devil did carry off the young- 
ster, it would be but taking his own. 

These rumours at length reached the ears of the 
good dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw 
her into a terrible alarm. For her son to have op- 
posed himself to danger from living foes, would have 
been nothing so dreadful in her eyes as to dare alone 
the terrors of the haunted house. She hastened to 
the doctor's, and passed a great part of the day in 
attempting to dissuade Dolph from repeating his 
vigil ; she told him a score of tales, which her gos- 
siping friends had just related to her, of persons who 
had been carried off when watching alone in old ru- 
inous houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's pride, 
as well as curiosity, was piqued. He endeavoured 
to calm the apprehensions of his mother, and to as- 
sure her that there was no truth in all the rumours 
she had heard; she looked at him dubiously, and 



shook her head ; but finding his determination was 
not to be shaken, she brought him a little thick 
Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, to take with him, as 
a sword wherewith to fight the powers of darkness; 
and, lest that might not be sufficient, the housekeeper 
gave him the Heidelburgh catechism by way of 
dagger. 

The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quar- 
ters for the third time in the old mansion. Whether 
dream or not, the same thing was repeated. To- 
wards midnight, when every thing was still, the 
same sound echoed through the empty halls — 
tramp — tramp — tramp ! The stairs were again as- 
cended ; the door again swung open ; the old man 
entered, walked round the room, hung up his hat, 
and seated himself by the table. The same fear and 
trembling came over poor Dolph, though not in so 
violent a degree. He lay in the same way, motion- 
less and fascinated, staring at the figure, which re- 
garded him, as before, with a dead, fixed, chilling 
gaze. In this way they remained for a long time, 
till, by degrees, Dolph's courage began gradually to 
revive. Whether alive or dead, this being had cer- 
tainly some object in his visitation ; and he recollect- 
ed to have heard it said, that spirits have no power 
to speak until they are spoken to. Summoning up 
resolution, therefore, and making two or three at- 
tempts before he could get his parched tongue in 
motion, he addressed the unknown in the most sol- 
emn form of adjuration that he could recollect, and 
demanded to know what was the motive oi his visit. 

No sooner had he finished, than the old man rose, 
took down his hat, the door opened, and he went 
out, looking back upon Dolph just as he crossed the 
threshold, as if expecting him to follow. The young- 
ster did not hesitate an instant. He took the candle 
in his hand, and the Bible under his arm, and obeyed 
the tacit invitation. The candle emitted a feeble, un- 
certain ray ; but still he could see the figure before 
him, slowly descend the stairs. He followed, trem- 
bling. When it had reached the bottom of the 
stairs, it turned through the hall towards the back 
door of the mansion. Dolph held the light over the 
balustrades ; but, in his eagerness to catch a sight 
of the unknown, he flared his feeble taper so sud- 
denly, that it went out. Still there was sufficient 
light from the pale moonbeams, that fell through a 
narrow window, to give him an indistinct view of 
the figure, near the door. He followed, therefore, 
down stairs, and turned towards the place ; but 
when he had got there, the unknown had disap- 
peared. The door remained fast barred and bolted ; 
there was no other mode of exit ; yet the being, 
whatever he might be, was gone. He unfastened 
the door, and looked out into the fields. It was a 
hazy, moonlight night, so that the eye could distin- 
guish objects at some distance. He thought he saw 
the unknown in a footpath that led from the door. 
He was not mistaken; but how had he got out of 
the house? He did not pause to think, but followed 
on. The old man proceeded at a measured pace, 
without looking about him, his footsteps sounding 
on the hard ground. He passed through the or- 
chard of apple-trees that stood near the house, always 
keeping the footpath. It led to a well, situated in a 
little hollow, which had supplied the farm with 
water. Just at this well, Dolph lost sight of him. 
He rubbed his eyes, and looked again ; but nothing 
was to be seen of the unknown. He reached the 
well, but nobody was there. All the surrounding 
ground was open and clear ; there was no bush nor 
hiding-place. He looked down the well, and saw, 
at a great depth, the reflection of the sky in the still 
water. Alter remaining here for some time, without 
seeing or hearing any thing more of his mysterious 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



525 



conductor, he returned to the house, full of awe and 
wonder. He bolted the dnor, groped his way back 
to bed, and it was long- before he could compose 
himself to sleep. 

His dreams were strange and troubled. He 
thought he was fallowing the old man along the 
side of a great river, until they came to a vessel that 
was on the point of sailing; and that his conductor 
led him on board and vanished. He remembered 
the commander of the vessel, a short swarthy man, 
with crisped black hair, blind of one eye, and lame 
of one leg ; but the rest of his dream was very con- 
fused. Sometimes he was sailing; sometiiTies on 
shore ; now amidst storms and tempests, and now 
wandering quietly in unknown streets. The figure 
of the old man was strangely mingled up with the 
incidents of the dream ; and the whole distinctly 
wound up by his finding himself on board of the 
vessel again, returning home, with a great bag of 
money ! 

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was 
streaking the horizon, and the cocks passing the 
rcvcil from farm to farm throughout the country. 
He rose more harassed and perplexed than ever. 
He was singularly confounded by all that he had 
seen and dreamt, and began to doubt whether his 
mind was not affected, and whether all that was 
passing in his thoughts might not be mere feverish 
fantasy. In his present slate of mind, he did not 
feel disposed to return immediately to the doctor's, 
and undergo the cross-questioning of the household. 
He made a scanty breakfast, therefore, on the re- 
mains of the last night's provisions, and then wan- 
dered out into the fields to meditate on all that had 
befallen him. Lost in thought, he rambled about, 
gradually approaching the town, until the morning 
was far advanced, when he was roused by a hurry 
and bustle around him. He found himself near the 
water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a 
pier, where there was a vessel re.ady to make sail. 
He was unconsciously carried along by the im- 
pulse of the crowd, and found that it was a sloop, 
on the point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. 
There was much leave-taking and kissing of old 
women and children, and great activity in carrying 
on board baskets of bread and cakes, and provisions 
of all kinds, notwithstanding the mighty joints of 
meat that dangled over the stern ; for a voyage to 
Albany was an expedition of great moment in those 
days. The commander of the sloop was hurrying 
about, and giving a world of orders, which were not 
very strictly attended to ; one man being busy in 
lighting his pipe, and another in sharpening his 
snicker-snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly 
caught Dolph's attention. He was short and swarthy, 
with crisped black hair ; blind of one eye, and lame 
of one leg — the very commander that he had seen in 
his dream ! Surprised and aroused, he considered the 
scene more attentively, and recalled still further 
traces of his dream : the appearance of the vessel, 
of the river, and of a variety of other objects, ac- 
corded with the imperfect images vaguely rising to 
recollection. 

As he stood musing on these circumstances, the 
captain suddenly called out to him in Dutch, " Step 
on board, young man, or you'll be left behind ! " He 
was startled by the summons ; he saw that the sloop 
was cast loose, and was actually moving from the 
pier; it seemed as if he was actuated by some irre- 
sistible impulse ; he sprang upon the deck, and the 
next moment the sloop was hurried off by the wind 
and tide. Dolph's thoughts and feelings were all in 
tumult and confusion. He had been strongly worked 
upon by the events that had recently befallen him, 



and could not but think that there was some con- 
nexion between his present situation and his last 
night's dream. He felt as if he was under supernat- 
ural influence; and he tried to assure himself with 
an old and favourite maxim of his, that "one way 
or other, all would turn out for the best." For a 
moment, the indignation of the doctor at his de- 
parture without leave, passed across his mind — but 
that was matter of little moment. Then he thought 
of the distress of his mother at his strange disap- 
pearance, and the idea gave him a sudden pang ; he 
would have entreated to be put on shore ; but he 
knew with such wind and tide the entreaty would 
have been in vain. Then, the inspiring love of nov- 
elty and adventure came rushing in full tide through 
his bosom ; he felt himself launched strangely and 
suddenly on the world, and under full way to ex- 
plore the regions of wonder that lay up this mighty 
river, and beyond those blue mountains that had 
bounded his horizon since childhood. While he was' 
lost in this whirl of thought, the sails strained to the 
breeze ; the shores seemed to hurry away behind 
him ; and, before he perfectly recovered his self- 
possession, the sloop was ploughing her way past 
Spiking-devil and Yonkers, and the tallest chimney 
of the Manhattoes had faded from his sight. 

I have said, that a voyage up the Hudson in those 
davs was an undertaking of some moment ; indeed, 
it was as much thought of as a voyage to Europe is 
at present. The sloops were often many days on 
the way ; the cautious navigators taking in sail when 
it blew fresh, and coming to anchor at night ; and 
stopping to send the boat ashore for milk for tea, 
without which it was impossible for the worthy old 
lady passengers to subsist. And there were the 
much-talked-of perils of the Tappaan Zee, and the 
highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgher 
would talk of such a voyage for months, and even 
years, beforehand ; and never undertook it without 
putting his affairs in order, m.aking his will, and hav- 
ing prayers said for him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph 
was satisfied he would have time enough to reflect, 
and to make up his mind as to v/hat he should do 
when he arrived at Albany. The captain, with his 
blind eye and lame leg, would, it is true, bring his 
strange dream to mind, and perplex him sadly tor a 
few moments ; but, of late, his life had been made 
up so much of dreams and realities, his nights and 
days had been so jumbled together, that he seemed 
to be moving continually in a delusion. There is 
always, however, a kind of vagabond consolation in 
a man's having nothing in this world to lose; with 
this Dolph comforted his heart, and determined to 
make the most of the present enjoyment. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to the 
highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry 
day, that they floated gently with the tide between 
these stern mountains. There was that perfect 
quiet which prevails over nature in the languor of 
summer heat ; the turning of a plank, or the acci- 
dental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from 
the mountain side and reverberated along the shores ; 
and if by chance the captain gave a shout of com- 
mand, there were airy tongues that mocked it from 
every cliff. 

Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and won- 
der, at these scenes of nature's magnificence. To 
the left the Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, 
height over height, forest over forest, away into the 
deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the 
bold promontory of Anthony's Nose, with a solitary 
eagle wheeling about it ; while beyond, mountain 
succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock 
their arms together, and confine this mighty river in 



526 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



their embraces. There was a feeHng of quiet luxury 
in gazing at the broad, green bosoms here and there 
scooped out among the precipices ; or at woodlands 
high in air, nodding over the edge of some beet- 
ling bluff, and tlieir foliage all transparent in the 
yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a 
pile of bright, snowy clouds peering above the west- 
ern heights. It was succeeded by another, and 
another, each seemingly pushing onwards its prede- 
cessor, and tovvering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the 
deep-blue atmosphere : and now muttering peals of 
thunder were famtly heard rolling behind the mount- 
ains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting 
pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark 
ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up 
it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and 
sought their nests on the high dry trees ; the crows 
flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, and 
all nature seemed conscious of the approaching 
thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mount- 
ain tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but 
the lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain be- 
gan to patter down in broad and scattered drops ; 
the wind freshened, and curled up the waves ; at 
length it seemed as it the bellying clouds were torn 
open by the mountain tops, and complete torrents 
of rain came rattling down. The lightning leaped 
from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against 
the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest 
trees. The thunder burst in tremendous explosions ; 
the peals were echoed from mountain to mountain ; 
they crashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the 
long defile of the highlands, each headland making 
a new echo, until old Bull hill seemed to bellow back 
the storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the 
sheeted rain, almost hid the landscape from the 
sight. There was a fearful gloom, illumined still 
more fearfully by the streams of lightning which 
glittered among the rain-drops. Never had Dolph 
beheld such an absolute warring of the elements : it 
seemed as if the storm was tearing and rending its 
way through this mountain defile, and had brought 
all the artillery of heaven into action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, 
until she came to where the river makes a sudden 
bend, the only one in the whole course of its majes- 
tic career.* Just as they turned the point, a violent 
flaw of wind came sweeping down a mountain gully, 
bending the forest before it, and, in a moment, lash- 
ing up the river into white froth and foam. The 
captain saw the danger, and cried out to lower the 
sail. Before the order could be obeyed, the flaw 
struck the sloop, and threw her on her beam-ends. 
Every thing was now fright and confusion : the flap- 
ping of the sails, the whistling and rushing of the 
wind, the bawling of the captain and crew, the 
shrieking of the passengers, all mingled with the 
rolling and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst 
of the uproar, the sloop righted ; at the same time 
the mainsail shifted, the boom came sweeping the 
quarter-deck, and Dolph, who was gazing unguard- 
edly at the clouds, found himself, in a moment, 
floundering in the river. 

For once in his life, one of his idle accomplish- 
ments was of use to him. The many truant hours 
which he had devoted to sporting in the Hud- 
son, had made him an expert swimmer ; yet, with 
all his strength and skill, he found great difficulty in 
reaching the shore. His disappearance from the 
deck had not been noticed by the crew, who were 



* This must have been the bend at West-Point. 



all occupied by their own danger. The sloop was 
driven -along with inconceivable rapidity. She had 
hard work to weather a long promontory on the 
eastern shore, round which the river turned, and 
which completely shut her from Dolph's view. 

It was on a point of the western shore that he 
landed, and, scrambling up the rocks, he threw him- 
self, faint and exhausted, at the foot of a tree. By 
degrees, the thunder-gust passed over. The clouds 
rolled away to the east, where they lay piled in feathery 
masses, tinted with the last rosy rays of the sun. 
The distant play of the lightning might be seen 
about the dark bases, and now and then might be 
heard the faint muttering of the thunder. Dolph 
rose, and sought about to see if any path led from 
the shore ; but all was savage and trackless. The 
rocks were piled upon each other ; great trunks of 
trees lay shattered about, as they had been blown 
down by the strong winds which draw through these 
mountains, or had fallen through age. The rocks, 
too, were overhung with wild vines and briars, which 
completely matted themselves together, and opposed 
a barrier to all ingress ; every movement that he 
made, shook down a shower from the dripping foli- 
age. He attempted to scale one of these almost 
perpendicular heights ; but, though strong and 
agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. Often 
he was supported merely by crumbling projections 
of the rock, and sometimes he clung to roots and 
branches of trees, and hung almost suspended in 
the air. The wood-pigeon came cleaving his whist- 
ling flight by him, and the eagle screamed from 
the brow of the impending cliff. As he was thus 
clambering, he was on the point of seizing hold of 
a shrub to aid his ascent, when something rustled 
among the leaves, and he saw a snake quivering 
along like liglitning, almost from under his hand. It 
coiled itself up immediately, in an attitude of defi- 
ance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and quick- 
ly-vibrating tongue, that played like a little flame 
about its mouth. Dolph's heart turned faint within 
him, and he had well-nigh let go his hold, and tum- 
bled down the precipice. The serpent stood on the de- 
fensive but for an instant ; it was an instinctive move- 
ment of defence ; and finding there was no attack, 
it glided away into a cleft of the rock. Dolph's eye 
followed with fearful intensity ; and he saw at a 
glance that he was in the vicinity of a nest of adders, 
that lay knotted, and writhing, and hissing in the 
chasm. He hastened with all speed to escape from 
so frightful a neighbourhood. His imagination was 
full of this new horror ; he saw an adder in every 
curling vine, and heard the tail of a rattlesnake in 
every dry leaf that rustled. 

At length he succeeded in scrambling to the sum- 
mit of a precipice ; but it was covered by a dense 
forest. Wherever he could gain a look-out between 
the trees, he saw that the coast rose in heights and 
cliffs, one rising beyond another, until huge mount- 
ains overtopped the whole. There were no signs 
of cultivation, nor any smoke curling amongst the 
trees, to indicate a human residence. Every thing 
was wild and solitary. As he was standing on the 
edge of a precipice that overlooked a deep ravine 
fringed with trees, his feet detached a great frag- 
ment of rock ; it fell, crashing its way through the 
tree tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or 
rather yell, issued from the bottom of the glen ; the 
moment after, there was the report of a gun ; and a 
ball came whistling over his head, cutting the twigs 
and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a 
chestnut-tree. 

.Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a 
precipitate retreat ; fearing every moment to hear 
the enemy in pursuit. He succeeded, however, in 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



527 



returning unmolested to the shore, and determined 
to penetrate no farther into a country so beset with 
savage perils. 

He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on 
a wet stone. What was to be done ? where was he 
to shelter himself? The hour of repose was ap- 
proaching; the birds were seeking their nests, the 
bat began to flit about in the twilight, and the night- 
hawk, soaring high in heaven, seemed to be calling 
out the stars. Night gradually closed in, and wrap- 
ped every thing in gloom ; and though it was the 
latter part of summer, yet the breeze, stealing along 
the river, and among these dripping forests, was 
chilly and penetrating, especially to a half-drowned 
man. 

As he sat drooping and despondent in this com- 
fortless condition, he perceived a light gleaming" 
through the trees near the shore, where the winding 
of the river made a deep bay. It cheered him with 
the hopes that here miglit be some human habita- 
tion, where he might get something to appease the 
clamorous cravings of his stomach, and, what was 
equally necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a 
comfortable shelter for the night. It was with ex- 
treme diflicuJty that he made his way towards the 
light, along ledges of rocks down which he was in 
danger ot slidmg into the river, and over great 
trunks of fallen trees ; some of which had been 
blown down in the late storm, and lay so thickly 
together, that he had to struggle through their 
branches. At length he came to the brow of a rock 
that overhung a small dell, from whence the light 
proceeded. It was from a tire at the foot of a great 
tree, that stood in the midst of a grassy interval, or 
plat, among the rocks. The fire cast up a red glare 
among the gray crags and impending trees ; leaving 
chasms of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to 
caverns. A small brook rippled close by, betrayed 
by the quivering reflection ot the flame. There were 
two figures moving about the fire, and others squat- 
ted belore it. As they were between him and the 
light, they were in complete shadow ; but one of 
them happening to move round to the opposite side, 
Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the full glare 
falling on painted features, and glittering on silver 
ornaments, that he was an Indian. He now looked 
more narrowly, and saw guns leaning against a tree, 
and a dead body lying on the ground. 

Dolph began to doubt whether he was not in a 
worse condition than before ; here was the very foe 
that had fired at him from the glen. He endeavoured 
to retreat quietly, not caring to entrust himself to 
these half-human beings in so savage and lonely a 
place. It was too late: the Indian, with that eagle 
quickness of eye so remarkable in his race, perceived 
something stirring among the bushes on the rock: 
he seized one of the guns that leaned against the 
tree ; one moment more, and Dolph might have had 
his passion for adventure cured by a bullet. He 
hallooed loudly, with the Indian salutation of friend- 
ship : the whole party sprang upon their feet ; the 
salutation was returned, and the straggler was in- 
vited to join them at the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, that 
the party was composed of white men as well as 
Indians. One, who was evidently the principal per- 
sonage, or commander, was seated on the trunk of a 
tree before the fire. He was a large, stout man, 
somewhat advanced in life, but hale and hearty. 
His face was bronzed almost to the colour of an 
Indian's; he had strong but rather jovial features, 
an aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. 
His face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat, 
with a buck's-tail in it. His gray hair hung short in 
his neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with Indian 



leggings, and moccasons, and a tomahawk in the 
broad wampum belt round his waist. As Dolph 
caught a distinct view of his person and features, he 
was struck with something that reminded him of the 
old man of the haunted house. The man before him, 
however, was different in his dress and age ; he was 
more cheery, too, in his aspect, and it was hard to 
define where the vague resemblance lay — but are- 
semblance there certainly was. Dolph felt some 
degree of awe in approaching him ; but was assured 
by the frank, hearty welcome with which he was re- 
ceived. As he cast his eyes about, too, he was still 
further encouraged, by perceiving that the dead body, 
which had caused him some alarm, was that of a 
deer ; and his satisfaction was complete, in discern- 
ing, by the savoury steams which issued from a kettle 
suspended by a hooked stick over the fire, that there 
was a part cooking for the evening's repast. 

He now found that he had fallen in with a ram- 
bling hunting party ; such as often took place in those 
days among the settlers along the river. The hunter 
is always hospitable ; and nothing makes men more 
social and unceremonious, than meeting in the wil- 
derness. The commander of the party poured him 
out a dram of cheering liquor, which he gave him 
with a merry leer, to warm his heart ; and ordered 
one of his followers to fetch some garments from a 
pinnace, which was moored in a cove close by, 
while those in which our hero was dripping might 
be dried before the fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot 
from the glen, which had come so near givmg him 
his quietus when on the precipice, was from the party 
before him. He had nearly crushed one of them by 
the fragment of rock which he had detached ; and the 
jovial old hunter, in the broad hat and buck-tail, had 
fired at the place where he saw the bushes move, 
supposing it to be some wild animal. He laughed 
heartily at the blunder ; it being what is considered 
an exceeding good joke among hunters ; " but faith, 
my lad," said he, "if I had but caught a glimpse of 
you to take sight at, you would have followed the 
rock. Antony Vander Heyden is seldom known to 
miss his aim." These last words were at once a 
clue to Dolph's curiosity ; and a few questions let 
him completely into the character of the man before 
him, and of his band of woodland rangers. The 
commander in the broad hat and hunting-frock was 
no less a personage than the Heer Antony Vander 
Heyden, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a time 
heard. He was, in fact, the hero of many a story ; 
being a man of singular humours and whimsical 
habits, that were matters of wonder to his quiet 
Dutch neighbours. As he was a man of property, 
having had a father before hi.m, from whom he in- 
herited large tracts of wild land, and whole barrels 
full of wampum, he could indulge his humours with- 
out control. Instead of staying quietly at home ; eat- 
ing and drinking at regular meal times ; amusing 
himself by smoking his pipe on the bench before the 
door, and then turning into a comfortable bed at 
night ; he delighted in all kinds of rough, wild expe- 
ditions. He was never so happy as when on a hunt- 
ing party in the wilderness, sleeping under trees or 
bark sheds, or cruising down the river, or on some 
woodland lake, fishing and fowling, and living the 
Lord knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian 
mode of life ; which he considered true natural 
liberty and manly enjoyment. When at home, he 
had always several Indian hangers-on, who loitered 
about his house, sleeping like hounds in the sunshine, 
or preparing hunting and fishing-tackle for some new 
expedition, or shooting at marks with bows and ar- 
rows. 



528 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Over these vagrant beings, Heer Antony had as 
perfect command as a huntsman over his pacl< ; 
though they were great nuisances to the regular 
people of his neighbourhood. As he was a rich man, 
no one ventured to thwart his humours; indeed, he 
had a hearty, joyous manner about him, that made 
him universally popular. He would troll a Dutch 
song, as he tramped along the street ; hail every one 
a mile off; and when he entered a house, he would 
slap the good man familiarly on the back, shake him 
by the hand till he roared, and kiss his wife and 
daughters before his face — in short, there was no 
pride nor ill-humour about Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or 
four humble friends among the white men, who 
looked up to him as a patron, and had the run of his 
kitchen, and the favour of being taken with him oc- 
casionally on his expeditions. It was with a medley 
of such retainers that he was at present on a cruise 
along the shores of the Hudson, in a pinnace which 
he kept for his own recreation. There were two 
white men with him, dressed partly in the Indian 
style, with moccasons and hunting-shirts; the rest 
of his crew consisted of four favourite Indians. They 
had been prowling about the river, without any 
definite object, until they found themselves in the 
highlands ; where they had passed two or three days, 
hunting the deer which still lingered among these 
mountains. 

" It is a lucky circumstance, young man," said 
Antony Vander Heyden, " that you happened to be 
knocked overboard to-day, as to-morrow morning 
we start early on our return homewards, and you 
might then have looked in vain for a meal among 
the mountains — but come, lads, stir about ! stir 
about I Let's see what prog we have for supper; 
the kettle has boiled long enough ; my stomach cries 
cupboard ; and I'll warrant our guest is in no mood 
to dally with his trencher." 

There was a bustle now in the little encampment. 
One took off the kettle, and turned a part of the con- 
tents into a huge wooden bowl ; another prepared a 
flat rock for a table ; while a third brought various 
utensils from the pinnace, which was moored close by; 
and Heer Antony himself brought a tlask or two of 
precious liquor from his own private locker — know- 
ing his boon companions too well to trust any of them 
with the key. 

A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; con- 
sisting of venison smoking from the kettle, with 
cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, and mighty loaves of 
good brown household bread. Never had Dolph 
made a more delicious repast ; and when he had 
washed it down with two or three draughts from 
the Heer Antony's flask, and felt the jolly liquor 
sending its warmth through his veins, and glowing 
round his very heart, he would not have changed his 
situation, no, not with the governor of the province. 

The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joyous ; 
told half-a-dozen fat stories, at which his white fol- 
lowers laughed immoderately, though the Indians, as 
usual, maintained an invincible gravity. 

" This is your true life, my boy ! " said he, slapping 
Dolph on the shoulder ; " a man is never a man till 
he can defy wind and weather, range woods and 
wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-wood 
leaves ! ' ' 

And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch 
drinking song, swaying a short squab Dutch bottle 
in his hand, while his myrmidons would join in 
chorus, until the woods echoed again ; — as the good 
old song has it : 

"They all with a shout made the elements ring, 
So soon as the office was o'er ; 
To feasting they went with true merriment, 
And tippled strong liquor gillore." 



In the midst of his jovialty, however, Heer Antony 
did not lose sight of discretion. Though he pushed 
the bottle without reserve to Dolph, yet he always 
took care to help his followers himself, knowing the 
beings he had to deal with ; and he was particular 
in granting but a moderate allowance to the Indians. 
The repast being ended, the Indians having drunk 
their liquor and smoked their pipes, now wrapped 
themselves in their blankets, stretched themselves 
on the ground with their feet to the fire, and soon 
fell asleep, like so many tired hounds. The rest of 
the party remained chatting befo e the fire, which 
the gloom of the forest, and the dampness ot the air 
from the late storm, rendered extremely grateful and 
comforting. The conversation gradually moderated 
from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned upon 
hunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the 
wilderness; many of which were so strange and im- 
probable, that 1 will not venture to repeat them, lest 
the veracity of Antony Vander Heyden and his com- 
rades should be brought into question. There were 
many legendary tales told, also, about the river, and 
the settlements on its borders ; in which valuable 
kind of lore, the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. 
As the sturdy bush-beater sat in the twisted root of 
a tree, that served him for a kind of arm-chair, deal- 
ing forth these wild stories, with the fire gleaming on 
his strongly marked visage, Dolph was again repeat- 
edly perplexed by something that reminded him of 
the phantom of the haunted house ; some vague re- 
semblance, that could not be fixed upon any precise 
feature or lineament, but which pervaded the general 
air of his countenance and figure. 

The circumstance of Dolph 's falling overboard being 
again discussed, led to the relation of divers disasters 
and singular mishaps that had befallen voyagers on 
this great river, particularly in the earlier periods of 
colonial history ; most of which the Heer deliberately 
attributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared at 
this suggestion ; but the old gentleman assured him 
that it was very currently believed by the settlers 
along the river, that these highlands were under the 
dominion of supernatural and mischievous beings, 
which seemed to have taken some pique against the 
Dutch colonists in the early time of the settlement. 
In consequence of this, they have ever since taken 
particular delight in venting their spleen, and indulg- 
ing their humours, upon the Dutch skippers ; both- 
ering them with fiaws, head winds, counter currents, 
and all kinds of impediments ; insomuch, that a 
Dutch navigator was always obliged to be exceed- 
ingly wary and deliberate in his proceedings ; to 
come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in 
sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling 
over the mountains ; in short, to take so many pre- 
cautions, that he was often apt to be an incredible 
time in toiling up the river. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers 
of the air to be evil spirits conjured up by the Indian 
wizards, in the early times of the province, to re- 
venge themselves on the strangers who had dispos- 
sessed them of their country. They even attributed 
to their incantations the misadventure which befell 
the renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailed so 
gallantly up this river in quest of a north-west pas- 
sage, and, as he thought, run his ship aground ; 
which they affirm was nothing more nor less than a 
spell of these same wizards, to prevent his getting to 
China in this direction. 

The greater part, however, Heer Antony observed, 
accounted for all the extraordinary circumstances at- 
tending this river, and the perplexities of the skip- 
pers which navigated it, by the old legend of the 
Storm-ship, which haunted Foint-no-point. On find- 
ing Dolph to be utterly ignorant of this tradition. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



529 



the Heer stared at him for a moment with surprise, 
and wondered where he had passed his life, to be un- 
inlbrmed on so important a point of history. To 
pass away the remainder of the evening, therefore, 
he undertook the tale, as far as his memory would 
serve, in the very words in which it had been written 
out by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New- 
Nederlandts. Giving, then, a stir to the fire, that 
sent up its sparks among the trees like a little volcano, 
he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of a tree ; 
and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for 
a few moments, to summon up his recollection, he 
related the following legend. 



THE STQRM-SHI?. 



In the golden age of the province of the New- 
Netherlands, when it was under the sway of Wouter 
\'an Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the peo- 
ple of the Manhattoes were alarmed, one sultry af- 
ternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, 
by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. 
The rain descended in such torrents, as absolutely 
to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It 
seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the 
very roofs of the houses ; the lightning was seen to 
play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to strive 
three times, in vain, to strike its weather-cock. 
Garret Van Home's new chimney was split almost 
from top to bottom ; and Doffue Mildeberger was 
struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as 
he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of 
those unparalleled storms, that only happen once 
within the memory of that venerable personage, 
known in all towns by the appellation of " the oldest 
inhabitant." 

Great was the terror of the good old women of 
the Manhattoes. They gathered their children to- 
gether, and took refuge in the cellars ; after having 
hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, 
lest it should attract the lightning. At length the 
storm abated ; the thunder sunk into a growl ; and 
the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed bor- 
ders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the 
bay to gleam like a sc^a of molten gold. 

The word was given from the fort, that a ship was 
standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to 
mouth, and street to street, and soon put the little 
capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those 
early times of the settlement, was an event of vast 
importance to the inhabitants. It brought them 
news from the old world, from the land of their 
birth, from which they were so completely severed : 
to the yearly ship, to, they looked for their supply of 
luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of nec- 
essaries. The good vrouw could not have her new 
cap, nor new gown, until the arrival of the ship ; 
the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster 
for his i)!pe and his supply of Hollands, tlie school- 
boy for his top and marbles, and the lordly land- 
holder for the bricks with which he was to build his 
new mansion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great 
and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It 
was the great yearly event of the town of New-Am- 
sterdam ; and from one end of the year to the other, 
the ship — the ship — the ship — •'was the continual 
topic of conversation. 

The news t'rom the fort, therefore, brought all the 

populace down to the battery, to behold the wished- 

for sight. It was not exactly the time when she had 

been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a 

34 



matter of some speculation. Many were the groups 
collected about the battery. Here and there might 
be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous grav- 
ity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a 
crowd of old women and idle boys. At another 
place was a knot of old weatherbeaten fellows, who 
had been seamen or fishermen in their times, and 
were great authorities on such occasions ; these 
gave different opinions, and caused great disputes 
among their several adherents : liut the man most 
looked up to, and followed and watched by the 
crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea- 
captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of 
the place. He reconnoitred the ship through an 
ancient telescope, covered with tany canvas, 
hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. 
A hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt had always 
more weight with the public than a speech from an- 
other man. 

In the meantime, the ship became more distinct 
to the naked eye : she was a stout, round Dutch- 
l>uilt vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing 
Dutch colours. The evening sun gilded her bellying 
canvas, as she came riding over the long waving bil- 
lows. The sentinel who had given notice of her 
approach, declared, that he first got sight of her 
when she was in the centre of the bay ; and that she 
broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had came 
out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The 
bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he 
w'ould say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed 
his mouth closer together, and said nothing ; upon 
which some shook their heads, and others shrugged 
their shoulders. 

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no 
reply, and, passing by the fort, stood on up the Hud- 
son. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with 
some dilTiculty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, 
the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot 
seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to 
skip along the water on the other side, but no notice 
was taken of it ! What was strange, she had all her 
sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, 
wliich were both down the river. Upon this Hans 
Van Pelt, who was likewise harbour-master, ordered 
his boat, and set off to board her ; but after rowing 
two or three hours, he returned without success. 
Sometimes he would get within one or two hundred 
yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be 
half a mile off. Some said it was because his oars- 
men, who were rather pursy and short-winded, 
stopped every now and then to take breath, and 
spit on their hands ; but this, it is probable, was a 
mere scandal. He got near enough, however, to see 
the crew ; who were all dressed in the Dutch style, 
the officers in doublets and high hats and feathers : 
not a word was spoken by any one on board ; they 
stood as motionless as so many statues, and the ship 
seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she 
kept on, away up the river, lessening and lessening 
in the evening sunshine, until she faded from sight, 
like a little white cloud melting away in the summer 
sky. 

The appearance of this ship threw the governor 
into one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him 
in the whole course of his administration. Fears 
were entertained for the security of the infant settle- 
ments on the river, lest this might be an enemy's 
ship in disguise, sent to take possession. The gov- 
ernor called together his council repeatedly to assist 
him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of 
state, built of timber from the sacred forest of the 
Hague, and smoking his long jasmine pipe, and 
listened to all that his counsellors had to say on a 
subject about w^hich they knew nothing ; but, in 



530 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



spite of all the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest 
heads, the governor still continued to doubt. 

Messengers were despatched to different places on 
the river ; but they returned without any tidings — 
the ship had made no port. Day after day, and 
weel: after week, elapsed ; but she never returned 
down the Hudson. As, however, the council seemed 
solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance. 
The captams of the sloops seldom arrived without 
bringing some report of having seen the strange 
ship at different parts of the river; sometimes near 
the Pallsadoes ; sometimes off Croton Point, and 
sometimes in the highlands ; but she never was re- 
ported as having been seen above the highlands. 
The crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed 
among themselves in their accounts of these appari- 
tions ; but they may have arisen from the uncertain 
situations in which they saw her. Sometimes it was 
by the flashes of the thunder-storm lighting up a 
pitchy night, and giving glimpses of her careering 
across Tappaan Zee, or the wide waste of Haverstraw 
Bay. At one moment she would appear close upon 
them, as if likely to run them down, and would 
throw them into great bustle and alarm ; but the 
next flash would show her far off, always sailing 
against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight 
nights, she would be seen under some high bluff of 
the highlands, all in deep -shadow, excepting her 
top-sails glittering in the moonbeams ; by the time, 
however, that the voyagers would reach the place, 
there would be no ship to be seen ; and when they 
had passed on for some distance, and looked back, 
behold ! there she was again with her top-sails in the 
moonshine ! Her appearance was always just after, 
or just before, or just in the midst of, unruly weather ; 
and she was known by all the skippers and voyagers 
of the Hudson, by the name of " the storm-ship." 

These reports perplexed the governor and his 
council more than ever; and it would be endless to 
repeat the conjectures and opinions that were utter- 
ed on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of 
ships seen off the coast of New-England, navigated 
by witches and goblins. Old Hans Van Pelt, who 
had been inore than once to the Dutch colony at the 
Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the 
Flying Dutchman which had so long haunted Table 
Bay, but, being unable to make port, had now sought 
another harbour. Others suggested, that, if it really 
was a supernatural apparition, as there was every 
natural reason to believe, it might be Hendrick 
Hudson, and his crew of the Half-Moon ; who, it 
was well-known, had once run aground in the upper 
part of the river, in seeking a north-west passage to 
China. This opinion had very little weight with the 
governor, but it passed current out of doors ; for in- 
deed it had already been reported, that Hendrick 
Hudson and his crew haunteci the Kaatskill Mount- 
ain ; and it appeared very reasonable to suppose, 
that his ship might infest the river, where the enter- 
prise was baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy 
crew to their periodical revels in the mountain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and 
doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, and the 
storm-ship ceased to be a subject of deliberation at 
the board. It continued, however, to be a matter 
of popular belief and marvellous anecdote through 
the whole time of the Dutch government, and par- 
ticularly just before the capture of New-Amsterdam, 
and the subjugation of the province by the English 
squadron. About that time the storm-ship was re- 
peatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and about Wee- 
hawk, and even down as far as Hoboken ; and her 
appearance was supposed to be ominous of the ap- 
proaching squall in public affairs, and the downfall 
of Dutch domination. 



Since that time, we have no authentic accounts of 
her ; though it is said she still haunts the highlands, 
and cruises about Point-no-point. People who live 
along the river, insist that they sometimes see her in 
summer moonlight ; and that in a deep still mid- 
night, they have heard the chant of her crew, as if 
heaving the lead ; but sights and sounds are so de- 
ceptive along the mountainous shores, and about the 
wide bays and long reaches of this great river, that I 
confess I have very strong doubts upon the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things 
have been seen in these highlands in storms, which 
are considered as connected with the old story of 
the ship.- The captains of the river craft talk of a 
little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose 
and sugar-loafed hat, with a speaking trumpet in his 
hand, which they say keeps about the Dunderburg.* 
They declare they have heard him, in stormy weath- 
er, in the midst of the turmoil, giving orders in Low 
Dutch for the piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or 
the rattling off of another thunder-clap. That some- 
times he has been seen surrounded by a crew of 
little imps in broad breeches and short doublets ; 
tumbling head-over-heels in the rack and mist, and 
playing a thousand gambols in the air ; or buzzing 
like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose ; and 
that, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm 
was always greatest. One time, a sloop, in passing 
by the Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder- 
gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and 
seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though tight 
and well ballasted, yet she laboured dreadfully, until 
the water came over the gunwale. All the crew 
were amazed, when if was discovered that there was 
a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, which 
was known at once to be that of the Heer of the 
Dunderberg. Nobody, however, dared to climb to 
the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The 
sloop continued labouring and rocking, as if she 
would have rolled her mast overboard. She seemed 
in continual danger either of upsetting or of running 
on shore. In this way she drove quite through the 
highlands, until she had passed Pollopol's Island, 
where, it. is said, the jurisdiction of the Dunderberg 
potentate ceases. No sooner had she passed this 
bourne, than the little hat, all at once, spun up into 
the air like a top, whirled up all the clouds into a 
vorte.x, and hurried them back to the summit of the 
Dunderberg, while the sloop righted herself, and 
sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing 
saved her from utter wreck, but the fortunate cir- 
cumstance of having a horse-shoe nailed against the 
mast — a wise precaution against evil spirits, which 
has since been adopted by all the Dutch captains 
that navigate this haunted river. 

There is another story told of this foul-weather 
urchin, by Skipper Daniel Ouslesticker, of Fish-Hill, 
who was never known to tell a lie. He declared, 
that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated astride ot 
his bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full butt against 
Antony's Nose ; and that he was exorcised by 
Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, who happened to 
be on board, and who sung the hymn of St. Nicholas ; 
whereupon the goblin threw himself up in the air 
like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind, carrying 
away with him the nightcap of the Dominie's wife ; 
which was discovered the next Sunday morning 
hanging on the weather-cock of Esopus church 
steeple, at least forty miles off I After several events 
of this kind had taken place, the regular skippers of 
the river, for a long time, did not venture to pass the 
Dunderberg, without lowering their peaks, out of 
homage to the Heer of the mountain ; and it was ob- 



* z. ^., the '* Thunder-Mountain," so called from its echoes. 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



531 



served that all such as paid this tribute of respect 1 miraculous contrivance : but as this is absolutely a 
were suffered to pass unmolested.* true story, I must content myself with simple facts, 



" Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, " are a few 
of the stories written down by Selyne the poet con- 
cerning this storm-ship ; which he affirms to have 
brought this colony of mischievous imps into the 
province, from some old ghost-ridden country of 
Europe. I.could give you a host more, if necessary ; 
for all the accidents that so often befall the river 
craft in the higlilands, are said to be tricks played 
off by these imps of the Dunderberg; but I see 
that you are nodding, so let us turn in for the 
night." 

The moon had just raised her silver horns above 
the round back of old Bull-Hill, and lit up the gray 
rocks and shagged forests, and glittered on the wav- 
ing bosom of the river. The night-dew was falling, 
and the late gloomy mountains began to soften, and 
put on a gray aerial tint in the dewy light. The 
hunters stirred the fire, and threw on fresh fuel to 
qualify the damp of the night air. They then pre- 
pared a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge 
of rocks, for Oolph ; while Antony Vander Heyden, 
wrapi)ing himself up in a huge coat made of skins, 
stretched himself before the fire. It was some time, 
however, before Dolph could close his eyes. He lay 
contemplating the strange scene before him: the 
wild woods and rocks around — the fire, throwing fit- 
ful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages — and 
the Heer Antony, too, who so singularly, yet vague- 
ly, reminded him of the nightly visitant to the haunted 
house. Now and then he heard the ciy of some 
animal from the forest ; or the hooting of the owl ; 
or the notes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed to 
abound among these solitudes; or the splash of a 
sturgeon, leaping out of the river, and falling back 
full length on its placid surface. He contrasted all 
this with his accustomed nest in the garret-room of 
the doctor's mansion ; w'here the only sounds he 
heard at night were the church-clock telling the 
hour; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawling 
out all was well ; the deep snoring of the doctor's 
clubbed nose from below stairs ; or the cautious 
labours of some carpenter rat gnawing in the wains- 
cot. His thoughts then w-andered to his poor old 
mother; what would she think of his mysterious dis- 
appearance ? — what anxiety and distress would she 
not suffer? This was the thought that would con- 
tinually intrude itself, to mar his present enjoyment. 
It brought with it a feeling of pain and compunction, 
and he fell asleep with the tears yet standing in his 
eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a 
fine opportunity for weaving in strange adventures 
among these wild mountains and roving hunters ; 
and, alter involving my hero in a variety of perils and 
difficulties, rescuing him from them all by some 

♦Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies during 
the early times of the settlements, there seems to have been a singu- 
lar one about phantom ships. The superstitious fancies of men arc 
alw.ays apt to turn upon those objects which concern their daily oc- 
cupations. The solitary ship, which, from year to year, came like 
a raven in the wilderness, bringing to the inhabitants of a settle- 
ment the comforts of life from the world from which they were cut 
otT, was apt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping or wak- 
ing. The accidental sight from shore, of a sail gliding along the 
horizon, in those, as yet, lonely seas, was apt to be a matter of much 
talk and speculation. There is mention made in one of the early 
New-England writers, of a ship navigated by witches, with a great 
horse that stood by the mainm.ast. I have met with another story, 
somewhere, of a ship that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil 
wejther, with sails all set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to 
regale a number of guests, yet not a living being on board. These 
phantom ships always sailed in the eye of the wind; or plowed their 
way with great velocity, making the smooth sea foam before their 
bows, when not a breath of air was stirring. 

Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into 
a little tale which, within a small compass, contains the very es- 
sence of this species of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre- 
Ship bound to Dead-man's Isle. 



and keep to probabilities. 

At an early hour the next day, therefore, after a 
hearty morning's meal, the encampment broke up, 
and our adventurers embarked in the pinnace of 
Antony Vander Heyden. There being no wind for 
the sails, the Indians rowed her gently along, keep- 
ing time to a kind of chant of one of the white men. 
The day was serene and beautiful ; the river without 
a wave ; and as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it 
left a long, undulating track behind. Tht; crows, 
who had scented the hunters' banquet, were already 
gathering and hovering in the air, just where a col- 
ume of thin, blue smoke, rising from among the 
trees, showed the place of their last night's quarters. 
As they coasted along the bases of the mountains, 
the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald eagle, 
the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a 
dry tree that projected over the river ; and, with eye 
turned upwards, seemed to be drinking in the splen- 
dour of the morning sun. Their approach disturbed 
the monarch's meditations. He first spread one 
wing, and then the other; balanced himself for a 
moiiient ; and then, quitting his perch with dignified, 
composure, wheeled slowly over their heads. Dolph 
snatched up a gun, and sent a whistling ball after 
him, that cut some of the feathers from his wing; 
the report of the gun leaped sharply from rock to 
rock, and awakened a thousand echoes ; but the 
monarch of the air sailed calmly on, ascending higher 
and higher, and wheeling widely as he ascended, 
soaring up the green bosom of the woody mountain, 
until he disappeared over the brow of a beetling 
precipice. Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this 
proud tranquillity, and almost reproached himself 
for having so wantonly insulted this majestic bird. 
Heer Antony told him, laughing, to remember that 
he was not yet out of the territories of the lord of the 
Dunderberg ; and an old Indian shook his head, and 
observed that there was bad luck in killing an eagle 
— the hunter, on the contrary, should always leave 
him a portion of his spoils. 

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on 
their voyage. They passed pleasantly through 
magnificent and lonely scenes, until they came to 
where Pollopol's Island lay, like a floating bower, 
at the extremity of the highlands. Here they landed, 
until the heat of the day should abate, or a breeze 
spring up, that might supersede the labour ol the 
oar. Some prepared the mid-day meal, while others 
reposed under the shade of the trees in luxurious 
sumiTier indolence, looking drowsily forth upon the 
beauty of the scene. On the one side were the high- 
lands, vast and cragged. feathered to the top with 
forests, and throwing their shadows on the glassy 
water that dimpled at their feet. On the other side 
was a wide expanse of the river, like a btoad lake, 
with long sunny reaches, and green headlands ; and 
the distan.t line of Shawungunk mountains waving 
along a clear horizon, or checkered by a fleecy 
cloud. 

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their 
cruise along the river ; this vagrant, amphibious life, 
careering across silver sheets of w'ater ; coasting wild 
woodland shores ; banqueting on shady promontories, 
with the spreading tree overhead, the river curling 
its light foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, 
and rock, and tree, and snowy cloud, and deep-blue 
sky, all mingling in summer beauty before one; all 
this, though never cloying in the enjoyment, would he 
but tedious in narration. 

When encaiTiped liy the water-side, some of the 
party would go into the woods and hunt ; others 
would fish ; sometimes they would amuse themselves 



532 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by running, 
by wrestling ; and Dolph gained great favour in 
the eyes of Antony Vander Heyden, by his skill 
and adroitness in all these exercises ; which the 
Heer considered as the highest of manly accomplish- 
ments. 

Thus did they coast jollily on, choosing only the 
pleasant hours for voyaging; sometimes in the cool 
mornnig dawn, sometimes in the sober evening twi- 
light, and sometimes when the moonshine spangled 
the crisp curling waves that whispered along the 
sides of their little bark. Never had Dolph felt so 
completely in his element ; never had he met with 
any thing so completely to his taste as this wild, 
hap-hazard life. He was the very man to second 
Antony Vander Heyden in his rambling humours, 
and gained continually on his affections. The heart 
of the old bushwhacker yearned toward the young 
man, who seemed thus growing up in his own like- 
ness; and as they approached to the end of their 
voyage, he could not help inquiring a little into his 
history. Dolph frankly told him his course of life, 
his severe medical studies, his little proficiency, and 
his very dubious prospects. The Heer was shocked 
.to find that such amazing talents and accomplish- 
ments were to be cramped and buried under a 
doctor's wig. He had a sovereign contempt for the 
healing art, having never had any other physician 
than the butcher. He bore a mortal grudge to all 
kinds of study also, ever since he had been flogged 
about an unintelligible book when he was a boy. 
But to think that a young fellow like Dolph, of such 
wonderful abilities, who could shoot, fish, run, jump, 
ride, and wrestle, should be obliged to roll pills and 
administer juleps for a living — 'twas monstrous ! He 
told Dolph never to despair, but to " throw physic 
to the dogs ;" for a young fellow of his prodigious 
talents could never fail to make his way. " As you 
seem to have no acquaintance in Albany," said 
Heer Antony, " you shall go home with me, and re- 
main under my roof until you can look about you ; 
and in the meantime we can take an occasional bout 
at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity such talents 
should lie idle." 

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not 
hard to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning over 
matters in his mind, which he did very sagely and 
deliberately, he could not but think that Antony 
Vander Heyden was, " some how or other," con- 
nected with the story of the Hamited House ; that 
the misadventure in the highlands, which had tlirown 
them so strangely together, was, " some how or 
other," to work out something good : in short, there 
is nothing so convenient as this "some how or 
other" way of accommodating one's-self to circum- 
stances ; it is the main-stay of a heedless actor, 
and tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger ; and he 
who can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evil 
to anticipated good, possesses a secret of happiness 
almost equal to the philosopher's stone. 

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph 's 
companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. 
Many were the greetings at the river side, and the 
salutations in the streets : the dogs bounded before 
him ; the boys whooped as he passed ; every body 
seemed to know Antony Vander Heyden. Dolph 
followed on in silence, admiring the neatness of this 
worthy burgh ; for in those days Albany was in all 
its glory, and inhabited almost exclusively by the 
descendants of the original Dutch settlers, for it 
had not as yet been discovered and colonized by 
the restless people of New-England. Every thing 
was quiet and orderly ; every thing was conducted 
calmly and leisurely ; no hurry, no bustle, no strug- 
gling and scrambling for existence. The grass 



grew about the unpaved streets, and relieved the 
eye by its refreshing verdure. The tall sycamores 
or pendant willows shaded the houses, with cater- 
pillars swinging, in long silken strings, from their 
branches, or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, 
in joy at their gay transformation. The houses 
were built in the old Dutch style, with the gable- 
ends towards the street. The thrifty housewife 
was seated on a bench before her door, in close 
crimped cap, bright flowered gown, and white 
apron, busily employed in knitting. The husband 
smoked his pipe on the opposite bench, and the 
little pet negro girl, seated on the step at her 
mistress' feet, was industriously plying her needle. 
The swallows sported about the eaves, or skimmed 
along the streets, and brought back some rich booty 
for their clamorous young ; and the little house- 
keeping wren flew in and out of a Lilliputian 
house, or an old hat nailed against the wall. The 
cows were coming home, lowing through the streets, 
to be milked at their owner's door; and if, per- 
chance, there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, 
with a long goad, was gently urging them home- 
wards. 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a 
tranquil nod from the burghers, and a friendly word 
from their wives ; all calling him I'amiliarly by the 
name of Antony ; for it was the custom in this 
strong-hold of the patriarchs, where they had all 
grown up together from childhood, to call every one 
by the Christian name. The Heer did not pause to 
have his usual jokes with them, for he was impatient 
to reach his home. At length they arrived at his 
mansion. It was of some magnitude, in the Dutch 
style, with large iron figures on the gables, that gave 
the date of its erection, and showed that it had been 
built in the earliest times of the settlement. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded 
him ; and the whole household was on the look-out. 
A crew of negroes, large and small, had collected in 
front of the house to receive him. The old, white- 
headed ones, who had grown gray in his service, 
grinned for joy and made many awkward bows and 
grimaces, and the little ones capered about his knees, 
But the most happy being in the household was a 
little, plump, blooming lass, his only child, and the 
darling of his heart. She came bounding out of the 
house ; but the sight of a strange young man with 
her father called up, for a moment, all the bashful- 
ness of a homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at her with 
wonder and delight ; never had he seen, as he thought, 
any thing so comely in the shape of woman. She 
was dressed in the good old Dutch taste, with long 
stays, and full, short petticoats, so admirably adapted 
to show and set off the female form. Her hair, turned 
up under a small round cap, displayed the fairness 
of her forehead ; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes ; 
a trim, slender waist, and soft swell — but, in a word, 
she was a little Dutch divinity ; and Dolph, who 
never stopt half-way in a new impulse, fell desper- 
ately in love with her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a 
hearty welcome. In the interior was a mingled dis- 
play of Heer Antony's taste and habits, and of the 
opulence of his predecessors. The chambers were 
furnished with good old mahogany ; the beaufets and 
cupboards glittered with embossed silver, and paint- 
ed china. Over the parlour fire-place was, as usual, 
the family coat-of-arms, painted and framed ; above 
which was a long duck fowling-piece, flanked by an 
Indian pouch, and a powder-horn. The room was 
decorated with many Indian articles, such as pipes 
of peace, tomahawks, scalping -knives, hunting- 
pouches, and belts of wampum ; and there were 
various kinds of fishing tackle, and two or three 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



533 



fowling-pieces in the corners. The household affairs 
seemed to be conducted, in some measure, after the 
master's humours ; corrected, perhaps, by a little 
quiet management of the daughter's. There was a 
degree of patriarchal simplicity, and good-humoured 
indulgence. The negroes came into the room with- 
out being called, merely to look at their master, and 
hear of his adventures ; they would stand listening 
at the door until he had finished a story, and then go 
off on a broad grin, to repeat it in the kitchen. A 
couple of pet negro children were playing about the 
floor with the dogs, and sharing with them their 
bread and butter. All the domestics looked hearty 
and happy ; and when the table was set for the even- 
ing repast, the variety and abundance of good house- 
hold luxuries bore testimony to the openhanded lib- 
erality of the Heer, and the notable housew^ifery of 
his daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the 
worthies of the place, the Van Rennsellaers, and the 
Gansevoorts, and the Rosebooms, and others of 
Antony Vander Heyden's intimates, to hear an ac- 
count of his expedition ; for he was the Sinbad of 
Albany, and his exploits and adventures were favour- 
ite topics of conversation among the inhabitants. 
While these sat gossiping together about the door 
of the hall, and telling long twilight stories, Dolph 
was cozily seated, entertaining the daughter on a 
window-bench. He had already got on intimate 
terms ; for those were not times of false reserve and 
idle ceremony ; and, besides, there is something 
wonderfully propitious to a lover's suit, in the de- 
lightful dusk of a long summer evening ; it gives 
courage to the most timid tongue, and hides the 
blushes of the bashful. The stars alone twinkled 
brightly ; and now and then a fire-fly streamed his 
transient light before the window, or, wandering into 
the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. 

What Dolph whispered in her ear, that long sum- 
mer evening, it is impossible to say : his words were 
so low and indistinct, that they never reached 
the ear of the historian. It is probable, how- 
ever, that they were to the purpose ; for he 
had a natural talent at pleasing the sex, and was 
never long in company with a petticoat without pay- 
ing proper court to it. In the meantime, the visit- 
ors, one by one, departed ; Antony Vander Heyden, 
who had fairly talked himself silent, sat nodding 
alone in his chair by the door, when he was sudden- 
ly aroused by a hearty salute with which Dolph Hey- 
liger had unguardedly rounded off one of his periods, 
and which echoed through the still chamber like the 
report of a pistol. The Heer started up, rubbed his 
eyes, called for lights, and observed, that it was high 
time to go to bed ; though, on parting for the night, 
he squeezed Dolph heartily by the hand, looked 
kindly in his face, and shook his head knowingly ; 
for the Heer well remembered what he himself had 
been at the youngster's age. 

The chamber in which our hero was lodged was 
spacious, and panelled with oak. It was furnished 
with clothes-presses, and mighty chests of drawers, 
well waxed, and glittering with brass ornaments. 
These contained ample stock of family linen ; for 
the Dutch housewives had always a laudable pride 
in showing off their household treasures to strangers. 

Dolph's mind, how^ever, was too full to take par- 
ticular note of the objects around him ; yet he could 
not help continually comparing the free, open-hearted 
cheeriness of this establishment with the starveling, 
sordid, joyless housekeeping at Doctor Knipperhau- 
sen's. Still there was something that marred the 
enjoyment— the idea that he must take leave of his 
hearty host and pretty hostess and cast himself once 
more adrift upon the world. To linger here would 



be folly ; he should only get deeper in love ; and for 
a poor varlet like himself to aspire to the daughter 
of the great Heer Vander Hevden — it was madness 
to think of such a thing! The very kindness that 
the girl had shown towards him prompted him, on 
reflection, to hasten his departure ; it would be a 
poor return for the frank hospitality of his host to 
entangle his daughter's heart in an injudicious at- 
tachment. In a word, Dolph was like many other 
young reasoners, of exceeding good hearts and giddy 
heads, who think after they act, and act differently 
from what they think ; who make excellent determi- 
nations overnight and forget to keep them the next 
morning. 

" This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voyage," 
said he, as he almost buried himself in a sumptuous 
feather-bed, and drew the fresh white sheets' up to 
his chin. " Here am I, instead of finding a bag of 
money to carry home, launched in a strange place, 
with scarcely a stiver in my pocket ; and, what is 
worse, have jumped ashore up to my very ears in 
love into the bargain. However," added he, after 
some pause, stretching himself and turning' himself 
in bed, " I'm in good quarters for the present, at 
least ; so I'll e'en enjoy the present moment, and let 
the next take care of itself; I dare say all will work 
out, ' some how or other,' for the best." 

As he said these words, he reached out his hand 
to extinguish the candle, when he was suddenly 
struck with astonishment and dismay, for he thought 
he beheld the phantom of the haunted house staring 
on him from a dusky part of the chamber. A sec- 
ond look reassured him, as he perceived that what 
he had taken for the spectre was, in fact, nothing 
but a Flemish portrait, that hung in a shadowy cor- 
ner just behind a clothes-press. It was, however, 
the precise representation of his nightly visitor:— the 
same cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzled beard 
and fixed eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a 
feather hanging over one side. Dolph now called to 
mind the resemblance he had frequently remarked 
between his host and the old man of the haunted 
house ; and was fully convinced that they were in 
some way connected, and that some especial destiny 
had governed his voyage. He lay gazing on the 
portrait with almost as much awe as he had gazed 
on the ghostly original, until the shrill house-clock 
warned him of the lateness of the hour. He put out 
the light ; but remained for a long time turning over 
these curious circumstances and coincidences in his 
mind, until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of 
the nature of his waking thoughts. He fancied that 
he still lay gazing on the picture, until, by degrees, 
it became animated ; that the figure descended from 
the wall and walked out of the room ; that he fol- 
lowed it and found hi.-nself by the well, to which the 
old man pointed, smiled on him, and disappeared. 

In the morning when Dolph waked, he found his 
host standing by his bed-side, who gave him a hearty 
morning's salutation, and asked him how he had 
slept. Dolph answered cheerily ; but took occasion 
to inquire about the portrait that hung against the 
wall. ■' Ah," said Heer Antony, " that's a portrait 
of old Killian Vander Spiegel, once a burgomaster 
of Amsterdam, who, on some popular troubles, aban- 
doned Holland and came over to the province during 
the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He was my 
ancestor by the mother's side, and an old miserly 
curmudgeon he was. When the English took pos- 
session of New-Amsterdam in 1664, he retired into 
the country. He fell into a melancholy, apprehend- 
ing that his wealth would be taken from him and 
that he would come to beggary. He turned all his 
property into cash, and used to hide it away. He 
was for a year or two concealed in various places, 



534 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



fancying' himself sought after by the EngHsh, to strip 
him of his wealth ; and finally was found dead in his 
bed one morning, without any one being able to dis- 
cover where he had concealed the greater part of his 
money." 

When his host had left the room, Dolph remained 
for some time lost in thought. His whole mind was 
occupied by what he had heard. Vander Spiegel 
was his mother's family name ; and he recollected 
to have heard her speak of this very Killian Vander 
Spiegel as one of her ancestors. He had heard her 
say, too, that her father was Killian's rightful heir, 
only that the old man died without leaving any thing 
to be inherited. It now appeared that lleer Antony 
was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, 
of this poor rich man ; and that thus the Heyligers 
and the Vander Heydens were remotely connected. 
" What," thought he, " if, after all, this is the inter- 
pretation of my dream, that this is the way I am to 
make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, and that 
I am to find the old man's hidden wealth in the bot- 
tom of that well ? But what an odd, round-about 
mode of communicating the matter ! Why the 
plague could not the old goblin have told me about 
the well at once, without sending me all the way to 
Albany to hear a story that was to send me all the 
way back again ?" 

These thoughts passed through his mind while he 
was dressing. He descended the stairs, full of per- 
ple.xity, when the bright face of Marie Vander Hey- 
den suddenly beamed in smiles upon him, and seemed 
to give him a clue to the whole mystery. " After 
all," thought he, " the old goblin is in the right. If 
I am to get his wealth, he means that I shall inarry 
his pretty descendant ; thus both branches of the 
family will be again united, and the property go on 
in the proper channel." 

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it car- 
ried conviction with it. He was now all impatience 
to hurry back and secure the treasure, which, he did 
not doubt, lay at the bottom of the well, and which 
he feared every moment might be discovered by some 
other person. "Who knows," thought he, "but 
this night-walking old fellow of the haunted house 
may be in the habit of haunting every visitor, and 
may give a hint to some shrewder fellow than my- 
self, who will take a shorter cut to the well than by 
the way of Albany ? " He wished a thousand times 
that the babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, 
and his rambling portrait with him. He was in a 
perfect fever to depart. Two or three days elapsed 
before any opportunity presented for returning down 
the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwithstand- 
ing that he was basking in the smiles of the pretty 
Marie, and daily getting more and more enamoured. 

At length the very sloop from which he had been 
knocked overboard, prepared to make sail. Dolph 
made an awkward apology to his host for his sudden 
departure. Antony Vander Heyden was sorely as- 
tonished. He had concerted half-a-dozen excursions 
into the wilderness ; and his Indians were actually 
preparing for a grand expedition to one of the lakes. 
He took Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence to 
get him to abandon all thoughts of business, and to 
remain with him — but in vain ; and he at length gave 
up the attempt, observing, " that it was a thousand 
pities so fine a young man should throw himself 
away." Heer Antony, however, gave him a hearty 
shake by the hand at parting, with a favourite fowl- 
ing-piece, and an invitation to come to his house 
whenever he revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie 
said nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her 
dimpled cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her 
eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They 



hoisted sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon lost sight 
of Albany, and its green hills, and embowered 
islands. They were wafted gayly past the Kaats- 
kill mountains, whose fairy heights were bright and 
cloudless. They passed prosperously through the 
highlands, without any molestation from the Dun- 
derberg goblin and his crew ; they swept on across 
Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton Point, and through 
the Tappaan Zee, and under the Palisadoes, until, in 
the afternoon of the third day, they saw the prom- 
ontory of Hoboken, hanging like a cloud in the air; 
and, shortly after, the roofs of the Manhattoes rising 
out of the water. 

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's 
house ; for he was continually goaded by the idea of 
the uneasiness she must experience on his account. 
He was puzzling his brains, as he went along, to think 
how he should account for his absence, without be- 
traying the secrets of the haunted house. In the 
midst of these cogitations, he entered the street in 
which his mother's house was situated, when he was 
thunderstruck at beholding it a heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which had 
destroyed several large houses, and the humble dwell- 
ing of poor dame Heyliger had been involved in the 
conflagration. The walls were not so completely 
destroyed but that Dolph could distinguish some 
traces of the scene of his childhood. The fire-place, 
about which he had often played, still remained, or- 
namented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in 
Bible history, on which he had many a time gazed 
with admuation. Among the rubbish lay the wreck 
of the good dame's elbow-chair, from which she had 
given him so many a wholesome precept ; and hard 
by it was the family Bible, with brass clasps ; now, 
alas ! reduced almost to a cinder. 

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal 
sight, for he was seized with the fear that his mother 
had perished in the flames. He was relieved, how- 
ever, from this horrible apprehension, by one of the 
neighbours who happened lo come by, and who in- 
formed hiin that his mother was yet alive. 

The good woman had, indeed, lost every thing by 
this unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace had 
been so intent upon saving the fine furnitureof her rich 
neighbours, that the little tenement, and the little all 
of poor dame Heyliger, had been suffered to consume 
without interruption ; nay, had it not been for the 
gallant assistance of her old crony, Peter de Groodt, 
the worthy dame and her cat might have shared the 
fate of their habitation. 

As it was, she had been overcome with fright and 
affliction, and lay ill in body, and sick at heart. The 
public, however, had showed her its wonted kind- 
ness. The furniture of her rich neighbours being, as 
far as possible, rescued from the flames ; themselves 
duly and ceremoniously visited and condoled with on 
the injury of their property, and their ladies commis- 
erated on the agitation of their nerves ; the public, at 
length, began to recollect something about poor 
dame Heyliger. She forthwith became again a sub- 
ject of universal sympathy; every body pitied more 
than ever ; and if pity could but have been coined 
into cash — good Lord ! how rich she would have 
been ! 

It was now determined, in good earnest, that some- 
thing ought to be done for her without delay. The 
Dominie, therefore, put up prayers for her on Sun- 
day, in which all the congregation joined most 
heartily. Even Cobus Groesbeck, the alderman, and 
Mynheer Milledollar, the great Dutch merchant, 
stood up in their pews, and did not spare their voices 
on the occasion ; and it was thought the prayers of 
such great men could not but have their due weight. 
Doctor Knipperhausen, too, visited her profession- 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



533 



ally, and gave lier abundance of advice gratis, and 
was univtrsally lauded for his charity. As to her 
old friL-nd, Peter de Groodt, he was a poor man, 
whose pity, and prayers, and advice could be of but 
little avail, so he gave her all that was in his power 
— he gave her shelter. 

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, 
did Dolph turn his steps. On his way thither, he re- 
called all the tenderness and kindness of his simple- 
hearted parent, her indulgence of his errors, her 
blindness to his faults ; and then he bethought him- 
self of his own idle, harum-scarum life. " I've been 
a sad scape-grace," said Dolph, shaking his head 
sorrowfully. " I've been a complete sink-pocket, 
that's the truth of it ! — But," added he, briskly, and 
clasping his hands, " only let her live — only let her 
live— and I'll show myself indeed a son ! " 

As Dolph approached the house, he met Peter de 
Groodt coming out of it. The old man started back 
aghast, doubting whether it was not a ghost that 
stood before him. It being bright daylight, however, 
Peter soon plucked up heart, satisfied that no ghost 
dare show his face in such clear sunshine. Dolph 
now learned from the worthy se.xton the consterna- 
tion and rumour to which his mysterious disappear- 
ance had given rise. It had been universally believed 
that he had been spirited away by those hobgoblin 
gentry that infested the haunted house ; and old 
Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the great button- 
wood trees, at the three-mile stone, affirmed, that 
he had heard a terrible noise in the air, as he was 
going home late at night, which seemed just as if a 
flight of wild geese were overhead, passing off to- 
wards the northward. The haunted house was, in 
consequence, looked upon with ten times more awe 
than ever; nobody would venture to pass a night in 
It for the world, and even the doctor had ceased to 
make his expeditions to it in the day-time. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's re- 
turn could be made known to his mother, the poor 
soul having bewailed him as lost ; and her spirits 
having been sorely broken down by a number of 
comforters, who daily cheered her with stories of 
ghosts, and of people carried away by the devil. He 
found her confined to her bed, with the other mem- 
ber of the Heyliger family, the good dame's cat, 
purring beside her, but sadly singed, and utterly de- 
spoiled of those whiskers which were the glory of 
her physiognomy. The poor woman threw her arms 
about Dolph's neck : " My boy ! my boy ! art thou 
still alive ? " For a time she seemed to have forgot- 
ten all her losses and troubles, in her joy at his re- 
turn. Even the sage grimalkin showed indubitable 
signs of joy, at the return of the youngster. She 
saw, perhaps, that they were a forlorn and undone 
family, and felt a touch of that kindliness which fel- 
low-sufferers only know. But, in truth, cats are a 
slandered people ; they have more affection in them 
than the world commonly gives them credit for. 

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one 
being, at least, beside herself, rejoiced at her son's 
return. " Tib knows thee I poor dumb beast ! " said 
she, smoothing down the mottled coat of her favour- 
ite ; then recollecting herself, with a melancholy 
shake of the head, " Ah, my poor Dolph ! " exclaimed 
she, " thy mother can help thee no longer ! She 
can no longer help herself ! What will become of 
thee, my poor boy I " 

"Mother," said Dolph, "don't talk in that strain; 
I've been too long a charge upon you ; it's now my 
part to take care of you in your old days. Come ! 
be of good heart ! you, and I, and Tib, will all see 
better days. I 'm here, you see, young, and sound, and 
hearty ; then don't let us despair ; I dare say things 
will all, some how or other, turn out for the best." 



While this scene was going on with the Heyligei 
familv, the news was carried to Doctor Knipper- 
hausen, of the safe return of his disciple. The little 
doctor scarcely knew whether to rejoice or be sorry 
at the tidings. He was happy at having the foul re- 
ports which had prevailed concerning his country 
mansion thus disproved ; but he grieved at having 
his disciple, of whom he had supposed himself fairly 
disencumbered, thus drifting back, a heavy charge 
upon his hands. While he was balancing between 
these two feelings, he was determined by the coun- 
sels of Frau Ilsy, who advised him to take advantage 
of the truant absence of the youngster, and shut the 
door upon him for ever. 

At the hour of bed-time, therefore, when it was 
supposed the recreant disciple would seek his old 
quarters, every thing was prepared ibr his reception. 
Dolph, having talked his mother into a state of tran- 
quillity, sought the mansion ot his quondam master, 
and raised the knocker with a faltering hand. Scarce- 
ly, however, had it given a dubious rap, when the 
doctor's head, in a red night-cap, popped out of one 
window, and the housekeeper's, in a white night- 
cap, out of another. He was now greeted with a 
tremendous volley of hard names and hard language, 
mingled with invaluable pieces of advice, such as are 
seldom ventured to be given excepting to a friend in 
distress, or a culprit at the bar. In a few moments, 
not a window in the street but had its particular 
night-cap, listening to the shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, 
and the guttural croaking of Dr. Knipperhausen ; 
and the word went from window to window, " Ah ! 
here's Dolph Heyliger come back, and at his old 
pranks again." In short, poor Dolph found he was 
likely to get nothing from the doctor but good ad- 
vice — a commodity so abundant as even to be thrown 
out of the window ; so he was fain to beat a retreat, 
and take up his quarters tor the night under the 
lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt. 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was 
out at the haunted house. Every thing looked just 
as he had left it. The fields were grass-grown and 
matted, and it appeared as if nobody had traversed 
them since his departure. With palpitating heart, 
he hastened to the well. He looked down into it, 
and saw that it was of great depth, with water at 
the bottom. He had provided himself with a strong 
line, such as the fishermen use on the banks of New- 
foundland. At the end was a heavy plummet and a 
large fish-hook. With this he began to sound the 
bottom of the well, and to angle about in the water. 
He found that the water was of some depth ; there 
appeared also to be much rubbish, stones from the 
top having fallen in. Several times his hook got en- 
tangled, and he came near breaking his line. Now 
and then, too, he hauled up mere trash, such as the 
skull of a horse, an iron hoop, and a shattered iron- 
bound bucket. He had now been several hours em- 
ployed without finding any thing to repay his trouble, 
or to encourage him to proceed. He began to think 
himself a great fool, to be thus decoyed into a wild- 
goose-chase by mere dreams, and was on the point 
of throwing line and all into the well, and giving up 
all further angling. 

"One more cast of the line," said he, "and that 
shall be the last." As he sounded, he felt the 
plummet slip, as it were, through the interstices of 
loose stones ; and as he drew back the line, he felt 
that the hook had taken hold of something heavy. 
He had to manage his line with great caution, lest it 
should be broken by the strain upon it. By degrees, 
the rubbish that lay upon the article which he had 
hooked gave way ; he drew it to the surface of the 
water, and what was his rapture at seeing something 
like silver glittering at the end of his line ! Almost 



536 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



breathless with anxiety, he drew it up to the mouth 
of the well, surprised at its great weight, and fearing 
every instant that his hook would slip from its hold, 
and his prize tumble again to the bottom. At length 
he landed it safe beside the well. It was a great 
silver porringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed, 
and with firmorial bearings, similar to those over his 
mother's mantel-piece, engraved on its side. The 
lid was fastened down by several twists of wire ; 
Dolph loosened them with a trembling hand, and 
on lifting the lid, behold ! the vessel was filled with 
broad golden pieces, of a coinage which he had 
never seen before ! It was evident he had lit on the 
place where Killian Vander Spiegel had concealed 
his treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cau- 
tiously retired, and buried his pot of money in a 
secret place. He now spread terrible stories about 
the haunted house, and deterred every one from 
approaching it, while he made frequent visits to it in 
stormy days, when no one was stirring in the neigh- 
bouring fields ; though, to tell the truth, he did not 
care to venture there in the dark. For once in his 
life he was diligent and industrious, and followed up 
his new trade of angling with such perseverance and 
success, that in a little while he had hooked up 
wealth enough to make him, in those moderate 
days, a rich burgher for life. 

it would be tedious to detail minutely the rest of 
this story : — to tell how he gradually managed to 
bring his property into use without exciting surprise 
and inquiry — how he satisfied all scruples with re- 
gard to retaining the property, and at the same time 
gratified his own feelings, by marrying the pretty 
Marie Vander Heyden — -and how he and Heer An- 
tony had many a merry and roving expedition to- 
gether. 

I niust not omit to say, how^ever, that Dolph took 
his mother home to live with him, and cherished her 
in her old days. The good dame, too, had the satis- 
faction of no longer hearing her son made the theme 
of censure ; on the contrary, he grew daily in public 
esteem ; every body spoke well ol him and his wines, 
and the lordliest burgomaster was never known to 
decline his invitation to dinner. Dolph often re- 
lated, at his own table, the wicked pranks which 
had once been the abhorrence of the town ; but they 
were now considered excellent jokes, and the gravest 
dignitary was fain to hold his sides when listening to 
them. No one was more struck with Dolph's in- 
creasing merit, than his old master the doctor ; and 
so forgiving was Dolph, that he absolutely employed 
the doctor as his family physician, only taking care 
that his prescriptions should be always thrown out 
of the window. His mother had often her junto of 
old cronies, to take a snug cup of tea with her in 
her comfortable little parlour ; and Peter de Groodt, 
as he sat by the fire-side, with one of her grand- 
children on his knee, would many a time congratu- 
late her upon her son turning out so great a man ; 
uDon which the good old soul would wag her head 
with exultation, and e.xclaim, " Ah, neighbour, neigh- 
bour ! did I not say that Dolph would one day or 
other hold up his head with the best of them ? " 

Thus did Dolph Heyhger go on, cheerily and 
prosperously, growing merrier as he grew older and 
wiser, and completely falsifying the old proverb 
about money got over the devil's back ; for he made 
good use of his wealth, and became a disting\iished 
citizen, and a valuable member of the community. 
He was a great promoter of public institutions, such 
as beef-steak societies and catch-clubs. He presided 
at all public dinners, and was the first that intro- 
duced turtle from the West Indies. He improved 
the breed of race-horses and game-cocks, and was 



so great a patron of modest merit, that any one who 
could sing a good song, or tell a good story, was 
sure to find a place at his table. 

He was a member, too, of the corporation, made 
several laws for the protection of game and oysters, 
and bequeathed to the board a large silver punch- 
bowl, made out of the identical porringer before 
mentioned, and which is in the possession of the 
corporation to this very day. 

Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apo- 
plexy, at a corporation feast, and was buried with 
great honours in the yard of the little Dutch church 
in Garden-street, where his tombstone may still be 
seen, with a modest epitaph in Dutch, by his friend 
Mynheer Justus Benson, an ancient and excellent 
poet of the province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than 
most tales of the kind, as I have it at second-hand 
from the lips of Dolph Heyliger himself. He never 
related it till towards the latter part of his life, and 
then in great confidence, (for he was very discreet), 
to a few of his particular cronies at his own table 
over a supernumerary bowl of punch ; and, strange 
as the hobgoblin parts of the story may seem, there 
never was a single doubt expressed on the subject 
by any of his guests. It may not be amiss, before 
concluding, to observe that, in addition to his other 
accomplishments, Dolph Heyliger was noted for 
being the ablest drawer of the long-bow in the 
whole province. 



THE WEDDING. 



No more, no more, much honour aye betide 
The lofty brideeruom and the lovely bride ; 
That all of their succeeding days may say. 
Each day appears like to a wedding-day. 

Braithwaite. 

Notwithstanding the doubts and demurs of 
Lady Lillycrafi, and all the grave objections that 
were conjured up against the month of May, yet the 
wedding has at length happily taken place. It was 
celebrated at the village church, in presence of a 
numerous company of relatives and friends, and 
many of the tenantry. The Squire must needs have 
something of the old ceremonies observed on the 
occasion ; so, at the gate of the church-yard, several 
little girls of the village, dressed in white, were in 
readiness with baskets of flowers, which they strew- 
ed before the bride ; and the butler bore before her 
the bride-cup, a great silver embossed bowl, one of 
the family relics from the days of the hard drinkers. 
This was filled with rich wine, and decorated with a 
branch of rosemar)', tied with gay ribands, according 
to ancient custom. 

" Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says 
the old proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious 
a morning as heart could wish. The bride looked 
uncommonly beautiful ; but, in fact, what woman 
does not look interesting on her wedding-day .' I 
know no sight more charming and touching than 
that of a young and timid bride, in her robes of 
virgin white, led up trembling to the altar. When 
I thus behold a lovely girl, in the tenderness of her 
years, forsaking the house of her fathers and the 
home of her childhood ; and, with the implicit con- 
fiding, and the sweet self-abandonment, which be- 
long to woman, giving up all the world for the man 
of her choice : when 1 hear her, in the good old 
language of the ritual, yielding herself to him " for 
belter for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



537 



and in health, to love, honour, and obey, till death 
us do part," it brings to my mind the beautiful and 
affecting self-devotion of Ruth: "Whither thou 
goest I will go, and where thou lodgest 1 will lodge ; 
thy people shall be my people, and thy God my 
God." 

The fair Julia was supported on the trying oc- 
casion by Lady Lillycraft, whose heart was over- 
flowing with its wonted sympathy in all matters of 
love and matrimony. As the bride approached the 
alter, her face would be one moment covered with 
blushes, and the next deadly pale ; and she seemed 
almost ready to shrink from sight among her female 
companions. 

I do not know what it is that makes every one 
serious, and, as it were, awe-struck, at a marriage 
ceremony — which is generally considered as an 
occasion of festivity and rejoicing. As the cere- 
mony was performing, I oliserved many a rosy face 
among the , country girls turn pale, and I did not 
see a smile throughout the church. The young 
ladies from the Hall were almost as much frightened 
as if it bad been their own case, and stole many a 
look of sympathy at their trembling companion. A 
tear stood in the eye of the sensitive Lady Lilly- 
craft ; and as to Phoebe Wilkins, who was present, 
she absolutely wept and sobbed aloud ; but it is 
hard to tell, half the time, what these fond foolish 
creatures are crying about. 

The captain, too, though naturally gay and un- 
concerned, was much agitated on the occasion ; and, 
in attempting to put the ring upon the bride's finger, 
dropped it on the floor; which Lady Lillycraft has 
since assured me is a very lucky omen. Even Master 
Simon had lost his usual vivacity, and had assumed 
a most whimsically solemn face, which he is apt to 
do on all occasions of ceremony. He had much 
whispering with the parson and parish-clerk, for he 
is always a busy personage in the scene, and he echo- 
ed the clerk's amen with a solemnity and devotion 
that edified the whole assemblage. 

The moment, however, that the ceremony was 
over, the transition was magical. The bride-cup 
was passed round, according to ancient usage, for 
the company to drink to a happy union ; every one's 
feelings seemed to break forth from restraint. 
Master Simon had a world of bachelor pleasantries 
to utter ; and as to the gallant general, he bowed 
and cooed about the dulcet Lady Lillycraft, like a 
mighty cock-pigeon about his dame. 

The villagers gathered in the church-yard, to 
cheer the happy couple as they left the church ; and 
the musical tailor had marshalled his band, and set 
up a hideous discord, as the blushing and smiling 
bride passed through a lane of honest peasantry to 
her carriage. The children shouted, and threw up 
their hats ; the bells rung a merry peal, that set 
all the crows and rooks flying and cawing about 
the air, and threatened to bring down the battle- 
ments of the old tower ; and there was a continual 
popping off of rusty fire-locks from every part of 
the neighbourhood. 

The prodigal son distinguished himself on the 
occasion, having hoisted a flag on the top of the 
school-house, and kept the village in a hubbub 
from sunrise, with the sound of drum and fife 
and pandean pipe ; in which species of music 
several of his scholars are making wonderful pro- 
ficiency. In his great zeal, however, he had nearly 
done mischief; for on returning from church, the 
horses of the bride's carriage took fright from the 
discharge of a row of old gun-barrels, which he 
had mounted as a park of artillery in front of the 
school-house, to give the captain a military salute as 
he passed. 



The day passed off with great rustic rejoicing 
Tables were spread under the trees in the park, 
where all the peasantry of the neighbourhood 
were regaled with roast-beef and plum-pudding 
and oceans of ale. Ready-Money Jack presided at 
one of the tables, and became so full of good cheer, 
as to unbend from his usual gravity, to sing a song 
out of all tune, and give two or three shouts of 
laughter, that almost electrified his neighbours, 
like so many peals of thunder. The schoolmaster 
and the apothecary vied with each other in making 
speeches over their liquor ; and there were occa- 
sional glees and musical performances by the 
village band, that must have frightened every fawn 
and diTad from the park. Even old Christy, who 
had got on a new dress from top to toe, and shone 
in all the splendour of bright leather breeches and 
an enormous wedding favour in his cap, forgot his 
usual crustiness, became inspired by wine and wassel, 
and absolutely danced a hornpipe on one of the 
tables, with all the grace and agility of a manikin 
hung upon wires. 

Equal gaiety reigned within doors, where a large 
party of friends were entertained. Every one laughed 
at his own pleasantry, without attending to that of 
his neighbours. Loads of bride-cake were distribu- 
ted. The young ladies were all busy in pass- 
ing morsels of it through the wedding-ring to dream 
on, and I myself assisted a few little boarding-school 
girls in putting up a quantity for their companions, 
which 1 have no doubt will set all the little heads in 
the school gadding, for a week at least. 

After dinner, all the company, great and small, 
gentle and simple, abandoned themselves to the 
dance : not the modern quadrille, with its graceful 
gravitv, but the merry, social, old country-dance ; 
the true dance, as the Squire says, for a wedding oc- 
casion, as it sets all the world jigging in couples, 
hand in hand, and makes every eye and every heart 
dance merrily to the music. According to frank old 
usage, the gentlefolks of the Hall mingled for a time 
in the dance of the peasantry, who had a great tent 
erected for a ball-room ; and i think 1 never saw 
Master Simon more in his element, than when fig- 
uring about among his rustic admirers, as master of 
the ceremonies ; and, with a mingled air of protec- 
tion and gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen 
of May, all blushing at the signal honour conferred 
upon her. 

In the evening the whole village was illuminated, 
excepting the house of the radical, who has not 
show'n his face during the rejoicings. There was a 
display of fire-works at the school-house, got up by 
the prodigal son, which had well-nigh set fire to the 
building. The Squire is so much pleased with the ex- 
traordinary services of this last mentioned worthy, that 
he talks of enrolling him in his list of valuable retain- 
ers, and promoting him to some important post on 
the estate ; peradventure to be falconer, if the hawks 
can ever be brought into proper training. 

There is a well-known old proverb, that says " one 
wedding makes many," — or something to the same 
purpose ; and I should not be surprised if it holds 
good in the present instance. 1 have seen several 
flirtations among the young people, that have been 
brought together on this occasion ; and a great deal 
of strolling about in pairs, among the retired walks 
and blossoming shrubberies of the old garden : and 
if groves were really given to whispering, as poets 
would fain make us believe. Heaven knows what love 
tales the grave-looking old trees about this venera- 
ble country-seat might blab to the world. 

The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his 
devotions within the last few days, as the time of her 
ladyship's departure approaches. I observed him 



538 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING 



castintT many a tender look at her during the wed- 
ding dinner, while the courses were changing; 
though he was always liable to be interrupted in his 
adoration by the appearance of any new delicacy. 
The general, in fact, has arrived at that time of life 
when the heart and the stomach maintain a kind of 
balance of power, and when a man is apt to be per- 
plexed in his affections between a fine woman and a 
truffled turkey. Her ladyship was certainly rivalled, 
through the whole of the first course, by a dish of 
stewed carp ; and there was one glance, which was 
evidently intended to be a point-blank shot at her 
heart, and could scarcely have failed to effect a prac- 
ticable breach, had it not unluckily been directed 
away to a tempting breast of lamb, in which it im- 
mediately produced a formidable incision. 

Thus did this faithless general go on, coquetting 
during the whole dinner, and committing an infidel- 
ity with every new dish ; until, in the end, he was so 
overpowered by the attentions he had paid to fish, 
flesh, and fowl ; to pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc- 
mange, that he seemed to sink within himself: his 
eyes swam beneath their lids, and their fire was so 
much slackened, that he could no longer discharge a 
single glance that would reach across the table. 
Upon the whole, I fear the general ate himself into 
as much disgrace, at this memorable dinner, as I 
have seen him sleep himself into on a former occa- 
sion. 

I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was 
so touched by the wedding ceremony, at which he 
was present, and so captivated by the sensibility of 
poor Phoebe Wilkins, who certainly looked all the 
better for her tears, that he had a reconciliation with 
her that very day, after dinner, in one of the groves 
of the park, and danced with her in the evening; to 
the complete confusion of all Dame Tibbets' domes- 
tic politics. I met them walking together in the 
park, shortly after the reconciliation must have taken 
place. Young Jack carried himself gayly and man- 
fully ; but Phoebe hung her head, blushing, as I ap- 
proached. However, just as she passed me, and 
dropped a curtsy, I caught a shy gleam of her eye from 
under her bonnet ; but it was immediately cast down 
again. I saw enough in that single gleam, and in the 
involuntary smile that dimpled about her rosy lips, to 
feel satisfied that the little gipsy's heart was happy 
again. 

What is more, Lady Lillycraft, with her usual be- 
nevolence and zeal in all matters of this tender nature, 
on hearing of the reconciliation of the lovers, under- 
took the critical task of breaking the matter to 
Ready - Money Jack. She thought there was no 
time like the present, and attacked the sturdy old 
yeoman that very evening in the park, while his heart 
was yet lifted up with the Squire's good cheer. Jack 
was a little surprised at being drawn aside by her 
ladyship, but was not to be flurried by such an hon- 
our : he was still more surprised by the nature of 
her communication, and by this first intelligence of 
an affair which had been passing under his eye. He 
listened, however, with his usual gravity, as her lady- 
ship represented the advantages of the match, the 
good qualities of the girl, and the distress which she 
had lately suffered : at length his eye began to kin- 
dle, and his hand to play with the head of his cudgel. 
Lady Lillycraft saw that something in the narrative 
had gone wrong, and hastened to mollify his rising 
ire by reiterating the soft-hearted Phoebe's merit and 
fidelity, and her great unhappiness ; when old Ready- 
Money suddenly interrupted her by exclaiming, that 
if Jack did not marry the wench, he'd break every 
bone in his body ! The match, therefore, is consid- 
ered a settled thing : Dame Tibbets and the house- 
keeper have made friends, and drank tea together ; 



and Phoebe has again recovered her good looks and 
good spirits, and is carolling from morning till night 
like a lark. 

But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one 
that I should be almost afraid to mention, did I not 
know that 1 was writing for readers well experienced 
in the waywardness of this most mischievous deity. 
The morning after the wedding, therefore, while 
Lady Lillycraft was making preparations for her de- 
parture, an audience was requested by her immacu- 
late hand - maid, Mrs. Hannah, who. with much 
primming of the mouth, and many maidenly hesita- 
tions, requested leave to stay behind, and that Lady 
Lillycraft would supply her place with some other 
servant. Her ladyship was astonished: "What! 
Hannah going to quit her, that had lived with her 
so long ! " 

" Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in 
life some time or other." 

The good lady was still lost in ainazement ; at 
length, the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the 
maiden gentlewomati : "She had been some time 
thinking of changing her condition, and at length 
had given her word, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the 
huntsman." 

How, or when, or where this singular courtship 
had been carried on, I have n(3t been able to learn ; 
nor how she has been able, with the vinegar of her 
disposition, to soften the stony heart of old Nimrod : 
so, however, it is, and it has astonished every one. 
With all her ladyship's love of match-making, this 
last fume of Hymen's torch has been too much for 
her. She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs. 
Hannah, but all in vain ; her mind was made up, 
and she grew tart on the least contradiction. Lady 
Lillycraft applied to the Squire for his interference. 
"She did not know what she should do without 
Mrs. Hannah, she had been used to have her about 
her so long a time." 

The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, 
as relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, 
under whose sway she had suffered for years. In- 
stead of thwarting the affair, therefore, he has given 
it his full countenance ; and declares that he will set 
up the young couple in one of the best cottages on 
his estate. The approbation of the Squire has been 
followed by that of the whole household ; they all 
declare, that if ever matches are really made in 
heaven, this must have been ; for that old Christy 
and Mrs. Hannah were as evidently formed to be 
linked together, as ever were pepper-bo.x and vine- 
gar-cruet. 

As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lilly- 
craft took her leave of the family at the Hall ; taking 
with her the captain and his blushing bride, who are 
to pass the honeymoon with her. Master Simon 
accompanied them on horseback, and indeed means 
to ride on ahead to make preparations. The general, 
who was fishing in vain for an invitation to her seat, 
handed her ladyship into the carriage with a heavy 
sigh ; upon which his bosom friend, Master Simon, 
who was just mounting his horse, gave me a know- 
ing wink, made an abominably wry face, and, lean- 
ing from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, " It 
won't do ! " Then, putting spurs to his horse, away 
he cantered oft". The general stood for some time 
waving his hat after the carriage as it rolled down 
the avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, 
from exposing his head to the cool breeze. I observed 
that he returned rather thoughtfully to the house ; 
whistling softly to himself, with his hands behind 
his back, and an exceedingly dubious air. 

The company have now almost all taken their 
departure ; I have determined to do the same to- 
morrow morning ; and I hope my reader may not 



BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 



539 



think that I have ah-eady lingered too long at the 
Hall. 1 have been tempted to do so, however, 
because I thought 1 had lit upon one of the retired 
places where there are yet some traces to be met 
with of old English character. A little while hence, 
and all these will probably have passed away. Ready- 
Money Jack will sleep with his fathers : the good 
Squire, and all his peculiarities, will be buried in the 
neighbouring church. The old Hall will be modern- 
ized into a fashionable country-seat, or, peradvcnture, 
a manufactory. The park will be cut up into petty 
farms and kitchen-gardens. A daily coach will run 
through the village ; it will become, like all other 
commonplace villages, thronged with coachmen, 
post-boys, tipplers, and politicians : and Christmas, 
May-day, and all the other hearty merry-makings 
of the "good old times," will be forgotten. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL 



And so without more circumstance .it all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part. 

Hamlet, 

Having taken leave of the Hall and its inmates, 
and brought the history of my visit to something 
like a close, there seems to remain nothing further 
than to make my bov/, and exit. It is my foible, 
however, to get on such companionable terms with 
my reader in the course of a work, that it really 
costs me some pain to part with him ; and I am apt 
to keep him by the hand, and have a few farewell 
words at the end of my last volume. 

When I cast an eye back upon the work I am just 
concluding, I cannot but be sensible how fall it must 
be of errors and imperfections : indeed, how should 
it be otherwise, writing as I do about subjects and 
scenes with which, as a stranger, I am but partially 
acquainted .' Many will doubtless find cause to 
smile at very obvious blunders which I may have 
made ; and many may, perhaps, be offended at what 
they may conceive prejudiced representations. Some 
will think I might have said much more on such 
subjects as may suit their peculiar tastes ; whilst 
others will think I had done wiser to have left those 
subjects entirely alone. 

It will probably be said, too, by some, that I view 
England with a partial eye. Perhaps I do; for I can 
never forget that it is my "fatherland." And yet, 
the circumstances under which I have viewed it have 
by no means been such as were calculated to pro- 
duce favourable impressions. For the greater part 
of the time that I have resided in it, 1 have lived al- 
most unknowing and unknown ; seeking no favours, 
and receiving none : "a stranger and a sojourner in 
the land," and subject to all the chills and neglects 
that are the common lot of the stranger. 

When I consider these circumstances, and recol- 
lect how often I have taken up my pen, with a mind 
ill at ease, and spirits much dejected and cast down, 
I cannot but think I was not likely to err on the fa- 
vourable side of the picture. The opinions I have 
given of English character have been the result of 
much quiet, dispassionate, and varied observation. 
It is a character not to be hastily studied, for it al- 
ways puts on a repulsive and ungracious aspect to a 
stranger. Let those, then, who condemn my repre- 
sentations as too favourable, obser\'e this people as 
closely and deliberately as I have done, and they 
will, probably, change their opinion. Of one thing, 
at any rate, I am certain, that I have spoken hon- 
estly and sincerely, from the convictions of my 



mind, and the dictates of my heart. When I first 
published my former writings, it was with no hope 
of gaining favour in English eyes, for I little thought 
they were to become current out of my own coun- 
try : and had I merely sought popularity among my 
own countrymen, I should have taken a more direct 
and obvious way, by gratifying rather than rebuking 
the angry feelings that were then prevalent against 
England. 

And here let me acknowledge my warm, my 
thankful feeling's, at the effect produced by one of 
my trivial lucubrations. I allude to the essay in the 
Sketch-Book, on the subject of the literary feuds be- 
tween England and America. I cannot express the 
heartfelt delight I have experienced, at the unex- 
pected sympathy and approbation with which those 
remarks have been received on both sides of the At- 
lantic. I speak this not from any paltry feelings of 
gratified vanity ; for I attribute the effect to no merit 
of my pen. The paper in question was brief and 
casual, and the ideas it conveyed were simple and ob- 
vious. " It was the cause : it was the cause " alone. 
There was a predisposition on the part of iny read- 
ers to be favourably aftected. My countiymen re- 
sponded in heart to the filial feelings I had avowed 
in their name towards the parent country : and there 
was a generous sympathy in every English bosom 
towards a solitary individual, lifting up his voice in 
a strange land, to vindicate the injured character of 
his nation. There are some causes so sacred as to 
carry with them an irresistible appeal to every vir- 
tuous bosom ; and he needs but little power of elo- 
quence, who defends the honour of his wife, his 
mother, or his country. 

I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, 
as showing how much good may be done by a kind 
word, however feeble, when spoken in season — as 
showing how much dormant good-feeling actually 
exists in each country, towards the other, which only 
wants the slightest spark to kindle it into a genial 
flame — as showing, in fact, what 1 have all along 
believed and asserted, that the two nations would 
grow together in esteem and amity, if meddling and 
malignant spirits would but throw by their mischiev- 
ous pens, and leave kindred hearts to the kindly im- 
pulses of nature. 

I once more assert, and I assert it with increased 
conviction of its truth, that there exists, among the 
great majority of my countrymen, a lavourable feel- 
ing toward England. I repeat this assertion, be- 
cause I think it a truth that cannot too often be re- 
iterated, and because it has met with some contra- 
diction. Among all the liberal and enlightened 
minds of my countiymen, among all those which 
eventually give a tone to national opinion, there ex- 
ists a cordial desire to be on terms of courtesy and 
friendship. But at the same time, there exists in 
those very minds a distrust of reciprocal good-will 
on the part of England. They have been ren- 
dered morbidly sensitive by the attacks made upon 
tlieir country by the English press ; and their occa- 
sional irritability on this subject has been mi.sinter- 
preted into a settled and unnatural hostility. 

For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as 
belonging to generous natures. I should look upon 
my countrymen as fallen indeed from that independ- 
ence of spirit which is their birth-gift ; as tallen in- 
deed from that pride of character which they inherit 
from the proud nation from which they sprung, 
could they tamely sit down under the infliction of 
contumely and insult. Indeed, the very impatience 
which they show as to the misrepresentations of 
the press, proves their respect for English opinion, 
and their desire for English amity; forthere is never 
jealousy where there is not strong regard. 



540 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



It is easy to say, that these attacks are all the 
effusions of worthless scribblers, and treated with 
silent contempt by the nation ; but, alas I the slan- 
ders of the scribbler travel abroad, and the silent 
contempt of the nation is only known at home. 
With England, then, it remains, as I have formerly 
asserted, to promote a mutual spirit of conciliation ; 
she has but to hold the language of friendship and 
respect, and she is secure of the good-will of every 
American bosom. 

In expressing these sentiments, I would utter 
nothing that should commit the proper spirit of my 
countrymen. We seek no boon at England's hands: 
we ask nothing as a favour. Her friendship is not 
necessar)', nor would her hostility be dangerous to 
our well-being. We ask nothing from abroad that 
we cannot reciprocate. But with respect to En- 
gland, we have a warm feeling of the heart, the 
glow of consanguinity that still lingers in our 
blood. Interest apart — past differences forgotten 
— we extend the hand of old relationship. We 
merely ask, do not estrange us from \ou; do not 
destroy the ancient tie of blood ; do not let scoffers 
and slanderers drive a kindred nation from your 
side ; we would /ain be friends ; do not compel us 
to be enemies. 

There needs no better rallying-ground for interna- 
tional amity, than that furnished by an eminent En- 
glish writer: "There is," says he, "a sacred bond 
between us of blood and of language, which no cir- 
cumstances can break. Our literature must always 
be theirs ; and though their laws are no longer the 
same as ours, we have the same Bible, and we ad- 
dress our common Father in the same prayer. Na- 
tions are too ready to admit that they have natural 
enemies ; why should they be less willing to believe 
that they have natural friends? "* 

To the magnanimous spirits of both countries 
must we trust to carry such a natural alliance of af- 
fection into full effect. To pens more powerful than 
mine, I leave the noble task of promoting the cause 
of national amity. To the intelligent and enlightened 
of my own countiy, I address my parting voice, en- 
treating them to show themselves superior to the 
petty attacks of the ignorant and the worthless, and 
still to look with dispassionate and philosophic eye 
to the moral character of England, as the intellectual 
source ot our rising greatness ; while I appeal to 
every generous-minded Englishman from the slanders 
which disgrace the press, insult the understanding, 
and belie the magnanimity of his country : and 1 in- 



* From an article (said to be by Robert Southey, Esq.) published 
in the Quarterly Review. It is to be lamented that that publica- 
tion should so often forget the generous text here given ! 



vite him to look to America, as to a kindred na- 
tion, worthy of its origin ; giving, in the healthy 
vigour of its growth, the best of comments on its 
parent stock ; and reflecting, in the dawning bright- 
ness of its fame, the moral effulgence of British 
glory. 

I am sure that such an appeal will not be made in 
vain. Indeed, I have noticed, for some time past, 
an essential change in English sentiment with regard 
to America. In parliament, that fountain-head of 
public opinion, there seems to be an emulation, on 
both sides of the house, in holding the language of 
courtesy and friendship. The same spirit is daily 
becoming more and more prevalent in good society. 
There is a growing curiosity concerning my country ; 
a craving desire for correct information, that cannot 
fail to lead to a favourable understanding. The 
scoffer, I trust, has had his day ; the time of the 
slanderer is gone by ; the ribald jokes, the stale 
commonplaces, which have so long passed current 
when America was the theme, are now banished to 
the ignorant and the vulgar, or only perpetuated by 
the hireling scribblers and traditional jesters of the 
press. The intelligent and higli-minded now pride 
themselves upon making America a study. 

But however my feelings may be understood or 
reciprocated on either side of the Atlantic, 1 utter 
them without reserve, for I have ever found that to 
speak frankly is to speak safely. I am not so sanguine 
as to believe that the two nations are ever to be 
bound together by any romantic ties of feeling ; but 
I believe that much may be done towards keeping 
alive cordial sentiments, were every well-disposed 
mind occasionally to throw in a simple word of 
kindness. If I have, indeed, produced any such 
effect by my writings, it will be a soothing reflection 
to me, that for once, in the course of a rather negli- 
gent life, I have been useful ; that for once, by the 
casual exercise of a pen which has been in general 
but too unprofitably employed, I have awakened a 
cord of sympathy between the land of my fathers 
and the dear land that gave me birth. 

In the spirit of these sentiments, I now take my 
farewell of the paternal soil. With anxious eye do 
I behold the clouds of doubt and difficulty that are 
lowering over it, and earnestly do I hope that they 
may all clear up into serene and settled sunshine. 
In bidding this last adieu, my heart is filled with 
fond, yet melancholy emotions ; and still I linger, 
and still, like a child leaving the venerable abodes 
of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filial 
benediction : " Peace be within thy walls, oh, En- 
gland ! and plenteousness within thy palaces ; for 
my brethren and my companions' sake I will now 
say, Peace be within thee ! " 



A History of New-York, 



FROM THE 



BEGINNING OF THE WORLD TO THE END OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY. 

CONTAINING, 

AMONG MANY SURPRISING AND CURIOUS MATTERS, 

THE UNUTTERABLE PONDERINGS OF WALTER THE DOUBTER, 

TILE DISASTROUS PROJECTS OF WILLLAM THE TESTY, AND 

THE CHIVALRLC ACHIEVEMENTS OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG, 

THE THREE DTJTCH GOVERNORS OF NEW-AMSTERDAM. 

BEING THE ONLY AUTHENTIC HISTORY OF THE TIMES THAT EVER HATH BEEN OR 

EVER WILL BE PUBLISHED. 



BY DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 



iBc toa^tr^till Bit in buistcr lajj, 
fflit komt mtt klaaricii) aait bm traj. 



ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, 



It was some time, if I recollect right, in the early 
part of the autumn of lSo8, that a stranger applied for 
lodgings at the Independent Columbian Hotel in Mul- 
berry-street, of which I am landlord. He was a small, 
brisk-looking old gentleman, dressed in a rusty black 
coat, a pair of olive velvet breeches, and a small cocked 
hat. He had a few gray hairs plaited and clubbed be- 
hind, and his beard seemed to be of some eight-and- 
forty hours' growth. The only piece of finery which 
he bore about him, was a bright pair of square silver 
shoe-buckles, and all his baggage was contained in a 
pair of saddle-bags, which he carried under his arm. 
His whole appearance was something out of the com- 
mon run ; and my wife, who is a very shrewd body, 
at once set him down for some eminent country school- 
master. 

As the Independent Columbian Hotel is a very small 
house, I was a little puzzled at first where to put him ; 
but my wife, who seemed taken with his looks, would 



needs put him in her best chamber, which is genteelly 
set off with the profiles of the whole family, done in 
black, by those two great painters, Jarvis and Wood ; 
and commands a very pleasant view of the new grounds 
on the Collect, together with the rear of the Poor- 
House and Bridewell, and a full front of the Hospital ; 
so that it is the cheerfulest room in the whole house. 

During the whole time that he stayed with us, we 
found him a very worthy, good sort of an old gentle- 
man, though a little queer in his ways. He would 
keep in his room for days together, and if any of the 
children cried, or made a noise about his door, he 
would bounce out in a great passion, with his hands 
full of papers, and say something about "deranging 
his ideas ; " which made my wife believe sometimes 
that he was not altogether compos. Indeed, there was 
more than one reason to make her think so, for his 
room was always covered with scraps of paper and 
old mouldy books, laying about at sixes and sevens, 
which he would never let any body touch ; for he said 
he had laid them all away in their proper places, so 
that he might know where to find them ; though for 
that matter, he was half his time worrying about the 

(541) 



642 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



house in search of some book or writing which he had 
carefully put out of the way. I shall never forget 
what a pother he once made, because my wife cleaned 
out his room when his back was turned, and put every 
thing to rights ; for he swore he would never be able 
to get his papers in order again in a twelvemonth. 
Upon this my wife ventured to ask him what he did 
with so many books and papers? and he told her that 
he was "seeking for immortality;" which made her 
think, more than ever, that the poor old gentleman's 
head was a little cracked. 

He was a very inquisitive body, and when not in his 
room was continually poking about town, hearing all 
the news, and prying into every thing that was going 
on : this was particularly the case about election time, 
when he did nothing but bustle about from poll to poll, 
attending all ward meetings and committee rooms ; 
though I could never find that he took part with either 
side of the question. On the contrary, he would come 
home and rail at both parties with great wrath — and 
plainly proved one day, to the satisfaction of my wife 
and three old ladies who were drinking tea with her, 
that the two parties were like two rogues, each tugging 
at a skirt of the nation ; and that in the end they 
would tear the very coat off its back, and expose its 
nakedness. Indeed, he was an oracle among the 
neighbours, who would collect around him to hear 
him talk of an afternoon, as he smoked his pipe on 
the bench before the door ; and I really believe he 
would have brought over the whole neighbourhood to 
his own side of the question, if they could ever have 
found out what it was. 

He was very much given to argue, or, as he called 
it, philosophize, about the most trifling matter ; and to 
do him justice, I never knew any body that was a 
match for him, except it was a grave-looking old gen- 
tleman who called now and then to see him, and often 
posed him in an argument. But this is nothing sur- 
prising, as I have since found out this stranger is the 
city librarian ; and, of course, must be a man of great 
learning : and I have my doubts, if he had not some 
hand in the following history. 

As our lodger had been a long time with us, and we 
had never received any pay, my wife began to be 
somewhat uneasy, and curious to find out who and 
what he was. She accordingly made bold to put the 
question to his friend, the librarian, who replied in his 
dry way that he was one of the literati, which she sup- 
posed to mean some new party in politics. I scorn to 
push a lodger for his pay; so I let day after day pass 
on without dunning the old gentleman for a farthing : 
but my wife, who always takes these matters on her- 
self, and is, as I said, a shrewd kind of a woman, at 
last got out of patience, and hinted, that she thought 
it high time " some people should have a sight of some 
people's money." To which the old gentleman re- 
plied, in a mighty touchy manner, that she need not 
make herself uneasy, for that he had a treasure there, 
Cpointing to his saddle-bags,) worth her whole house 
put together. This was the only answer we could 
ever get from him ; and as my wife, by some of those 
odd ways in which women find out every thing, learnt 
that he was of very great connexions, being related to 
the Knickerbockers of Scaghtikoke, and cousin-german 
to the Congressman of that name, she did not like to 



treat him uncivilly. What is more, she even offered, 
merely by way of making things easy, to let him live 
scot-free, if he would teach the children their letters ; 
and to try her best and get her neighbours to send 
their children also ; but the old gentleman took it in 
such dudgeon, and seemed so affronted at being taken 
for a schoolmaster, that she never dared speak on the 
subject again. 

About two months ago, he went out of a morning, 
with a bundle in his hand — and has never been heard 
of since. All kinds of inquiries were made after him, 
but in vain. I wrote to his relations at Scaghtikoke, 
but they sent for answer, that he had not been there 
since the year before last, when he had a great dispute 
with the Congressman about politics, and left the place 
in a huff, and they had neither heard nor seen any 
thing of him from that time to this. I must own I felt 
very much worried about the poor old gentleman, for 
I thought something bad must have happened to him, 
that he should be missing so long, and never return to 
pay his bill. I therefore advertised him in the news- 
papers, and though my melancholy advertisement 
was published by several humane printers, yet I have 
never been able to learn any thing satisfactory about 
him. 

My wife now said it was high time to take care of 
ourselves, and see if he had left any thing behind in 
his room, that Would pay us for his board and lodging. 
We found nothing, however, but some old books and 
musty writings, and his saddle-bags, which, being 
opened in the presence of the librarian, contained only 
a few articles of worn-out clothes, and a large bundle 
of blotted paper. On looking over this, the librarian 
told us, he had no doubt it was the treasure which the 
old gentleman had spoke about ; as it proved to be a 
most excellent and faithful History of New-York, 
which he advised us by all means to publish : assuring 
us that it would be so eagerly bought up by a discern- 
ing public, that he had no doubt it would be enough to 
pay our arrears ten times over. Upon this we got a 
very learned schoolmaster, who teaches our children, 
to prepare it for the press, which he accordingly has 
done ; and has, moreover, added to it a number of 
valuable notes of his own. 

Tliis, therefore, is a true statement of my reasons 
for having this work printed, without waiting for the 
consent of the author : and I here declare, that if he 
ever returns, (though I much fear some unhappy acci- 
dent has befallen him,) I stand ready to account with 
him like a true and honest man. Which is all at 
present, 

From the public's humble Serv't. 

Seth Handaside. 
Indepctiiloit Columbian Hotel, ) 
N^e-M - York. C 



The foregoing account of the author was prefi.xed to 
the first edition of this work. Shortly after its publi- 
cation a letter was received from him, by Mr. Handa- 
side, dated at a small Dutch village on the banks of 
the Hudson, whither he had travelled for the purpose 
of inspecting certain ancient records. As this was 
one of those few and happy villages, into which news- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



543 



papers never find their way, it is not a matter of sur- 
prise, that Mr. Knickerbocker should never have seen 
the numerous advertisements that were made concern- 
ing him ; and that he should learn of the publication 
of his history by mere accident. 

He expressed much concern at its premature ap- 
pearance, as thereby he was prevented from making 
several important corrections and alterations ; as well 
as from profiting by many curious hints which he had 
collected during his travels along the shores of the 
Tappaan Sea, and his sojourn at Haverstraw and 
Esopus. 

Finding that there was no longer any immediate 
necessity for his return to New-York, he extended his 
journey up to the residence of his relations at Scagh- 
tikoke. On his way thither, he stopped for some days 
at Albany, for which city he is known to have enter- 
tained a great partiality. He found it, however, con- 
siderably altered, and was much concerned at the in- 
roads and improvements which the Yankees were mak- 
ing, and the consequent decline of the good old Dutch 
manners. Indeed, he was informed that these in- 
truders were making sad innovations in all parts of 
the State ; where they had given great trouble and 
vexation to the regular Dutch settlers, by the introduc- 
tion of turnpike gates and country school-houses. It 
is said also, that Mr. Knickerbocker shook his head 
sorrowfully at noticing the gradual decay of the great 
Vander Heyden palace ; but was highly indignant at 
finding that the ancient Dutch church, which stood in 
the middle of the street, had been pulled down, since 
his last visit. 

The fame of Mr. Knickerbocker's history having 
reached even to Albany, he received much flattering 
attention from its worthy burghers, some of whom, 
however, pointed out two or three very great errors he 
had fallen into, particularly that of suspending a lump 
of sugar over the Albany tea-tables, which, they as- 
sured him, had been discontinued for some years past. 
.Several families, moreover, were somewhat piqued 
that their ancestors had not been mentioned in his 
work, and showed great jealousy of their neighbours 
who had been thus distinguished ; while the latter, it 
must be confessed, plumed themselves vastly there- 
upon ; considering these recordings in the light of let- 
ters-patent of nobility, establishing their claims to an- 
cestry — which, in this republican country, is a matter 
of no little solicitude and vain-glory. 

It is also said, that he enjoyed high favour and 
countenance from the governor, who once asked him 
to dinner, and was seen two or three times to shake 
hands with him, when they met in the street ; which 
certainly was going great lengths, considering that 
they differed in politics. Indeed, certain of the gov- 
ernor's confidential friends, to whom he could venture 
to speak his mind freely on such matters, have as- 
sured us, that he privately entertained a considerable 
good-will for our author — nay, he even once went so 
far as to declare, and that openly, too, and at his own 
table, just after dinner, that " Knickerbocker was a 
very well-meaning sort of an old gentleman, and no 
fool." From all which, many have been led to sup- 
pose, that had our author been of different politics, 
and written for the newspapers, instead of wasting his 
talents on histories, he might have risen to some post 



of honour and profit ; peradventure, to be a notary 
public, or even a Justice in the Ten Pound Court. 

Beside the honours and civilities already mentioned, 
he was much caressed by the literati of Albany; par- 
ticularly by Mr. John Cook, who entertained him very 
hospitably at his circulating library and reading-room, 
where they used to drink Spa water, and talk about 
the ancients. He found Mr. Cook a man after his own 
heart — of great literary research, and a curious col- 
lector of books. At parting, the latter, in testimony 
of friendship, made him a present of the two oldest 
works in his collection ; which were the earliest edi- 
tion of the Hiedelburgh Catechism, and Adrian Vander 
Donck's famous account of the New-Netherlands ; by 
the last of which, Mr. Knickerbocker profited greatly 
in this his second edition. 

Having passed some time very agreeably at Albany, 
our author proceeded to Scaghtikoke ; where, it is but 
justice to say, he was received with open arms, and 
treated with wonderful loving-kindness. He was much 
looked up to by the family, being the first historian of 
the name ; and was considered almost as great a man 
as his cousin the Congressman — with whom, by-the- 
bye, he became perfectly reconciled, and contracted a 
strong friendship. 

In spite, however, of the kindness of his relations, 
and their great attention to his comforts, the old gen- 
tleman soon became restless and discontented. His 
history being published, he had no longer any busi- 
ness to occupy his thoughts, or any scheme to excite 
his hopes and anticipations. This, to a busy mind 
like his, was a truly deplorable situation ; and, had he 
not been a man of inflexible morals and regular habits, 
there would have been great danger of his taking to 
politics, or drinking — both which pernicious vices we 
daily see men driven to, by mere spleen and idleness. 

It is true, he sometimes employed himself in pre- 
paring a second edition of his history, wherein he en- 
deavoured to correct and improve many passages with 
which he was dissatisfied, and to rectify some mistakes 
that had crept into it ; for he was particularly anxious 
that his work should be noted for its authenticity, 
which, indeed, is the very life and soul of history. — 
But the glow of composition had departed — he had to 
leave many places untouched, which he would fain 
have altered ; and even where he did make alterations, 
he seemed always in doubt whether they were for the 
better or the worse. 

After a residence of some time at Scaghtikoke, he 
began to feel a strong desire to return to New-York, 
which he ever regarded with the warmest affection ; 
not merely because it was his native city, but because 
he really considered it the very best city in the whole 
world. On his return, he entered into the full enjoy- 
ment of the advantages of a literary reputation. He 
was continually importuned to write advertisements, 
petitions, hand-bills, and productions of similar im- 
port ; and, although he never meddled with the public 
papers, yet had he the credit of writing innumerable 
essays, and smart things, that appeared on all subjects, 
and all sides of the question ; in all which he was 
clearly detected "by his style." 

He contracted, moreover, a considerable debt at the 
post-office, in consequence of the numerous letters he 
received from authors and printers soliciting his sub- 



544 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



scription ; and he was applied to by every charitable 
society for yearly donations, which he gave very 
cheerfully, considering these applications as so many 
compliments. He was once invited to a great cor- 
poration dinner ; and was even twice summoned to 
attend as a juryman at the court of quarter sessions. 
Indeed, so renowned did he become, that he could no 
longer pry about, as formerly, in all holes and corners 
of the city, according to the bent of his humour, un- 
noticed and uninterrupted ; but several times when he 
has been sauntering the streets, on his usual rambles 
of observation, equipped with his cane and cocked 
hat, the little boys at play have been known to cry, 
" there goes Diedrich ! " — at which the old gentleman 
seemed not a little pleased, looking upon these saluta- 
tions in the light of the praises of posterity. 

In a word, if we take into consideration all these 
various honours and distinctions, together with an 
exuberant eulogium, passed on him in the Port Folio 
— (with which, we are told, the old gentleman was 
so much overpowered, that he was sick for two or 
three days) — it must be confessed, that few authors 
have ever lived to receive such illustrious rewards, 
or have so completely enjoyed in advance their own 
immortality. 

After his return from Scaghtikoke, Mr. Knicker- 
bocker took up his residence at a little rural retreat, 
which the Stuyvesants had granted him on the family 
domain, in gratitude for his honourable mention of 
their ancestor. It was pleasantly situated on the bor- 
ders of one of the salt marshes beyond Corlear's Hook : 
subject, indeed, to be occasionally overflowed, and 
much infested, in the summer-time, with musquitoes ; 
but otherwise very agreeable, producing abundant 
crops of salt grass and bull-rushes. 

Here, we are sorry to say, the good old gentleman 
fell dangerously ill of a fever, occasioned by the 
neighbouring marshes. When he found his end ap- 
proaching, he disposed of his worldly affairs, leaving 
the bulk of his fortune to the New-York Historical 
Society ; his Hiedelburgh Catechism, and Vander 
Donck's work, to the city library ; and his saddle- 
bags to Mr. Handaside. He forgave all his enemies, 
— that is to say, all who bore any enmity towards 
him ; for as to himself, he declared he died in good- 
will with all the world. And, after dictating several 
kind messages to his relations at Scaghtikoke, as well 
as to certain of our most substantial Dutch citizens, 
he expired in the arms of his friend the librarian. 

His remains were interred, according to his own 
request, in St. Mark's churchyard, close by the bones 
of his favourite hero, Peter Stuyvesant : and it is 
rumoured, that the Historical Society have it in mind 
to erect a wooden monument to his memory in the 
Bowling-Green. 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



■'To rescue from oblivion the memory of former 
incidents, and to render a just tribute of renown to 
the many great and wonderful transactions of our 
Dutch progenitors, Diedrich Knickerbocker, native of 



the city of New-York, produces this historical essay."* 
Like the great Father of History, whose words I have 
just quoted, I treat of times long past, over which the 
twilight of uncertainty had already thrown its shadows, 
and the night of forgetfulness was about to descend 
for ever. With great solicitude had I long beheld the 
early history of this venerable and ancient city gradu- 
ally slipping from our grasp, trembling on the lips of 
narrative old age, and day by day dropping piecemeal 
into the tomb. In a little while, thought I, and those 
reverend Dutch burghers, who serve as the tottering 
monuments of good old times, will be gathered to 
their fathers ; their children, engrossed by the empty 
pleasures or insignificant transactions of the present 
age. will neglect to treasure up the recollections of the 
past, and posterity will search in vain for memorials 
of the days of the Patriarchs. The origin of our city 
will be buried in eternal oblivion, and even the names 
and achievements of Wouter Van Twiller, William 
Kieft, and Peter Stuyvesant, be enveloped in doubt 
and fiction, like those of Romulus and Remus, of 
Charlemagne, King Arthur, Rinaldo, and Godfrey of 
Bologne. 

Determined, therefore, to avert if possible this 
threatened misfortune, I industriously set myself to 
work, to gather together all the fragments of our in- 
fant history which still existed, and like my revered 
prototype, Herodotus, where no written records could 
be found, I have endeavoured to continue the chain 
of history by well-authenticated traditions. 

In this arduous undertaking, which -has been the 
whole business of a long and solitary life, it is in- 
credible the number of learned authors I have con- 
sulted ; and all but to little purpose. Strange as it 
may seem, though such multitudes of excellent works 
have been written about this country, there are none 
extant which give any full and satisfactory account 
of the early history of New-York, or of its three first 
Dutch governors. I have, however, gained much 
valuable and curious matter, from an elaborate manu- 
script written in exceeding pure and classic Low Dutch, 
excepting a few errors in orthography, which was found 
in the archives of the Stuyvesant family. Many le- 
gends, letters, and other documents have I likewise 
gleaned, in my researches among the family chests 
and lumber garrets of our respectable Dutch citizens ; 
and I have gathered a host of well -authenticated 
traditions from divers excellent old ladies of my ac- 
quaintance, who requested that their names might not 
be mentioned. Nor must I neglect to acknowledge 
how greatly I have been assisted by that admirable 
and praiseworthy institution, the New-York Histor- 
ic.\L Society, to which I here publicly return my sin- 
cere acknowledgments. 

In the conduct of this inestimable work, I have 
adopted no individual model ; but, on the contrary, 
have simply contented myself with combining and 
concentrating the excellencies of the most approved 
ancient historians. Like Zenophon, I have maintain- 
ed the utmost impartiality, and the strictest adherence 
to truth, throughout my history. I have enriched it, 
after the manner of Sallust, with various characters 
of ancient worthies, drawn at full length and faith- 



* Beloe's Herodotus. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



54S 



fully coloured. I have seasoned it with profound 
political speculations like Thucydides, sweetened it 
with the graces of sentiment like Tacitus, and infused 
into the whole the dignity, the grandeur, and magnifi- 
cence of Livy. 

I am aware that I shall incur the censure of numer- 
ous very learned and judicious critics, for indulging 
too frequently in the bold excursive manner of my 
favourite Herodotus. And to be candid, I have found 
it impossible always to resist the allurements of those 
pleasing episodes, which, like flo%very banks and fra- 
grant bowers, beset the dusty road of the historian, and 
entice him to turn aside, and refresh himself from his 
wayfaring. But I trust it will be found that I have 
always resumed my staff, and addressed myself to my 
weary journey with renovated spirits, so that both 
my readers and myself have been benefited by the re- 
laxation. 

Indeed, though it has been my constant wish and 
uniform endeavour to rival Polybius himself, in ob- 
serving the requisite unity of History, yet the loose 
and unconnected manner in which many of the facts 
herein recorded have come to hand, rendered such 
an attempt e.xtremely difficult. This difficulty was like- 
wise increased, by one of the grand objects contem- 
plated in my work, which was to trace the rise of sun- 
dry customs and institutions in this best of cities, and 
to compare them, when in the germ of infancy, with 
what they are in the present old age of knowledge 
and improvement. 

But the chief merit on which I value myself, and 
found my hopes for future regard, is that faithful ve- 
racity with which I have compiled this invaluable little 
work ; carefully winnowing away the chaff of hypoth- 
esis, and discarding the tares of fable, which are too 
apt to spring up and choke the seeds of truth and 
■wholesome knowledge. — Had I been anxious to cap- 
tivate the superficial throng, who skim like swallows 
over the surface of literature ; or had I been anxious 
to commend my writings to the pampered palates of 
literary epicures, I might have availed myself of the 
obscurity that overshadows the infant years of our city, 
to introduce a thousand pleasing fictions. But I have 
scrupulously discarded many a pithy tale and marvel- 
lous adventure, whereby the drowsy ear of summer 
indolence might T)e enthralled ; jealousy maintaining 
that fidelity, gravity, and dignity, which should ever 
distinguish the historian. " For a writer of this class," 
observes an elegant critic, " must sustain the character 
of a wise man, writing for the instruction of posterity ; 
one who has studied to inform himself well, who has 
pondered his subject with care, and addresses himself 
to our judgment, rather than to our imagination." 

Thrice happy, therefore, is this our renowned city, 
in having incidents worthy of swelling the theme of 
history ; and doubly thrice happy is it in having such 
a historian as myself to relate them. For after all, 
gentle reader, cities of themselves, and, in fact, empires 
of themselves, are nothing without a historian. It is 
the patient narrator who records their prosperity as 
they rise — who blazons forth the splendour of their 
noontide meridian — who props their feeble memorials 
as they totter to decay — who gathers together their 
scattered fragments as they rot — and who piously, at 
length, collects their ashes into the mausoleum of his 

35 



work, and rears a monument that will transmit their 
renown to all succeeding ages. 

What has been the fate of many fair cities of an- 
tiquity, whose nameless ruins encumber the plains of 
Europe and Asia, and awaken the fruitless inquiry of 
the traveller? They have sunk into dust and silence 
— they have perished from remembrance, for want of 
a historian ! The philanthropist may weep over their 
desolation — the poet may wander among their mould- 
ering arches and broken columns, and indulge the 
visionary flights of his fancy — but alas ! alas ! the 
modern historian, whose pen, like my own, is doomed 
to confine itself to dull matter of fact, seeks in vain 
among their oblivious remains for some memorial that 
may tell the instructive tale of their glory and their ruin. 

"Wars, conflagrations, deluges," says Aristotle, 
"destroy nations, and with them all their monuments, 
their discoveries, and their vanities. — The torch of 
science has more than once been extinguished and re- 
kindled — a few individuals, who have escaped by acci- 
dent, reunite the thread of generations." 

The same sad misfortune which has happened to so 
many ancient cities, will happen again, and from the 
same sad cause, to nine-tenths of those which now 
flourish on the face of the globe. With most of them, 
the time for recording their early history is gone by ; 
their origin, their foundation, together with the event- 
ful period of their youth, are for ever buried in the 
rubbish of years ; and the same would have been the 
case with this fair portion of the earth, if I had not 
snatched it from obscurity in the very nick of time, at 
the moment that those matters herein recorded were 
about entering into the wide-spread insatiable maw of 
oblivion — if I had not dragged them out, as it were, by 
the very locks, just as the monster's adamantine fangs 
were closing upon them for ever ! And here have I, 
as before observed, carefully collected, collated, and 
arranged them, scrip and scrap, "punt en punt, gat en 
gat," and commenced in this little vifork, a history to 
serve as a foundation, on which other historians may 
hereafter raise a noble superstructure, swelling in pro- 
cess of time, until Knickerbocker's New- York may be 
equally voluminous with Gibbon's Rome, or Hume and 
Sniollef s Kngland I 

And now indulge me for a moment, while I lay 
down my pen, skip to some little eminence at the dis- 
tance of two or three hundred years ahead ; and, cast- 
ing back a bird's-eye glance over the waste of years 
that is to roll between, discover myself — little I ! — at 
this moment the progenitor, prototype, and precursor 
of them all, posted at the head of this host of literary 
worthies, with my book under my arm, and New-York 
on my back, pressing forward, like a gallant com- 
mander, to honour and immortality. 

Such are the vain-glorious imaginings that will now 
and then enter into the brain of the author — that ir- 
radiate, as with celestial light, his solitary chamber, 
cheering his weary spirits, and animating him to per- 
severe in his labours. And I have freely given utter- 
ance to these rhapsodies, whenever they have occurred ; 
not, I trust, from an unusual spirit of egotism, but 
merely that the reader may for once have an idea, 
how an author thinks and feels while he is writing — 
a kind of knowledge very rare and curious, and much 
to be desired. 



546 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



BOOK I 



CONTAINING DIVERS INGENIOUS THEORIES AND 
PHILOSOPHIC SPECULA 1 IONS, CONCERNING THE 
CREATION AND POPULATION OF THE WORLD, 
AS CONNECTED WITH THE HISTORY OF NEW 
YORK. 



CHAPTER 1. 

DESCRIPTION OF THE WORLD. 

ACCORDING to the best authorities, the world in 
which we dwell is a huge, opaque, reflecting, inani- 
mate mass, floating in the vast ethereal ocean of 
intinite space. It has the form of an orange, being 
an oblate spheroid, curiously flattened at opposite 
parts, for the insertion of two imaginary poles, which 
are supposed to penetrate and unite at the centre ; 
thus forming an axis on which the mighty orange 
turns with a regular diurnal revolution. 

The transitions of light and darkness, whence pro- 
ceed the alternations of day and night, are produced 
by this diurnal revolution successively presenting the 
different parts of the earth to the rays of the sun. 
The latter is, according to the best, that is to say, the 
latest accounts, a luminous or fiery body, of a pro- 
digious magnitude, from which this world is driven 
by a centrifugal or repelling power, and to which 
it is drawn by a centripetal or attractive force, 
otherwise called the attraction of gravitation ; the 
combination, or rather the counteraction, of these 
two opposing impulses producing a circular and 
annual revolution. Hence result the different sea- 
sons of the year, viz., spring, summer, autumn, and 
winter. 

This I believe to be the most approved modern 
theoi-y on the subject — though there be many phi- 
losophers who have entertained very different opin- 
ions ; some, too, of them entitled to much deference 
from their great antiquity and illustrious characters. 
Thus it was advanced by some of the ancient sages, 
that the earth was an extended plain, supported by 
vast pillars ; and by others, that it rested on the head 
of a snake, or the back of a huge tortoise — but as 
they did not provide a resting-place for either the 
pillars or the tortoise, the whole theory fell to the 
ground, for want of proper foundation. 

The Brahmins assert, that the heavens rest upon 
the earth, and the sun and moon swim therein like 
fishes in the water, moving from east to west by day, 
and gliding along the edge of the horizon to their 
original stations during the night ;* while, according 
to the pauranicas of India, it is a vast plain, encircled 
by seven oceans of milk, nectar, and other delicious 
liquids ; that it is studded with seven mountains, and 
ornamented in the centre by a mountainous rock of 
burnished gold ; and that a great dragon occasion- 
ally swallows up the moon, which accounts for the 
phenomena of lunar eclipses.t 

Beside these, and many other equally sage opin- 
ions, we have the profound conjectures of Aboul- 
Hassan-Aly, son of Al Khan, son of Aly, son of 
Abderrahman, son of Abdallah, son of Masoud-el- 
Had-heli, who is commonly called Masoudi, and 
surnamed Cothbeddin, but who takes the humble 
title of Laheb-ar-rasoul, which means the companion 
of the ambassador of God. He has written a uni- 
versal history, entitled " Mouroudge-ed-dharab, or 
the Golden Meadows, and the Mines of Precious 



* Faria y Souza. Mick. Lus. note b. 7 
tSir W. Jones, Diss. Antiq. Ind. Zod. 



Stones."* In this valuable work he has related the 
history of the world, from the creation down to the 
moment of writing ; which was under the Caliphate 
of Mothi Billah, in the month Dgioumadi-el-aoual 
of the 336th year of the Hegira or flight of the 
Prophet. He informs us that the earth is a huge 
bird, Mecca and Medina constituting the head, Persia 
and India the right wing, the land of Gog the left 
wing, and Africa the tail. He informs us, moreover, 
that an earth has existed before the present, (which 
he considers as a mere chicken of 7,000 years) that 
it has undergone divers deluges, and that, according 
to the opinion of some well-informed Brahmins of 
his acquaintance, it will be renovated every seventy- 
thousandth hazarouam ; each hazarouam consisting 
of 12,000 years. 

These area few of the many contradictory opinions 
of philosophers concerning the earth, and we find 
that the learned have had equal perplexity as to the 
nature of the sun. Some of the ancient philosophers 
have affirmed that it is a vast wheel of brilliant fire ;t 
others, that it is merely a mirror or sphere of trans- 
parent crystal ; f and a third class, at the head of 
whom stands Anaxagoras, maintained that it was 
nothing but a huge ignited mass of iron or stone — 
indeed, he declared the heavens to be merely a vault 
of stone — and that the stars were stones whirled up- 
ward from the earth, and set on fire by the velocity 
of its revolutions. § But 1 give little attention to the 
doctrines of this philosopher, the people of Athens 
having fully refuted them, by banishing him from 
their city; a concise mode of answering unwelcome 
doctrines, much resorted to in former days. Another 
sect of philo.sophers do declare, that certain fiery 
particles exhale constantly from the earth, which 
concentrating in a single point of the firmament by 
day, constitute the sun, but being scattered and ram- 
bling about in the dark at night, collect in various 
points, and form st.ars. These are regularly burnt 
out and extinguished, not unlike to the lamps in our 
streets, and require a fresh supply of exhalations for 
the next occasion.] 

It is even recorded, that at certain remote and 
obscure periods, in consequence of a great scarcity 
of fuel, the sun has been completely burnt out, and 
sometimes not rekindled for a month at a time ; —a 
most melancholy circumstance, the very idea of 
which gave vast concern to Heraclitus, that worthy 
weeping philosopher of antiquity. In addition to 
these various speculations, it was the opinion of 
Herschel, that the sun is a magnificent, habitable 
abode ; the light it furnishes arising from certain 
empyreal, luminous or phosphoric clouds, swimming 
in its transparent atmosphere.'! 

But we will not enter farther at present into the 
nature of the sun, that being an inquiry not imme- 
diately necessary to the development of this history ; 
neither will we embroil ourselves in any more of the 
endless disputes of philosophers touching the fomi 
of this globe, but content ourselves with the theory 
advanced in the beginning of this chapter, and will 
proceed to illustrate, by experiment, the complexity 
of motion therein ascribed to this our rotatory 
planet. 

Professor Von Poddingcoft (or Puddinghead, as 



* Mss. Bibliot, Roi. Fr. 

+ Plutarch de Placitis Philosoph. lib. iii. cap. 20. 

t Actiill. Tat. Isag. cap. 19. Ap. Petav, t. iii. p. 81. .Stob. Eclog. 
Phys. lib. i. p. 56. Plut, de PI.-ic. Phi. 

§ Diogenes Laertius in Anaxag. 1. ii. sec. 8. Plat. Apol. t. i. p. z6. 
Plut. de Plac. Philo. Xenoph. Mem. 1. iv. p. 815. 

II Aristot. Meteor. 1. ii. c. 2. Idem. Probl. sec. 15. Stob. EcL 
Phys. 1. i. p. 55. Bruck. Hist. Phil. t. i. p. 1154, &c. 

^ Philos. Trans. 1795, p. 72. Idem. iSoi, p. 265. Nich. Philos 
Journ. i. p. 13. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



547 



the name may be rendered into English.) was long- 
celebrated in the university of Leyden, for profound 
gravity of deportment, and a talent of going to sleep 
in the midst of examinations, to the infinite relief of 
his hopeful students, who thereby worked their way 
through college with great ease and little study. In 
the course of one of his lectures, the learned profes- 
sor, seizing a bucket of water, swung it round his 
head at arm's-length. The impulse with which he 
threw the vessel from him, being a centrifugal force, 
the retention of his arm operating as a centripetal 
power, and the bucket, which was a substitute for the 
earth, describing a circular orbit round about the 
globular head and ruby visage of Professor Von Pod- 
dingcoft, which formed no bad representation of the 
sun. All of these particulars were duly explained to 
the class of gaping students around him. He ap- 
prized them, moreover, that the same principle of 
gravitation, which retained the water in the bucket, 
restrains the ocean from flying from the earth in its 
rapid revolutions ; and he farther informed them, 
that should the motion of the earth be suddenly 
checked, it would incontinently fall into the sun, 
through the centripetal force of gravitation ; a most 
ruinous event to this planet, and one which would 
also obscure, though it most probably would not ex- 
tinguish, the solar luminary. An unlucky stripling, 
one of those vagrant geniuses w'ho seem sent into 
the world merely to annoy worthy men of the pud- 
dinghead order, desirous of ascertaining the correct- 
ness of the experiment, suddenly arrested the arm of 
the professor, just at the moment that the bucket 
was in its zenith, which immediately descended with 
astonishing precision upon the head of the philoso- 
pher. A hallow sound, and a red-hot hiss, attended 
the contact ; but the theory was in the amplest man- 
ner illustrated, for the unfortunate bucket perished 
in the conflict ; but the blazing countenance of Pro- 
fessor yon Poddingcoft emerged from amidst the 
waters, glowing fiercer than ever with unutterable 
indignation, whereby the students were marvellously 
edirted, and departed considerably wiser than before. 
It is a mortifying circumstance, which greatly per- 
plexes many a philosopher, that Nature otten refuses 
to second his efforts ; so that after having invented 
one of the itiost ingenious and natural theories im- 
aginable, she will have the perverseness to act di- 
rectly in the teeth of it. This is a manifest and un- 
merited grievance, since it throws the censure of the 
vulgar and unlearned entirely upon the philosopher; 
whereas the fault is to be ascribed to dame Nature, 
who, with the proverbial fickleness of her sex, is con- 
tinually indulging in coquetries and caprices; and 
who seems to take pleasure in violating all philo- 
sophic rules, and jilting the most learned and inde- 
fatigable of her adorers. Thus it happened with re- 
spect to the foregoing explanation of the motion of 
our planet ; it appears that the centrifugal force has 
long since ceased to operate, while its antagonist re- 
mains in undiminished potency : the world, there- 
fore, ought, in strict propriety, to tumble into the 
sun ; philosophers were convinced that it would do 
so, and awaited in an.xious impatience the fulfilment 
of their prognostics. But the untoward planet per- 
tinaciously continued her course, notwithstanding 
that she had reason, philosophy, and a whole univer- 
sity of learned professors, opposed to her conduct. 
The philosophers took this in very ill part, and it is 
thought they would never have pardoned the slight 
which they conceived put upon them by the world, 
had not a good-natured professor kindly officiated as 
a mediator between the parties and effected a recon- 
ciliation. 

Finding the world would not accommodate itself 
to the theory, he wisely accommodated the theory to 



the world : he informed his brother philosophers 
that the circular motion of the earth round the sun 
was no sooner engendered by the conflicting impulses 
above described, than it became a regular revolution, 
independent of the causes which gave it origin. His 
learned brethren readily joined in the opinion, heartily 
glad of any explanation that would decently extricate 
them from their embarrassment — and ever since that 
era the world has been left to take her own course, 
and to revolve around the sun in such orbit as she 
thinks proper. 



CHAPTER H. 

COSMOGONY, OR CREATION OF THE WORt.D ; WITH 
A MULTITUDE OF EXCELLENT THEORIES, BY 
WHICH THE CREATION OF A WORLD IS SHOWN 
TO BE NO SUCH DIFFICULT MATTER AS COM- 
MON FOLK WOULD IMAGINE. 

Having thus briefly introduced my reader to the 
world, and given him some idea of its form and sit- 
uation, he will naturally be curious to know from 
whence it came, and how it was created. And, in- 
deed, the clearing up of these points is absolutely 
essential to my history, inasmuch as if this world 
had not been formed, it is more than probable that 
this renowned island on which is situated the city 
of New-York, would never have had an existence. 
The regular course of my history, therefore, requires 
that 1 should proceed to notice the cosmogony, or 
formation of this our globe. 

And now I give my readers fair warning, that I 
am about to plunge, for a chapter or two, into as 
complete a labyrinth as ever historian was perplexed 
withal ; therefore, I advise them to take fast hold 
of my skirts, and keep close at my heels, venturing 
neither to the right hand nor to the left, lest they 
get bemired in a slough of unintelligible learning, or 
have their brains knocked out by some of those hard 
Greek names which will be flying about in all direc- 
tions. But should any of them be too indolent or 
chicken-hearted to accon»pany me in this perilous 
undertaking, they had better take a short cut round, 
and wait for me at the beginning of some smoother 
chapter. 

Of the creation of the world, we have a thousand 
contradictory accounts ; and though a very satisfac- 
tory one is furnished us by divine revelation, yet 
every philosopher feels himself in honour bound to 
furnish us with a better. As an impartial historian, 
1 consider it my duty to notice their several theories, 
by which mankind have been so exceedingly edified 
and instructed. 

Thus it was the opinion of certain ancient sages, 
that the earth and the whole system of the universe 
was the deity himself;* a doctrine most strenuously 
maintained by Zenophanes and the whole tribe of 
Eleatics, as also by Strabo and the sect of peripa- 
tetic philosophers. Pythagoras likewise inculcated 
the famous numerical system of the monad, dyad, 
and triad, and by means of his sacred quaternary 
elucidated the formation of the world, the arcana of 
nature, and the principles both of music and morals. t 
Other sages adhered to the mathematical system of 
squares and triangles ; the cube, the pyramid, and 
the sphere, the tetrahedron, the octahedron, the icos- 
ahedron, and the dodecahedron. J While others ad- 



* Aristot. ap. Cic. lib. i. cap. 3. 

t Aristot. Metaph. lib. i. c. 5. Idem, de Ccelo, I. iii. c. I. Rous- 
seau mem. sur. Musique ancien. p. 39. Plutarch de Plac Philos. 
lib. i. cap. 3. 

t Tim. Locr. ap. Pla:o. I. iii. p. 90. 



54S 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



vocated the great elementary theory, which refers 
the construction of our globe, and all that it con- 
tains, to the combination of four material elements — 
air, earth, fire, and water ; with the -assistance of a 
tilth, an immaterial and vivifying principle. 

Nor must I omit to mention the great atomic sys- 
tem, taught by old Moschus, before the siege of Troy; 
revived by Democritus, of laughing memory; im- 
proved by Epicurus, that king of good fellows, and 
modernized by the fanciful Descartes. 

But I decline inquiring, whether the atoms, of 
which the earth is said to be composed, are eternal 
or recent ; whether they are animate or inanimate ; 
whether, agreeably to the opinion of the atheists, 
they were fortuitously aggregated, or, as the theists 
maintain, were arranged by a supreme intelligence.* 
Whether, in fact, the earth be an insensate clod, or 
whether it be animated by a soul ;t which opinion 
was strenuously maintained by a host of philosophers, 
at the head of w'hom stands the great Plato, that 
temperate sage, who threw the cold water of philos- 
ophy on the form of sexual intercourse, and inculca- 
ted the doctrine of Platonic love — an exquisitely re- 
fined intercourse, but much better adapted to the 
ideal inhabitants of his imaginary island of Atlantis 
than to the sturdy race, composed of rebellious flesh 
and blood, which populates the little matter-of-fact 
island we inhabit. 

Beside these systems, we have, moreover, the po- 
etical theogony of old Hesiod, who generated the 
whole universe in the regular mode of procreation ; 
and the plausible opinion of others, that the earth 
was hatched from the great egg of night, which 
floated in chaos, and was cracked by the horns of 
the celestial bull. To illustrate this' last doctrine, 
Burnet, in his theory of the earth, t has favoured us 
with an accurate drawing and description, both of 
the form and texture of this mundane egg ; which is 
found to bear a marvellous resemblance to that of a 
goose. Such of my readers as take a proper interest 
in the origin of this our planet, will be pleased to 
learn, that the most profound sages of antiquity, 
among the Egyptians, Chaldeans, Persians, Greeks, 
and Latins, have alternately assisted at the hatch- 
ing of this strange bird,' and that their cacklings 
have been caught, and continued in different tones 
and inflections, from philosopher to philosopher, unto 
the present day. 

But while briefly noticing long-celebrated systems 
of ancient sages, let me not pass over with neglect 
those of other philosophers ; which, tliough less uni- 
versal and renowned, have equal claims to attention, 
and equal chance for correctness. Thus it is record- 
ed by the Brahmins, in the pages of their inspired 
Shastah, that the angel Bistnoo, transforming him- 
self into a great boar, plunged into the watery abyss, 
and brought up the earth on his tusks. Then issued 
from him a mighty tortoise, and a mighty snake ; 
and Bistnoo placed the snake erect upon the back 
of the tortoise, and he placed the earth upon the 
head of the snake. § 

The negro philosophers of Congo affirm that the 
world was made by the hands of angels, excepting 
their own countr\% wliich the Supreme Being con- 
structed himself, that it might be supremely excel- 
lent. And he took great pains with the inhabitants, 
and made them very black, and beautiful ; and when 
he had finished the first man, he was well pleased 
with him, and smoothed him over the face ; and 



* Aristot. Nat. Auscult. 1. ii. cap. 6. Aristoph. Melaph. lib. i. 
cap. 3. Cic. de Nat. Deor. lib. i. cap. 10. Justin. Marl. orat. ad 
gent. p. 20. 

+ Mosheim in Cudw. lib. i. cap. 4. Tim. de anim. mund ap. 
Plat. lib. iii. Mem. de I'Acad. des Belles Lettr. t. xxxii. p, ig. et 
al. 

: Book 1. ch. 5. § HoUell. Gent Philosophy. 



hence his nose, and the nose of all his descendants, 
became fiat. 

The Mohawk philosophers tell us, that a pregnant ■ 
woman fell down from heaven, and that a tortoise 
took her upon its back, because every place was 
covered with water ; and that the woman, sitting 
upon the tortoise, paddled with her hands in the 
water, and raked up the earth, whence it finally 
happened that the earth became higher than the 
water. * 

But I forbear to quote a number more of these , 
ancient and outlandish philosophers, whose deplora- 
ble ignorance, in despite of all their erudition, com- 
pelled them to write in languages which but few of 
my readers can understand ; and I shall proceed 
briefly to notice a few more intelligible and fashion- 
able theories of their modern successors. 

And, first, I shall mention the great Buffon, who 
conjectures that this globe was originally a globe of 
liquid fire, scintillated from the body of the sun, by 
the percussion of a comet, as a spark is generated 
by the collision of flint and steel. That at first it 
was surrounded by gross vapours, which, cooling 
and condensing in process of time, constituted, ac- 
cording to their densities, earth, water, and air; 
which gradually arranged themseU-es, according to 
their respecdve gravities, round the burning or vitri- 
fied mass that formed their centre. 

Hutton, on the contrary, supposes that the waters 
at first were universally paramount ; and he terrifies 
himself with the idea that the earth must be eventu- 
ally washed away by the force of rain, rivers, and 
mountain torrents, until it is confounded with the 
ocean, or, in other words, absolutely dissolves into 
itself.— Sublime idea ! far surpassing that of the 
tender-hearted damsel of antiquity, who wept her- 
self into a fountain ; or the good dame of Narbonne 
in France, who, for a volubility of tongue unusual in 
her sex, was doomed to peel five hundred thousand 
and thirty-nine ropes of onions, and actually run out 
at her eyes before half the hideous task was accom- 
plished. 

Whiston, the same ingenious philosopher who 
rivalled Ditton in his researches after the longitude, 
(for which the mischief-loving Swift discharged on 
their heads a most savoury stanza,) has distinguished 
himself by a very admirable theory* respecting the 
earth. He conjectures that it was originally a chwtic 
comet, which being selected for the abode of man, 
was removed from its eccentric orbit, and whirled 
round the sun in its present regular motion ; by 
which change of direction, order succeeded to con- 
fusion in the arrangement of its component parts. 
The philosopher adds, that the deluge was produced 
by an uncourteous salute from the watery tail of 
another comet ; doubtless through sheer envy of its 
improved condition : thus furnishing a melancholy 
proof that jealousy may prevail, even among the 
heavenly bodies, and discord interrupt that celestial 
harmony of the spheres so melodiously sung by the 
poets. 

But I pass over a variety of excellent theories, 
among which are those of Burnet, and Woodward, 
and Whitehurst ; regretting extremely that my time 
will not suffer me to give them the notice they de- 
serve—and shall conclude with that of the renowned 
Dr. Darwin. This learned Theban, who is as much 
distinguished for rhyme as reason, and for good- 
natured credulity as serious research, and who has 
recommended himself wonderfully to the good graces 
of the ladies, by letting them into all the gallantries, 
amours, intrigues, and other topics of scandal of 



♦ Johannes Megapolensls, Jim. Account of Maquaas or Mohawk 
Indians. 1644. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



549 



the court of Flora, has fallen upon a theory worthy 
of his combustible imagination. According to his 
opinion, the huge mass of chaos took a sudden oc- 
casion to e.xplode, like a barrel of gunpowder, and in 
that act exploded the sun — which in its flight, by a 
similar convulsion, exploded the earth — which in 
like guise exploded the moon — and thus by a con- 
catenation of explosions, the whole solar system was 
produced, and set most systematically in motion ! * 

By the great variety of theories here alluded to, 
every one of which, if thoroughly examined, will be 
found surprisingly consistent in all its parts, my 
unlearned readers will perhaps be led to conclude, 
that the creation of a world is not so difficult a task 
as they at first imagined. I have shown at least a 
score of ingenious methods in which a world could 
be constructed ; and I ha\'e no doubt that had any 
of the philosophers above quoted the use of a good 
manageable comet, and the philosophical warehouse 
chaos at his command, he would engage to manu- 
facture a planet as good, or, if you would take his 
word for it, better than this we inhabit. 

And here I cannot help noticing the kindness of 
Providence, in creating comets for the great relief ol 
bewildered philosophers. By their assistance more 
sudden evolutions and transitions are effected in the 
system of nature, than are wrought in a pantomimic 
exhibition, by the wonder-working sword of Harle- 
quin. Should one of our modern sages, in his the- 
oretical flights among the stars, ever find himself 
lost in the clouds, and in danger of tumbling into 
the abyss of nonsense and absurdity, he has but to 
seize a comet by the beard, mount astride of its tail, 
and away he gallops in triumph, like an enchanter 
on his hippogriff, or a Connecticut witch on her 
broom-stick, " to sweep the cobwebs out of the sky." 

There is an old and vulgar sa) ing about a " beg- 
gar on horseback," which I would not for the world 
have applied to these reverend philosophers : but I 
must confess that some of them, when they are 
mounted on one of those fiery steeds, are as wild in 
their curvetings as was Phseton of yore, when he as- 
pired to manage the chariot of Phoebus. One drives 
his comet at full speed against the sun, and knocks 
the world out of him with the mighty concussion ; 
another, more moderate, makes his comet a mere 
beast of burden, carrying the sun a regular supply of 
food and fagots ; a third, of more combustible dispo- 
sition, threatens to throw his comet, like a bomb- 
shell, into the world and blow it up like a powder- 
magazine ; while a fourth, with no great delicacy to 
this planet and its inhabitants, insinuates that some 
day or other his comet — my modest pen blushes 
while I write it — shall absolutely turn tail upon our 
world and deluge it with water ! — Surely, as I have 
already observed, comets were intended by Provi- 
dence for the benefit of philosophers, to assist them 
in manufacturing theories. 

And now, having adduced several of the most 
prominent theories that occur to my recollection, I 
leave my judicious readers at full liberty to choose 
among them. They are all serious speculations of 
learned men — all differ essentially from each other — 
and all have the same title to belief. It has ever 
been the task of one race of philosophers to demolish 
the works of their predecessors, and elevate more 
splendid fantasies in their stead, which in their turn 
are demolished and replaced by the air-castles of a 
succeeding generation. Thus it would seem that 
knowledge and genius, of which we make such great 
parade, consist but in detecting the errors and ab- 
surdities of those who have gone before, and devis- 
uig new errors and absurdities, to be detected by 



• Uarw. Bot. Garden. Part. I, Cant. i. 1. 105. 



those who are to come after us. Theories are the 
mighty soap-bubbles with which the grown-up chil- 
dren of science amuse themselves — while the honest 
vulgar stand gazing in stupid admiration, and dignity 
these learned vagaries with the name of wisdom ! — 
Surely, Socrates was right in his opinion, that phi- 
losophers are but a soberer sort of madmen, busying 
themselves in things totally incomprehensible, or 
which, if they could be comprehended, would be 
found not worth the trouble of discovery. 

For my own part, until the learned have come to 
an agreement among themselves, I shall content my- 
self with the account handed down to us by Moses ; 
in which I do but follow the e.xample of our inge- 
nious neighbours of Connecticut ; who at their first 
settlement proclaimed that the colony should be 
governed by the laws of God — until they had time to 
make better. 

One thing, however, appears certain — from the 
unanimous authority of the before-quoted philoso- 
phers, supported by the evidence of our own senses, 
(which, though very apt to deceive us, may be cau- 
tiously admitted as additional testimony,) it appears, 
I say, and I make the assertion deliberately, without 
fear of contradiction, that this globe really ivas cre- 
<!/f(/, and that it is composed ol land and water. It 
farther appears that it is curiously divided and par- 
celled out into continents and islands, among which 
I boldly declare the renowned ISLAND OF New- 
YORKL will be found by any one who seeks for it in 
its proper place. 



CHAPTER III. 

HOW THAT FAMOUS NAVIGATOR, NOAH, WAS 
SHAMEFULLY NICKNAMED ; AND HOW HE COM- 
MITTED AN UNPARDONABLE OVERSIGHT IN 
NOT HAVING FOUR SONS. WITH THE GREAT 
TROUBLE OF PHILOSOPHERS CAUSED THEREBY, 
AND THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

Noah, who is the first sea-faring man we read of, 
begat three sons, Sheni, Ham, and Japhet. Authors, 
it is true, are not wanting who affirm that the pa- 
triarch had a numberof other children. Thus Bero- 
sus makes him father of the gigantic Titans ; Meth- 
odius gives him a son called Jonithus. or Jonicus, 
and others have mentioned a son named Thuiscon, 
from whom descended the Teutons or Teutonic, or, 
in other words, the Dutch nation. 

I regret exceedingly that the nature of my plan 
will not permit me to gratify the laudable curiosity 
of my readers, by investigating minutely the history 
of the great Noah. Indeed, such an undertaking 
would be attended with more trouble than many 
people would imagine ; for the good old patriarch 
seems to have been a great traveller in his day, and 
to have passed under a different name in every coun- 
try that he visited. The Chaldeans, for instance, 
give us his history, merely altering his name into 
Xisuthrus — a trivial alteration, which, to a historian 
skilled in etymologies, will appear wholly unimpor- 
tant. It appears, likewise, that he had exchanged 
his tarpawling and quadrant among the Chaldeans 
for the gorgeous insignia of royalty, and appears as 
a monarch in their annals. The Egyptians celebrate 
him under the name of Osiris ; the Indians, as Menu ; 
the Greek and Roman writers confound him with 
Ogyges, and the Theban with Deucalion and Saturn. 
But the Chinese, who deservedly rank among the 
most extensive and authentic historians, inasmuch 
as they have known the world much longer than any 
one else, declare that Noah was no other than Fohi ; 



550 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and what gives this assertion some air of credibility 
is, that it is a fact, admitted by the most enlightened 
literati, that Noah travelled into China at the time 
of the building of the tower of Babel, (probably to 
improve himself in the study of languages.) and the 
learned Dr. Shuckford gives us the additional infor- 
mation, that the ark rested on a mountain on the 
frontiers of China. 

From this mass of rational conjectures and sage 
hypotheses, many satisfactory deductions might be 
drawn ; but I shall content myself with the simple 
fact stated in the Bible, viz , that Noah begat three 
sons. Sham, Ham, and Japhet. It is astonishing on 
what remote and obscure contingencies the great 
afTairs of this world depend, and how events the 
most distant, and to the common observer uncon- 
nected, are inevitably consequent the one to the 
other. It remains for the philosopher to discover 
these mysterious affinities, and it is the proudest tri- 
umph of his skill to detect and drag forth some 
latent chain of causation, which at first sight appears 
a paradox to the inexperienced observer. Thus 
many of my readers will doubtless wonder what con- 
nexion the family of Noali can possibly have with 
this history — and many will stare when informed 
that the whole history of this quarter of the world 
has taken its character and course from the simple 
circumstance of the patriarch's having but three 
sons — but to explain : 

Noah, we are told by sundry very credible histo- 
rians, becoming sole surviving heir and proprietor of 
the earth in fee simple, after the deluge, like a good 
father, portioned out his estate among his children. 
To Shem he gave Asia; to Ham, Africa; and to 
Japhet, Europe. Now it is a thousand times to be 
lamented that he had but three sons, for had there 
been a fourth, he would doubtless have inherited 
America ; which, of course, would have been drag- 
ged forth from its obscurity on the occ; sion ; and 
thus many a hard-working historian and philosopher 
would have been spared a prodigious mass of weary 
conjecture respecting the first discovery and popula- 
tion of this country. Noah, however, having pro- 
vided for his three sons, looked in all probability 
upon our country as mere wild unsettled land, and 
said nothing about it ; and to this unpardonable 
taciturnity of the patriarch, may we ascribe the mis- 
fortune that America did not come into the world as 
early as the other quarters of the globe. 

It is true, some writers have vindicated him from 
this misconduct towards posterity, and asserted that 
he really did discover America. Thus it was the 
opinion of Mark Lescarbot, a French writer, pos- 
sessed of that ponderosity of thought and profound- 
ness of reflection so peculiar to his nation, that the 
immediate descendants of Noah peopled this quarter 
of the globe, and that the old patriarch himself, who 
still retained a passion for the sea-faring life, super- 
intended the transmigration. The pious and en- 
lightened father, Charlevoix, a French Jesuit, re- 
markable for his aversion to the marvellous, common 
to all great travellers, is conclusively of the same 
opinion ; nay, he goes still farther, and tlecides upon 
the manner in which the discovei-)- was effected, 
which was by sea, and under the immediate direction 
of the great Noah. "I have already observed," ex- 
claims the good father, in a tone of becommg indig- 
nation, "that it is an arbitrary supposition that the 
grand-children of Noah were not able to penetrate 
into the new world, or that they never thoug'ht of it. 
In effect, I can see no reason that can justily such a 
notion. Who can seriously believe that Noah and 
his immediate descendants knew less than we do, and 
that the builder and pilot of the greatest ship that 
ever was, a ship which was formed to traverse an un- 



bounded ocean, and nad so many shoals and quick- 
sands to guard against, should be ignorant of, or 
should not have communicated to his descendants, 
the art of sailing on the ocean.'" Therefore, they 
did sail on the ocean — therefore, they sailed to 
America — therefore, America was discovered by 
Noah ! 

Now all this exquisite chain of reasoning, which is 
so strikingly characteristic of the good father, being 
addressed to the faith, rather than the understanding, 
is fiatly opposed by Hans de Laert, who declares it 
a real and most ridiculous paradox, to suppose that 
Noah ever entertained the thought of discovering 
America; and as Hans is a Dutch writer, I am in- 
clined to believe he must have been much better ac- 
quainted with the worthy crew of the ark than his 
competitors, and of course possessed of more accurate 
sources of information. It is astonishing how inti- 
mate historians do daily become with the patriarchs 
and other great men of antiquity. As intimacy in- 
proves with time, and as the learned are particularly 
inquisitive and familiar in their acquaintance with the 
ancients, 1 should not be surprised if some future wri- 
ters should gravely give us a picture of men and man- 
ners as 1 hey existed before the flood, far more copious 
and accurate than the Bible ; and that, in the course 
of another century, the log-book of the good Noah 
should be as current among historians, as the voyages 
of Captain Cook, or the renowned history of Robin- 
son Crusoe. 

I shall not occupy my time by discussing the huge 
mass of additional suppositions, conjectures, and 
probabilities, respecting the first discovery of this 
country, with which unhappy historians overload 
themselves, in their endeavours to satisfv the doubts 
of an incredulous world. It is painful to see these 
laborious wights panting, and toiling, and sweating 
under an enormous burden, at the very outset of their 
works, which, on being opened, turns out to be noth- 
ing but a mighty bundle of straw. As, however, by 
unwearied assiduity, they seem to have established 
the fact, to the satisfaction of all the world, that this 
country has been dzscovcred. I shall avail myself of 
their useful labours to be extremely brief upon this 
point. 

1 shall not, therefore, stop to inquire, whether 
America was first discovered by a wandering vessel 
of that celebrated Phoenician fleet, which, according 
to Herodotus, circumnavigated Africa; or by that 
Carthaginian expedition, which Pliny, the naturalist, 
informs us, discovered the Canary Islands; or whether 
it was settled by a temporary colony from Tyre, as 
hinted by Aristotle and Seneca. I shall neither in- 
quire whether it was first discovered by the Chinese, 
as Vossius with great shrewdness advances ; nor by 
the Norwegians in ioo2, under Biorn ; nor by Behem, 
the German navigator, as Mr. Otto has endeavoured 
to prove to the scavans of the learned city of Phila- 
delphia. 

Nor shall I investigate the more modern claims of 
the Welsh, founded on the voyage of prince Madoc 
in the eleventh century, who having never returned, 
it has since been wisely concluded that he must have 
gone to America, and that for a plain reason — if he 
did not go there, where else could he have gone.' — 
a question which most Socratically shuts out all 
farther dispute. 

Laying aside, therefore, all the conjectures above 
mentioned, with a multitude of others, equally satis- 
factory, I shall take for granted the vulgar opinion, 
that America was discovered on the i2th of October, 
1492, by Christovallo Colon, a Genoese, who has 
been clumsily nicknamed Columbus, but for what 
reason 1 cannot discern. Of the voyages and ad- 
ventures of this Colon, I shall say nothing, seeing 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



551 



that they are already sufficiently known. Nor shall 
I undertake to prove that this country should have 
been called Colonia, after his name, that being no- 
toriously self-evident. 

Having thus happily got my readers on this side 
of the Atlantic, I picture them to myself, all impa- 
tien :e to enter upon the enjoyment of the land of 
promise, and in full expectation that I will imme- 
diately deliver it into their possession. But if I do, 
may I ever forfeit the reputation of a regular-bred 
historian ! No — no — most curious and thrice learned 
readers, (for thrice learned ye are, if ye have read 
all that has gone before, and nine times learned shall 
ye be, if ye read that which comes after,) we have 
yet a world of work before us. Think you the first 
discoverers of this fair quarter of the globe had noth- 
ing to do but go on shore and find a country ready 
laid out and cultivated like a garden, wherein they 
might revel at their ease ? No such thing — they had 
forests to cut down, underwood to grub up, marshes 
to drain, and savages to exterminate. 

In like manner, I have sundry doubts to clear 
away, questions to resolve, and paradoxes to explain, 
before I permit you to range at random ; but these 
difficulties once overcome, we shall be enabled to 
jog on right merrily through the rest of our history. 
Thus my work shall, in a manner, echo the nature 
of the subject, in the same manlier as the sound of 
poetry has been found by certain shrewd critics to 
echo the sense — this being an improvement in his- 
tory, which I claim the merit of having invented. 



CHAPTER IV. 

SHOWING THE GREAT DIFFICULTY PHILOSO- 
PHERS HAVE HAD IN PEOPLING AMERICA — 
AND HOW THE ABORIGINES CAME TO BE BE- 
GOTTEN BY ACCIDE.VT — TO THE GREAT RE- 
LIEF AND SATISFACTION OF THE AUTHOR. 

The next inquiry at which we arrive in the regu- 
lar course of our history, is to ascertain, if possible, 
how this country was originally peopled — a point 
fruitful of incredible embarrassment ; for unless we 
prove that the aborigines did absolutely come from 
somewhere, it will be immediately asserted in this 
age of scepticism that they did not come at all ; and 
if they did not come at all, then was this country 
never populated — a conclusion perfectly agreeable 
to the rules of logic, but wholly irreconcilable to 
every feeling of humanity, inasmuch as it must syllo- 
gistically prove fatal to the innumerable aborigines 
of this populous region. 

To avert so dire a sophism, and to rescue from 
logical annihilation so many millions of fellow-creat- 
ures, how many wings of geese have been plundered ! 
what oceans of ink have been benevolently drained ! 
and how many capacious heads of learned historians 
have been addled, and for ever confounded ! I pause 
with reverential awe, when I contemplate the pon- 
derous tomes, in different languages, with which they 
have endeavoured to solve this question, so important 
to the happiness of society, but so involved in clouds 
of impenetrable obscurity. Historian after historian 
has engaged in the endless circle of hypothetical argu- 
ment, and after leading us a weary chase through 
octavos, quartos, and folios, has let us out at the end 
of his work just as wise as we were at the beginning. 
It was doubtless some philosophical wild-goose chase 
of the kind that made the old poet Macrobius rail in 
such a passion at curiosity, which he anathematizes 
most heartily, as "an irksome, .agonizing care, a 
superstitious industry about unprofitable things, an 



itching humour to see what is not to be seen, and to 
be doing what signifies nothing when it is done." 
But to proceed : 

Of the claims of the children of Noah to the origi- 
nal population of this country, I shall say nothing, as 
they have already been touched upon in my last 
chapter. The claimants next in celebrity, are the 
descendants of Abraham. Thus Christoval Colon 
(vulgarly called Columbus) when he first discovered 
the gold mines of Hispaniola, immediately con- 
cluded, with a shrewdness that would have done 
honour to a philosopher, that he had found the 
ancient Ophir, from whence Solomon procured the 
gold for embellishing the temple at Jerusalem ; nay. 
Colon even imagined that he saw the remains of 
furnaces of veritable Hebraic construction, employed 
in refining the precious ore. 

So golden a conjecture, tinctured with such fasci- 
nating extravagance, was too tempting not to be im- 
mediately snapped at by the gudgeons of learning; 
and accordingly, there were divers profound writers, 
ready to swear to its correctness, and to bring in 
their usual load of authorities, and wise surmises, 
wherewithal to prop it up. Vetablus and Robertus 
Stephens declared nothing could be more clear — 
Arius Montanus, without the least hesitation, asserts 
that Mexico was the true Ophir, and the Jews the 
early settlers of the country. While Possevin, Becan, 
and several other sagacious writers, lug in a sup- 
posed prophecy of the fourth book of Esdras, which 
being inserted in the mighty hypothesis, like the key- 
stone of an arch, gives it, in their opinion, perpetual 
durability. 

Scarce, however, have they completed their goodly 
superstructure, than in trudges a phalanx of opposite 
authors, with Hans de Laert, the great Dutchman, at 
their head, and at one blow tumbles the whole fabric 
about their years. Hans, in fact, contradicts outright 
all the Israelitish claims to the first settlement of this 
country, attributing all those equivocal symptoms, 
and traces of Christianity and Judaism, which have 
been said to be found in divers provinces of the new 
world, to the De^nl, who has alv\'ays affected to 
counterfeit the worship of the true deity. "A re- 
mark," says the knowing old Padre d'Acosta, " made 
by all good authors who have spoken of the religion 
of nations newly discovered, and founded besides on 
the authority of the fathers of the c/iiirc/i." 

Some writers again, among whom it is with great 
regret I am compelled to mention Lopez de Gomara, 
and Juan de Leri, insinuate that the Canaanites, 
being driven from the land of promise by the Jews, 
were seized with such a panic that they fled without 
looking behind them, until, stopping to lake breath, 
they found themselves safe in America. As they 
brought neither their national language, manners, nor 
features with them, it is supposed they left them be- 
hind in the hurry of their flight — I cannot give my 
laith to this opinion. 

I pass over the supposition of the learned Grotius, 
who being both an ambassador and a Dutchman to 
boot, is entitled to great respect ; that North America 
was peopled by a strolling company of Norwegians, 
and that Peru was founded by a colony from China 
— Manco or Mango Capac, the first Incas, being 
himself a Chinese. Nor shall I more than barely 
mention, that father Kircher ascribes the settlement 
of .America to the Egyptians, Rudbeck to the Scan- 
dinavians, Charron to'the Gauls, Juffredus Petri to a 
skating party from Friesland, Milius to the Celtae, 
Marinocus the Sicilian to the Romans, Le Compte 
to the Phoenicians, Postel to the Moors, Martyn 
d'Angleria to the Abyssinians, together with the 
sage surmise of De Laert, that England, Ireland, and 
the Orcades may contend for that honour. 



552 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Nor will I bestow any more attention or credit to 
the idea that America is the fairy region of Zipangri, 
described by that dreaming traveller, Marco Polo, 
the Venetian ; or tliat it comprises the visionary 
island of Atlantis, described by Plato. Neither will 
I stop to investigate the heathenish assertion of 
Paracelsus, that each hemisphere of the globe was 
originally furnished with an Adam and Eve — or the 
more flattering opinion of Dr. Romayne, supported 
by many nameless authorities, that .^dani was of the 
Indian race — or the startling conjecture of Buffon, 
Helvetius, and Darwin, so highly honourable to man- 
kind, that the whole human species is accidentally 
descended from a remarkable family of monkeys ! 

This last conjecture, I must own, came upon me 
very suddenly and very ungraciously. I have often 
beheld the clown in a pantomime, while gazing in 
stupid wonder at the extravagant gambols of a har- 
lequin, all at once electrified by a sudden stroke of 
the wooden sword across his shoulders. Little did I 
think at such times, that it would ever fall to my lot 
to be treated with equal discourtesy ; and that while 
I was quietly beholding these grave philosophers, 
emulating the eccentric transformations of the hero 
of pantomime, they would on a sudden turn upon me 
and my readers, and with one hypothetical flourish 
metamorphose us into beasts! I determined from 
that moment not to burn my fingers with any more 
of their theories, but content myself with detailing 
the different methods by which they transported the 
descendants of these ancient and respectable mon- 
keys to this great field of theoretical warfare. 

This was done either by migrations by land or 
transmigrations by water. Thus, Padre Joseph 
D'Acosta enumerates three passages by land — first 
by the north of Europe, secondly by the north of 
Asia, and thirdly by regions southward of the straits 
of Magellan. The learned Grotius marches his Nor- 
wegians by a pleasant route across frozen rivers and 
arms of the sea, through Iceland, Greenland, Estoti- 
land, and Naremberga : and various writers, among 
whom are Angleria, De Hornn, and Buffon, anxious 
for the accommodation of these travellers, have fas- 
tened the two continents together by a strong chain 
of deductions — by which means they could pass over 
dry-shod. But should even this fail. Pinkerton, that 
industrious old gentleman who compiles books and 
manufactures geographies, has constructed a natural 
bridge of ice, from continent to continent, at the dis- 
tance of four or five miles from Behring's straits — 
for which he is entitled to the grateful thanks of all 
the wandering aborigines who ever did or ever will 
pass over it. 

It is an evil much to be lamented, that none of the 
worthy writers above quoted could ever commence 
his work, without immediately declanng hostilities 
against every writer who had treated of the same 
subject. In this particular, authors may be compared 
to a certain sagacious bird, which, in building its 
nest, is sure to pull to pieces the nests of all the birds 
in the neighbourhood. This unhappy propensity 
tends grievously to impede the progress of sound 
knowledge. Theories are at best but brittle produc- 
tions, and when once committed to the stream, 
they should take care that, like the notable pots 
which were fellow-voyagers, they do not crack each 
other. 

My chief surprise is, that among the many writers 
I have noticed, no one has attempted to prove that 
this country was peopled from the moon — or that 
the first inhabitants floated hither on islands of ice, 
as white bears cruise about the northern oceans — or 
that they were conveyed hither by balloons, as mod- 
em aeronauts pass from Dover to Calais — or by 
witchcraft, as Simon Magus posted among the stars 



— or after the manner of the renowned Scythian 
Abaris, who, like the New-England witches on full- 
blooded broomsticks, made most unheard-of journevs 
on the back of a golden arrow, given him by the 
Hyperborean Apollo. 

But there is still one mode left by which this coun- 
try could have been peopled, which I have reserved 
for the last, because I consider it worth all the rest : 
it is — -by accident ! Speaking of the islands of Solo- 
mon, New-Guinea, and New-Holland, the profound 
father Charlevoix obser\'es, " in fine, all these coun- 
tries are peopled, and // is possible some have been 
so by accident. Now if it could have happened in 
that manner, why might it not have been at the same 
time, and bv the same means, with the other part of 
the globe ? " This ingenious mode of deducing 
certain conclusions from possible premises, is an im- 
provement in syllogistic skill, and proves the good 
father superior even to Archimedes, for he can turn 
the world without any thing to rest his lever upon. 
It is only surpassed by the dexterity with which the 
sturdy old Jesuit, in another place, cuts the gordian 
knot. — " Nothing." says he, " is more easy. The in- 
habitants of both hemispheres are certainly the de- 
scendants of the same father. The common father 
of mankind received an express order from Heaven 
to people the world, and accordingly it has been peo- 
pled. To bring this about, it was necessary to over- 
come all difficulties in the way, and they have also 
been overcome ! " Pious logician ! How does he 
put all the herd of laborious theorists to the blush, 
by explaining, in five words, what it has cost them 
volumes to prove they knew nothing about. 

From all the authorities here quoted, and a variety 
of others which I have consulted, but which are 
omitted through fear of fatiguing the unlearned 
reader — I can only draw the following conclusions, 
which luckily, how'ever, are sufiicient for my purpose 
— First, that this part of the world has actually been 
peopled, (Q. E. D.) to support which we have living 
proofs in the numerous tribes of Indians that inhabit 
it. Secondly, that it has been peopled in five hun- 
dred difterent ways, as proved by a cloud of authors, 
who, from the positiveness of their assertions, seem 
to have been eye-witnesses to the fact. Thirdly, that 
the people of this country had a -variety of fathers, 
which, as it may not be thought much to their credit 
by the common run of readers, the less we say on 
the subject the better. The question, therefore, I 
trust, is for ever at rest. 



CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR PUTS A MIGHTY QUES- 
TION TO THE ROUT BY THE ASSISTANCE OF 
THE MAN IN THE MOON— WHICH NOT ONLY 
DELIVERS THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE FROM GREAT 
EMBARRASSMENT, BUT LIKEWISE CONCLUDES 
THIS INTRODUCTORY BOOK. 

The writer of a history may. in some respects, be 
likened unto an adventurous knight, who having 
undertaken a perilous enterprise, by way of establish- 
ing his fame, feels bound in honour and chivalry, to 
turn back for no difliculty nor hardship, and never to 
shrink or quail, whatever enemy he may encounter. 
Under this impression, I resolutely draw my pen, 
and fall to, with might and main, at those doughty 
questions and subtle paradoxes, which, like fiery 
dragons and bloody giants, beset the entrance to my 
history, and would fain repulse me from the very 
threshold. And at this moment a gigantic question 
has started up, which I must needs take by the 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



553 



beard and utterly subdue, before I can advance an- 
other step in my historic undertaking- ; but I trust 
this will be the last adversary I shall have to contend 
with, and that in the next book I shall be enabled to 
conduct my readers in triumph into the body of my 
work. 

The question which has thus suddenly arisen, is, 
what right had the first discoverers of America to 
land and take possession of a countr)', without first 
gaining the consent of its inhabitants, or yielding 
them an adequate compensation for their territory.^ 
— a question which has withstood many fierce as- 
saults, and has given much distress of muid to multi- 
tudes of kind-hearted folk. And, indeed, until it be 
totally vanquished, and put to rest, the worthy peo- 
ple of America can by no means enjoy the soil they 
inhabit, with clear right and title, and quiet, unsul- 
lied consciences. 

The first source of right, by which property is ac- 
quired in a country, is discovery. For as all man- 
kind have an equal right to any thing which has 
never before been appropriated, so any nation that 
discovers an uninhabited country, and takes posses- 
sion thereof, is considered as enjoying full property, 
and absolute, unquestionable empire therein.* 

This proposition being admitted, it follows clearly 
that the Europeans who first visited America were 
the real discoverers of the same ; nothing being nec- 
essary to the establishment of this fact, but simply 
to prove that it was totally uninhabited by man. 
This would, at first, appear to be a point of some 
difficulty, for it is well known that this quarter of the 
world abounded with certain animals that walked 
erect on tv/o feet, had something of the human 
countenance, uttered certain unintelligible sounds 
very much like language ; in short, had a marvellous 
resemblance to human beings. But the zealous and 
enlightened fathers, who accompanied the discover- 
ers, for the purpose of promoting the kingdom ot 
heaven, by establishing fat monasteries and bishoprics 
on earth, soon cleared up this pomt, greatly to the 
satisfaction of his holiness the Pope, and of all Chris- 
tian voyagers and discoverers. 

They plainly proved, and as there were no Indian 
writers arose on the other side, the fact was con- 
sidered as fully admitted and established, that the 
two-legged race of animals before mentioned were 
mere cannibals, detestable monsters, and many of 
them giants — which last description of vagrants have, 
since the time of Gog, Magog, and Goliath, been 
considered as outlaws, and have received no quarter 
in either history, chivalry, or song. Indeed, even the 
philosophic Bacon declared the Americans to be 
people proscribed by the laws of nature, inasmuch as 
they had a barbarous custom of sacrificing men, and 
feeding upon man's flesh. 

Nor are these all the proofs of their utter barbar- 
ism : among many other writers of discernment, 
Ulloa tells us, "their imbecility is so visible, that one 
can hardly form an idea of them different from what 
one has of the brutes. Nothing disturbs the tran- 
quillity of their souls, equally insensible to disasters 
and to prosperity. Though half naked, they are as 
contented as a monarch in his most splendid array. 
Fear makes no impression on them, and respect as 
little." All this is furthermore supported by the au- 
thority of M. Bouguer : " It is not easy," says he, 
" to describe the degree of their indifference for 
wealth and all its advantages. One does not well 
know what motives to propose to them, when one 
would persuade them to any service. It is vain to 
offer them money ; they answer that they are not 
hungry." And Vanegas confirms the whole, assur- 



ing us that " ambition they have none, and are more 
desirous of being thought strong than valiant. The 
objects of ambition with us — honour, fame, reputa- 
tion, riches, posts, and distinctions — are unknown 
among them. So that this powerful spring of action, 
the cause of so much sceiiu'ii!^ good and I'exl evil in 
the w'orld, has no power over them. In a word, these 
unhappy mortals may be compared to children, in 
whom the development of reason is not completed." 

Now all these peculiarities, although in the unen- 
lightened states of Greece they would have entitled 
their possessors to immortal honour, as having re- 
duced to practice those rigid and abstemious maxims, 
the mere talking about which acquired certain old 
Greeks the reputation of sages and philosophers ; — 
yet, were they clearly proved in the present instance 
to betoken a most abject and brutified nature, totally 
beneath the human character. But the benevolent 
fathers, who had undertaken to turn these unhappy 
savages into dumb beasts, by dint of argument, ad- 
vanced still stronger proofs ; for as certain divines of 
the sixteenth century, and among the rest, LuUus, 
affirm — the Americans go naked, and have no beards ! 
— " They have nothing," says Lullus, " of the reason- 
able animal, except the mask." — And even that mask 
was allowed to avail them but little, for it was soon 
found that they were of a hideous copper complexion 
— and being of a copper complexion, it was all the 
same as if they were negroes — and negroes are 
black, "and black," said the pious fathers, devoutly 
crossing themselves, "is the colour of the Devil ! " 
Therefore, so far from being able to own property, 
they had no right even to personal freedom — for 
liberty is too radiant a deity to inhabit such gloomy 
temples. All which circumstance plainly convinced 
the righteous followers of Cortes and Fizarro, ihat 
these miscreants had no title to the soil that they in- 
fested — that they were a perverse, illiterate, dumb, 
beardless, black-seed — mere wild beasts of the forests, 
and, like them, should either be subdued or extermi- 
nated. 

From the foregoing arguments, therefore, and a 
variety of others equally conclusive, which 1 forbear 
to enumerate, it is clearly evident that this fair 
quarter of the globe, when first visited by Europeans, 
was a howling wilderness, inhabited by nothing but 
wild beasts ; and that the transatlantic visitors ac- 
quired an incontrovertible property therein, by the 
right of discmery. 

This right being fully established, we now come 
to the next, which is the right acquired by cultivation. 
" The cultivation of the soil," we are told, " is an ob- 
ligation imposed by nature on mankind. The whole 
world is appointed for the nourishment of its in- 
habitants : but it would be incapable of doing it, was 
it uncultivated. Every nation is then obliged by the 
law of nature to cultivate the ground that has fallen 
to its share. Those people, like the ancient Germans 
and modern Tartars, who, having fertile countries, 
disdain to cultivate the earth, and choose to live by 
rapine, are wanting to themselves, and dis^rve to be 
exterminated as savage and pernicious beasts* 

Now it is notorious, that the savages knew nothing 
of agriculture, v;hen first discovered by the Euro- 
peans, but lived a most vagabond, disorderly, un- 
righteous life, — rambling from place to place, and 
prodigally rioting upon the spontaneous luxuries of 
nature, without tasking her generosity to yield them 
any thing more ; whereas it has been most unquestion- 
ably shown, that Heaven intended the earth should be 
ploughed and sown, and manured, and laid out into 
cities, and towns, and farms, and country-seats, and 
pleasure grounds, and public gardens, all which the 



• Grotius Puffendorf, b. v. c. 4. Vattei, b. i. C 18, etc. 



* Vattel, b. i. ch. 17. 



554 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON iRVING. 



Indians knew nothing' about — therefore, they did not 
improve the talents Providence had Ijestowed on 
them — therefore, they were careless stewards — there- 
fore, they had no right to the soil — therefore, they 
deserved to be exterminated. 

It is true, the savages might plead that they drew 
all the benefits from the land which their simple 
wants required — they found plenty of game to hunt, 
which, together with the roots and uncultivated fruits 
of the earth, furnished a sufficient variety for their 
frugal repasts ; — and that as Heaven merely designed 
the earth to form the abode, and satisfy the wants of 
man ; so long as those purposes were answered, the 
will of Heaven was accomplished. — But this only 
proves how undeserving they were of the blessings 
around them — they were so much the more savages, 
for not having more wants ; for knowledge is in some 
degree an increase of desires, and it is this superiority, 
both in the number and magnitude of his desires, that 
distinguishes the man from the beast. Therefore, the 
Indians, in not having more wants, were very unrea- 
sonable animals ; and it was but just that they should 
make way for the Europeans, who had a thousand 
wants to their one, and, therefore, would turn the 
earth to more account, and by cultivating it, more 
truly fulfil the will of Heaven. Besides — Grotius 
and Lauterbach, and Pufl'endorff and Titus, and 
many wise men beside, who have considered the 
matter properly, have determined that the property 
of a country cannot be acquired by hunting, cutting 
wood, or drawing water in it — nothing but precise 
demarcation of limits, and the intention of cultivation, 
can establish the possession. Now, as the savages 
(probably from never having read the authors above 
quoted) had never complied with any of these neces- 
sary forms, it plainly followed that they had no right 
to the soil, but that it was completely at the disposal 
of the first comers, who had more knowledge, more 
wants, and more elegant, that is to say, artiticial de- 
sires than themselves. 

In entering upon a newly-discovered, uncultivated 
country, therefore, the new comers were but taking 
possession of what, according to the aforesaid doc- 
trine, was their own property — therefore, in opposing 
them, the savages were invading their just rights, in- 
fringing the immutable laws of Nature, and coun- 
teracting the will of Heaven — therefore, they were 
guilty of impiety, burglary, and trespass on the case, 
— therefore, they were hardened offenders against 
God and man — therefore, they ought to be e.xtermi- 
nated. 

But a more irresistible right than either that I 
have mentioned, and one which will be the most 
readily admitted by my reader, provided he be blessed 
with bowels of charity and philanthropy, is the right 
acquired by civilization. All the world knows the 
lamentable state in which these poor savages were 
found — not only deficient in the comforts ot life, but 
what is still worse, most piteously and unfortunate- 
ly blind to the miseries of their situation. But no 
sooner did the benevolent inhabitants of Europe be- 
hold their sad condition, than they immediately went 
to work to meliorate and improve it. They intro- 
duced among them rum, gin, brandy, and the other 
comforts of life^and it is astonishing to read how- 
soon the poor savages learned to estimate these bless- 
ings — they likewise made known to them a thousand 
remedies, by which the most inveterate diseases are 
alleviated and healed ; and that they might compre- 
hend the benefits and enjoy the comforts of these 
medicines, they previously introduced among them 
the diseases which they were calculated to cure. By 
these, and a variety of other methods was the condi- 
tion of these poor savages wonderfully improved ; 
they acquired a thousand wants, of which they had 



before been ignorant ; and as he has most sources of 
happiness who has most wants to be gratified, they 
were doubtlessly rendered a much happier race ot' 
beings. 

But the most important branch of civilization, and 
which has most strenuously been extolled by the 
zealous and pious fathers of the Romish Church, is 
the introduction of the Christian faith. It was truly 
a sight that might well inspire horror, to behold these 
savages stumbling among the dark mountains of pa- 
ganism, and guilty of the most horrible ignorance of 
religion. It is true, they neither stole nor defrauded ; 
they were sober, frugal, continent, and faithful to 
their word ; but though they acted right habitually, 
it was all in vain, unless they acted so from precept. 
The new comers, therefore, used every method to in- 
duce them to embrace and practise the true religion 
— except indeed that of setting them the example. 

But notwithstanding all these complicated labours 
for their good, such was the unparalleled obstinacy of 
these stubborn wretches, that they ungratefully re- 
fused to acknowledge the strangers as their benefac- 
tors, and persisted in disbelieving the doctrines they 
endeavoured to inculcate; most insolently alleging, 
that from their conduct, the advocates of Christianity 
did not seem to believe in it themselves. Was not 
this too much for human patience ? — would not one 
suppose that the benign visitants from Europe, pro- 
voked at their incredulity, and discouraged by their 
stiff-necked obstinacy, would for ever have abandon- 
ed their shores, and consigned them to their original 
ignorance and misery .' — But no — so zealous were 
they to effect the temporal comfort and eternal sal- 
vation of these pagan infidels, that they even pro- 
ceeded from the milder means of persuasion, to the 
more painful and troublesome one of persecution, let 
loose among them whole troops of fiery monks and 
furious bloodhounds — purified them by fire and sword, 
by stake and fagot ; in consequence of which inde- 
fatigable measures, the cause of Christian love and 
charity was so rapidly advanced, that in a very few 
years not one-fifth of the number of unbelievers ex- 
isted in South America that were found there at the 
time of its discovery. 

What stronger right need the European settlers 
advance to the country than this .' Have not whole 
nations of uninformed savages been made acquainted 
with a thousand imperious wants and indispensable 
comforts, of which they were before wholly igno- 
rant? — Have they not been literally hunted and 
smoked out of the dens and lurking-places of igno- 
rance and infidelity, and absolutely scourged into 
the right path? — Have not the temporal things, the 
vain baubles and filthy lucre of this world, which 
were too apt to engage their worldly and selfish 
thoughts, been benevolently taken from them ? and 
have they not, instead thereof been taught to set 
their affections on things above ? — And finally, to 
use the words of a reverend Spanish lather, in a let- 
ter to his superior in Spain — " Can any one have the 
presumption to say, that these savage pagans have 
yielded any thing more than an inconsiderable rec- 
ompense to their benefactors, in surrendering to 
them a little pitiful tract of this dirty sublunary 
planet, in exchange for a glorious inheritance in the 
kingdom of heaven ! " 

Here, then, are three complete and undeniable 
sources of right established, any one of which was 
more than ample to establish a property in the 
newly-discovered regions of America. Now, so it 
has happened in certain parts of this delightful 
quarter of the globe, that the right of discovery has 
been so strenuously asserted — the influence of culti- 
vation so industriously extended, and the progress 
of salvation and civilization so zealously prosecuted, 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



555 



that, what with their attendant wars, persecutions, 
oppressions, diseases, and other partial evils that 
often hang on the skirts of great benefits — the sav- 
age aborigines have, somehow or another, been ut- 
terly annihilated — and this all at once brings me to 
a fourth right, which is worth all the others put to- 
gether. — For the original claimants to the soil being 
all dead and buried, and no one remaining to inherit j 
or dispute the soil, the Spaniards, as the next imme- ' 
diate occupants, entered upon the possession as 
clearly as the hangman succeeds to the clothes of 
the malefactor — and as they have Blackstone,* and 
all the learned expounders of the law on their side, 
they may set all actions of ejectment at defiance — 
and this last right may be entitled the right by 
EXTERMIN.\T10N, or, in other words, the RIGHT by 

GUNPOWDER. 

But lest any scruples of conscience should remain 
on this head, and to settle the question of right for 
ever, his holiness Pope Alexander VI. issued a bull, 
by which he generously granted the newly-discov- 
ered quarter of the globe to the Spaniards and Por- 
tuguese ; who, thus having law and gospel on their 
side, and being inflamed with great spiritual zeal, 
showed the pagan savages neither favour nor affec- 
tion, but prosecuted the work of discovery, coloniza- 
tion, civilization, and extermination, with ten times 
more fury than ever. 

Thus were the European worthies who first dis- 
covered America, clearly entitled to the soil ; and 
not only entitled to the soil, but likewise to the eter- 
nal thanks of these infidel savages, for having come 
so far, endured so many penis by sea and land, and 
taken such unwearied pains, for no other purpose 
but to improve their forlorn, uncivilized, and hea- 
thenish condition — for having' made them acquainted 
with the comforts of life ; for having introduced 
among them the light of religion ; and, finally, for 
having hurried them out of the world, to enjoy its 
reward ! 

But as argument is never so well understood by 
us selfish mortals as when it comes home to our- 
selves, and as I am particularly anxious that this 
question should be put to rest for ever, I will suppose 
a parallel case, by way of arousing the candid atten- 
tion of my readers. 

Let us suppose, then, that the inhabitants of the 
moon, by astonishing advancement in science, and 
by profound insight into that lunar philosophy, the 
mere flickerings of which have of late years dazzled 
the feeble optics, and addled the shallow brains of 
the good people of our globe — let us suppose, I say, 
that the inhabitants of the moon, by these means, 
had arrived at such a command of their e?iergies, 
such an en\'iable state of perfectibility, as to control 
the elements, and navigate the boundless regions of 
space. Let us suppose a roving crew of these soar- 
ing philosophers, in the course of an aerial voyage 
of discovery among the stars, should chance to alight 
upon this outlandish planet. 

And here I beg my readers will not have the un- 
charitableness to smile, as is too frequently the fault 
of volatile readers, when perusing the grave specu- 
lations of philosophers. I am far from indulging in 
any sportive vein at present ; nor is the supposition 
I have been making so wild as many may deem it. 
It has long been a very serious and anxious question 
with me, and many a time and oft, in the course of 
my overwhelming cares and contrivances for the 
welfare and protection of this my native planet, have 
I lain awake whole nights debating in my mind, 
whether it were most probable we should first dis- 
cover and civilize the moon, or the moon discover 



* Bl. Com. b. ii. c. i. 



and civilize our globe. Neither would the prodigy 
of sailing in the air and cruising among the stars be 
a whit more astonishing and incomprehensible to us, 
than was the European mystery of navigating float- 
ing castles, through the world of waters, to the sim- 
ple savages. We have already discovered the art of 
coasting along the aerial shores of our planet, by 
means of balloons, as the savages had of venturing 
along their sea-coasts in canoes ; and the disparity 
between the former, and the aerial vehicles of the 
philosophers from the moon, might not be greater 
than that between the f)ark canoes of the savages 
and the mighty ships of their discoverers. I might 
here pursue an endless chain of similar speculations ; 
but as they would be unimportant to my subject, I 
abandon them to my reader, particularly if he be a 
philosopher, as matters well worthy of his attentive 
consideration. 

To return then to my supposition — let us suppose 
that the aerial visitants I have mentioned, possessed 
of vastly superior knowledge to ourselves ; that is to 
say, possessed of superior knowledge in the art of 
extermination — riding on hippogriffs — defended with 
impenetrable armour — armed with concentrated sun- 
beams, and provided with vast engines, to hurl enor- 
mous moon-stones : in short, let us suppose them, if 
our vanity will permit the supposition, as superior to 
us in knowledge, and consequently in power, as the 
Europeans were to the Indians, when they first dis- 
covered them. All this is very possible ; it is only 
our self-sufficiency that makes us think otherwise ; 
and I warrant the poor savages, before they had any 
knowledge of the white men, armed in all the terrors 
of glittering steel and tremendous gunpowder, were 
as perfectly convinced that they themselves were the 
wisest, the most virtuous, powerful, and perfect of 
created beings, as are at this present moment the 
lordly inhabitants of Old England, the volatile popu- 
lace of France, or even the self-satisfied citizens of 
this most enlightened republic. 

Let us suppose, moreover, that the aerial voyagers, 
finding this planet to be nothing but a howling wil- 
derness, inhabited by us, poor savages and wild 
beasts, shall take formal possession of it in the name 
of his most gracious and philosophic excellency, the 
man in the moon. Finding, however, that their 
numbers are incompetent to hold it in complete sub- 
iection, on account of the ferocious barbarity of its 
inhabitants, they shall take our w-orthy President, 
the King of England, the Emperor of Hayti, the 
mighty Bonaparte, and the great King of Bantam, 
and returning to their native planet, shall carry them 
to court, as were the Indian chiefs led about as spec- 
tacles in the courts of Europe. 

Then making such obeisance as the etiquette of 
the court requires, they shall address the puissant 
man in the moon, in, as near as I can conjecture, 
the following terms : 

" Most serene and mighty Potentate, whose do- 
minions e.xtend as far as eye can reach, who rideth 
on the Great Bear, useth the sun as a looking-glass, 
and maintaineth unrivalled control over tides, mad- 
men, and sea-crabs : We, thy liege subjects, have 
just returned from a voyage of discovery, in the 
course of which we have landed and taken posses- 
sion of that obscure little dirty planet which thou be- 
holdest rolling at a distance. The five uncouth 
monsters which we have brought into this august 
presence were once very important chiefs among 
their fellow-savages, who are a race of beings totally 
destitute of the common attributes of humanity ; and 
differing in eveiy thing from the inhabitants of the 
moon, inasmuch as they carry their heads upon their 
shoulders, instead of under their arms — have two 
eyes instead of one — are utterly destitute of tails, and 



556 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of a variety of unseemly complexions, particularly 
of a horrible whiteness — instead of pea-fjreen. 

" We have, moreover, found these miserable sav- 
ages sunk into a state of the utmost ignorance and 
depravity, every man shamelessly living with his own 
wife, and rearing his own children, instead of in- 
dulging in that community of wives enjoined by the 
law of nature, as expounded by the philosophers of 
the moon. In a word, they have scarcely a gleam of 
true philosophy among them, but are, in fact, utter 
heretics, ignoramuses, and barbarians. Taking com- 
passion, therefore, on the sad condition of these sub- 
lunary wretches, we have endeavoured, while we 
remained on their planet, to introduce among them 
the light of reason — and the comforts of the moon. 
We have treated them to mouthfuls of moonshine, 
and draughts of nitrous oxyde, which they swallowed 
with incredible voracity, particularly the females ; 
and we have likewise endeavoured to instil into them 
the precepts of lunar philosophy. We have insisted 
upon their renouncing the contemptible shackles of 
religion and common sense, and adoring the pro- 
found, omnipotent, and all-perfect energy, and the 
ecstatic, immutable, immoveable perfection. But 
such was the unparalleled obstinacy of these wretch- 
ed savages, that they persisted in cleaving to their 
wives, and adhering to their religion, and absolutely 
set at nought the sublime doctrines of the moon — 
nay, among other abominable heresies, they even 
went so far as blasphemously to declare, that this 
ineffable planet was made of nothing more nor less 
than green cheese ! " 

At these words, the great man in the moon (being 
a very profound philosopher) shall fall into a terrible 
passion, and possessing equal authority over things 
that do not belong to him, as did whilome his holi- 
ness the Pope, shall forthwith issue a formidable 
bull, specifying, " That, whereas a certain crew of 
Lunatics have lately discovered, and taken posses- 
sion of, a newly discovered planet called //id earth — 
and that whereas it is inhabited by none but a race 
of two-legged animals, that carry their heads on 
their shoulders instead of under their arms ; cannot 
talk the lunatic language ; have two eyes instead of 
one ; are destitute of tails, and of a horrible white- 
ness, instead of pea-green — therefore, and for a va- 
riety of other excellent reasons, they are considered 
incapable of possessing any property in the planet 
they infest, and the right and title to it are confirmed 
to its original discoverers. — And furthermore, the 
colonists who are now about to depart to the afore- 
said planet are authorized and commanded to use 
every means to convert these infidel savages from 
the darkness of Christianity, and make them thor- 
ough and absolute Lunatics." 

In consequence of this benevolent bull, our philo- 
sophic benefactors go to work with hearty zeal. 
They seize upon our fertile territories, scourge us 
from our rightful possessions, relieve us from our 
wives, and when we are unreasonable enough to 
complain, they will turn upon us and say : Miserable 
barbarians 1 ungrateful wretches ! have we not come 
thousands of miles to improve your worthless planet.' 
have we not fed you with moonshine ? have we not 
intoxicated you with nitrous oxyde ? does not our 
moon give you light every night, and have >ou the 
baseness to murmur, when we claim a pitiful return 
for all these benefits.' But finding that we not only 
persist in absolute contempt of their reasoning and 
disbelief in their philosophy, but even go so far as 
daringly to defend our property, their patience shall 
be exhausted, and they shall resort to their superior 
powers of argument ; hunt us with hippogriffs, trans- 
fix us with concentrated sun-beams, demolish our 
cities with moon-stones ; until having, by main force, 



converted us to the true faith, they shall graciously 
permit us to exist in the torrid deserts of Arabia, or 
the frozen regions of Lapland, there to enjoy the 
blessings of civilization and the charms of lunar 
philosophy, in much the same manner as the re- 
formed and enlightened savages of this country are 
kindly suffered to inhabit the inhospitable forests of 
the north, or the impenetrable wilderness of South 
America. 

Thus, I hope, I have clearly proved, and strikingly 
illustrated, the right of the early colonists to the pos- 
session of this country ; and thus is this gigantic 
question completely vanquished ; so having manfully 
surmounted all obstacles, and subdued all opposition, 
what remains but that I should forthwith conduct my 
readers into the city which we have been so long in 
a manner besieging ? But hold — before I proceed 
another step, I must pause to take breath, and re- 
cover from the excessive fatigue I have undergone, 
in preparing to begin this most accurate of histories. 
And in this I do but imitate the example of a re- 
nowned Dutch tumbler of antiquity, who took a 
start ot three miles for the purpose of jumping over 
a hill, but having run himself out of breath by the 
time he reached the foot, sat himself quietly down 
for a few moments to blow, and then walked over 
it at his leisure. 



BOOK 



TREATING OF THE FIRST SETTLEMENT OF THE 
PROVINCE OF NIEUW NEDERLANDTS. 



CHAPTER L 

IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED DIVERS REASONS WHY 
A MAN SHOULD NOT WRITE IN A HURRY. 
ALSO, OF MASTER HENDRICK HUDSON, HIS 
DISCOVERY OF A STRANGE COUNTRY — AND 
HOW HE WAS MAGNIFICENTLY REWARDED BY 
THE MAGNIFICENCE OF THEIR HIGH MIGHTI- 
NESSES. 

My great-grandfather, by the mother's side, Her- 
manns Van Clattercop, when employed to build the 
large stone church at Rotterdam, which stands about 
three hundred yards to your left after you turn off 
from the Boomkeys, and w'hich is so conveniently 
constructed, that all the zealous Christians of Rotter- 
dam prefer sleeping through a sermon there to any 
other church in the city — my great-grandfather, I 
say, when employed to build that famous church, 
did, in the first place, send to Delft for a box of long 
pipes ; then, having purchased a new spitting-box 
and a hundred weight of the best Virginia, he sat 
himself down, and did nothing for the space of three 
months but smoke most laboriously. Then did he 
spend full three months more in trudging on foot, 
and voyaging in trekschuit, from Rotterdam to 
Amsterdam — to Delft — to Haerlem — to Leyden — to 
the Hague, knocking his head and breaking his pipe 
.against every church in his road. Then did he ad- 
vance gradually nearer and nearer to Rotterdam, 
until he came in full sight of the identical spot where- 
on the church was to be built. Then did he spend 
three months longer in walking round it and round 
it, contemplating it, first from one point of view, and 
then from another — now would he be paddled by it 
on the canal — now w'ould he peep at it through a 
telescope, from the other side of the Meuse, and now 
would he take a bird's-eye glance at it, from the top 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



557 



of one of those gigantic windmills which protect the 
gates of the city. The good folks of the place were 
on the tiptoe of expectation and impatience — not- 
withstanding all the turmoil of my great-grandfather, 
not a symptom of the church was yet to be seen ; 
they even began to fear it would never be brought 
into the world, but that its great projector would lie 
down and die in labour of the mighty plan he had 
conceived. At length, having occupied twelve good 
months in putting and paddling, and talking and 
walking — having travelled over all Holland, and even 
taken a peep into France and Germany — having 
smoked rive hundred and ninety-nine pipes, and 
three hundred weight of the best Virginia tobacco — 
my great-grandfather gathered together all that 
knowing and industrious class of citizens who prefer 
attending to any body's business sooner than their 
own, and having pulled off his coat and five pair of 
breeches, he advanced sturdily up, and laid the 
corner-stone of the church, in the presence of the 
whole multitude — just at the commencement of the 
thirteenth month. 

In a similar manner, and with the example of my 
worthy ancestor full before my eyes, have I proceeded 
in writing this most authentic history. The honest 
Rotterdamers no doubt thoughtmygreat-grandfather 
was doing nothing at all to the purpose, while he 
was making such a world of prefatory bustle, about 
the building of his church — and many of the inge- 
nious inhabitants of this fair city will unquestionalily 
suppose that all the preliminary chapters, with the 
discovery, population, and final settlement of Amer- 
ica, were totally irrelevant and superfluous — and that 
the main business, the history of New-York, is not a 
jot more advanced than if I had never taken up my 
pen. Never were wise people more mistaken in 
their conjectures ; in consequence of going to work 
slowly and deliberately, the church came out of 
my grandfather's hands one of the most sumptuous, 
goodly, and glorious edifices in the known world — 
excepting that, like our magnificent capitol, at Wash- 
ington, it was begun on so grand a scale that the 
good folks could not afford to finish more than the 
wing of it. So, likewise, I trust, if ever I am able 
to finish this work on the plan I have commenced, 
(of which, in simple truth, I sometimes have my 
doubts,) it will be found that 1 have pursued the 
latest rules of my art, as exemplified in the writings 
of all the great American historians, and wrought a 
very large historj' out of a small subject — which 
now-a-days is considered one of the great triumphs 
of historic skill. To proceed, then, with the thread 
of my story. 

In the ever-memorable year of our Lord, 1609, on 
a Saturday morning, the five-and-twentieth day of 
March, old style, did that " worthy and irrecoverable 
discoverer, (as he has justly been called,) Master 
Henry Hudson," set sail from Holland in a stout ves- 
sel called the Half Moon, being employed by the 
Dutch East India Company, to seek a north-west 
passage to China. 

Henry (or, as the Dutch historians call him, Hen- 
drick) Hudson, was a sea-faring man of renown, 
who had learned to smoke tobacco under Sir Walter 
Raleigh, and is said to have been the first to intro- 
duce it into Holland, which gained him much popu- 
larity in that country, and caused him to find great 
favour in the eyes of their High Mightinesses, the 
Lords States General, and also of the honourable 
West India Company. He was a short, square, 
brawny old gentleman, with a double chin, a mastiflf 
mouth, and a broad copper nose, which was sup- 
posed in those days to have acquired its fiery hue 
from the constant neighbourhood of his tobacco- 
pipe. 



He wore a true Andrea Ferrara, tucked in a 
leathern belt, and a commodore's cocked hat on one 
side of his head. He was remarkable for always 
jerking up his breeches when he gave out his orders ; 
and his voice sounded not unlike the brattling of a 
tin trumpet — owing to the number of hard north- 
westers which he had swallowed in the course of 
his sea-faring. 

Such was Hendrick Hudson, of whom we have 
heard so much, and know so little : and I have been 
thus particular in his description, for the benefit of 
modern painters and statuaries, that they may rep- 
resent him as he was; and not, according to their 
common custom with modern heroes, make him 
look like Caisar, or Marcus Aurelius, or the Apollo 
of Belvidere. 

As chief mate and favourite companion, the com- 
modore chose master Robert Juet, of Limehouse, in 
England. By some his name has been spelled CJicwit, 
and ascribed to the circumstance of his having been 
the first man that ever chewed tobacco ; but this I 
believe to be a mere flippancy ; more especially as 
certain of his progeny are living at this day, who 
write their name Juet. He was an old comrade and 
early schoolmate of the great Hudson, with whom 
he had often played truant and sailed chip boats 
in a neighbouring pond, when they were little boys 
— from whence it is said the commodore first 
derived his bias towards a sea-faring life. Certain 
it is, that the old people about Limehouse declared 
Robert Juet to be an unlucky urchin, prone to 
mischief, that would one day or other come to the 
gallows. 

He grew up as boys of that kind often grow up, a 
rambling, heedless varlet, tossed about in all quarters 
of the world — meeting with more perils and wonders 
than did Sinbad the Sailor, without growing a whit 
more wise, prudent, or ill-natured. Under every 
misfortune, he comforted himself with a quid of to- 
bacco, and the truly philosophic maxim, that "it 
will be all the same thing a hundred years hence." 
He was skilled in the art of carving anchors and true- 
lovers' knots on the bulk-heads and quarter-railings, 
and was considered a great wit on board ship, in 
consequence of his playing pranks on every body 
around, and now and then even making a wry face 
at old Hendrick, when his back was turned. 

To this universal genius are we indebted for many 
particulars concerning this voyage ; of which he 
wrote a history, at the request of the commodore, 
who had an unconquerable aversion to writing him- 
self, from having received so many floggings about it 
when at school. To supply the deficiencies of mas- 
ter Juet's journal, which is written with true log- 
book brevity, I have availed myself of divers family 
traditions, handed down from my great-great-grand- 
father, who accompanied the expedition m the capac- 
ity of cabin-boy. 

From all that I can learn, few incidents worthy 
of remark happened in the voyage ; and it morti- 
fies me exceedingly that I have to admit so noted 
an expedition mto my work, without making any 
more of it. 

Suffice it to say, the voyage was prosperous and 
tranquil — the crew, being a patient people, much 
given to slumber and vacuity, and but little troubled 
with the disease of thinking — a malady of the mind, 
which is the sure breeder of discontent. Hudson had 
laid in abundance of gin and sour-crout, and ever)- 
man was allowed to sleep quietly at his post unless 
the wind blew. True it is, some slight dissatisfaction 
was shown on two or three occasions, at certain un- 
reasonable conduct of Commodore Hudson. Thus, 
for instance, he forbore to shorten sail when the wind 
was fight, and the weather serene, which was con- 



558 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sidered, among the most experienced Dutch seamen, 
as certain tih-athcr-brccders, or prognostics, that the 
weather would change for the worse. He acted, 
moreover, in chrect contradiction to that ancient and 
sage rule of the Dutch navigators, who always took 
in sail at night — put the helm a-port, and turned in 
— by which precaution they had a good night's rest 
— were sure of knowing where they were the next 
morning, and stood but little chance of running down 
a continent in the dark. He likewise prohibited the 
seamen from wearing more than five jackets and six 
pair of breeches, under pretence of rendering them 
more alert ; and no man was permitted to go aloft, 
and hand in sails with a pipe in his mouth, as is the 
invariable Dutch custom at the present day. All 
these grievances, though they might ruffle for a mo- 
ment the constitutional tranquillity of the honest 
Dutch tars, made but transient impression ; they eat 
hugely, drank profusely, and slept immeasurably, and 
being under the especial guidance of Providence, the 
ship was safely conducted to the coast of America ; 
where, after sundry unimportant touchings and stand- 
ing off and on, she at length, on the fourth day of 
September, entered that majestic bay, which at this 
day expands its ample bosom before the city of New- 
York, and which had never before been visited by 
any European.* 

it has been traditionary in our family, that when 
the great navigator was first blessed with a view of 
this enchanting island, he was observed, for the first 
and only time in his life, to exhibit strong symptoms 
of astonishment and admiration. He is said to have 
turned to Master Juet, and uttered these remarkable 
words, while he pointed towards this paradise of the 
new world — " See ! there I " — and thereupon, as was 
always his way when he was uncommonly pleased, 
he did puff out such clouds of dense tobacco-smoke, 
that in one minute the vessel was out of sight of 
land, and master Juet was fain to wait until the 
winds dispersed this impenetrable fog. 

It was indeed — as my great-great-grandfather used 
to say — though in truth I never heard him, for he 
died, as might be expected, before I was born — "it 
was indeed a spot on which the eye might have 
revelled for ever, in ever-new and never-ending 
beauties." The island of Mannahata spread wide 
before them, like some sweet vision of fancy, or some 
fair creation of industrious magic. Its hills of smil- 
ing green swelled gently one above another, crowned 
with lofty trees of luxuriant growth ; some pointing 
their tapering loliage towards the clouds, which were 
gloriously transparent ; and others loaded with a 



* True it i> — and I am not ignorant of the fact, that in a car* 
lain apocryphal book of voyages, compiled by one Hakluyt, is 
to be found a letter written to Francis the First, by one Gio- 
vanne, or John Verazzani, on which some writers are inclined 
to found a belief that this delightful bay had been visited nearly 
a century previous to the voyage of the enterprising Hudson. 
Now this (albeit it has met with the countenance of certain 
very judicious and learned men) I hold in utter disbelief, and 
that for various good and substantial reasons: Firsi^ Because 
on strict examination it will be found, that tlie description eiven 
by this Verazzani applies about as well to the bay of New-York 
as it does to my night-cap. Secondly^ Because that this John 
Verazzani, for whom I already begin to feel a most bitter en- 
mity, is a native of Florence ; and every body knows the crafty 
wiles of these losel Florentines, by which they filched away the 
laurels from the brows of the immortal Colon, (vulgarly called 
Columbus.) and bestowed them on their olhcious townsman, 
Amerigo Vespucci ; and I make no doubt they are equally 
ready to rob the illustrious Hudson of the credit of discovering 
this beautiful island, adorned by the city of New - York, and 
placing it beside their usurped discovery of South .\merica. 
And, thirdly^ I award my decision in favour of the pretensions 
of Hendrick Hudson, inasmuch as his expedition sailed from 
Holland, being truly and absolutely a Dutch enterprise — and 
though all the proofs of the world were introduced on the other 
side. I would set them at nought, as undeserving my attention. 
If these three reasons be not sufficient to satisfy every burgher 
of this ancient city — all I can say is, they are degenerate descend- 
ants from their venerable Dutch ancestors, and totally unworthy 
the trouble of convincing. Thus, therefore, the title of Hendrick 
Hudson to his renowned discovery is fully vindicated. 



verdant burthen of clambering vines, bowing their 
branches to the earth, that was covered with flow- 
ers. On the gentle declivities of the hills were scat- 
tered, in gay profusion, the dog-wood, the sumach, 
and the wild brier, whose scarlet berries and white 
blossoms glowed brightly among the deep green of 
the surrounding foliage ; and here and there a curl- 
ing column of smoke rising from the little glens that 
opened along the shore, seemed to promise the 
weary voyagers a welcome at the hands of their 
fellow-creatures. As they stood gazing with en- 
tranced attention on the scene before them, a red 
man, crowned with feathers, issued from one of 
these glens, and after contemplating in silent won- 
der the gallant ship, as she sat like a stately swan 
swimming on a silver lake, sounded the war-whoop, 
and bounded into the woods like a wild deer, to the 
utter astonishment of the phlegmatic Dutchmen, who 
had never heard such a noise, or witnessed such a 
caper, in their whole lives. 

Of the tr.ansactions of our adventurers with the 
savages, and how the latter smoked copper pipes, 
and ate dried currants ; how they brought great 
store of tobacco and oysters ; how they shot one of 
the ship's crew, and how he was buried, I shall say 
nothing; being that 1 consider them unimportant to 
my history. After tarrying a few days in the bay, in 
order to refresh themselves after their sea-faring, our 
voyagers weighed anchor, to explore a mighty river 
which emptied into the bay. This river, it is said, 
was known among the savages by the name of the 
Shatemuck ; though we are assured, in an excellent 
little history published in 1674, by John Josselyn, 
Gent., that it was called the Mo/u-gan,* and master 
Richard Bloome, who wrote some time afterwards, 
asserts the same — so that 1 vei"y much incline in 
favour of the opinion of these two honest gentlemen. 
Be this as it may, up this river did the adventurous 
Hendrick proceed, little doubting but it would turn 
out to be the much-looked-for passage to China I 

The journal goes on to make mention of divers 
interviews between the crew and the natives, in the 
voyage up the river ; but as they would be imperti- 
nent to my history, I shall pass over them in silence, 
except the following dry joke, played ofl' by the old 
commodore and his school-felIow% Robert Juet, which 
does such vast credit to their experimental philoso- 
phy, that I cannot refrain from inserting it. " Our 
master and his mate determined to try some of the 
chiefe men of the countrey, whether they had any 
treacherie in them. So they tooke them downe into 
the cabin and gave them so much wine and aqua 
vita;, that they w-ere all merrie ; and one of them 
had his wife with him, which sate so modestly, as 
any of our countrey women would do in a strange 
place. In the end one of them was drunke, which 
had been aboarde of our ship all the time that we 
had been there, and that was strange to them, for 
they could no't tell how to take it."t 

Having satisfied himself by this ingenious experi- 
ment, that the natives were an honest, social race of 
jolly roysters, who had no objection to a drinking 
bout, and were very merry in their cups, the old 
commodore chuckled hugely to himself, and thrust- 
ing a double quid of tobacco in his cheek, directed 
master Juet to have it carefully recorded, for the 
satisfaction of all the natural philosophers of the 
university of Leyden — which done, he proceeded on 
his voyage, with great self-complacency. After sail- 
ing, however, above a hundred miles up the river, 
he found the watery world around him began to 
grow more shallow and confined, the current more 



' This river is likewise laid down in Ogilvy's map as Manhattan 
-Noordt — .Montaigne and Mauritius river. 
t Juet's Journ. Purch. Pil. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



559 



rapid, and perfectly fresh — phenomena not uncom- 
mon in the ascent of rivers, but which puzzled the 
honest Dutchmen prodigiously. A consultation was 
therefore called, and having deliberated full si.x 
hours, they were brought to a determination, by the 
ship's running aground — whereupon they unanimous- 
ly concluded, that there was but little chance of getting 
to China in this 'direction. A boat, however, was 
despatched to explore higher up the river, which, on 
its return, confirmed the opinion — upon this the ship 
was warped off and put about, with great difficulty, 
being, like most of her sex, exceedingly hard to gov- 
ern ; and the adventurous Hudson, according to the 
account of my great-great-grandfather, returned 
down the river — with a prodigious flea in his ear ! 

Being satisfied that there was little likelihood of 
getting to China, unless, like the blind man, he re- 
turned from whence he sat out, and took a fresh 
start, he forthwith recrossed the sea to Holland, 
where he was received with great welcome by the 
honourable East India Company, who were very 
much rejoiced to see him come back safe — with their 
ship ; and at a large and respectable meeting of the 
first merchants and burgomasters of Amsterdam, it 
was unanimously determined, that as a munificent 
reward for the eminent services he had performed, 
and the important discovery he had made, the great 
river Mohegan should be called after his name ! — 
and it continues to be called Hudson river unto this 
very day. 



CHAPTER II. 

CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF A MIGHTY ARK, 
WHICH FLOATED, UNDER THE PROTECTION OF 
ST. NICHOLAS, FROM HOLLAND TO GIBBET ISL- 
AND — THE DESCENT OF THE STRANGE ANIMALS 
THEREFROM — A GREAT VICTORY, AND A DE- 
SCRIPTION OF THE ANCIENT VILLAGE OF COM- 
MUNIPAW. 

The delectable accounts given by the great Hud- 
son, and master Juet, of the country they had dis- 
covered, excited not a little talk and speculation 
among the good people of Holland. Letters-patent 
were granted by government to an association of 
merchants, called the West India Company, for the 
exclusive trade on Hudson river, on which they 
erected a trading house called Fort Aurania, or 
Orange, from whence did spring the great city of 
Albany. But I forbear to dwell on the various 
commercial and colonizing enterprises which took 
place ; among which was that of Mynheer Adrian 
Block, who discovered and gave a name to Block 
Island, since famous for its cheese — and shall barely 
confine myself to that which gave birth to this re- 
nowned city. 

It was some three or four years after the return of 
the immortal Hendrick, that a crew of honest. Low 
Dutch colonists set sail from the city of Amsterdam 
for the shores of America. It is an irreparable loss 
to history, and a great proof of the darkness of the 
age, and the lamentable neglect of the noble art of 
book-making, since so industriously cultivated by 
knowing sea-captains, and learned supercargoes, that 
an expedition so interesting and important in its re- 
sults, should be passed over in utter silence. To my 
great-great-grandfather am I again indebted for the 
few facts I am enabled to give concerning it — he 
having once more embarked for this country, with 
a full determination, as he said, of ending his days 
here — and of begetting a race of Knickerbockers, 
that should rise to be great men in the land. 



The ship in which these illustrious adventurers 
set sail was called the Goede Vroii-w, or good woman, 
in compliment to the wife of the President of the 
West India Company, who was allowed by every 
body (except her husband) to be a sweet-tempered 
lady — when not in liquor. It was in truth a most 
gallant vessel, of the most approved Dutch construc- 
tion, and made by the ablest ship-carpenters of Am- 
sterdam, w'ho, it is well known, always model their 
ships after the fair forms of their countrywomen. 
Accordingly, it had one hundred feet in the beam, 
one hundred feet in the keel, and one hundred feet 
from the bottom of the stern-post to the tafferel. 
Like the beauteous model, who was declared to be 
the greatest Ijelle in Amsterdam, it was full in the 
bows, with a pair of enormous cat-heads, a copper 
bottom, and, withal, a most prodigious poop ! 

The architect, who was somewhat of a religious 
man, far from decorating the ship with pagan idols, 
such as Jupiter, Neptune, or Hercules (which hea- 
thenish abominations, I have no doubt, occasion the 
misfortunes and shipwreck of many a noble vessel,) 
he, I say, on the contrar>', did laudably erect for a 
head, a goodly image of St. Nicholas, equipped with 
a low, broad-brimmed hat, a huge pair of Flemish 
trunk-hose, and a pipe that reached to the end of the 
bowsprit. Thus gallantly furnished, the staunch ship 
floated sideways, like a majestic goose, out of the 
harbour of the great city of Amsterdam, and all the 
bells, that were not otherwise engaged, rang a triple 
bobmajor on the joyful occasion. 

My great-great-grandfather remarks, that the voy- 
age was uncommonly prosperous, for, being under 
the especial care of the ever-revered St. Nicholas, 
the Goede Vrouw seemed to be endowed with qual- 
ities unknown to common vessels. Thus she made 
as much lee-way as head-way, could get along very 
nearly as fast with the wind a-head, as when it was 
a-poop — and was particularly great in a calm ; in 
consequence of which singular advantages, she made 
out to accomplish her voyage in a very lew months, 
and came to anchor at the mouth of the Hudson, a 
little to the east of Gibbet Island. 

Here lifting up their eyes, they beheld, on what is 
at present called the Jersey shore, a small Indian 
village, pleasantly embowered in a grove of spread- 
ing elms, and the natives all collected on the beach, 
gazing in stupid admiration at the Goede Vrouw. A 
boat was immediately despatched to enter into a 
treaty with them, and approaching the shore, hailed 
them through a trumpet in the most friendly terms ; 
but so horribly confounded were these poor savages 
at the tremendous and uncouth sound of the Low 
Dutch language, that they one and all took to their 
heels, and scampered over the Bergen hills ; nor did 
they stop until they had buried themselves, head and 
ears, in the marshes on the other side, where they all 
miserably perished to a man — and their bones being 
collected and decently covered by the Tammany 
Society of that day, formed that singular mound 
called Rattlesnake Hill, which rises out of the 
centre of the salt marshes, a little to the east of the 
Newark Causeway. 

Animated by this unlooked-for victory, our valiant 
heroes sprang ashore in triumph, took possession 
of the soil as conquerors in the name of their High 
Mightinesses the Lords States General ; and march- 
ing fearlessly forward, carried the village of COMMU- 
nipaW by storm, notwithstanding that it was vigor- 
ously defended by some half-ascore of old squaws 
and pappooses. On looking about them, they were 
so transported with the excellencies of the place, 
that they had very little doubt the blessed St. 
Nicholas had guided them thither, as the very spot 
whereon to settle their colony. The softness of the 



560 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



soil was wonderfully adapted to the driving of piles ; 
the swamps and marshes around them afforded 
ample opportunities for the constructing of dikes 
and dams ; the shallowness of the shore was pecul- 
iarly favourable to the building of docks — in a word, 
this spot abounded with all the requisites for the 
foundation of a great Dutch city. On making a 
faithful report, therefore, to the crew of the Goede 
Vrouw, they one and all determined that this was 
the destined end of their voyage. Accordingly they 
descended Irom the Goede Vrouw, men, women, 
and children, in goodly groups, as did the animals 
of yore from the ark, and formed themselves into a 
thriving settlement, which they called by the Indian 
name Co.mmunipaw. 

As all the world is doubtless perfectly acquainted 
with Communipaw, it may seem somewhat super- 
fluous to treat of it in the present work ; but my 
readers will please to recollect, that notwithstanding 
it is my chief desire to satisfy the present age, yet I 
write likewise for posterity, and have to consult the 
understanding and curiosity of some half a score of 
centuries yet to come ; by which time, perhaps, were 
it not for this invaluable history, the great Communi- 
paw, like Babylon, Carthage, Nineveh, and other 
great cities, might be perfectly extinct — sunk and 
forgotten in its own mud — its inhabitants turned into 
oysters,* and even its situation a fertile subject of 
learned controversy and hard-headed investigation 
among indefatigable historians. Let me then piously 
rescue from oblivion the humble relics of a place 
which was the egg from whence was hatched the 
mighty city of New-York ! 

Communipaw is at present but a small village 
pleasantly situated, among rural scenery, on that 
beauteous part of the Jersey shore which was known 
in ancient legends by the name of Pavonia.t and 
commands a grand prospect of the superb bay of 
New-York. It is within but half an hour's sail of 
the latter place, provided you have a fair wind, and 
may be distinctly seen from the city. Nay, it is a 
well-known fact, which I can testify from my own 
experience, that on a clear still summer evening, you 
may hear, from the Battery of New-York, the ob- 
streperous peals of broad-mouthed laughter of the 
Dutch negroes at Communipaw, who. like most 
other negroes, are famous for their risible powers. 
This is peculiarly the case on Sunday evenings, when, 
it is remarked by an ingenious and observant philos- 
opher, who has made great discoveries in the neigh- 
bourhood of this city, that they always laugh loudest 
— which he attributes to the circumstance of their 
having their holiday clothes on. 

These negroes, in fact, like the monks in the dark 
ages, engross all the knowledge of the place, and be- 
ing infinitely more adventurous and more knowing 
than their masters, carry on all the foreign trade ; 
making frequent voyages to town in canoes loaded 
with oysters, buttermilk, and cabbages. They are 
great astrologers, predicting the different changes of 
weather almost as accurately as an almanac — they 
are moreover exquisite performers on three-stringed 
fiddles : in whislUng, they almost boast the far-famed 
powers of Orpheus's lyre, for not a horse or an ox 
in the place, when at the plough or before the wagon, 
will budge a foot until he hears the well-known 
whistle of his black driver and companion. — And 
from their amazing skill at casting up accounts upon 
their fingers, they are regarded with as much venera- 
tion as were the disciples of Pythagoras of yore, 
when initiated into the sacred quaternary of num- 
bers. 



As to the honest burghers of Communipaw, like 
wise men and sound philosophers, they never look 
beyond their pipes, nor trouble their heads about any 
affairs out of their immediate neighbourhood ; so that 
they live in profound and enviable ignorance of all 
the troubles, anxieties, and revolutions of this dis- 
tracted planet. I am even told that many among 
them do verily believe that Holland, of which they 
have heard so much from tradition, is situated some- 
where on Long Island — that Spilciitg-dn'il and the 
Narrows are the two ends of the world — that the 
country is still under the dominion of their High 
Mightinesses, and that thecity of New-York still goes 
bv the name of Nieuw Amsterdam. They meet every 
Saturday afternoon at the only tavern in the place, 
which bears as a sign, a square-headed likeness of 
the Prince of Orange, where they smoke a silent 
pipe, by way of promoting social conviviality, and 
invariably drink a mug of cider to the success of 
Admiral Van Tromp, who they imagine is still 
sweeping the British channel, with a broom at his 
mast-head. 

Communipaw, in short, is one of the numerous 
little villages in the vicinity of this most beautiful of 
cities, which are so many strong-holds and fastnesses, 
whither the primitive manners of our Dutch tore- 
fathers have retreated, and where they are cherished 
with devout and scrupulous strictness. The dress ot 
the original settlers is handed down inviolate, from 
father to son — the identical broad-brimmed hat, 
broad-skirted coat, and broad-bottomed breeches 
continue from generation to generation ; and several 
gigantic knee-buckles of massy silver are still in 
wear, that made gallant display in the days of the 
patriarchs of Communipaw, The language likewise 
continues unadulterated by barbarous innovations ; 
and so critically correct is the village schoolmaster 
in his dialect, that his reading of a Low Dutch psalm 
has much the same effect on the nerves as the filing 
of a handsaw. 



* Men by inaction degenerate into oysters. — Kaimes, 
t Pavonia, in tlie ancient maps, is given to a tract of country 
extending from about Hobolcen to Amboy. 



CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH IS SET FORTH THE TRUE ART OF 
MAKING A BARGAIN— TOGETHER WITH THE 
MIRACULOUS ESCAPE OF A GRE.\T METROPOLIS 
IN A FOG — AND THE BIOGRAPHY OF CERTAIN 
HEROES OF COMMUNIPAW. 

Having, in the trifling digression which concluded 
the last chapter, discharged the filial duty which the 
city of New-York owed to Communipaw, as being 
the mother settlement ; and having given a faithful 
picture of it as it stands at present, I return with a 
soothing sentiment of self-approbation, to dwell upon 
its early history. The crew of tlie Goede Vrouw 
being soon reinforced by fresh importations from 
i Holland, the settlement went jollily on, increasing in 
magnitude and prosperity. The neighbouring Indians 
in a short time became accustomed to the uncouth 
sound of the Dutch language, and an intercourse 
gradually took place between them and the new 
comers. The Indians were much given to long talks, 
and the Dutch to long silence — in this particular, 
therefore, they accommodated each other completely. 
The chiefs would make long speeches about the big 
bull, the wabash, and the great spirit, to which the 
others would listen very attentively, smoke their 
pipes, and grunt yah myn-her — whereat the poor 
savages were wonclrously delighted. They instructed 
the new settlers in the best art of curing and smok- 
ing tobacco, while the latter, in return, made them 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



561 



drunk with true Hollands — and then learned them 
the art of making- bargains. 

A brisk trade for furs was soon opened : the Dutch 
traders were scrupulously honest in their dealings, 
and purchased by weight, establishing it as an inva- 
riable table of avoirdupois, that the hand of a Dutch- 
man weighed one pound, and his foot two pounds. It 
is true, the simple Indians were often puzzled by the 
great disproportion between bulk and weight, for let 
them place a bundle of furs, never so large, in one 
scale, and a Dutchman put his hand or foot in the 
other, the bundle was sure to kick the beam — never 
was a package of furs known to weigh more than two 
pounds in the market of Communipaw ! 

This is a singular fact — but I have it direct from 
my great-great-grandfather, who had risen to con- 
siderable miportance in the colony, being promoted 
to the office of weighmaster, on account of the un- 
common heaviness of his foot. 

The Dutch possessions in this part of the globe 
began now to assume a very thriving appearance, 
and were comprehended under the general title of j 
Nieuw Nederlandts, on account, as the sage Vander 
Donck observes, of their great resemblance to the 
Dutch Netherlands — which indeed was truly re- 
markable, excepting that the former were rugged and 
mountainous, and the lattar level and marshy. About 
this time the tranquillity of the Dutch colonists was 
doomed to sufler a temporary interruption. In 1614, 
Captain Sir Samuel Argal, sailing under a commission 
from Dale, governor of Virginia, visited the Dutch 
settlements on Hudson River, and demanded their 
submission to the English crown and Virginian do- 
minion. — To this arrogant demand, as they were in 
no condition to resist it, they submitted for the time 
like discreet and reasonable men. 

It does not appear that the valiant Argal molested 
the settlement of Communipaw ; on the contrary, I 
am told that when his vessel first hove in sight, the 
worthy burghers were seized with such a panic, that 
they fell to smoking their pipes with astonishing ve- 
hemence ; insomuch that they quickly raised a cloud, 
which, combining with the surrounding woods and 
marshes, completely enveloped and concealed their 
beloved village, and overhung the fair regions of Pa- 
vonia ; — so that the terrible Captain Argal passed on, 
totally unsuspicious that a sturdy little Dutch settle- 
ment lay snugly couched in the mud, under cover of 
all this pestilent vapour. In commemoration of this 
fortunate escape, the worthy inhabitants have con- 
tinued to smoke, almost without intermission, unto 
this very day ; which is said to be the cause of the 
remarkable fog that often hangs over Communipaw 
of a clear afternoon. 

Upon the departure of the enemy, our magnani- 
mous ancestors took full six months to recover their 
wind, having been exceedingly discomposed by the 
consternation and hurry of affairs. They then called 
a council of safety to smoke over the state of the 
province. After six months more of mature deliber- 
ation, during which nearly five hundred words were 
spoken, and almost as much tobacco was smoked as 
would have served a certain modern general through 
a whole winter's campaign of hard drinking, it was 
determined to fit out an armament of canoes, and 
despatch them on a voyage of discovery ; to search 
if, peradventure, some more sure and formidable 
position might not be found, where the colony would 
be less subject to vexatious visitations. 

This perilous enterprise was intrusted to the su- 
perintendence of Mynheers Oloffe Van Kortlandt, 
Abraham Hardenbroeck, Jacobus Van Zandt, and 
Winant Ten Broeck — four indubitably great men, 
but of whose history, although I have made diligent 
inquiry, I can learn but little, previous to their leav- 
36 



ing Holland. Nor need this occasion much surprise ; 
for adventurers, like prophets, though they make 
great noise abroad, have seldom much celebrity in 
their own countries; but this much is certain, that 
the overflowings and offscourings of a country are 
invariably composed of the richest parts of the soil. 
And here I cannot help remarking how convenient 
it would be to many of our great men and great fam- 
ilies of doubtful origin, could they have the privilege 
of the heroes of yore, who, whenever their origin was 
involved in obscurity, modestly announced them- 
selves descended from a god — and who never visited 
a foreign country but what they told some cock-and- 
bull stories about their being kings and princes at 
home. This venal trespass on the truth, though it 
has occasionally been played off by some pseudo 
marquis, baronet, and other illustrious foreigner, in 
our land of good-natured credulity, has been com- 
pletely discountenanced in this sceptical matter-of- 
fact age — and I even question whether any tender 
virgin, who was accidentally and unaccountably en- 
riched with a bantling, would save her character at 
parlour firesides and evening tea-parties by ascribing 
the phenomenon to a swan, a shower of gold, or a 
river-god. 

Thus being denied the benefit of mythology and 
classic fable, I should have been completely at a loss 
as to the early biography of my heroes, had not a 
gleam of light been thrown upon their origin from 
their names. 

By this simple means, have I been enabled to 
gather some particulars concerning the adventurers 
in question. Van Kortlandt, for instance, was one of 
those peripatetic philosophers who tax Providence 
for a livelihood, and, like Diogenes, enjoy a free and 
unencumbered estate in sunshine. He was usually 
arrayed in garments suitable to his fortune, being 
curiously fringed and fangled by the hand of time ; 
and was helmeted with an old fragment of a hat, 
which had acquired the shape of a sugar-loaf; and 
so far did he carry his contempt for the adventitious 
distinction of dress, that it is said the remnant of a 
shirt, which covered his back, and dangled like a 
pocket-handkerchief out of a hole in his breeches, 
was never washed except by the bountiful showers 
of heaven. In this garb was he usually to be seen, 
sunning hmiself at noon-day, with a herd of philoso- 
phers of the same sect, on the side of the great canal 
of Amsterdam. Like your nobility of Europe, he 
took his name of Kortlandt (or lackland) from his 
landed estate, which lay somewhere in terra incog- 
nita. 

Of the next of our worthies, might I have had the 
benefit of mythological assistance, the want of which 
I have just lamented, 1 should have made honourable 
mention, as boasting equally illustrious pedigree with 
the proudest hero of antiquity. His name of Van 
Zandt. which being freely translated, signifies, //'i'ot 
the dirt, meaning, beyond a doubt, that, like Triptole- 
mus, Themis, the Cyclops and the Titans, he sprang 
from dame Terra, or the earth ! This supposition is 
strongly corroborated by his size, for it is well known 
that all the progeny of mother .earth were of a gigan- 
tic stature ; and Van Zandt, we are told, was a tall, 
raw-boned man, above six feet high — with an aston- 
ishing hard head. Nor is this origin of the illus- 
trious Van Zandt a whit more improbable or repug- 
nant to belief than what is related and universally 
admitted of certain of our greatest, or rather richest 
men ; who, we are told with the utmost gravity, did 
originally spring from a dunghill ! 

Of the third hero, but a faint description has 

reached to this time, which mentions that he was a 

sturdy, obstinate, buriy, bustling little man : and from 

i being usually equipped with an old pair of buckskins. 



5G2 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



was familiarly dubbed Harden Broeck, or Tough 
Breeches. 

Ten Broeck completed this junto of adventurers. 
It is a singular, but ludicrous fact, which, were I not 
scrupulous in recording the whole truth, I should 
almost be tempted to pass over in silence, as incom- 
patible with the gravity and dignity of history, that 
this worthy gentleman should likewise have been 
nicknamed from the most whimsical part of his dress. 
In fact, the small-clothes seems to have been a very 
important garment in the eyes of our venerated an- 
cestors, owing in all probability to its really being 
the largest article of raiment among them. The 
name of Ten Broeck, or Tin Broeck, is indifferently 
translated into Ten Breeches and Tin Breeches — 
the High Dutch commentators incline to the former 
opinion ; and ascribe it to his being the first who in- 
troduced into the settlement the ancient Dutch fash- 
ion of wearing ten pair of breeches. But the most 
elegant and ingenious writers on the subject declare 
in favour of Tin, or rather TItin Breeches ; from 
whence they infer, that he was a poor, but meriy 
rogue, whose galligaskins were none of the soundest, 
and who was the identical author of that truly philo- 
sophical stanza : 

" Then why should we quarrel for riches, 
Or any such glittering toys ? 
A light heart and thi)i pair of breeches. 

Will go through the world, my brave boys ! " 

Such was the gallant junto chosen to conduct this 
voyage into unknown realms ; and the whole was 
put under the superintending care and direction of 
Oloffe Van Kortlandt, who was held in great rever- 
ence among the sages of Communipaw, for the 
variety and darkness of his knowledge. Having, as 
I before observed, passed a great part of his life in 
the open air, among the peripatetic philosophers of 
Amsterdam, he had become amazingly well acquaint- 
ed with the aspect of the heavens, and could as ac- 
curately determine when a storm was brewing, or a 
squall rising, as a dutiful husband can foresee, from 
the brow of his spouse, when a tempest is gathering 
about his ears. He was moreover a great seer of 
ghosts and goblins, and a firm believer in omens ; 
but what especially recommended him to public con- 
fidence was his marvellous talent at dreaming, for 
there never was any thing of consequence happened 
at Communipaw but what he declared he had pre- 
viously dreamt it ; being one of those infallible proph- 
ets who always predict events after they have come 
to pass. 

This supernatural gift was as highly valued among 
the burghers of Pavonia, as it was among the en- 
lightened nations of antiquity. The wise Ulysses 
was more mdebted to his sleeping than his waking 
moments for all his subtle achievements, and seldom 
undertook any great exploit without first soundly 
sleeping upon it ; and the same may be truly said of 
the good Van Kortlandt, who was thence aptly de- 
nominated, Oloffe the Dreamer. 

This cautious commander, having chosen the 
crews that should accompany him in the proposed 
expedition, exhorted them to repair to their homes, 
take a good night's rest, settle all family affairs, and 
make their wills, before departing on this voyage 
into unknown realms. And indeed this last was a 
precaution always taken by our forefathers, even in 
after times, when they became more adventurous, 
and voyaged to Haverstraw, or Kaatskill, or Groodt 
Esopus, or any other far country that lay beyond the 
great waters of the Tappaan Zee. 



CHAPTER IV. 

HOW THE HEROES OF COMMUNIPAW VOYAGED ' 
TO HELL-GATE, AND HOW THEY WERE RE- ' 
CEIVED THERE. 

And now the rosy blush of morn began to man- 
tle in the east, and soon the rising sun, emerging 
from amidst golden and purple clouds, shed his 
blithesome rays on the tin weathercocks of Com- 
munipaw. It was that delicious season of the year, 
when nature, breaking from the chilling thraldom 
of old winter, like a blooming damsel from the tyr- 
anny of a sordid old father, threw herself, blushing 
with ten thousand charms, into the arms of youthful 
spring. Every tufted copse and blooming grove re- 
sounded with the notes of hymenial love. The 
very insects, as they sipped the dew that gemmed 
the tender grass of the meadows, joined in the joy- 
ous epithalamium — the virgin bud timidly put forth 
its blushes, " the voice of the turtle was heard in 
the land," and the heart of man dissolved away in 
tenderness. Oh ! sweet Theocritus ! had I thine 
oaten reed, wherewith thou erst didst charm the ' 
gay Sicilian plains. — Or oh! gentle BionI thy pas- 
toral pipe, wherein the happy swains of the Lesbian 
isle so much delighted, then might I attempt to sing, 
in soft Bucolic or negligent Idyllium, the rural beau- 
ties of the scene — but having nothing, save this 
jaded goose-quill, where^vith to wing my flight, I 
must fain resign all poetic disportings of the fancy, 
and pursue my narrative in humbie prose ; comfort- 
ing myself with the hope, that though it may not 
steal so sweetly upon the imagination of my reader, 
yet may it commend itself, with virgin modestv. to 
his better judgment, clothed in the chaste and sim- 
ple garb of truth. 

No sooner did the first rays of cheerful Phoebus 
dart into the windows of Communipaw, than the 
little settlement was all in motion. Forth issued 
from his castle the sage Van Kortlandt, and seizing 
a conch-shell, ble.v a far- resounding blast, that soon 
summoned all his lusty followers. Then did they 
trudge resolutely down to the water-side, escorted 
by a multitude of relatives and friends, who all went 
down, as the common phrase expresses it, " to see 
them off." And this shows the antiquity of those 
long family processions, often seen in our city, 
composed of all ages, sizes, and sexes, laden with 
bundles, and bandboxes, escorting some bevy of 
country cousins about to depart for home in a mar- 
ket-boat. 

The good Oloffe bestowed his forces in a squad- 
ron of three canoes, and hoisted his flag on board a 
little round Dutch boat, shaped not unlike a tub, 
which had formerly been the jolly-boat of the Goede 
Vrouw. And now all being embarked, they bade 
farewell to the gazing throng upon the beach, who 
continued shouting after them, even when out of 
hearing, wishing them a happy voyage, advising 
them to take good care of themselves, and not to 
get drowned — with an abundance other of those 
sage and invaluable cautions, generally given by 
landsmen to such as go down to the sea in ships, 
and adventure upon the deep waters. In the mean- 
while, the voyagers cheerily urged their course 
across the crystal bosom of the bay, and soon lift 
behind them the green shores of ancient Pavonia. 

And first they touched at two small islands which 
lie nearly opposite Communipaw, and which are said 
to have been brought into existence about the time 
of the great irruption of the Hudson, when it broke 
through the Highlands, and made its way to the 
ocean.* For in this tremendous uproar of the wa- 



* It is a matter long since established by certain of our philoso- 
phers, that is to say, h ving been often advanced, and never con- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



5G3 



ters, we are told that many huge fragments of rock 
and land were rent from the mountains and swept 
down by this runaway river for sixty or seventy 
miles ; where some of them ran aground on the 
shoals just opposite Communipaw, and formed the 
identical islands in question, while others drifted out 
to sea and were never heard of more. A sufficient 
proof of the fact is, that the rock which forms the 
bases of these islands is exactly similir to that of 
the Highlands, and, moreover, one of our philoso- 
phers, who has diligently compared the agreement 
of their respective surfaces, has even gone so far as 
to assure me, in confidence, that Gibbet Island was 
originallv nothing more nor less than a wart on An- 
thony's Nose.* 

Leaving these wonderful little isles, they next 
coasted by Governor's Island, since terrible from 
its frowning fortress and grinning batteries. They 
would by no means, however, land upon this island, 
since they doubted much it might be the abode ot 
demons and spirits which in those days did greatly 
abound throughout this savage and pagan country. 

Just at this time a shoal of jolly porpoises came 
rolling and tumbling by, turning up their sleek sides 
to the sun, and spouting up the briny element in 
sparkling showers. No sooner did the sage Oloffe 
mark this, than he was greatly rejoiced. "This," 
exclaimed he, "if I mistake not, augurs well— the 
porpoise is a fat, well-conditioned fish — a burgomas- 
ter among fishes — his looks betoken ease, plenty, 
and prosperity — I greatly admire this round, fat fish, 
and doubt not but this is a happy omen of the suc- 
cess of our undertaking." So saying, he directed 
his squadron to steer in the track of these alderman 
fishes. 

Turning, therefore, directly to the left, they swept 
up the strait vulgarly called the East River. And 
here the rapid tide which courses through this strait, 
seizing on the gallant tub in which Commodore Van 
KortUindt had embarked, hurried it forward with a 
velocity unparalleled in a Dutch boat, na\'igated by 
Dutchmen ; insomuch that the good commodore, 
who had all his lite long been accustomed only to 
the drowsy navigation of canals, was more than 
ever convinced that they were in the hands of some 
supernatural power, and that the jolly porpoises 
were towing them to some fair haven that was to 
fulfill all their wishes and expectations. 

Thus borne away by the resistless current, they 
doubled that boisterous point of land since called 
Corlear's Hook,t and leaving to the right the rich 
winding cove of the Wallabout, they drifted into a 
magnificent expanse of water, surrounded by pleas- 
ant shores, whose verdure was exceedingly refreshing 
to the eye. While the voyagers were looking around 
them, on what they conceived to be a serene and 
sunny lake, they beheld at a distance a crew of paint- 
ed savages, busily employed in fishing, who seemed 
more like the genii of this romantic region — their 
slender canoe lightly balanced like a feather on the 
undulating surface of the bay. 

At sight of these, the hearts of the heroes of Com- 
munipaw were not a little troubled. But as good 
fortune would have it, at the bow of the commodore's 
boat was stationed a very valiant man, named Hen- 



tradicted, it has grown to be pretty nigh equal to a settled fact, 
th.it the Hudson was originally a lake, dammed up by the mount- 
ains of the Highlands. In process of time, however, becoming 
very mighty and obstreperous, and the mountains wa.xing pursy, 
dropsical, and wealc in the back, by reason of their extreme old 
age, it suddenly rose upon them, and after a violent struggle 
effected its escape. This is said to have come to pass in very re- 
mote time ; probably before that, rivers had lost the art of running 
lip hill. The foregoing is a theory in which I do not pretend to be 
skilled, notwithstanding that I do fully give it my belief. 

* A promontory in the Highlands. 

+ Properly spelt hoeck^ {i. f,, a point of land.) 



drick Kip, (which being interpreted, means chicken, 
a name given him in token of his courage.) No 
sooner did he behold these varlet heathens than he 
trembled with excessive valour, and although a good 
half mile distant, he seized a musquetoon that lay at 
hand, and turning away his head, fired it most intrep- 
idly in the face of the blessed sun. The blundering 
weapon recoiled and gave the valiant Kip an igno- 
minious kick, that laicl him prostrate with uplifted 
heels in the bottom of the boat. But such was the 
effect of this tremendous fire, that the wild men of 
the woods, struck with consternation, seized hastily 
upon their paddles, and shot away into one of the 
deep inlets of the Long Island shore. 

This signal victory gave new spirits to the hardy 
voyagers, and in honour of the achievement they 
gave the name of the valiant Kip to the surrounding 
bay, and it has continued to be called KlP'S Bay 
from that time to the present. The heart of the good 
Van Kortlandt — who, having no land of his own, was 
a great admirer of other people's — expanded at the 
sumptuous prospect of rich, unsettled country around 
him, and falling into a delicious reverie, he straight- 
way began to riot in the possession of vast meadows 
of salt marsh and interminable patches of cabbages. 
From this delectable vision he was all at once awak- 
ened by the sudden turning of the tide, which would 
soon have hurried him from this land of promise, had 
not the discreet navigator given signal to steer for 
shore ; where they accordingly landed hard by the 
rocky heights of Bellevue — that happy retreat, where 
our jolly aldermen eat for the good of the city, and 
fatten the turtle that are sacrificed on civic solem- 
nities. 

Here, seated on the greensward, by the side of a 
small stream that ran sparkling among the grass, they 
refreshed themselves after the toils of the seas, by 
feasting lustilv on the ample stores which they had 
provided for this perilous voyage. Thus having well 
fortified their deliberative powers, they fell into an 
earnest consultation, what was farther to be done. 
This was the first council dinner ever eaten at Belle- 
vue by Christian burghers, and here, as tradition re- 
lates, did originate the great family feud between the 
Hardenbroccks and the Tenbroecks, which after- 
wards had a singular influence on the building of the 
city. The sturdy Hardenbroeck, whose eyes had 
been wondrously delighted with the salt marshes 
that spread their reeking bosoms along the coast, at 
the bottom of Kip's Bay, counselled by all means to 
return thither, and found the intended city. This 
was strenuously opposed by the unbending Ten 
Broeck, and many testy arguments passed between 
them. The particulars of the controversy have not 
reached us, which is ever to lie lamented ; this much 
is certain, that the sage Oloffe put an end to the dis- 
pute, by determining to explore still farther in the 
route which the mysterious porpoises had so clearly 
pointed out — whereupon the sturdy Tough Breeches 
abandoned the expedition, took possession of a neigh- 
bouring hill, and in a fit of great wrath peopled all 
that tract of country, which has continued to be in- 
habited by the Hardenbroecks unto this very day. 

By this time the jolly Phoebus, like some wanton 
urchin sporting on the side of a green hill, began to 
roll down the declivity of the heavens ; and nosv, the 
tide having once more turned in their favour, the 
resolute Pavonians again committed themselves 
to its discretion, and coasting along the western 
shores, were borne towards the straits of Blackwell's 
Island. 

And here the capricious wanderings of the current 
occasioned not a little marvel and perplexity to these 
illustrious mariners. Now would they be caught by 
the wanton eddies, and, sweeping round a jutting 



j64 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



point, would wind deep into some romantic little 
cove, that indented the fair island of Manna-hata ; 
now were they hurried narrowly by the very basis 
of impending rocks, mantled with the flaunting grape- 
vine, and crowned with groves that threw a broad 
shade on the waves beneath ; and anon they were 
borne away into the mid-channel, and wafted along 
with a rapidity that very much discomposed the sage 
Van Kortlandt, who, as he saw the land swiftly 
receding on either side, began exceedingly to doubt 
that terra firma was giving them the slip. 

Wherever the voyagers turned their eyes, a new 
creation seemed to bloom around. No signs of 
human thrift appeared to check the delicious wildness 
of nature, who here revelled in all her luxuriant va- 
riety. Those hills, now bristled, like the fretful por- 
cupine, with rows of poplars, (vain upstart plants ! 
minions of wealth and fashion !) were then adorned 
with the vigorous natives of the soil ; the lordly oak, 
the generous chestnut, the graceful elm — while here 
and there the tulip-tree reared his majestic head, the 
giant of the forest. — Where now are seen the gay 
retreats of ki.xury — villas half buried in twilight 
bowers, whence the amorous flute oft breathes the 
sighings of some city swain — there the fish-hawk 
built his solitary nest, on some dry trees that over- 
looked his watery domain. The timid deer fed un- 
disturbed along those shores now hallowed by the 
lover's moonlight walk, and printed by the slender 
foot of beauty ; and a savage solitude extended over 
those happy regions where now are reared the 
stately towers of the Jones's, the Schermerhornes, 
and the Rhinelanders. 

Thus gliding in silent wonder through these new 
and unknown scenes, the gallant squadron of Pa- 
vonia swept by the foot of a promontory that strutted 
forth boldly into the waves, and seemed to frown 
upon them as they brawled against its base. This 
is the bluff well known to modern mariners by the 
name of Grade's point, from the fair castle which, 
like an elephant, it carries upon its back. And here 
broke upon their view a wild and varied prospect, 
where land and water were beauteously intermin- 
gled, as though they had combined to heighten and 
set off each other's charms. To their right lay the 
sedgy point of Blackwell's Island, drest in the fresh 
garniture of living green — beyond it stretched the 
pleasant coast of Sundswick, and the small harbour 
well known by the name of Hallet's Cove — a place 
infamous in latter days, by reason of its being the 
haunt of pirates who infest these seas, robbing or- 
chards and watermelon patches, and insulting gen- 
tlemen navigators when voyaging in their pleasure- 
boats. To the left a deep bay, or rather creek, 
gracefully receded between shores fringed with for- 
ests, and forming a kind of vista, through which 
were beheld the sylvan regions of Haerlem, Morris- 
ania, and East Chester. Here the eye reposed with 
delight on a richly-wooded country, diversified by 
tufted knolls, shadowy intervals, and waving lines of 
upland swelling above each other ; while over the 
whole the purple mists of spring diffused a hue of 
soft voluptuousness. 

Just before them the grand course of the stream, 
making a sudden bend, wound among em'oowered 
promontories and shores of emerald verdure, that 
seemed to melt into the wave. A character of gen- 
tleness and mild fertility prevailed around. The sun 
had just descended, and the thin haze of twilight, 
like a transparent veil drawn over the bosom of vir- 
gin beauty, heightened the charms which it half 
concealed. 

Ah! witching scenes of foul delusion ! Ah! hap- 
less voyagers, gazing with simple wonder on these 
Circean shores ! Such, alas ! are they, poor easy 



souls, who listen to the seductions of a wicked world 
— treacherous are its smiles ! fatal its caresses ! 
He who yields to its enticem.ents launches upon a 
whelming tide, and trusts his feeble bark among the 
dimpling eddies of a whirlpool ! And thus it fared 
with the worthies of Pavonia, who little mistrusting 
the guileful scene before them, drifted quietly on, 
until they were aroused by an uncommon tossing 
and agitation of their vessels. For now the late 
dimpling current began to brawl around them, and 
the waves to boil and foam with horrific fury. Awak- 
ened as if from a dream, the astonished Oloffe bawled 
aloud to put about, but his words were lost amid 
the roaring of the waters. And now ensued a scene 
of direful consternation — at one time they were borne 
with dreadful velocity among tumultuous breakers; 
at another, hurried down boisterous rapids. Now 
they were nearly dashed upon the Hen and Chick- 
ens ; (infamous rocks ! — more voracious than Scylla 
and her whelps ;) and anon they seemed sinking into 
yawning gulfs, that threatened to entomb them be- 
neath the waves. All the elements combined to 
produce a hideous confusion. The waters raged — 
the winds howled — and as they were hurried along, 
several of the astonished mariners beheld the rocks 
and trees of the neighbouring shores driving through 
the air ! 

At length the mighty tub of Commodore Van 
Kortlandt was drawn into the vortex of that tremen- 
dous whirlpool called the Pot, where it was whirled 
about in giddy mazes, until the senses of the good 
commander and his crew were overpowered by the 
horror of the scene and the strangeness of the revo- 
lution. 

How the gallant squadron of Pavonia was snatched 
from the jaws of this modern Charj'bdis, has never 
been truly made known, for so many survived to tell 
the tale, and, what is still more wonderiul, told it in 
so many different ways, that there has ever prevailed 
a great variety of opinions on the subject. 

As to the commodore and his crew, when they 
came to their senses they found themselves stranded 
on the Long Island shore. The worthy commodore, 
indeed, used to relate many and wonderful stories of 
his adventures in this time of peril ; how that he saw 
spectres flying in the air, and heard the yelling of 
hobgoblins, and put his hand into the Pot when they 
were whirled around and found the water scalding 
hot, and beheld several uncouth-looking beings seat- 
ed on rocks and skimming it with huge ladles — but 
particularly he declared, with great exultation, that 
he saw the losel porpoises, which had betrayed them 
into this peril, some broiling on the Gridiron and 
others hissing in the Frying-pan ! 

These, however, were considered by many as mere 
phantasies of the commodore's imagination, while 
he lay in a trance ; especially as he was known to be 
given to dreaming ; and the truth of them has never 
been clearly ascertained. It is certain, however, 
that to the accounts of Oloffe and his followers may 
be traced the various traditions handed down of this 
marvellous strait — as how the devil has been seen 
there, sitting astride of the Hog's Back and playing 
on the fiddle — how he broils fish there before a 
storm ; and many other stories, in which we must 
be cautious of putting too much faith. In conse- 
quence of all these terrific circumstances, the Pavo- 
nian commander gave this pass the name of Helte- 
gat, or as it has been interpreted, Hcll-gaie ;* which 
it continues to bear at the present day. 

* This is a narrow strait in the Sound, at the distance of six miles 
above New-York. It is dangerous to shipping, unless under the 
care of skilt'ul pilots, by reason of numerous rocks, shelves, a:id 
whirlpools. These have received sundry appellations, such as the 
Gridiron, Frying-pan, Hog's Back. Pot, &c.. and are very violent 
and turbulent at certain times of the tide. Certain wise men, who 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



565 



CHAPTER V. 

HOW THE HEROES OF COMMUNIPAW RETURNED 
SOMEWHAT WISER THAN THEY WENT — AND 
HOW THE SAGE OLOFFE DREAMED A DREAM — 
AND THE DREAM THAT HE DREAMED. 

The darkness of night had closed upon this dis- 
astrous day. and a doleful night was it to the ship- 
wrecked Pavonians, whose ears were incessantly 
assailed with the raging of the elements, and the 
howling of the hobgoblins that infested this perfidi- 
ous strait. But when the morning dawned, the hor- 
rors of the preceding evening had passed away ; 
rapids, breakers, and whirlpools had disappeared ; 
the stream again ran smooth and dimpling, and hav- 
ing changed its tide, rolled gently back, towards the 
quarter where lay their much-regretted home. 

The woe-begone heroes of Communipaw eyed each 
other with rueful countenances ; their squadron had 
been totally dispersed by the late disaster. Some 
were cast upon the western shore, where, headed by 
one Ruleff Hopper, they took possession of all the 
country laving about the six-mile stone ; which is 
held by the Hoppers at this present writing. 

The Waldrons were driven by stress of weather 
to a distant coast, where, having with them a jug of 
genuine Hollands, they were enabled to conciliate 
the savages, setting up a kind of tavern ; from 
whence, it is said, did spring the fair town of Haer- 
lem, in which their descendants have ever since con- 
tinued to be reputable publicans. As to the Suy- 
dams, they were thrown upon the Long Island coast, 
and may still be found in those parts. But the most 
singular luck attended the great Ten Broeck, who, 
falling overboard, was miraculously preserved from 
sinking by the multitude of his nether garments. 
Thus buoyed up, he floated on the waves, like a 
merman, or like the cork float of an angler, until he 
landed safely on a rock, where he was found the 
next morning, busily drying his many breeches in 
the sunshine. 

I forbear to treat of the long consultation of our 
adventurers — how they determined that it would not 
do to found a city in this diabolical neighbourhood — 
and how at length, with fear and trembling, they 
ventured once more upon the briny element, and 
steered their course back for Communipaw. Suffice 
it, in simple brevity, to say, that after toiling back 
through the scenes of their yesterday's voyage, they 
at length opened the southern point of Manna-hata, 
and gained a distant view of their beloved Commu- 
nipaw. 

And here they were opposed by an obstinate eddy, 
that resisted all the efforts of the exhausted mari- 
ners. Weary and dispirited, they could no longer 
make head against the power of the tide, or rather, 
as some will have it, of old Neptune, who, anxious 
to guide them to a spot whereon should be founded 
his stronghold in this western world, sent half a 
score of potent billows, that rolled the tub of Com- 
modore Van Kortlandt high and dry on the shores 
of Manna-hata. 

Having thus in a manner been gfuided by super- 
natural power to this delightful island, their first care 
was to light a fire at the foot of a large tree, that 
stood upon the point at present called the Battery. 



instruct these modern days have softened the above characteristic 
name into ///(rZ-c-rt/t-, which means nothing, I leave them to give 
their own etymology. The name as given by our author is sup- 
ported by the map in Vander Donclc's history, published in 1656 — 
by Ogilvie's history of America. 1671 — as also by a journal still ex- 
tant, written in the i6th century, and to be found in Hazard's State 
Papers. And an old MS., written in French, speaking of various 
alterations in names about this city, observes, " De Ht:lte-gat trou 
d'tnfer, ils ont fait Hell-gate. Porte d'Enfer." 



Then gathering together great store of oysters which 
abounded on the shore, and emptying the contents 
of their wallets, they prepared and made a sumptu- 
ous council repast. The worthy Van Kortlandt was 
observed lo be particularly zealous in his devotions to 
the trencher ; for having the cares of the expedition 
especially committed to his care, he deemed it in- 
cumbent on him to eat profoundly for the public 
good. In proportion as he filled himself to the very 
brim with the dainty viands before him, did the heart 
of this excellent burgher rise up towards his throat, 
until he seemed crammed and almost choked with 
good eating and good nature. And at such times it 
is, when a man's heart is in his throat, that he may 
more truly be said to speak from it, and his speeches 
abound with kindness and good-fellowship. Thus 
the worthy Olofte having swallowed the last possible 
morsel, and washed it down with a fervent potation, 
felt his heart yearning, and his whole frame in a 
manner dilating with unbounded benevolence. Every 
thing around him seemed excellent and delightful ; 
and, laying his hands on each side of his capacious 
periphery', and rolling his half-closed eyes around on 
the beautiful diversity of land and water before him. 
he exclaimed, in a fat half-smothered voice, " what 
a charming prospect ! " The words died away in his 
throat — he seemed to ponder on the fair scene for a 
moment — his eye-lids heavily closed over their orbs 
— his head drooped upon his bosom — -he slowly sunk 
upon the green turf, and a deep sleep stole gradu- 
ally upon him. 

And the sage Oloffe dreamed a dream — and lo, the 
good St. Nicholas came riding over the tops of the 
trees, in that self-same wagon wherein he brings his 
yearly presents to children, and he came and de- 
scended hard by where the heroes of Communipaw 
had made their late repast. And the shrewd Van 
Kortlandt knew him by his broad hat, his long pipe, 
and the resemblance which he bore to the figure on 
the bow of the Goede Vrouvv. And he lit his pipe 
by the fire, and sat himself down and smoked ; and 
as he smoked, the smoke from his pipe ascended into 
the air, and spread like a cloud overhead. And 
Oloffe bethought him, and he hastened and climbed 
up to the top of one of the tallest trees, and saw that 
the smoke spread over a great extent of country — 
and as he considered it more attentively, he fancied 
that the great volume of smoke assumed a variety of 
marvellous forms, where in dim obscurity he saw 
shadowed out palaces and domes and lofty spires, all 
of which lasted but a moment, and then faded away, 
until the whole rolled off, and nothing but the green 
woods were left. And when St. Nicholas had smoked 
his pipe, he twisted it in his hat-band, and laying his 
finger beside his nose, gave the astonished Van 
Kortlandt a very significant wink, then mounting his 
wagon, he returned over the tree-tops and disap- 
peared. 

And Van Kortlandt awoke from his sleep greatly 
instructed, and he aroused his companions, and re- 
lated to them his dream, and interpreted it. that it 
was the will of St. Nicholas that they should settle 
down and build the city here. And that the smoke 
of the pipe was a type how vast should be the extent 
of the city ; inasmuch as the volumes of its smoke 
should spread over a wide extent of country. And 
they all, with one voice, assented to this interpreta- 
tion, excepting Mynheer Ten Broeck, who declared 
the meaning to be that it should be a city wherein a 
little fire should occasion a great smoke, or in other 
words, a very vapouring little city — both which in- 
terpretations have strangely come to pass ! 

"The great object of their perilous expedition, there- 
fore, being thus happily accomplished, the voyagers 
returned merrily to Communipaw, where they were 



566 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



received with great rejoicings. And here calling a 
general meeting of all the wise men and the digni- 
taries of Pavonia, they related the whole history of 
their voyage, and of the dream of Oloffe Van Kort- 
landt. And the people lifted up their voices and 
blessed the good St. Nicholas, and from that time 
forth the sage Van Kortlandt was held more in 
honour than ever, for his great talent at dreaming, 
and was pronounced a most useful citizen and a right 
good man — when he was asleep. 



CHAPTER VI. 



CONTAINING AN ATTEMPT AT ETYMOLOGY — AND 
OF THE FOUNDING OF THE GREAT CITY OF 
NEW AMSTERDAM. 

The original name of the island wherein the squad- 
ron of Communipaw was thus propitiously thrown, 
is a matter of some dispute, and has already under- 
gone considerable vitiation — a melancholy proof of 
the instability of all sublunary things, and the vanity 
of all our hopes of lasting fame ! for who can expect 
his name will live to posteritv, when even the names 
of mighty islands are thus soon lost in contradiction 
and uncertainty.' 

The name most current at the present day, and 
which is likew'ise countenanced by the great histo- 
rian Vander Donck, is !\Ianh.ATT.4N ; which is said 
to have originated in a custom among the squaws, in 
the early settlement, of wearing men's hats, as is 
still done among many tribes. " Hence," as we are 
told by an old governor who was somewhat of a wag. 
and flourished almost a century since, and had paid 
a visit to the wits of Philadelphia, " hence arose the 
appellation of man-hat-on, first given to the Indians, 
and afterwards to the island " — a stupid joke ! — but 
well enough for a governor. 

Among the more venerable sources of information 
on this subject, is that valuable history of the Amer- 
ican possessions, w-ritten by Master Richard Blome 
in 1687, wherein it is called Manhadaes and Mana- 
hanent ; nor must I forget the excellent little book, 
full of precious matter, of that authentic historian, 
John Josselyn, Gent., who expressly calls it Mana- 
daes. 

Another etymology still more ancient, and sanc- 
tioned by the countenance of our ever-to-be-lament- 
ed Dutch ancestors, is that found in certain letters 
still extant ;* which passed between the early gov- 
ernors and their neighbouring powers, wherein it is 
called indifferently Monhattocs — Munhatos, and 
Manhattoes, which are evidently unimportant varia- 
tions of the same name ; for our wise forefathers set 
httle store by those niceties either in orthography or 
orthoepy, which form the sole study and ambition of 
many learned men and women of this hypercritical 
age. This last name is said to be derived from the 
great Indian spirit Manetho, who was supposed to 
make this island his favourite abode, on account of 
its uncommon delights. For the Indian traditions 
affirm that the bay was once a translucid lake, filled 
with sdver and golden fish, in the midst of which lay 
this beautiful island, covered with every variety of 
fruits and flowers ; but that the sudden irruption of 
the Hudson laid waste these blissful scenes, and 
Manetho took his flight beyond the great waters of 
Ontario. 

These, however, are fabulous legends to which 
very cautious credence must be given ; and although 
I am willing to admit the last quoted orthography 



* Vide Hazard's Col. State Papers- 



of the name, as very suitable for prose, yet is there 
another one founded on still more ancient and indis- 
putable authority, which I particularly delight in, 
seeing that it is at once poetical, melodious, and sig- 
nificant — and this is recorded in the before-mention- 
ed voyage of the great Hudson, written by Master 
Juet ; who clearly and correctly calls it M.\NNA- 
HATA — that is to say, the island of Manna, or in 
other words — " a land flowing with milk and honey ! " 

It having been solemnly resolved that the seat of 
empire should be transferred from the green shores 
of Pavonia to this delectable island, a vast multitude 
embarked, and migrated across the mouth of the 
Hudson, under the guidance of Oloffe the Dreamer, 
who was appointed protector or patron to the new 
settlement. 

And here let me bear testimony to the matchless 
honesty and magnanimity of our worthy forefathers, 
vyho purchased the soil of the native Indians before 
erecting a single roof — a circumstance singular and 
almost incredible in the annals of discovery and col- 
onization. 

The first settlement was made on the south-west 
point of the island, on the very spot where the good 
St. Nicholas had appeared in the dream. Here they 
built a mighty and impregnable fort and trading 
house, called FORT Amsterdam, which stood on 
that eminence at present occupied by the custom- 
house, with the open space now called the Bowling- 
Green in front. 

Around this potent fortress was soon seen a nu- 
merous progeny of little Dutch houses, with tiled 
roofs, all which seemed most lovingly to nestle under 
its walls, like a brood of half-fledged chickens shel- 
tered under the wings of the mother hen. The 
whole was surrounded by an inclosure of strong 
palisadoes, to guard against any sudden irruption of 
the savages, who wandered in hordes about the 
swamps and forests that extended over those tracts 
of country at present called Broadway, Wall-street, 
William-street, and Pearl-street. 

No sooner was the colony once planted, than it 
took root and throve amazingly ; for it would seem 
that this thrice-favoured island is like a munificent 
dunghill, where every foreign weed finds kindly 
nourishment, and soon shoots up and expands to 
greatness. 

And now the infant settlement having advanced 
in age and stature, it was thought high time it should 
receive an honest Christian name, and it was ac- 
cordingly called New-Amsterdam. It is true, there 
were some advocates for the original Indian name, 
and many of the best writers ot the province did 
long continue to call it by the title of " Manhattoes ; " 
but this was discountenanced by the authorities, as 
being heathenish and savage. Besides, it was con- 
sidered an excellent and praiseworthy measure to 
name it after a great city of the old world ; as by 
that means it was induced to emulate the greatness 
and renown of its namesake — in the manner that 
little snivelling urchins are called after great states- 
men, saints, and worthies and renowned generals of 
yore, upon which they all industriously copy their 
examples, and come to be very mighty men in their 
day and generation. 

The thriving state of the settlement, and the rapid 
increase of houses, gradually awakened the good 
Oloffe from a deep lethargy, into which he had fallen 
after the building of the tort. He now began to think 
it was time some plan should be devised on which 
the increasing town should be built. Summoning, 
therefore, his counsellors and coadjutors together, 
they took pipe in mouth, and forthwith sunk into a 
very sound deliberation on the subject. 

At the very outset of the business an unexpected 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



567 



difference of opinion arose, and I mention it with 
much sorrowing, as being the first altercation on 
record in the councils of New-Amsterdam. It was 
a breaking forth of the grudge and heartburning that 
had existed between those two eminent burghers, 
Mynheers Tenbroeck and Hardenbroeck, ever since 
their unhappy altercation on the coast of Bellevue. 
The great Hardenbroeck had wa.xed very wealthy 
and powerful, from his domains, which embraced 
the whole chain of Apulean mountains that stretched 
along the gulf of Kip's Bay, and from part of which 
his descendants have been expelled in latter ages by 
the powerful clans of the Jones's and the Schermer- 
hornes. 

An ingenious plan for the city was offered by Myn- 
heer Tenbroeck, who proposed that it should be cut 
up and intersected by canals, after the manner of the 
most admired cities in Holland. To this Mynheer 
Hardenbroeck was diametrically opposed, suggesting 
in place thereof, that they should run out docks and 
wharves, by means of piles driven into the bottom 
of the river, on which the town should be built. By 
these means, said he triumphantly, shall we rescue a 
considerable space of territory from these immense 
rivers, and build a city that shall rival Amsterdam, 
Venice, or any amphibious city in Europe. To this 
proposition. Ten Broeck (or Ten Breeches) replied, 
with a look of as much scorn as he could possibly 
assume. He cast the utmost censure upon the plan 
of his antagonist, as being preposterous, and against 
the very order of things, as he would leave to every 
true Hollander. "For what," said he, "is a town 
without canals ? — it is a body without veins and 
arteries, and must perish for want of a free circula- 
tion of the vital lluid." — Tough Breeches, on the 
contrary, retorted with a sarcasm upon his antago- 
nist, who was somewhat of an arid, diy-boned habit ; 
he remarked, that as to the circulation of the blood 
being necessary to existence, Mynheer Ten Breeches 
was a living contradiction to his own assertion ; for 
eveiy body knew there had not a drop of blood cir- 
culated through his wind-dried carcass for good ten 
years, and yet there was not a greater busy-body in 
the whole colony. Personalities have seldom much 
eflect in making converts in argument— nor have I 
ever seen a man convinced of error by being con- 
victed of deformity. At least such was not the case 
at present. Ten Breeches was very acrimonious in 
reply, and Tough Breeches, who was a sturdy little 
man, and never gave up the last word, rejoined with 
increasing spirit — Ten Breeches had the advantage 
of the greatest volubility, but Tough Breeches had 
that invaluable coat of mail in argument called ob- 
stinacy — Ten Breeches had, therefore, the most 
mettle, but Tough Breeches the best bottom — so 
that though Ten Breeches made a dreadful clatter- 
ing about his ears, and battered and belaboured him 
with hard words and sound arguments, yet Tough 
Breeches hung on most resolutely to the last. They 
parted, therefore, as is usual in all arguments where 
both parties are in the right, without coming to any 
conclusion— but they hated each other most heartily 
for ever after, and a similar breach with that between 
the houses of Capulet and Montague did ensue 
between the families of Ten Breeches and Tough 
Breeches. 

I would not fatigue my reader with these dull mat- 
ters of fact, but that my duty, as a faithful historian, 
requires that I should 'be particular— and, in truth, 
as I am now treating of the critical period, when 
our city, like a young twig, first received the twists 
and turns that have since contributed to give it the 
present picturesque irregularity for which it is cele- 
brated, I cannot be too minute in detailing their first 
causes. 



After the unhappy altercation I have just mention- 
ed, I do not find that any thing farther was said on 
the subject worthy of being recorded. The council, 
consisting of the largest and oldest heads in the com- 
munity, met regularly once a week, to ponder on this 
momentous subject. But either they were deterred 
by the war of words they had witnessed, or they 
were naturally averse to the exercise of the tongue, 
and the consequent exercise of the brains— certain 
it is, the most profound silence was maintained — the 
question as usual lay on the table — the members 
quietly smoked their pipes, making but few laws, 
without ever enforcing any, and in the meantime 
the affairs of the settlement went on — as it pleased 
God. 

As most of the council were but little skilled in 
the mystery of combining pot-hooks and hangers, 
they determined most judiciously not to puzzle either 
themselves or posterity with voluminous records. 
The secretary, however, kept the minutes of the 
council with tolerable precision, in a large vellum 
folio, fastened with massy brass clasps ; the journal 
of each meeting consisted but of two lines, stating in 
Dutch, that " the council sat this day, and smoked 
twelve pipes, on the affairs of the colony." — By 
which it appears that the first settlers did not regu- 
late their time by hours, but pipes, in the same man- 
ner as they measure distances in Holland at this very 
time ; an admirably exact measurement, as a pipe in 
the mouth of a true-born Dutchman is never liable 
to those accidents and irregularities that are con- 
tinually putting our clocks out of order. It is said, 
moreover, that a regular smoker was appointed as 
council clock, whose duty was to sit at the elbow 
of the president and smoke incessantly : every puff 
marked a division of time as exactly as a second- 
hand, and the knocking out of the ashes of his pipe 
was equivalent to striking the hour. 

In this manner did the profound council of New- 
Amsterdam smoke, and doze, and ponder, from 
week to week, month to month, and year to year, in 
what manner they should construct their infant set- 
tlement — meanwhile, the town took care of itself, 
and like a sturdy brat which is suffered to run about 
wild, unshackled by clouts and bandages, and other 
abominations by which your notable nurses and sage 
old women cripple and disfigure the children of men, 
increased so rapidly in strength and magnitude, that 
before the honest burgomasters had determined 
upon a plan, it was too late to put it in execution — 
whereupon they wisely abandoned the subject al- 
together. 



CHAPTER VII. 



HOW THE CITY OF NEW - AMSTERDAM WAXED 
GREAT, UNDER THE PROTECTION OF OLOFFE 
THE DREAMER. 

There is something exceedingly delusive in thus 
looking back, through the long vista of departed 
years, and catching a glimpse of the fairy realms of 
antiquity that lie beyond. Like some goodly land- 
scape melting into distance, they receive a thousand 
charms from their very obscurity, and the fancy de- 
lights to fill up their outlines with graces and excel- 
lencies of its own creation. Thus beam on my imag- 
ination those happier days of our city, when as yet 
New-Amsterdam was a mere pastoral town, shroud- 
ed in groves of sycamore and willows, and surrounded 
by trackless forests and wide-spreading waters, that 
seemed to shut out all the cares and vanities of a 
wicked world. 

In those days did this embryo city present the 
rare and noble spectacle of a community governed 



568 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



without laws ; and thus being left to its own course, 
and the fostering care of Providence, increased as 
rapidly as though it had been burthened with a dozen 
panniers-full of those sage laws that are usually heap- 
ed on the backs of young cities — in order to make 
them grow. And in this particular I greatly admire 
the wisdom and sound knowledge of human nature, 
displayed by the sage Oloffe the Dreamer, and his 
fellow-legislators. For my part, I have not so bad 
an opinion of mankind as many of my brother philos- 
ophers. I do not think poor human nature so sorry 
a piece of workmanship as they would make it out to 
be ; and as far as f have observed, I am fully satisfied 
that man, if left to himself, would about as readily go 
right as wrong. It is only this eternally sounding in 
his ears that it is his duty to go right, that makes him 
go the very reverse. The. noble independence of his 
nature revolts at this intolerable tyranny of law, and 
the perpetual interference of officious morality, which 
is ever besetting his path with finger-posts and di- 
rections to " keep to the right, as the law directs ; " 
and like a spirited urchin, he turns directly contrary, 
and gallops through mud and mire, over hedges and 
ditches, merely to show that he is a lad of spirit, and 
out of his leading-strings. And these opinions are 
amply substantiated by what I have above said of 
our worthy ancestors ; who never being be-preached 
and be-lectured, and guided and governed by statutes 
and laws and by-laws, as are their more enlightened 
descendants, did one and all demean themselves 
honestly and peaceably, out of pure ignorance, or in 
other words, because they knew no better. 

Nor must I omit to record one of the earliest 
measures of this infant settlement, inasmuch as it 
shows the piety of our forefathers, and that, like 
good Christians, they were always ready to serve 
God, after they had first served themselves. Thus, 
having quietly settled themselves down, and provided 
for their own comfort, they bethought themselves of 
testifying their gratitude to the great and good St. 
Nicholas, for his protecting care in guiding them to 
this delectable abode. To this end they built a fair 
and goodly chapel within the fort, which they con- 
secrated to his name ; whereupon he immediately 
took the town of New-Amsterdam under his pecul- 
iar patronage, and he has ever since been, and I 
devoutly hope will ever be, the tutelar saint of this 
excellent city. 

I am moreover told that there is a little legendary 
book, somewhere extant, written in Low Dutch, 
which says that the image of this renow'ned saint, 
which vvhilome graced the bowsprit of the Goede 
Vrouw, was elevated in front of this chapel, in the 
very centre of what, in modern days, is called the 
Bowling-Green. And the legend further treats of 
divers miracles wrought by the mighty pipe which 
the saint held in his mouth ; a whiff of which was a 
sovereign cure for an indigestion — an invaluable 
relic in this colony of brave trenchermen. As, how- 
ever, in spite of the most diligent search, I cannot 
lay my hands upon this little book, I must confess 
that 1 entertain considerable doubt on the subject. 

Thus benignly fostered by the good St. Nicholas, 
the burghers of New-Amsterdam beheld their settle- 
ment increase in magnitude and population, and 
soon become the metropolis of divers settlements, 
and an extensive territory. .Already had the disas- 
trous pride of colonies and dependencies, those banes 
of a sound-hearted empire, entered into their imag- 
inations; and Fort Aurania on the Hudson, Fort 
Nassau on the Delaware, and Fort Goede Hoep on 
the Connecticut river, seemed to be the darling off- 
spring of the venerable council.* Thus prosperously, 

* The province about this time, extended on the north to Fort 
Aurania, or Orange (now the city of AlbanyJ situated about Ibo 



to all appearance, did the province of New-Nether- 
lands advance in power ; and the early history of its 
metropolis presents a fair page, unsullied by crime 
or calamity. 

Hordes of painted savages still lurked about the 
tangled forests and rich bottoms of the unsettled 
part of the island — the hunter pitched his rude bower 
of skins and bark beside the rills that ran through 
the cool and shady glens ; while here and there 
might be seen on some sunny knoll, a group of In- 
dian wigwams, whose smoke rose above the neigh- 
bouring trees, and floated in the transparent at- 
mosphere. By degrees, a mutual good-will had 
grown up between these wandering beings and the 
burghers of New-Amsterdam. Our benevolent fore- 
fathers endeavoured as much as possible to meliorate 
their situation, by giving them gin, rum, and glass 
beads, in exchange for their peltries ; for it seems the 
kind-hearted Dutchmen had conceived a great friend- 
ship for their savage neighbours, on account of their 
being pleasant men to trade with, and little skilled in 
the art of making a bargain. 

Now and then a crew of these half-human sons of 
the forest would make their appearance in the streets 
of New-Amsterdam, fantastically painted and dec- 
orated with beads and flaunting feathers, sauntering 
about with an air of listless indifference — sometimes 
in the market-place, instructing the little Dutch 
boys in the use of the bow and arrow — at other 
times, inflamed with liquor, svvaggering and whoop- 
ing and yelling about the town like so many fiends, 
to the great dismay of all the good wives, who 
would hurry their children into the house, fasten the 
doors, and throw water upon the enemy from the 
garret-windows. It is worthy of mention here, that 
our forefathers were very particular in holding up these 
wild men as excellent domestic examples — and for 
reasons that may be gathered from the history of 
master Ogilby, who tells us, that " for the least of- 
fence the bridegroom soundly beats his wife and 
turns her out of doors, and marries another, inso- 
much that some of them have every year a new 
wife." Whether this awful example had any influ- 
ence or not, history does not mention ; but it is cer- 
tain that our grandmothers were miracles of fidelity 
and obedience. 

True it is, that the good understanding between 
our ancestors and their savage neighbours was 
liable to occasional interruptions ; and I have heard 
my grandmother, who was a very wise old woman, 
and well versed in the history of these parts, tell a 
long story, of a winter's evening, about a battle be- 
tween the New-Amsterdamers and the Indians, 
which was known by the name of the Peach War, 
and which took place near a peach orchard, in a 
dark glen, which for a long while went by the name 
of the Murderer's Valley. 

The legend of this sylvan war was long current 
among the nurses, old wives, and other ancient 
chroniclers of the place ; but time and improvement 
have almost obliterated both the tradition and the 
scene of battle ; for what was once the blood-stained 
valley is now in the centre of this populous city, and 
known by the name of Dey-strect. 

The accumulating wealth and consequence of 
New-Amsterdam and its dependencies at length 
awakened the tender solicitude of the mother coun- 



miles up the Hudson river. Indeed, the province claimed quite to 
the river St. Lawrence ; but this claim was not much insisted on at 
the lime, as the country beyond Fort Aurania was a perfect wilder- 
ness. On the south, the province re.iched to Fort S^ass.iu, on the 
South river, since called the Delaware ; and on the east, it extend- 
ed to the Varshe (or fresh) river, now the Connecticut. On this 
last frontier was likewise erected a fort or trading house, much 
about the spot where at present is situated the pleasant town of 
Hartford. This w.as called Fort Goede Hoep, (or liood Hope) and 
was intended as well for the purposes of trade, as of defence. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



569 



Irj- : who, finding- it a tliriving and opulent colony, 
and that it promised to yield great profit, and no 
trouble, all at once became wonderl'ully anxious 
about its safety, and began to load it with tokens of 
regard, in the same manner that your knowing peo- 
ple are sure to overwhelm rich relations with their 
affection and loving-kindness. 

The usual marks of protection shown by mother 
countries to wealthy colonies were forthwith mani- 
fested — the first care always being to send rulers to 
the new settlement, with orders to squeeze as much 
revenue from it as it will yield. Accordingly, in the 
year of our Lord 1629, Mynheer Wouter Van 
TwiLLER was appointed governor of the province 
of Nieuw-Nederiandts, under the commission and 
control of their High Mightinesses, the Lords States 
General of the United Netherlands, and the privi- 
leged West India Company. 

This renowned old gentleman arrived at New- 
Amsterdam in the merry month of June, the sweet- 
est month in all the year; when Dan Apollo seems 
to dance up the transparent firmament — when the 
robin, the thrush, and a thousand other wanton 
songsters make the woods to resound with amorous 
ditties, and the luxurious little boblincon revels 
among the clover blossoms of the meadows — all 
which happy coincidence persuaded the old dames 
of New-Amsterdam, w'ho were skilled in the art of 
foretelling events, that this was to be a happy and 
prosperous administration. 

But as it would be derogatory to the consequence 
of the first Dutch governor of the great province of 
Nieuw-Nederlandts, to be thus scur\'ily introduced 
at the end of the chapter, I will put an end to this 
second book of my history, that I may usher him in 
with more dignity in the beginning of my next. 



BOOK III. 

IN WHICH IS RECORDED THE GOLDEN REIGN OF 
WOUTER VAN TWILLER. 



CHAPTER I. 

OF THE RENOWNED WALTER VAN TWILLER — HIS 
UNPARALLELED VIRTUES^AND LIKEWISE HIS 
UNUTTERABLE WISDOM IN THE LAW-CASE OF 
WANDLE SCHOONHOVEN AND BARENT BLEECK- 
ER — AND THK GREAT ADMIR.\TION OF THE 
PUBLIC THEREAT. 

Grievous and very much to be commiserated is 
the task of the feeling historian who writes the his- 
tory of his native land. If it fall to his lot to be the 
sad recorder of calamity or crime, the mournful page 
is watered with his tears — nor can he recall the most 
prosperous and blissful era, without a melancholy 
sigh at the reflection that it has passed away for 
ever ! I know not whether it be owing to an im- 
moderate love for the simplicity of former times, or 
to that certain tenderness of heart incident to all 
sentimental historians ; but I candidly confess that 1 
cannot look back on the happier davs of our city, 
which I now describe, without a sad dejection of the 
spirits. With a faltering hand do I withdraw the 
curtain of oblivion that veils the modest merit of 
our venerable ancestors, and as their figures rise to 
my mental vision, humble myself before the mighty 
shades. 



Such are my feelings when I rexnsit the family 
mansion of the Knickerbockers, and spend a lonely 
hour in the chamber where hang the portraits of my 
forefathers, shrouded in dust, like the forms they 
represent. With pious reverence do I gaze on the 
countenances of those renowned burghers, who have 
preceded me in the steady march of existence — 
whose sober and temperate blood now meanders 
through mv veins, flowing slower and slower in its 
feeble conduits, until its current shall soon be stop- 
ped for ever ! 

These, say I to myself, are but frail memorials of 
the mighty men who flourished in the days of the 
patriarchs ; but who, alas, have long since moulder- 
ed in that tomb towards which my steps are insen- 
sibly and irresistibly hastening ! As I pace the 
darkened chamber, and lose myself in melancholy 
musings, the shadowy images around me almost 
seem to steal once more into existence — their coun- 
tenances to assume the animation of life — their eyes 
to pursue me in every movement ! Carried away by 
the delusions of tancy, I almost imagine myself sur- 
rounded by the shades of the departed, and holding 
sweet converse with the worthies of antiquity ! Ah, 
hapless Diedrich ! born in a degenerate age, aban- 
doned to the buffetings of fortune — a stranger and 
a weary pilgrim in thy native land — blest with no 
weeping wife, nor family of helpless children ; but 
doomed to wander neglected through those crowded 
streets, and elbowed by foreign upstarts from those 
fair abodes where once thine ancestors held sover- 
eign empire I 

Let me not, however, lose the historian in the man, 
nor suffer the dating recollections of age to overcome 
me, while dwelling with fond garrulity on the virtu- 
ous davs of the patriarchs — on those sweet days of 
simplicity and ease, which never more will dawn on 
the lovely island of Manna-hata ! 

The renowned Wouter (or Walter) Van Twiller 
was descended from a long line of Dutch burgo- 
masters, who had successively dozed away their 
lives, and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy 
in Rotterdain ; and who had comported themselves 
with such singular wisdom and propriety, that they 
were never either heard or talked of — which, next to 
being universally applauded, should be the object of 
ambition of all sage magistrates and rulers. 

The surname ot Twiller is said to be a corruption 
of the original Twijfler, which in English means 
doubter ; a name admirably descriptive of his delib- 
erative habits. For, though he was a man shut up 
within himself like an oyster, and of such a profound- 
ly reflective turn, that he scarcely ever spoke except 
in monosyllables, yet did he never make up his mind 
on any doubtful point. This was clearly accounted 
for bv his adherents, who affirmed that he always 
conceived every object on so comprehensive a scale, 
that he had not room in his head to turn it over and 
examine both sides of it, so that he always remained 
in doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing 
magnitude of his ideas ! 

There are two opposite ways by which some men 
get into notice — one by talking a vast deal and think- 
ing a little, and the other by holding their tongues, 
and not thinking at all. By the first, many a vapour- 
ing, superficial pretender acquires the reputation of a 
man of quick parts — by the other, many a vacant 
dunderpate, like the owl, the stupidest of birds, 
comes to be complimented by a discerning world 
with all the attributes of wisdom. This, by the way, 
is a mere casual remark, which 1 would not for the 
universe have it thought 1 apply to Governor Van 
Twiller. On the contrary, he was a very wise 
Dutchman, for he never said a foolish thing — and of 
such invincible gravity, that he was never known to 



570 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



laugh, or even to smile, through the course of a long 
and prosperous life. Certain, however, it is, there 
never was a matter proposed, however simple, and 
on wliich your common narrow-minded mortals 
would rashly determine at the first glance, but what 
the renowned Wouter put on a mighty, mysterious, 
vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and, 
having smoked for five minutes with redoubled ear- 
nestness, sagely observed, that " he had his doubts 
about the matter" — which in process of time gained 
him the character of a man slow in belief, and not 
easily imposed on. 

The person of this illustrious old gentleman was 
as regularly formed, and nobly proportioned, as 
though it had been moulded by the hands of some 
cunning Dutch statuary, as a model of majesty and 
lordly grandeur. He was exactly five feet six inches 
in height, and six feet five inches in circumference. 
His head was a perfect sphere, and of such stupen- 
dous dimensions, that dame Nature, with all her sex's 
ingenuity, would have been puzzled to construct a 
neck capable of supporting it; wherefore she wisely 
declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top 
of his back-bone, just between the shoulders. His 
body was of an oblong form, paiticularly capacious 
at bottom ; which was wisely ordered by Providence, 
seeing that he was a man of sedentary haliits, and 
very averse to the idle labour of walking. His legs, 
though exceeding short, were sturdy in proportion 
to the weight they had to sustain ; so that when 
erect he had not a little the appearance of a robust- 
ious beer-barrel, standing on skids. His face, that 
inlaUible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse, 
perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any of those 
lines and angles which disfigure the human counte- 
nance with what is termed expression. Two small 
gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars 
ot lesser magnitude in the hazy firmament ; and his 
full-fed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of 
every thing that went into his mouth, were curiously 
mottled and streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzen- 
berg apple. 

His habits were as regular as his person. He 
daily took his four stated meals, appropriating e.x- 
actly an hour to each ; he smoked and doubted eight 
hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the Ibur- 
and-twenty. Such was the renowned Wouter Van 
Twiller — a true philosopher, for his mind was either 
elevated above, or tranquilly settled below, the cares 
and perplexities of this world. He had lived in it 
for years, without feeling the least curiosity to know 
whether the sun revolved round it, or it round the 
sun ; and he had watched, for at least half a century, 
the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, with- 
out once troubling his head with any of those numer- 
ous theories, by which a philosopher would have 
perplexed his brain, in accounting for its rising above 
the surrounding atmosphere. 

In his council he presided with great state and 
solemnity. He sat in a huge chair of solid oak, hewn 
in the celebrated forest of the Hague, fabricated by 
an experienced timmerman of Amsterdam, and 
curiously carved about the arms and feet, into e.xact 
imitations of gigantic eagle's claws. Instead of a 
sceptre, he swayed a long Turkish pipe, wrought 
with jasmin and amber, which had been presented 
to a Stadtholder of Holland, at the conclusion of a 
treaty with one of the petty Barbary powers. In this 
stately chair would he sit, and this magnificent pipe 
would he smoke, shaking his right knee with a con- 
stant motion, and fixing his eye for hours together 
upon a little print of Amsterdam, which hung in a 
black frame against the opposite wall of the council 
chamber. Nay, it has even been said, that when 
any deliberation of extraordinary length and intricacy 



was on the carpet, the renowned Wouter would 
absolutely shut his eyes tor full two hours at a time, 
that he might not be disturbed by external objects — 
and at such times the internal commotion of his 
mind was evinced by certain regular guttural sounds, 
which his admirers declared were merely the noise 
of conflict, made by his contending doubts and 
opinions. 

It is with infinite difficulty I have been enabled to 
collect these biographical anecdotes of the great man 
under consideration. The facts respecting him were 
so scattered and vague, and divers of them so ques- 
tionable in point of authenticity, that 1 have had to 
give up the search after many, and decline the ad- 
mission of still more, which would have tended to 
heighten the colouring of his portrait. 

I have been the more anxious to delineate fully 
the person and habits of the renowned Van Twiller, 
from the consideration that he was not only the first, 
but also the best governor that ever presided over 
this ancient and respectable province ; and so tran- 
quil and benevolent was his reign, that I do not find 
throughout the whole of it, a single instance of any 
offender being brought to punishment — a most indu- 
bitable sign of a merciful governor, and a case un- 
paralleled, excepting in the reign of the illustrious 
King Log. from whom, it is hinted, the renowned 
Van Twiller was a lineal descendant. 

The very outset of the career of this excellent 
magistrate was distinguished by an example of legal 
acumen, that gave flattering presage of a wise and 
equitable administration. "The morning after he had 
been solemnly installed in office, and at the moment 
that he was making his breakfast, from a prodigious 
earthen dish, filled with milk and Indian pudding, he 
was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of one 
Wandle Schoonhoven, a very important old burgher 
of New-Amsterdam, who complained bitterly of one 
Barent Bleecker, inasmuch as he fraudulently refused 
to come to a settlement of accounts, seeing that there 
was a heavy balance in favour of the said Wandle. 
Governor Van Twiller, as I have already observed, 
was a man of few words ; he was likewise a mortal 
enemy to multiplying writings — or being disturbed 
at his breakfast. Having listened attentively to the 
statement of Wandle Schoonhoven, giving an occa- 
sional grunt, as he shovelled a spoonful of Indian 
pudding into his mouth— either as a sign that he rel- 
ished the dish, or comprehended the story — he called 
unto him his constable, and pulling out of his breeches 
pocket a huge jack-knife, despatched it after the de- 
fendant as a summons, accompanied by his tobacco- 
box as a warrant. 

This summary process was as effectual in those 
simple days as was the seal-ring of the great Haroun 
Alraschid among the true believers. The two par- 
lies being confronted before him, each produced a 
book of accounts written in a language and character 
that would have puzzled any but a High Dutch com- 
mentator, or a learned decipherer of Egyptian obe- 
lisks, to understand. The sage Wouter took them 
one after the other, and having poised them in his 
hands, and attentively counted over the number of 
leaves, fell straightway into a very great doubt, and 
smoked for half an hour without saying a word ; at 
length, laying his finger beside his nose, and shutting 
his eyes for a moment, with the air of a man who has 
just caught a subtle idea by the tail, he slowly took 
his pipe from his mouth, puffed forth a column of 
tobacco-smoke, and with marvellous gravity and so- 
lemnity pronounced — that having carefully counted 
over the leaves and weighed the books, it was found, 
that one was just as thick and as heavy as the other 
— therefore it was the final opinion of the court that 
the accounts were equally balanced— therefore Wan- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



571 



die should give Barent a receipt, and Barent should 
give Wandle a receipt — and the constable should pay 
the costs. 

This decision being straightway made known, dif- 
fused general joy throughout New-Amsterdam, tor 
the people immediately perceived, that they had a 
very wise and equitable magistrate to rule over them. 
But its happiest effect was, that not another law-suit 
took place throughout the whole of his administra- 
tion — and the office of constable fell into such 
decay, that tliere was not one of those losel scouts 
known in the province for many years. I am the 
more particular in dwelling on this transaction, 
not only because I deem it one of the most sage 
and righteous judgments on record, and well 
worthy the attention of modern magistrates, but 
because it was a miraculous event in the history 
of the renowned Wouter — being the only time he 
was ever known to come to a decision in the whole 
course of his life. 



CHAPTER II. 

CONTAINING SOME ACCOUNT OF THE GRAND 
COUNCIL OF NEW-AMSTERDAM, AS ALSO DIVERS 
ESPECIAL GOOD PHILOSOPHICAL REASONS WHY 
AN ALDERMAN SHOULD BE FAT — WITH OTHER 
PARTICULARS TOUCHING THE STATE OF THE 
PROVINCE. 

In treating of the early governors of the province, 
I must caution my readers against conlbunding them, 
in point of dignity and power, with those worthy 
gentlemen, who are whimsically denominated gov- 
ernors in this enlightened republic — a set of unhappy 
victims of popularity, who are in fact the most de- 
])endent, henpecked beings in the community : doom- 
ed to bear the secret goadingsand corrections of their 
own party, and the sneers and rcvilings of the whole 
world beside ; — set up, like geese at Christmas holy- 
daj'S. to be pelted and shot at by every whipster and 
vagabond in the land. On the contrary, the Dutch 
governors enjoyed that uncontrolled authority vested 
in all cominanders of distant colonies or territories. 
They were in a manner absolute despots in their 
little domains, lording it, if so disposed, over both 
law and gospel, and accountable to none but the 
mother country ; which it is well known is astonish- 
ingly deaf to all complaints against its governors, 
provided they discharge the main duty of their sta- 
tion — squeezing out a good revenue. This hint will 
be of importance, to prevent my readers from being 
seized with doubt and incredulity, whenever, in the 
course of this authentic history, they encounter the 
uncommon circumstance of a governor acting with 
independence, and in opposition to the opinions 
of the multitude. 

To assist the doubtful Wouter in the arduous busi- 
ness of legislation, a board of magistrates was ap- 
pointed, which presided immediately over the police. 
This potent body consisted of a schout or bailiff, with 
powers between those of the present mayor and 
sheriff — five burgermeesters, who were equivalent to 
aldermen, ^ind five schepens, who officiated as scrubs, 
subdevils, or bottle-holders to the burgermeesters, in 
the same manner as do assistant aldermen to their 
principals at the present day ; it being their duty to 
fill the pipes of the lordly burgermeesters — hunt the 
markets for delicacies for corporation dinners, and to 
discharge such other little offices of kindness as were 
occasionally required. It was, moreover, tacitly un- 
derstood, though not specifically enjoined, that they 
should consider themselves as butts for the blunt wits 



of the burgermeesters, and should laugh most hearti- 
ly at all their jokes ; but this last was a duty as rarely 
called in action in those days as it is at present, and 
was shortly remitted, in consequence of the tragical 
death of a fat little schepen — who actually died of 
suffL^cation, in an unsuccessful effort to force a laugh 
at one of the burgermeester Van Zandl's best jokes. 

In return for these humble ser\'ices, they were per- 
mitted to sayj't-j- and no at the council board, and to 
have that enviable privilege, the run of the public 
kitchen — being graciously permitted to eat, and drink, 
and smoke, at all those snug junketings and public 
gormandizings, for which the ancient magistr.ites 
were equally famous with their modern successors. 
The post of schepen, therefore, like that of assistant 
alderman, was eagerly coveted by all your burghers 
of a certain description, who have a huge relish for 
good feeding, and an humble ambition to be great 
men in a small way — who thirst after a little brief 
authority, that shall render them the terror of the 
alms-house and the bridewell — that shall enable 
the?n to lord it over obsequious poverty, vagrant 
vice^ outcast prostitution, and hunger-driven dishon- 
esty — that shall give to their beck a hound-like pack 
of catch -poles and bum-bailiffs — tenfold greater^ 
rogues than the culprits they hunt down ! — My read- 
ers will e.vcuse this sudden warmth, which I confess 
is unbecoming of a grave historian — but I have a 
mortal antipathy to catch poles, bum-bailiffs, and 
little great men. 

The ancient magistrates of this city corresponded 
with those of the present time ''o less in form, mag- 
nitude, and intellect, than in | icrogati\e and privi- 
lege. The burgomasters, like our aldermen, were 
generally chosen by weight — and not only the weight 
of the body, but likewise the weight of the head. It 
is a maxim practically observed in all honest, plain- 
thinking, regular cities, that an alderman should be 
fat — and the wisdom of this can be proved to a cer- 
tainty. That the body is in some measure an image 
of the mind, or rather that the miad is moulded to 
the body, like incited lead to the clay in which it is 
cast, has been insisted on by many philosophers, who 
have made human nature their peculiar study — for 
as a learned gentleman of our own city observes, 
" there is a constant relation between the moral 
character of all intelligent creatures, and their physi- 
cal constitution— between their habits and the struct- 
ure of their bodies." Thus we see, that a lean, 
spare, diminutive body, is generally accompanied by 
a petulant, restless, meddling mind — either the mind 
wears down the body, by its continual motion ; or 
else the body, not affording the mind sufficient 
house-room, keeps it continually in a state of fretful- 
ness, tossing and worrying about from the uneasiness 
of its situation. Whereas your round, sleek, fat, un- 
wieldy peripheiy is ever attended by a mind like it- 
self, tranquil, torpid, and at ease ; and we may al- 
ways observe, that your well-fed, robustious burghers 
are in general very tenacious of their ease and com- 
fort ; being great enemies to noise, discord, and dis- 
turbance — and surely none are more likely to study 
the public tranquillity than those who are so careful 
of their own. Who ever hears of fat men heading a 
riot, or herding together in turbulent mobs.' — no — 
no — it is your lean, hungry men, who are continually 
worrying society, and setting the whole community 
by the ears. 

The divine Plato, whose doctrines are not suffi- 
ciently attended to by philosophers of the present 
age, allows to every man three souls — one immortal 
and rational, seated in the brain, that it may over- 
look and regulate the body — a second consisting of 
the surly and irascible passions, which, like belliger- 
ent powers, lie encamped around the heart — a third 



572 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mortal and sensual, destitute of reason, gross and 
brutal in its propensities, and enchained in the belly, 
that it may not disturb the divine soul, by its raven- 
ous bowlings. Now, according to this excellent 
theory, what can be more clear, than that your fat 
alderman is most likely to have the most regular and 
well-conditioned mind. His head is like a huge, 
spherical chamber, containing a prodigious mass of 
soft brains, whereon the rational soul lies softly and 
snugly couched, as on a feather bed ; and the eyes, 
which are the windows of the bed-chamber, are usu- 
ally half closed, that its slumberings may not be dis- 
turbed by external objects. A mind thus comfortably 
lodged, and protected from disturbance, is manifestly 
most likely to perform its functions with regularity 
and ease. By dint of good feeding, moreover, the 
mortal and malignant soul, which is confined in the 
belly, and which, by its raging and roaring, puts the 
irritable soul in the neighbourhood of the heart in an 
intolerable passion, and thus renders men crusty and 
quarrelsome when hungr)-, is completely pacified, 
silenced, and put to rest — whereupon a host of hon- 
est good-fellow qualities and kind-hearted affections, 
which had lain perdue, slyly peeping out of the loop- 
holes of the heart, finding this Cerberus asleep, do 
pluck up their spirits, turn out one and all in their 
holyday suits, rnd gambol up and down the dia- 
phragm — disposing their possessor to laughter, good- 
humour, and a thousand friendly offices towards his 
fellow-mortals. 

As a board of magistrates, formed on this model, 
think but very little, they are the less likely to differ 
and wrangle about favourite opinions — and as they 
generally transact business upon a hearty dinner, 
they are naturally disposed to be lenient and indul- 
gent in the administration of their duties. Charle- 
magne was conscious of this, and, therelbre (a piti- 
ful measure, for which I can never forgive him), or- 
dered in his cartularies, that no judge should hold a 
court of justice, except in the morning, on an empty 
stomach — a rule, which, I warrant, bore hard upon 
all the poor culprits in his kingdom. The more en- 
lightened and humane generation of the present day 
have taken an opposite course, and have so man- 
aged, that the aldermen are the best-fed men in the 
community ; feasting lustily on the fat things of the 
land, and gorging so heartily oysters and turtles, 
that in process of time they acquire the activity of 
the one, and the form, the waddle, and the green fat 
of the other. The consequence is, as I have just 
said, these luxurious feastings do produce such a 
dulcet equanimity and repose of the soul, rational 
and irrational, that their transactions are proverbial 
for unvarj-ing monotony — and the profound laws 
which they enact in their dozing moments, amid 
the labours of digestion, are quietly suffered to re- 
main as dead-letters, and never enforced, when 
awake. In a word, your fair, round-bellied burgo- 
master, like a full-fed mastiff, dozes quietly at the 
house-door, alwaj's at home, and always at hand to 
watch over its safety — but as to electing a lean, med- 
dling candidate to the office, as has now and then 
"been done, I would as lief put a grayhound to watch 
the house, or a race-horse to drag an ox-wagon. 

The burgomasters then, as I have already men- 
tioned, were wisely chosen by weight, and the 
schepens, or assistant aldermen, were appointed 
to attend upon them, and help them eat ; but the 
latter, in the course of time, when they had been fed 
and fattened into sufficient bulk of body and drow- 
siness of brain, became very eligible candidates for 
the burgomasters' chairs, having fairly eaten them- 
selves into office, as a mouse eats his way into a 
comfortable lodgement in a goodly, blue-nosed, 
skimmed-milk, New-England cheese. 



Nothing could equal the profound deliberations 
that took place between the renowned Wouter and 
these his worthy compeers, unless it be the sage di- 
vans of some of our modern corporations. They 
would sit for hours smoking and dozing over public 
affairs, without speaking a word to interrupt that 
perfect stillness so necessary to deep reflection. 
Under the sober sway of Wouter Van Twiller, and 
these his worthy coadjutors, the infant settlement 
waxed vigorous apace, gradually emerging from the 
swamps and forests, and exhibiting that mingled ap- 
pearance of town and country, customary in new 
cities, and which at this day may be witnessed in 
the city of Washington — that immense metropolis, 
which makes so glorious an appearance on paper. 

It was a pleasing sight, in those times, to behold 
the honest burgher, like a patriarch of yore, seated 
on the bench at the door of his whitewashed house, 
under the shade of some gigantic sycamore or over- 
hanging willow. Here would he smoke his pipe of 
a sultr\' afternoon, enjoying the soft southern breeze, 
and listening with silent gratulation to the cluckmg 
of his hens, the cackling of his geese, and the so- 
norous grunting of his swine ; that combination of 
farm-yard melody, which may truly be said to have 
a silver sound, inasmuch as it conveys a certain as- 
surance of profitable marketing. 

The modern spectator, who wanders through the 
streets of this populous city, can scarcely form an 
idea of the different appearance they presented in 
the primitive days of the Doubter. The busy hum 
of multitudes, the shouts of revelry, the rumbling 
equipages of fashion, the rattling of accursed carts, 
and all the spirit-grieving sounds of brawling com- 
merce, were unknown in the settlement of New- 
Amsterdam. The grass grew quietly in the high- 
ways — the bleating sheep and frolicsome calves 
sported about the verdant ridge where now the 
Broadway loungers take their morning stroll — the 
cunning fox or ravenous wolf skulked in the woods, 
where now are to be seen the dens of Gomez and 
his righteous fraternity of money-brokers — and 
flocks of vocilerous geese cackled about the fields, 
where now the great Tammany wigwam and the 
patriotic tavern of Martling echo with the wrang- 
lings of the mob. 

In these good times did a true and enviable equal- 
ity of rank and property prevail, equally removed 
from the arrogance of wealth, and the servility and 
heart-burnings of repining poverty — and what in my 
mind is still more conducive to tranquillity and har- 
mony among friends, a happy equality of intellect 
was likewise to be seen. The minds of the good 
burghers of New-Amsterdam seemed all to have 
been cast in one mould, and to be those honest, 
blunt minds, which, like certain manufactures, are 
made by the gross, and considered as exceedingly 
good for common use. 

Thus it happens that your true dull minds are gen- 
erally preferred for public employ, and especially 
promoted to city honours ; your keen intellects, like 
razors, being considered too sharp for common serv- 
ice. I know that it is common to rail at the un- 
equal distribution of riches, as the great source of 
jealousies, broils, and heart-breakings ; whereas, for 
my part, I verily believe it is the sad inequality of in- 
tellect that prevails, that embroils communities more 
than any thing else ; and I have remarked that your 
knowing people, who are so much wiser than any 
body else, are eternally keeping society in a terment. 
Happily for New-Amsterdam, nothing of the kind 
was known within its walls — the very words of le.irn- 
ing, education, taste, and talents were unheard of — 
a bright genius was an animal unknown, and a blue- 
stocking lady would have been regarded with as 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



573 



much wonder as a homed frog or a fiery dragon. 
No man, in fact, seemed to know more than his 
neighbour, nor any man to know more than an hon- 
est man ought to know, who has nobody's business 
to mind but his own ; the parson and the council 
clerk were the only men that could read in the com- 
munity, and the sage Van Twiller always signed his 
name with a cross. 

Thrice happy and ever to be envied little burgh ! 
existing in all the security of harmless insignificance 
— unnoticed and unenvied by the world, without am- 
bition, without vain-glory, without riches, without 
learning, and all their train of carking cares — and as 
of yore, in the better days of man, the deities were 
wont to visit him on earth and bless his rural habi- 
tations, so we are told, in the sylvan days of New- 
Amsterdam, the good St. Nicholas would often make 
his appearance in his beloved city, of a holyday after- 
noon, riding jollily among the tree-tops, or over the 
roofs of the houses, now and then drawing forth 
magnificent presents from his breeches pockets, and 
dropping them down the chimneys of his favourites. 
Whereas in these degenerate days of iron and brass, 
he never shows us the light of his countenance, nor 
ever visits us, save one night in the year ; when he 
rattles down the chimneys of the descendants of the 
patriarchs, confining his presents merely to the chil- 
dren, in token of the degeneracy of the parents. 

Such are the comfortable and thriving etfects of a 
fat government. The province of the New-Nether- 
lands, destitute of wealth, possessed a sweet tran- 
quillity that wealth could never purchase. There 
were neither public commotions, nor private quar- 
rels ; neither parties, nor sects, nor schisms ; neither 
persecutions, nor trials, nor punishments ; nor were 
there counsellors, attorneys, catch-poles, or hangmen. 
Every man attended to what little business he was 
lucky enough to have, or neglected it if he pleased, 
without asking the opinion of his neighbour. In those 
days, nobody meddled with concerns above his com- 
prehension, nor thrust his nose into other people's 
affairs ; nor neglected to correct his own conduct, 
and reform his own character, in his zeal to pull to 
pieces the characters of others — but in a word, every 
respectable citizen eat when he was not hungry, 
drank when he was not thirsty, and went regularly 
to bed when the sun set, and the fowls went to roost, 
whether he were sleepy or not ; all which tended so 
remarkably to the population of the settlement, that 
I am told every dutilul wife throughout New-Am- 
sterdam made a point of enriching her husband with 
at least one child a year, and very often a brace — 
this superabundance of good things clearly constitut- 
ing the true luxury of life, according to the favourite 
Dutch maxim, that " more than enough constitutes a 
feast." Every thing, therefore, went on exactly as 
it should do ; and in the usual words employed by 
historians to express the welfare of a country, " the 
profoundest tranquillity and repose reigned through- 
out the province." 



CHAPTER III. 

HOW THE TOWN OF NEW-AMSTERDAM AROSE 
OUT OF MUD, AND CAME TO BE MARVELLOUS- 
LY POLISHED AND POLITE — TOGETHER WITH 
A PICTURE OF THE MANNERS OF OUR GREAT- 
GREAT-GRANDFATHERS. 

Manifold are the tastes and dispositions of the 
enlightened literati, who turn over the pages of his- 
tory. Some there be, whose hearts are brimful of 
the yest of courage, and whose bosoms do work, and 



swell, and foam, with untried valour, like a barrel of 
new cider, or a train-band captain, fresh from under 
the hands of his tailor. This doughty class of readers 
can be satisfied with nothing but bloody battles and 
horrible encounters ; they must be continually storm- 
ing forts, sacking cities, springing mines, marching 
up to the muzzles of cannon, charging bayonet 
through every page, and revelling in gunpowder and 
carnage. Others, who are of a less martial, but equally 
ardent imagination, and who, withal, are a little 
given to the marvellous, will dwell with wondrous 
satisfaction on descriptions of prodigies, unheard-of 
events, hairbreadth escapes, hardy adventures, and 
all those astonishing narrations that just amble along 
the boundary line of possibility. A third class, who, 
not to speak slightly of them, are of a lighter turn, 
and skim over the records of past times, as they do 
over the edifying pages of a novel, merely for relaxa- 
tion and innocent amusement, do singularly delight 
in treasons, executions, Sabine rapes, Tarquin out- 
rages, conflagrations, murders, and all the other cat- 
alogue of hideous crimes, that, like cayenne in cook- 
er)', do give a pungency and flavour to the dull detail 
of history — while a fourth class, of more philosophic 
habits, do diligently pore over the musty chronicles 
of time, to investigate the operations of the human 
kind, and watch the gradual changes in men and 
manners, effected by the progress of knowledge, the 
vicissitudes of events, or the influence of situation. 

If the three first classes find but little wherewithal 
to solace themselves in the tranquil reign of Wouter 
Van Twiller, I entreat them to exert their patience 
for a while, and bear with the tedious picture of hap- 
piness, prosperity, and peace, which my duty as a 
faithful historian obliges me to draw ; and I promise 
them that as soon as I can possibly light upon any 
thing horrible, uncommon, or impossible, it shall go 
hard, but I will make it aftbrd them entertainment. 
This being promised, I turn with great complacency 
to the fourth class of my readers, who are men, or, 
if possible, women, after my own heart ; grave, phi- 
losophical, and investigating ; fond of analyzing char- 
acters, of taking a start from first causes, and so 
hunting a nation down, through all the mazes of in- 
novation and improvement. Such will naturally be 
anxious to witness the first development of the newly- 
hatched colony, and the primitive manners and cus- 
toms prevalent among its inhabitants, during the 
halcyon reign of Van "Twiller, or the Doubter. 

I will not grieve their patience, however, by de- 
scribing minutely the increase and improvement of 
New-Amsterdam. Their own imaginations wdl 
doubtless present to them the good burghers, like so 
many pains-taking and persevering beavers, slowly 
and surely pursuing their labours — they will behold 
the prosperous transformation from the rude log-hut 
to the stately Dutch mansion, with brick front, glazed 
windows, and tiled roof — from the tangled thicket to 
the luxuriant cabbage garden ; and from the skulking 
Indian to the ponderous burgomaster. In a word, 
they will picture to themselves the steady, silent, and 
undeviating march to prosperity, incident to a city 
destitute of pride or ambition, cherished by a fat 
government, and whose citizens do nothing in a 
hurr)'. 

The sage council, as has been mentioned in a pre- 
ceding chapter, not being able to determine upon any 
plan for the building of their city — the cows, in a 
laudable fit of patriotism, took it under their pecul- 
iar charge, and as they went to and from pasture, 
established paths through the bushes, on each side 
of which the good folks built their houses ; which is 
one cause of the rambling and picturesque turns and 
labyrinths, which distinguish certain streets of New- 
York at this very day. 



674 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The houses of the hig-her class were generally con- 
structed of wood, excepting- the gable end, which was 
of small black and yellow Dutch bricks, and always 
faced on the street, as our ancestors, like their de- 
scendants, were very much given to outward show, 
and were noted for putting the best leg foremost. 
The house was always furnished with abundance of 
large doors and small windows on every floor ; the 
date of its erection was curiously designated by iron 
figures on the front ; and on the top of the roof was 
perched a tierce little weathercock, to let the family 
into the important secret which way the wind blew. 
These, like the weathercocks on the tops of our 
steeples, pointed so many different ways, that every 
man could have a wind to his mind ; — the most 
staunch and loyal citizens, however, always went 
according to the weathercock on the top of the 
governor's house, which was certainly the most cor- 
rect, as he had a trusty servant employed every morn- 
ing to climb up and set it to the right quarter. 

In those good days of simplicity and sunshine, a 
passion for cleanliness was the leading principle in 
domestic econoni)', and the universal test of an able 
housewife — a character which formed the utmost 
ambition of our unenlightened grandmothers. The 
front door was never opened except on marriages, 
funerals, new-years' days, the festival of St. Nicholas, 
or some such great occasion. It was ornamented 
with a gorgeous brass knocker, curiously wrought, 
sometimes in the device of a dog, and sometimes of 
a lion's head, and was daily burnished with such re- 
ligious zeal, that it was ofttimes worn out by the 
very precautions taken for its preservation. The 
whole house was constantly in a state of inundation, 
under the discipline of mops and brooms and scrub- 
bing-brushes ; and the good housewives of those days 
were a kind of amphibious animal, delighting exceed- 
ingly to be dabbling in water — insomuch that a his- 
torian of the day gravely tells us, that many of his 
townswomen grew to have webbed fingers like unto 
a duck ; and some of them, he had little doubt, could 
the matter be examined into, would be found to have 
the tails of mermaids — but this I look upon to be a 
mere sport of fancy, or what is worse, a wilful mis- 
representation. 

The grand parlour was the sanctum sanctorum, 
where the passion for cleaning was indulged without 
control. In this sacred apartment no one was per- 
mitted to enter, excepting the mistress and her con- 
fidential maid, who visited it once a week, for the 
purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning, and putting 
things to rights — always taking the precaution of 
leaving their shoes at the door, and entering devoutly 
in their stocking-feet. After scrubbing the floor, 
sprinkling it with fine white sand, which was cu- 
riously stroked into angles, and cur\'es, and rhom- 
boids, with a broom — after washing the windows, 
rubbing and polishing the furniture, and patting a 
new bunch of evergreens in the fire-place — the 
window-shutters were again closed to keep out the 
flies, and the room carefully locked up until the revo- 
lution of time brought round the weekly cleaning 
day. 

As to the famil)', they always entered in at the 
gate, and most generally lived in the kitchen. To 
have seen a numerous household assembled around 
the fire, one would have imagined that he was trans- 
ported back to those happy days of primeval sim- 
plicity, which float before our imaginations like golden 
visions. The fire-places were of a truly patriarchal 
magnitude, where the whole familv, old and young, 
master and servant, black and white, nay, even the 
very cat and dog, enjoyed a community of privilege, 
and had each a right to a corner. Here the old 
burgher would sit in perfect silence, puffing his pipe. 



looking in the fire with half-shut eyes, and thinking 
of nothing for hours together; the goede vrouw on 
the opposite side would employ herself diligently in 
spinning yarn, or knitting stockings. The young folks 
would crowd around the hearth, listening with breath- 
less attention to some old crone of a negro, who was 
the oracle of the family, and who, perched like a 
raven in a corner of the chimney, would croak forth 
for a long winter afternoon a string of incredible 
stories about New-England witches — grisly ghosts, 
horses without heads — and hairbreadth escapes and 
bloody encounters among the Indians. 

In those happy days a well-regulated family always 
rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed 
at sun-down. Dinner was invariably a private meal, 
and the fat old burghers showed incontestible symp- 
toms of disapprobation and uneasiness at being sur- 
prised by a visit from a neighbour on such occasions. 
But though our worthy ancestors were thus singu- 
larly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the 
social bands of intimacy by occasional banquetings, 
called tea-parties. 

These fashionable parties were generally confined 
to the higher classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such 
as kept their own cows, and drove their own wagons. 
The company commonly assembled at three o'clock, 
and went away about six, unless it was in winter- 
time, when the fashionable hours were a little earlier, 
that the ladies might get home before dark. The tea- 
table was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well 
stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into 
morsels, and swimming in gravy. The company be- 
ing seated around the genial board, and each furnish- 
ed with a fork, evinced their dexterity in lanching 
at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish — in much the 
same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or 
our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes 
the table was graced with immense apple pies, or 
saucers full of preserved peaches and pears ; but it 
was always sure to boast an enormous dish of balls 
of sweetened dough, fried in hog's fat, and called 
doughnuts, or olykoeks — a delicious kind of cake, at 
present scarce known in this city, excepting in genu- 
ine Dutch families. 

The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea-pot, 
ornamented with paintings of fat little Dutch shep- 
herds and shepherdesses tending pigs — with boats 
sailing in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and 
sundry other ingenious Dutch fantasies. The beaux 
distinguished themselves by their adroitness in re- 
plenishing this pot from a huge copper tea-kettle, 
which would have made the pigmy macaronies of 
these degenerate davs sweat merely to look at it. 
To sweeten the beverage, a lump of sugar was laid 
beside each cup — and the company alternately nib- 
bled and sipped with great decorum, until an im- 
provement was introduced by a shrewd and economic 
old lady, which was to suspend a large lump directly 
over the tea-table, by a string from the ceiling, so 
that it could be swung from mouth to mouth — an 
ingenious expedient which is still kept up by some 
families in Albany; but which prevails without ex- 
ception in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all 
our uncontaminated Dutch villages. 

At these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety 
and dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting 
norcoqueting — no gambling of old ladies, nor hoyden 
chattering and romping of young ones — no self-satis- 
fied struttings of wealthy gentlemen, with their brains 
in their pockets — nor amusing conceits, and monkey 
divertisements, of smart young gentlemen with no 
brains at all. On the contrary, the \oung ladies 
seated themselves demurely in their rush-bottomed 
chairs, and knit their own woollen stockings ; nor 
ever opened their lips, excepting to sa.y.j'azc Mynher, 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



575 



or yak yah Vrouvj, to any question that was asked 
them ; behaving, in all things, like decent, well-edu- 
cated damsels. As to the gentlemen, each of them 
tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed lost in con- 
templation of the blue and white tiles with which 
the fire-places were decorated ; wherein sundn' pas- 
sages of scripture were piously portrayed — Tobit 
and his dog figured to great advantage ; Haman 
swung conspicuously on his gibbet ; and Jonah ap- 
peared most manfully bouncing out of the whale, 
like Harlequin through a barrel of fire. 

The parties broke up without noise and without 
confusion. They were carried home by their own 
carriages, that is to say, by the vehicles Nature had 
provided them, excepting such of the wealthy as 
could afford to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gal- 
lantly attended their fair ones to their respective 
abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack 
at the door ; which, as it was an established piece 
of etiquette, done in perfect simplicity and honesty 
of heart, occasioned no scandal at that time, nor 
should it at the present — if our great-grandfathers 
approved of the custom, it would argue a great want 
of reverence in their descendants to say a word 
against it. 



CHAPTER IV. 

CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE 
GOLDEN AGE, AND WHAT CONSTITUTED A FINE 
LADY AND GENTLEMAN IN THE DAYS OF WAL- 
TER THE DOUBTER. 

In this dulcet period of my historj', when the 
beauteous island of Manna-hata presented a scene, 
the very counterpart of those glowing pictures drawn 
of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have 
before obser\'ed, a happy ignorance, an honest sim- 
plicity, prevalent among its inhabitants, which, were 
I even able to depict, would be but little understood 
by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to 
write. Even the female sex, those arch innovators 
upon the tranquillity, the honesty, and gray-beard 
customs of society, seemed for a while to conduct 
themselves with incredible sobriety and comeliness. 

Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, 
was scrupulously pomatumed back from their fore- 
heads with a candle, and covered with a little cap of 
quilted calico, which fitted exactly to their heads. 
Their petticoats of linsey-woolsey were striped with 
a variety of gorgeous dyes — though I must confess 
these gallant garments were rather short, scarce 
reaching below the knee ; but then they made up in 
the number, which generally equalled that of the 
gentlemen's small-clothes ; and what is still more 
praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufac- 
ture — of which circumstance, as may well be sup- 
posed, they were not a little vain. 

These were the honest davs, in which ever)' wom- 
an staid at home, read the Bible, and wore pockets 
— ay, and that too of a goodly size, fashioned with 
patchwork into many curious devices, and ostenta- 
tiously worn on the outside. These, in fact, were 
convenient receptacles, where all good housewives 
carefully stowed away such things as' they wished to 
have at hand ; by which means they often came to 
be incredibly crammed — and 1 remember there was 
a story current when 1 was a bov, that the lady of 
Wouter Van Twiller once had occasion to empty her 
right pocket in search of a wooden ladle, and the 
utensil was discovered lying among some rubbish in 
one corner — but we must not give too much faith to 
all these stories ; the anecdotes of those remote 
periods being very subject to exaggeration. 



Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore 
scissors and pincushions suspended from their girdles 
by red ribands, or, among the more opulent and 
showy classes, by brass, and even silver chains, in- 
dubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and indus- 
trious spinsters. I cannot say much in vindication 
of the shortness of the petticoats ; it doubtless was 
introduced for the purpose of giving the stockings a 
chance to be seen, which were generally of blue 
worsted, with magnificent red clocks — or perhaps to 
display a well-turned ankle, and a neat, though ser\'- 
iceable, foot, set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe, 
with a large and splendid silver buckle. Thus we 
find that the gentle sex in all ages have shown the 
same disposition to infringe a little upon the laws of 
decorum, in order to betray a lurking beauty, or 
gratify an innocent love of finery. 

From the sketch here given, it will be seen that 
our good grandmothers differed considerably in their 
ideas of a fine figure from their scantily-dressed de- 
scendants of the present day. A fine lady, in those 
times, waddled under more clothes, even on a fair 
summer's day, than would have clad the whole bevy 
of a modem ball-room. Nor were they the less ad- 
mired by the gentlemen in consequence thereof. On 
the contrar)-, the greatness of a lover's passion seem- 
ed to increase in proportion to the magnitude of its 
object — and a voluminous damsel, arrayed in a dozen 
of petticoats, was declared by a Low Dutch sonnet- 
teer of the province to be radiant as a sunflower, 
and luxuriant as a full-blown cabbage. Certain it is, 
that in those days, the heart of a lover could not con- 
tain more than one lady at a time ; whereas the heart 
of a modern gallant has often room enough to ac- 
commodate half-a-dozen. The reason of which I 
conclude to be, that either the hearts of the gentle- 
men have grown larger, or the persons of the ladies 
smaller — this, however, is a question for physiologists 
to determine. 

But there was a secret charm in these petticoats, 
which no doubt entered into the consideration of the 
prudent gallants. The wardrobe of a lady was in 
those days her only fortune ; and she who had a 
good stock of petticoats and stockings was as ab- 
solutely an heiress as is a Kamtschatka damsel with 
a store of bear-skins, or a Lapland belle with a 
plenty of reindeer. The ladies, therefore, were very 
anxious to display these powerful attractions to the 
greatest advantage ; and the best rooms in the house, 
instead of being adorned with caricatures of dame 
Nature, in water-colours and needle-work, were al- 
ways hung round with abundance of home-spun 
garments, the manufacture and the property of the 
females — a piece of laudable ostentation that still 
prevails among the heiresses of our Dutch villages. 

The gentlemen, in fact, who figured in the circles 
of the gay world in these ancient times, correspond- 
ed, in most particulars, with the beauteous damsels 
whose smiles they were ambitious to deserve. True 
it is, their merits would make but a very inconsider- 
able impression upon the heart of a modern fair ; 
they neither drove their curricles nor sported their 
tandems, for as yet those gaudy vehicles were not 
even dreamt of— neither did they distinguish them- 
selves by their brilliancy at the table and their conse- 
quent rencontres with watchmen, for our forefathers 
were of too pacific a disposition to need those guar- 
dians of the night, every soul throughout the town 
being sound asleep before nine o'clock. Neither did 
they establish their claims to gentility at the expense 
of their tailors — for as yet those offenders against 
the jjockets of society and the tranquillity of all as- 
piring young gentlemen were unknown in New- 
Amsterdam ; every good housewife made the clothes 
of her husband and family, and even the goede vrouw 



57G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of Van Twiller himself thought it no disparagement 
to cut out her husband's linsey-woolsey galligaskins. 

Not but what there were some two or three young- 
sters who manifested the first dawnings of what is 
called fire and spirit — who held all labour in con- 
tempt ; skulked about docks and market-places ; 
loitered in the sunshine ; squandered what little 
money they could procure at hustle-cap and chuck- 
farthing ; swore, boxed, fought cocks, and raced 
their neighbours' horses — in short, who promised to 
be the wonder, the talk, and abomination of the town, 
had not their stylish career been unfortunately cut 
short by an affair of honour with a whipping-post. 

Far other, however, was the truly fashionable gen- 
tleman of those days — his dress, which served for 
both morning and evening, street and drawing- 
room, was a linsey-woolsey coat, made, perhaps, by 
the fair hands of the mistress of his affections, and 
gallantly bedecked with abundance of large brass 
buttons — half a score of breeches heightened the 
proportions of his figure — his shots were decorated 
by enormous copper buckles — a low-crowned, broad- 
brimmed hat overshadowed his burly visage, and his 
hair dangled down his back in a prodigious queue 
of eel-skin. 

Thus equipped, he would manfully sally forth with 
pipe in mouth, to besiege some fair damsel's obdu- 
rate heart — not such a pipe, good reader, as that 
which Acis did sweetly tune in praise of his Galatea, 
but one of true delfl manufacture, and furnished with 
a charge of fragrant tobacco. With this would he 
resolutely set himself down before the fortress, and 
rarely failed, in the process of time, to smoke the fair 
enemy into a surrender, upon honourable terms. 

Such was the happy reign of Wouter Van Twiller, 
celebrated in many a long-forgotten song as the real 
golden age, the rest being nothing but counterfeit 
copper-washed coin. In tliat delightful period a 
sweet and holy calm reigned over the whole prov- 
ince. The burgomaster smoked his pipe in peace — 
the substantial solace of his domestic cares, after her 
daily toils were done, sat soberly at the door, with 
her arms crossed over her apron of snowy white, 
without being insulted by ribald street-walkers, or 
vagabond boys — those unlucky urchins, who do so 
infest our streets, displaying under the roses of youth 
the thorns and briars of iniquity. Then it was that 
the lover with ten breeches, and the damsel with 
petticoats of half a score, indulged in all the innocent 
endearments of virtuous love, without fear and with- 
out reproach ; for what had that virtue to fear which 
was defended by a shield of good linsey-woolseys, 
equal at least to the seven bull-hides of the invinci- 
ble Ajax ? 

Ah ! blissful, and never-to-be-forgotten age ! when 
every thing was better than it has ever been since, 
or ever will be again — when Buttermilk Channel was 
quite dry at low water — when the shad in the Hud- 
son were all salmon, and when the moon shone with 
a pure and resplendent whiteness, mstead of that 
melancholy yellow light which is the consequence of 
her sickening at the abominations she every night 
witnesses in this degenerate city ! 

Happy would it have been for New-Amsterdam, 
could it always have existed in this state of blissful 
ignorance and lowly simplicity — but, alas ! the days 
of childhood are too sweet to last ! Cities, like men, 
grow out of them in time, and are doomed alike to 
grow into the bustle, the cares, and miseries of the 
world. Let no man congratulate himself when he 
beholds the child of his bosom or the city of his birth 
increasing in magnitude and importance — let the 
history of his own life teach him the dangers of the 
one, and this excellent little history of IVlanna-hata 
convince him of the calamities of the other. 



CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH THE READER IS BEGUILED INTO A DE- 
LECTABLE WALK WHICH ENDS VERY DIFFER- 
ENTLY FROM WHAT IT COMMENCED. 

In the year of our Lord one thousand eight hun- 
dred and four, en a fine afternoon, in the glowing 
month of September, I took my customary walk 
upon the Battery, which is at once the pride and 
bulwark of this ancient and impregnable city of 
New-York. The ground on which 1 trod was hal- 
lowed by recollections of the past, and as I slowly 
wandered through the long alley of poplars, which 
like so many birch-brooms standing on end, diffused 
a melancholy and lugubrious shade, my imagination 
drew a contrast between the surrounding scenery, 
and what it was in the classic days of our forefathers. 
Where the government-house by name, but the cus- 
tom-house by occupation, proudly reared its brick 
walls and wooden pillars, there whilome stood the 
low but substantial, red-tiled mansion of the re- 
nowned Wouter Van Twiller. Around it the mighty 
bulwarks of Fort Amsterdam frowned defiance to 
every absent foe ; but, like many a whiskered war- 
rior and gallant militia captain, confined their mar- 
tial deeds to frowns alone. The mud breastworks 
had long been levelled with the earth, and their site 
converted into the green lawns and leafy alleys of the 
Battery; where the gay apprentice sported his Sunday 
coat, and the laborious mechanic, relieved from the 
dirt and drudgery of the week, poured his weekly tale 
of love into the half averted ear of the sentimental 
chambermaid. The capacious bay still presented 
the same expansive sheet of water, studded with 
islands, sprinkled with fishing-boats, and bounded 
with shores of picturesque beauty. But the dark forests 
which once clothed these shores had been violated 
by the savage hand of cultivation ; and their tangled 
mazes, and impenetrable thickets, had degenerated 
into teeming orchards and waving fields of grain. 
Even Governor's Island, once a smiling garden, ap- 
pertaining to the sovereigns of the province, was 
now covered with fortifications, inclosing a tremen- 
dous blockhouse — so that this once peaceful island 
resembled a fierce little warrior in a big cocked hat, 
breathing gunpowder and defiance to the world ! 

For some time did I indulge in this pensive train 
of thought ; contrasting, in sober sadness, the pres- 
ent day with the hallowed years behind the mount- 
ains ; lamenting the melancholy progress of im- 
provement, and praising the zeal with which our 
worthy burghers endeavour to preserve the wrecks 
of venerable customs, prejudices, and errors, from 
the overwhelming tide of modern innovation — when 
by degrees my ideas took a different turn, and I 
insensibly awakened to an enjoyment of the beauties 
around me. 

It was one of those rich autumnal days, which 
Heaven particularly bestows upon the beauteous 
island of Manna-hata and its vicinity — not a floating 
cloud obscured the azure firmament — the sun, rolling 
in glorious splendour through his ethereal course, 
seemed to expand his honest Dutch countenance 
into an unusual expression of benevolence, as he 
smiled his evening salutation upon a city which he 
delights to visit with his most bounteous beams —the 
very winds seemed to hold in their breaths in mute 
attention, lest they should ruffle the tranquillity of the 
hour — and the waveless bosom of the bay presented 
a polished mirror, in which Nature beheld herself 
and smiled. The standard of our city, reserved, like 
a choice handkerchief, for days of gala, hung motion- 
less on the flag-staff, which forms the handle to a 
gigantic churn ; and even the tremulous leaves of 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



577 



the poplar and the aspen ceased to vibrate to the 
breath of heaven. Every thing seemed to acquiesce 
in the profound repose of nature. The formidable 
eighteen-pounders slept in the embrasures of the 
wooden batteries, seemingly gathering fresh strength 
to tight the battles of their country on the ne.xt 
fourth of July — the solitary drum on Governor's Isl- 
and forgot to call the garrison to their s/imeis — the 
evening gun had not yet sounded its signal for all 
the regular, well-meaning poultry throughout the 
country to go to roost ; and the fleet of canoes, at 
anchor between Gibbet Island and Communipavv, 
slumbered on their rakes, and suffered the innocent 
oysters to lie for a while unmolested in the solt mud 
of their native bank ! — My own feelings sympathized 
with the contagious tranquillity, and I should infal- 
libly have dozed upon one of those fragments of 
benches, which our benevolent magistrates have 
provided for the benefit of convalescent loungers, 
had not the extraordinary inconvenience of the 
couch set all repose at defiance. 

In the midst of this slumber of the soul, my atten- 
tion was attracted to a black speck, peering above 
the western horizon, just in the rear of Bergen 
steeple — gradually it augments, and overhangs the 
would-be cities of Jersey, Harsimus, and Hoboken, 
which, like three jockies, are starting on the course 
of existence, and jostling each other at the com- 
mencement of the race. Now it skirts the long shore 
of ancient Pavonia, spreading its wide shadows from 
the high settlements at Weehawk quite to the laza- 
retto and quarantine, erected by the sagacity of our 
police for the embarrassment of commerce — now it 
climbs the serene vault of heaven, cloud rolling over 
cloud, shrouding the orb of day, darkening the vast 
expanse, and bearing thunder and hail and tempest 
in its bosom. The earth seems agitated at the con- 
fusion of the heavens — the late waveless mirror is 
lashed into furious waves, that roll in hollow mur- 
murs to the shore — the oyster-boats that erst sported 
in the placid vicinity ot Gibbet Island, now hurry 
affrighted to the land — the poplar writhes and twists 
and whistles in the blast — torrents of drenching 
rain and sounding hail deluge the Battery-walks — 
the gates are thronged by apprentices, servant-maids, 
and little Frenchmen, with pocket-handkerchiefs 
over their hats, scampering from the storm — the 
late beauteous prospect presents one scene of an- 
archy and wild uproar, as though old Chaos had 
resumed his reign, and was hurling back into one 
vast turmoil the conflicting elements of nature. 

Whether I fled from the fury of the storm, or re- 
mained boldly at my post, as our gallant train-band 
captains who march their soldiers through the rain 
without flinching, are points which I leave to the 
conjecture of the reader. It is possible he may be 
a little perplexed also to know the reason why 1 in- 
troduced this tremendous tempest to disturb the 
serenity of my work. On this latter point I will 
gratuitously instruct his ignorance. The panorama 
view of the Battery was given merely to gratify the 
reader with a correct description of that celebrated 
place, and the parts adjacent — secondly, the storm 
was played off partly to give a little bustle and life 
to this tranquil part of my work, and to keep my 
drowsy readers from falling asleep — and partly to 
serve as an overture to the tempestuous times that 
are about to assail the pacific province of Nicuw- 
Nederlandts — and that overhang the slumberous ad- 
ministration of the renowned Wouter Van Twiller. 
It is thus the experienced playwright puts all the 
fiddles, the French horns, the kettledrums, and trump- 
ets of his orchestra in requisition, to usher in one 
of those horrible and brimstone uproars called melo- 
dramas — and it is thus he discharges his thunder, 
37 



his lightning, his rosin, and saltpetre, preparatory to 
the rising of a ghost, or the murdering of a hero. — • 
We will now proceed with our history. 

Whatever may be advanced by philosophers to 
the contrary, I am of opinion, that, as to nations, 
the old maxim, that "honesty is the best policy," is 
a sheer and ruinous mistake. It might have answer- 
ed well enough in the honest times when it was 
made, but in these degenerate days, if a nation pre- 
tends to rely merely upon the justice of its dealings, 
it will fare something like an honest man among 
thieves, who, unless he have something more than 
his honesty to depend upon, stands but a poor chance 
of profiting by his company. Such at least was the 
case with the guileless government of the New 
Netherlands ; which, like a worthy unsuspicious old 
burgher, quietly settled itself down into the city of 
New-Amsterdam, as into a snug elbow-chair — and 
fell into a comfortable nap — while, in the meantime, 
its cunning neighbours stepped in and picked its 
pockets. Thus may we ascribe the commencement 
of all the woes of this great province, and its mag- 
nificent metropolis, to the tranquil security, or, to 
speak more accurately, to the unfortunate honesty, 
of its government. But as I dislike to begin an im- 
portant part of my history towards the end of a 
chapter ; and as my readers, like myself, must doubt- 
less be exceedingly fatigued with the long walk we 
have taken, and the tempest we have sustained — I 
hold it meet we shut up the book, smoke a pipe, and 
having thus refreshed our spirits, take a fair start in 
the next chapter. 



CHAPTER VI. 

FAITHFULLY DESCRIBING THE INGENIOUS PEO- 
PLE OF CONNECTICUT AND THEREABOUTS — 
SHOWING, MOREOVER, THE TRUE MEANING OF 
LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE, AND A CURIOUS DE- 
VICE AMONG THESE STURDY BARBARIANS, TO 
KEEP UP A HARMONY OF INTERCOURSE, AND 
PROMOTE POPULATION. 

That my readers may the more fully comprehend 
the extent of the calamity, at this very moment im- 
pending over the honest, unsuspecting province of 
Nieuw Nederlandts, and its dubious governor, it is 
necessary that I should give some account of a horde 
of strange barbarians, bordering upon the eastern 
frontier. 

Now so it came to pass, that many years previous 
to the time of which we are treating, the sage cabi- 
net of England had adopted a certain national creed, 
a kind of public walk of faith, or rather a religious 
turnpike, in which every loyal subject was directed 
to travel to Zion — taking care to pay the ioU-gath- 
L-rers by the way. 

Albeit, a certain shrewd race of men, being very 
much given to indulge their own opinions, on all 
manner of subjects, (a propensity exceedingly offen- 
sive to your free governments of Europe,) did most 
presumptuously dare to think for themselves in mat- 
ters of religion, exercising what they considered a 
natural and unextinguishable right — the liberty of 
conscience. 

As, however, they possessed that ingenious habit 
of mind which always thinks aloud ; which rides 
cock-a-hoop on the tongue, and is for ever galloping 
into other people's ears, it naturally followed that 
their liberty of conscience likewise implied liberty of 
speech, which being freely indulged, soon put the 
country in a hubbub, and aroused the pious indigna- 
tion of the vigilant fathers of the church. 



578 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The usual methods were adopted to reclaim them, 
that in those days were considered so efficacious in 
brining back stray sheep to the fold ; that is to say, 
they were coaxed, they were admonished, they were 
menaced, they were buffeted — line upon line, precept 
upon precept, lash upon lash, here a little and there 
a great deal, were exhausted without mercy, and 
without success ; until at length the worthy pastors 
of the church, wearied out by their unparalleled 
stubbornness, were driven, in the excess of their ten- 
der mercy, to adopt the scripture text, and literally 
" heaped live embers on their heads." 

Nothing, however, could subdue that invincible 
spirit of independence which has ever distinguished 
this singular race of people, so that rather than sub- 
mit to such horrible tyranny, they one and all em- 
barked for the wilderness of America, where they 
might enjoy, unmolested, the inestimable luxury of 
talking. No sooner did they land on this loquacious 
soil, than, as if they had caught the disease from the 
climate, they all lifted up their voices at once, and 
for the space of one whole year did keep up such a 
joyful clamour, that we are told they frightened 
every bird and beast out of the neighbourhood, and 
so completely dumbfounded certain fish, which 
abound on their coast, that they have been called 
diiiiih-fisk ever since. 

From this simple circumstance, unimportant as it 
may seem, did first originate that renowned piivilege 
so loudly boasted of throughout this country — which 
is so eloquently exercised in newspapers, pamphlets, 
ward meetings, pot-house committees, and congres- 
sional deliberations — which established the right of 
talking without ideas and without information — of 
misrepresenting public affairs — of decrying public 
measures — of aspersing great characters, and de- 
stroying little ones ; in short, that grand palladium 
of our country, the liberty pf speech. 

The simple aborigines of the land for awhile con- 
templated these strange folk in utter astonishment, 
but discovering that they wielded harmless though 
noisy weapons, and were a lively, ingenious, good- 
humoured race of men, they became very friendly 
and sociable, and gave them the name of Yanokics, 
which in the Mais-Tchusaeg (or Massachusett) lan- 
guage signifies silent men — a waggish appellation, 
suice shortened into the familiar epithet of YANKEES, 
which they retain unto the present day. 

True it is, and my fidelity as a historian will not 
allow me to pass it over in silence, that the zeal of 
these g^od people, to maintain their rights and privi- 
leges unimpaired, did for a while betray them into 
errors, which it is easier to pardon than defend. 
Having ser\'ed a regular apprenticeship in the school 
of persecution, it behoved them to show that they 
had become proficients in the art. They accordingly 
employed their leisure hours in banishing, scourging, 
or hanging divers heretical Papists, Quakers, and 
Anabaptists, for daring to abuse the liberty of con- 
science : which they now clearly proved to imply 
nothing more than that every man should think as 
he pleased in matters of religion — proT.iiiled he 
thought ri//;/ . for otherwise it would be giving a 
latitude to damnable heresies. Now as they (the 
majority) were perfectly convinced, that they alone 
thought right, it consequently followed, that who- 
ever thought different from them thought wrong — 
and whoever thought wrong, and obstinately per- 
sisted in not being convinced and converted, was a 
flagrant violator of the inestimable liberty of con- 
science, and a corrupt and infectious member of the 
body politic, and deserved to be lopped off and cast 
into the fire. 

Now I'll warrant there are hosts of my readers, 
ready at once to lift up their hands and eyes, with 



that virtuous indignation with which we always con- 
template the faults and errors of our neighbours, and 
to exclaim at these well-meaning, but mistaken peo- 
ple, for inflictmg on others the injuries they had suf- 
fered themselves — for indulging the preposterous 
idea of convincing the mind by tormenting the body, 
and establishing the doctrine of charity and forbear- 
ance by intolerant persecution. But, in simple truth, 
what are we doing at this very day, and in this very 
enlightened nation, but actmg upon the very same 
principle, in our political controversies ? Have we 
not, within but a few years, released ourselves from 
the shackles of a government which cruelly denied 
us the privilege of governing ourselves, and using in 
full latitude that invaluable member, the tongue ? 
and are we not at this very moment striving our 
best to tyrannize over the opinions, tie up the 
tongues, or ruin the fortunes of one another } What 
are our great political societies, but mere political in- 
quisitions — our pot-house committees, but little 
tribunals of denunciation — our newspapers, but mere 
whipping-posts and pillories, where unfortunate indi- 
viduals are pelted with rotten eggs — and our council 
of appointment, but a grand auto da fe, where 
culprits are annually sacrificed for their political 
heresies ? 

Where, then, is the difference in principle between 
our measures and those you are so ready to condemn 
among the people I am treating of.? There is none ; 
the difference is merely circumstantial. Thus we de- 
nounce, instead of banishing — we libel, instead of 
scourging — we turn out of office, instead of hariging 
— and where they burnt an offender in propria per- 
sona, we either tar and feather or burn him in effigy 
— this political persecution being, somehow or other, 
the grand palladium of our liberties, and an incon- 
trovertible proof that this is a free country ! 

But notwithstanding the fervent zeal with which 
this holy war was prosecuted against the whole race 
of unbelievers, we do not find that the population of 
this new colonv was in any wise hindered thereby ; 
on the contrar)-, they multiplied to a degree which 
would be incredible to any man unacquainted with 
the marvellous fecundity of this growing country. 

This amazing increase may, indeed, be partly as- 
cribed to a singular custom prevalent among them, 
commonly known by the name o{ bundlin:^ — a super- 
stitious rite observed by the young people of both 
sexes, with which they usually terminated their 
festivities ; and which was kept up with religious 
strictness by the more bigoted and vulgar part of the 
community. This ceremony was hkewise, in those 
primitive times, considered as an indispensable pre- 
liminary to matrimony ; their courtships commencing 
where ours usually finish — by which means they ac- 
quired that intimate acquaintance with each other's 
good qualities before marriage, which has been pro- 
nounced by philosophers the sure basis of a happy 
union. Thus early did this cunning and ingenious 
people display a shrewdness at making a bargain, 
which has ever since distinguished them — and a 
strict adherence to the good old vulgar maxim about 
" buying a pig in a poke." 

I'o this sagacious custom, therefore, do I chiefly 
attribute the unparalleled increase of the Yanokie or 
Yankee tribe ; for it is a certain fact, well authenti- 
cated by court records and parish registers, that 
wherever the practice of bundling prevailed, there 
was an amazing number of sturdy brats annually 
born unto the State, without the license of the law, 
or the benefit of clergy. Neither did the irregularity 
of their birth operate in the least to their disparage- 
ment. On the contrary, they grew up a long-sided, 
raw-boned, hardy race of whoreson whalers, wood- 
cutters, fishermen, and pedlers, and strapping corn- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



579 



fed wenches ; who by their united efforts tended 
marvellously towards populatin:^ those notable tracts 
of country called Nantucket, Piscataway, and Cape 
Cod. 



CHAPTER VII. 

HOW THESE SINGULAR BARBARIANS TURNED OUT 
TO BE NOTORIOUS SQUATTERS — HOW THEY 
BUILT AIR CASTLES, AND ATTEMPTED TO INI- 
TIATE THE NEDERLANDERS IN THE MYSTERY 
OF BUNDLING. 

In the last chapter I have given a faithful and un- 
prejudiced account of the origin of that singular race 
of people, inhabiting the country eastward of the 
Nieuw Nederlandts ; but I have yet to mention cer- 
tain peculiar habits which rendered them exceedingly 
obnoxious to our ever-honoured Dutch ancestors. 

The most prominent of these was a certain ram- 
bling propensity, with which, like the sons of Ish- 
mael, they seem to have been gifted by Heaven, and 
which continually goads them on, to shift their resi- 
dence from place to place, so that a Yankee farmer 
is in a constant state of migration ; tarryiiii^ occa- 
sionally here and there ; clearing lands for other peo- 
ple to enjoy, building houses lor others to inhabit, 
and in a manner may be considered the wandering 
Arab of America. 

His first thought, on coming to the years of man- 
hood, is to settle himself in the world — which means 
nothing more nor less than to begin his rambles. 
To this end he takes unto himself for a wife some 
buxom country heiress, passing rich in red ribands, 
glass beads, and mock tortoise-shell combs, with a 
white gown and morocco shoes for Sunday, and 
deeply skilled in the mystery of making apple sweet- 
meats, long sauce, and pumpkin pie. 

Having thus provided himself, like a pedler, with 
a heavy knapsack, wherewith to regale his shoulders 
through the journey of life, he literally sets out on 
the peregrination. His whole family, household fur- 
niture, and farming utensils, are hoisted into a cov- 
ered cart ; his own and his wife's wardrobe packed 
up in a firkin — which done, he shoulders his axe, 
takes staff in hand, whistles " Yankee Doodle," and 
ti'udges off to the woods, as confident of the protec- 
tion of Providence, and relying as cheerfully upon his 
own resources, as did ever a patriarch of yore, when 
he journeyed into a strange country of the Gentiles. 
Having buried himself in the wilderness, he builds 
himself a log hut, clears away a com-field and pota- 
to-patch, and Providence smiling upon his labours, 
is soon surrounded by a snug farm and some half a 
score of flaxen-headed urchins, who, by their size, 
seem to have sprung all at once out of the earth, like 
a crop of toad-stools. 

But it is not the nature of this most indefatigable 
of speculators to rest contented with any state of 
sublunary enjoyment — improvement is his darling 
passion, and having thus improved his lands, the 
next care is to provide a mansion worthy the resi- 
dence of a landholder. A huge palace of pine boards 
immediately springs up in the midst of the wilder- 
ness, large enough for a parish church, and furnished 
with windows of all dimensions, but so rickety and 
flimsy withal, that every blast gives it a fit of the ague. 

By the time the outside of this mighty air castle is 
completed, either the funds or the zeal of our adven- 
turer are exhausted, so that he barely manages to 
half finish one room within, where the whole family 
burrow together — while the rest of the house is de- 
voted to the curing of pumpkins, or storing of car- 
rots and potatoes, and is decorated with fanciful fes- 



toons of dried apples and peaches. The outside 
remaining unpainted, grows venerably black with 
time; the family wardrobe is laid under contribution 
for old hats, petticoats, and breeches, to stuff into the 
broken windows, while the four winds of heaven 
keep up a whistling and howling about this aerial 
palace, and pLay as many unruly gambols, as they 
did of yore in the cave of old .-Eolus. 

The humble log hut, which whilome nestled this 
improving family snugly within its narrow but com- 
fortable walls, stands hard by, in ignominious con- 
trast, degraded into a cow-house or pig-sty ; and the 
whole scene reminds one forcibly of a fable, which 
I am surprised has never been recorded, of an aspir- 
ing snail, who abandoned his humble habitation, 
which he had long filled with great respectability, to 
crawl into the empty shell of a lobster — where he 
would no doubt have resided with great style and 
splendour, the envy and hate of all the pains-taking 
snails in his neighbourhood, had he not accidentally 
perished with cold, in one corner of his stupendous 
mansion. 

Being thus completely settled, and, to use his own 
words, " to rights," one would imagine that he would 
begin to enjoy the comforts of his situation, to read 
newspapers, talk politics, neglect his own business, 
and attend to the affairs of the nation, like a useful 
and patriotic citizen ; but now it is that his wayward 
disposition begins again to operate. He soon grows 
tired of a spot where there is no longer any room 
for improvement — sells his farm, air castle, petticoat 
windows and all, reloads his cart, shoulders his axe, 
puts himself at the head of his family, and wanders 
away in search of new lands — again to fell trees — 
again to clear corn-fields — again to build a shingle 
palace, and again to sell off and wander. 

Such were the people of Connecticut, who bor- 
dered upon the eastern frontier of Nieuw Neder- 
landts ; and my readers may easily imagine what ob- 
noxious neighbours this light-hearted but restless 
tribe must have been to our tranquil progenitors. 
If they cannot, I would ask them, if they have ever 
known one of our regular, well-organized Dutch 
families, whom it hath pleased Heaven to afflict with 
the neighbourhood of a French boarding-house .' The 
honest old burgher cannot take his afternoon's pipe 
on the bench before his door, but he is persecuted 
with the scraping of fiddles, the chattering of women, 
and the squalling of children — he cannot sleep at 
night for the horrible melodies of some amateur, who 
chooses to serenade the moon, and display his ter- 
rible proficiency in execution, on the clarionet, the 
hautboy, or some other soft-toned instrument— nor 
can he leave the street door open, but his house is 
defiled by the unsavoury visits of a troop of pug dogs, 
who even sometimes carry their loathsome ravages 
into the sanctum sanctorum, the parlour ! 

If my readers have ever v^'itnessed the sufferings 
of such a family, so situated, they may form some 
idea how our worthy ancestors were distressed by 
their mercurial neighbours of Connecticut. 

Gangs of these marauders, we are told, penetrated 
into the New-Netherland settlements, and threw 
whole villages into consternation by their unparalleled 
volubility, and their intolerable inquisitiveness — two 
evil habits hitherto unknown in those parts, or only 
known to be abhorred ; for our ancestors were noted 
as being men of truly Spartan taciturnity, and who 
neither knew nor cared aught about any body's con- 
cerns but their own. Many enormities were com- 
mitted on the highways, where several unoffending 
burghers were brought to a stand, and tortured with 
questions and guesses, which outrages occasioned as 
much vexation and heartburning as does the modern 
right of search on the high seas. 



580 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Great jealousy did they likewise stir up, by their 
intermeddling and successes among the divine sex ; 
lor being a race of brisk', likely, pleasant-tongued 
varlets, they soon seduced the light affections of the 
simple damsels from their ponderous Dutch gallants. 
Among other hideous customs, they attempted to in- 
troduce among them that of bundling, which the 
Dutch lasses of the Nederlandts, with that eager pas- 
sion for novelty and foreign fashions natural to their 
sex, seemed very well inclined to follow, but that 
their mothers, being more experienced in the world 
and better acquainted with men and things, strenu- 
ously discountenanced all such outlandish innova- 
tions. 

But what chiefly operated to embroil our ances- 
tors with these strange folk, was an unwarrantable 
liberty which they occasionally took of entering in 
hordes into the territories of the New-Netherlantls, 
and settling themselves down, without leave or li- 
cense, to improve the land, in the manner I have be- 
fore noticed. This unceremonious mode of taking 
possession of new land was technically termed squat- 
ting, and hence is derived the appellation of squat- 
ters; a name odious in the ears of all great landholders, 
and which is given to those enterprising worthies 
who seize upon land first, and take their chance to 
make good their title to it afterwards. 

All these grievances, and many others which were 
constantly accumulating, tended to form that dark 
and portentous cloud, which, as I observed in a for- 
nier chapter, was slowly gathering over the tranquil 
province of New-Netherlands. The pacific cabinet 
of Van Twiller, however, as will be perceived in the 
sequel, bore them all with a magnanimity that re- 
dounds to their immortal credit— becoming by pas- 
sive endurance inured to this increasing mass of 
wrongs ; like that mighty man of old, who by dint of 
carrj'ing about a calf from the time it was born, con- 
tinued to carry it without difficulty when it had 
grown to be an ox. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW THE FORT GOED HOOP W.\,S FEARFULLY 
BELEAGUERED — HOW THE RENOWNED WOUTER 
FELL INTO A PROFOUND DOUBT, AND HOW 
HE FINALLY EVAPORATED. 

By this time my readers must fully perceive what 
an arduous task I have undertaken — collecting and 
collating, with painful minuteness, the chronicles of 
past times, whose events almost defy the powers of 
research — exploring a little kind of Hercukmeum of 
history, which had lain nearly for ages buried under 
the rubbish of years, and almost totally forgotten — 
raking up the limbs and fragments of disjointed facts, 
and endeavouring to put them scrupulously together, 
so as to restore them to their original form and con- 
nexion — now lugging forth the character of an al- 
most forgotten hero, like a mutilated statue — now 
deciphering a half-defaced inscription, and now 
lighting upon a mouldering manuscript, which, after 
painful study, scarce repays the trouble of perusal. 

In such case, how much has the reader to depend 
upon the honour and probity of his author, lest, like 
a cunning antiquarian, he either impose upon him 
some spurious fabrication of his own, for a precious 
relic from antiquity — or else dress up the dismem- 
bered fragment with such false trappings, that it is 
scarcely possible to distinguish the truth from the 
fiction with which it is enveloped ! This is a griev- 
ance which I have more than once had to lament, 
in the course of my wearisome researches among the 



works of my fellow-historians, who have strangely 
disguised and distorted the facts respecting this coun- 
try ; and particularly respecting the great province 
of New-Netherlands ; as will be perceived by any 
who will take the trouble to compare their romantic 
effusions, tricked out in the meretricious gauds of 
fable, with this authentic history. 

I have had more vexations of this kind to encoun- 
ter, in those parts of iny history which treat of the 
transactions on the eastern border, than in any oth- 
er, in consequence of the troops of historians who 
have infested those quarters, and have shown the 
honest people of Nieuw-Nederlandts no mercy in 
their works. Among the rest, Mr. Benjamin Trum- 
bull arrogantly declares, that " the Dutch were always 
mere intruders." Now to this I shall make no other 
reply than to proceed in the steady narration of my 
history, which will contain not only proofs that the 
Dutch had clear title and possession in the fair val- 
leys of the Connecticut, and that they were wrong- 
fully dispossessed thereof — but likewise, that they 
have been scandalously maltreated ever since by the 
misrepresentations of the crafty historians of New- 
England. And in this I shall be guided by a spirit 
of truth and impartiality, and a regard to immortal 
fame — for I would not wittingly dishonour my work 
by a single falsehood, misrepresentation, or preju- 
dice, though it should gain our forefathers the whole 
country of New-England. 

It was at an early period of the province, and pre- 
vious to the arrival of the renowned Wouter, that 
the cabinet of Nieuw-Nederlandts purchased the 
lands about the Connecticut, and established, for 
their superintendence and protection, a fortified post 
on the banks of the river, which was called Fort 
Coed Hoop, and was situated hard by the present 
fair city of Hartford, The command of this impor- 
tant post, together with the rank, title, and appoint- 
ment of commissary, were given in charge to the 
gallant Jacobus Van Curiet, or, as some historians 
will have it. Van Curlis — a most doughty soldier, 
of that stomachful class of which we have such 
numbers on parade days — who are famous for 
eating all they kill. He was of a very soldierfike ap- 
pearance, and would have been an exceeding tall 
man had his legs been in proportion to his body • 
but the latter being long, and the former uncom- 
monly short, it gave him the uncouth appearance of 
a tall man's body mounted upon a little man's legs. 
He made up for this turnspit construction of body 
by throwing his legs to such an extent when he 
marched, that you would have sworn he had on the 
identical seven-league boots of the far-famed Jack 
the giant-killer ; and so astonishingly high did he 
tread, on any great militai7 occasion, that his sol- 
diers were olttimes alarmed, lest he should trampl? 
himself underfoot. 

But notwithstanding the erection of this fort, and 
the appointment of this ugly little man of war as a 
commander, the intrepid Yankees continued those 
daring interlopings, which I have hinted at in my last 
chapter ; and taking advantage of the character 
which the cabinet of Wouter Van Twiller soon ac- 
quired, for profound and phlegmatic tranquillity — did 
audaciously invade the territories of the Nieuw- 
Nederlandts, and sqicat themselves down within the 
very jurisdiction of Fort Coed Hoop. 

On beholding this outrage, the long-bodied Van 
Curiet proceeded as became a prompt and valiant 
olficer. He immediately protested against these un- 
warrantable encroachments, in Low Dutch, by way 
of inspiring more terror, and forthwith despatched a 
copy of the protest to the governor at New-Amster- 
dam, together with a long and bitter account of the 
aggressions of the enemy. This done, he ordered 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



581 



men, one and all, to be of good cheer — shut the gate 
of the fort, smoked three pipes, went to bed, and 
awaited the result with a resolute and intrepid tran- 
quillity that greatly animated his adherents, and no 
doubt struck sore dismay and affright into the hearts 
of the enemy. 

Now it came to pass, that about this time the re- 
nowned Wouter Van Tvviller, full of years and hon- 
ours, and council dinners, had reached that period 
of life and faculty which, according to the great Gul- 
liver, entitles a man to admission into the ancient 
order of Struldbruggs. He employed his time in 
smoking his Turkish pipe, amid an assembly of sages 
equally enlightened and nearly as venerable as him- 
self, and who, for their silence, their gravity, their 
wisdom, and their cautious averseness to coming to 
any conclusion in business, are only to be equalled 
by certain profound corporations which I have known 
in my time. Upon reading the protest of the gallant 
Jacobus Van Curlet, therefore, his excellency fell 
straightway into one of the deepest doubts that ever 
he was known to encounter ; his capacious head 
gradually drooped on his chest, he closed his eyes, 
and inclined his ear to one side, as if listening with 
great attention to the discussion that was going on 
m his belly ; which all who knew him declared to 
be the huge court-house or council chamber of his 
thoughts ; forming to his head what the House of 
Representatives do to the Senate. An inarticulate 
sound, very much resembling a snore, occasionally 
escaped him — but the nature of this internal cogita- 
tion was never known, as he never opened his lips 
on the subject to man, woman, or child. In the 
meantime, the protest of Van Curlet laid quietly on 
the table, where it served to light the pipes of the 
venerable sages assembled in council ; and in the 
great smoke which they raised, the gallant Jacobus, 
his protest, and his mighty Fort Goed Hoop, were 
soon as completely beclouded and forgotten as is a 
question of einergency swallowed up in the speeches 
and resolution of a modern session of Congress. 

There are certain emergencies when your pro- 
found legislators and sage deliberative councils are 
mightily in the way of a nation ; and when an ounce 
of hairbrained decision is worth a pound of sage 
doubt and cautious discussion. Such, at least, was 
the case at present ; for while the renowned Wouter 
Van Twiller was daily battling with his doubts, and 
his resolution growing weaker and weaker in the 
contest, the enemy pushed farther and farther into 
his territories, and assumed a most formidable ap- 
pearance in the neighbourhood of Fort Goed Hoop. 
Here they founded the mighty town of Piquag, or, 
as it has since been called, Weatlwrsfield, a place 
which, if we may credit the assertion of that worthy 
historian, John Josselyn, Gent., "hath been infainous 
by reason of the witches therein." — And so daring 
did these men of Fiquag become, that they extended 
those plantations of onions, for which their town is 
illustrious, under the very noses of the garrison of 
Fort Goed Hoop — insomuch that the honest Dutch- 
men could not look toward that quarter without 
tears in their eyes. 

This crying injustice was regarded with proper 
indignation by the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet. He 
absolutely trembled with the amazing violence of his 
choler, and the exacerbations of his valour ; which 
seemed to be the more turbulent in their workings, 
from the length of the body in which they were agi- 
tated. He forthwith proceeded to strengthen his 
redoubts, heighten his breastworks, deepen his fosse, 
and fortify his position with a double row of abattis ; 
after which valiant precautions, he despatched a 
fresh courier with tremendous accounts of his peril- 
ous situation 



The courier chosen to bear these alarming des- 
patches was a fat, oily little man, as being least liable 
to be worn out, or to lose leather on the journey ; and 
to insure his speed, he was mounted on the fleetest 
wagon-horse in the garrison, remarkable for his 
length of limb, largeness of bone, and hardness of trot ; 
and so tall, that the little messenger was obliged to 
climb on his back be means of his tail and crupper. 
Such extraordinary speed did he make, that he ar- 
rived at Fort Amsterdam in little less than a month, 
though the distance was full two hundred pipes, or 
about a hundred and twenty miles. 

The extraordmary appearance of this portentous 
stranger would have thrown the whole town of New- 
Amsterdam into a quandary, had the good people 
troubled themselves about any thing more than their 
domestic affairs. With an appearance of great huny 
and business, and smoking a short travelling pipe, he 
proceeded on a long swing trot through the muddy 
lanes of the metropolis, demolishing whole batches 
of dirt pies, which the little Dutch children were 
making in the road ; and for which kind of pastry 
the children of this city have ever been famous. On 
arriving at the governor's house, he climbed down 
from his steed in great trepidation ; roused the gray- 
headed door-keeper, old Skaats, who, like his lineal 
descendant and faithful representative, the venerable 
crier of our court, was nodding at his post — rattled 
at the door of the council chamber, and startled the 
members as they were dozing over a plan for es- 
tablishing a public market. 

At that very inoment a gentle grunt, or rather a 
deep-drawn snore, was heard from the chair of the 
governor; a whiff of smoke was at the same instant 
observed to escape from his lips, and a light cloud to 
ascend from the bowd of his pipe. The council of 
course supposed him engaged in deep sleep for the 
good of the community, and, according to custom in 
all such cases established, every man bawled out si- 
lence, in order to maintain tranquillity ; when, of a 
sudden, the door flew open, and the little courier strad- 
dled into the apartment, cased to the middle in a pair 
of Hessian boots, which he had got into for the sake 
of expedition. In his right hand he held forth the 
ominous despatches, and with his left he grasped 
firmly the waistband of his galligaskins, which had 
unfortunately given way, in the exertion of descend- 
ing from his horse. He stumped resolutely up to the 
governor, and with more hurry than perspicuity, de- 
livered his message. But fortunately his ill tidings 
came too late to ruffle the tranquillity of this most 
tranquil of rulers. His venerable excellency had 
just breathed and smoked his last — his lungs and 
his pipe having been exhausted together, and his 
peaceful soul having escaped in the last whiff that 
curled from his tobacco-pipe. In a word, the re- 
nowned Walter the Doubter, who had so often 
slumbered with his contemporaries, nov/ slept with 
his fathers, aud Wilhelmus Kieft governed in his 
stead. 

BOOK IV. 

CONTAIxMNG THE CHRONICLES OF THE REIGN OF 
WILLIAM THE TESTY. 



CHAPTER I. 

SHOWING THE NATURE OF HISTORY IN GENERAL ; 
CONTAINING FURTHERMORE THE UNIVERSAL 
ACQUIREMENTS OF WILLIAM THE TESTY, AND 
HOW A MAN MAY LEARN SO MUCH AS TO 
RENDER HIMSELF GOOD FOR NOTHING. 

WHEN the lofty Thucydides is about to enter upon 
his description of the plague that desolated Athens, 



582 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



one of his modern commentators assures the reader, 
that the history is now going to be exceeding solemn, 
serious, and pathetic ; and hints, with that air of 
chuckling gratulation with which a good dame draws 
forth a choice morsel from a cupboard to regale a 
favourite, that this plague will give his history a most 
agreeable variety. 

In like manner did my heart leap within me, when 
I came to the dolorous dilemma of Fort Good Hope, 
which 1 at once perceived to be the forerunner of a 
series of great events and entertaining disasters. 
Such are the true subjects for the historic pen. For 
what is history, in fact, but a kind of Newgate calen- 
dar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man 
has inflicted on his fellow-man ? It is a huge libel on 
human nature, to which we industriously add page 
after page, volume after volume, as if we were build- 
ing up a monument to the honour, rather than the 
infamy of our species. If we turn over the pages of 
these chronicles that man has written of himself, 
what are the characters dignified by the appellation 
of great, and held up to the admiration of posterity ? 
Tyrants, robbers, conciuerors, renowned only for the 
magnitude of their misdeeds, and the stupendous 
wrongs and miseries they have inflicted on mankind 
■ — warriors, who have hired themseh'es to the trade 
of blood, not from motives of virtuous patriotism, or 
to protect the injured and defenceless, but merely to 
gain the vaunted glory of being adroit and succcss- 
lul in massacring their fellow-beings ! What are the 
great events that constitute a glorious era .-' — The fall 
of eni|)ires — the desolation of happy countries — 
splendid cities smoking in their ruins — the proudest 
works of art tumbled in the dust — the shrieks and 
groans of whole nations ascending unto heaven ! 

It is thus that historians may be said to thrive on 
the miseries of mankind, like birds of prey that 
hover over the field of battle, to fatten on the mighty 
dead. It was observed by a great projector of in- 
land lock-navigation, that rivers, lakes, and oceans 
were only formed to feed canals. In like manner I 
am tempted to believe that plots, conspiracies, wars, 
victories, and massacres are ordained by Providence 
only as food for the historian. 

It is a source of great delight to the philosopher 
in studying the wonderful economy of nature, to 
trace the mutual dependencies of things, how they 
are created reciprocally for each other, and how the 
most noxious and apparently unnecessary animal has 
its uses. Thus those swarms of flies, which are so 
often execrated as useless vermin, are created for the 
sustenance of spiders — and spiders, on the other 
hand, are evidently made to devour flies. So those 
heroes who have been such scourges to the world 
were bounteously provided as themes for the poet 
and the historian, while the poet and the historian 
v;ere destined to record the achievements of heroes ! 

These, and many similar reflections, naturally arose 
in my mind, as I took up my pen to commence the 
reign of William Kieft : for now the stream of our 
history, which hitherto has rolled in a tranquil cur- 
rent, is about to depart for ever from its peaceful 
haunts, and brawl through many a turbulent and 
rugged scene. Like some sleek ox, which, having led 
and fattened in a rich clover-field, lies sunk in luxu- 
rious repose, and will bear repeated taunts and 
blows, before it heaves its unwieldy limbs and clum- 
sily arouses from its slumbers; so the province of 
the Nieuw-Nederlandts, having long thrived and 
grown corpulent, under the prosperous reign of the 
Doubter, was reluctantly awakened to a melancholy 
conviction, that, by patient sufferance, its grievances 
had become so numerous and aggravating, that it 
was preferable to repel than endure them. The 
reader will now witness the manner in which a 



peaceful community advances towards a state of war ; 
which it is too apt to approach, as a horse does a 
drum, with much prancing and parade, but with 
little progress — and too often with the wrong end 
foremost. 

WiLHELMUS Kieft, who, in 1634, ascended the 
>^ubt'rnato>-nil chair (to borrow a favourite, though 
clumsy appellation of modern phraseologists,) was 
in form, feature, and character, the very reverse of 
Wouter Van TwiUer, his renowned predecessor. 
He was of very respectable descent, his father being 
Inspector of Windmills in the ancient town of 
Saardam ; and our hero, we are told, made very cu- 
rious investigations into the nature and operations 
of those machines when a boy, which is one reason 
why he afterwards came to be so ingenious a gov- 
ernor. His name, according to the most ingenious 
etymologists, was a corruption of Kyn-'er, that is to 
say, wrangler or scolder, and expressed the hereditai-y 
disposition of his family ; which for nearly two cen- 
turies had kept the windy town of Saardam in hot 
water, and produced more tartars and brimstones 
than any ten families in the place — and so truly did 
Wilhelmus Kiel"t inherit this family endowment, that 
he had scarcely been a year in the discharge of his 
government, before he was universally known by the 
appellation of WILLIAM THE Testy. 

He was a brisk, waspish, little old gentleman, who 
had dried and withered away, partly through the 
natural process of years, and partly from being 
parched and burnt up by his fieiy soul ; which 
blazed like a vehement rushlight in his bosom, con- 
stantly inciting him to most valorous broils, alterca- 
tions, and misadventures. I have heard it observed 
by a profound and philosophical judge of human nat- 
ure, that if a woman waxes fat as she grows old, the 
tenure of her life is very precarious, but if haply she 
withers, she lives for ever — such likewise was the 
case with William the Testy, who grew tougher in 
proportion as he dried. He was some such a little 
Dutchman as we may now and then see stumping 
briskly about the streets of our city, in a broad- 
skirted coat, with huge buttons, an old-fashioned 
cocked-hat stuck on the back of his head, and a cane 
as high as his chin. His visage was broad, and his 
features sharp, his nose turned up with the most pet- 
ulant curl ; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky 
red — doubtless in consequence of the neighbourhood 
of two fierce little gray eyes, through which his torrid 
soul beamed with tropical fervour. The corners of 
his mouth were curiously modelled into a kind of 
fretwork, not a little resembling the wrinkled pro- 
boscis of an irritable pug dog — in a word, he was 
one of the most positive, restless, ugly little men that 
ever put himself in a passion about nothing. 

Such were the personal endowments of William 
the Testy ; but it was the sterling riches of his mind 
that raised him to dignity and power. In his youth 
he had passed with great credit through a celebrated 
academy at the Hague, noted for producing finished 
scholars with a despatch unequalled, except by cer- 
tain of our American colleges. Here he skirmished 
very smartly on the frontiers of several of the sci- 
ences, and made so gallant an inroad in the dead lan- 
guages, as to bring off captive a host of Greek nouns 
and Latin verbs, together with divers pithy saws and 
apophthegms, all which he constantly paraded in 
conversation and writing, with as much vain-glory as 
would a triumphant general of yore display the spoils 
of the countries he had ravaged. He had, moreover, 
puzzled himself considerably with logic, in which he 
had advanced so far as to attain a very lamiliar ac- 
quaintance, by name at least, with the whole family 
of syllogisms and dilemmas ; but what he chiefly 
valued himself on, was his knowledge of metaphysics, 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



583 



in which, having once upon a time ventured too 
dieeply, he came well-nigh being smothered in a 
slough of unintelligible learning — a fearful peril, from 
the effects of which he never perfectly recovered. 
This, I must confess, was in some measure a mis- 
fortune ; for he never engaged in argument, of which 
he was exceeding fond, but what, between logical 
deductions and metaphysical jargon, he soon in- 
volved himself and his subject in a fog of contradic- 
tions and perplexities, and then would get into a 
mighty passion with his adversary for not being con- 
vinced gratis. 

It is in knowledge as in swimming : he who osten- 
tatiously sports and flounders on the surface, makes 
more noise and splashing, and attracts more atten- 
tion, than the industrious pearl-diver, who plunges 
in search of treasures to the bottom. The " universal 
acquirements " of William Kieft were the subject of 
great marvel and admiration among his countrymen 
— he figured about at the Hague with as much vain- 
glory as does a profound Bonze at Pekin, who has 
mastered half the letters of the Chinese alphabet ; 
and, in a word, was unanimously pronounced an 
universal genius ! — I have known many universal 
geniuses in my time, though, to speak my mind freely, 
1 never knew one, who, for the ordinary purposes of 
life, was worth his weight in straw — but, lor the pur- 
poses of government, a little sound judgment, and 
plain common sense, is worth all the sparkling genius 
that ever wrote poetry, or invented theories. 

Strange as it may sound, therefore, the universal 
acquirenwnts of the illustrious Wilhelmus were very 
much in his way ; and had he been a less learned 
man, it is possible he would have been a much 
greater governor. He was exceedingly fond of try- 
ing philosophical and political experiments ; and 
having stuffed his head full of scraps and remnants 
of ancient republics, and oligarchies, and aristocra- 
cies, and monarchies, and the laws of Solon, and 
Lycurgus, and Charondas, and the imaginary com- 
monwealth of Plato, and, the Pandects of Justinian, 
and a thousand other fragments of venerable antiq- 
uity, he was for ever bent upon introducing some 
one or other of them into use ; so that between one 
contradictory measure and another, he entangled the 
government of the little province of Nieuw-Neder- 
landts in more knots, during his administration, than 
half-a-dozen successors could have untied. 

No sooner had this bustling little man been blown 
by a whiff of fortune into the seat of government, 
than he called together his council, and delivered a 
very animated speech on the affairs of the province. 
As every body knows what a glorious opportunity a 
governor, a president, or even an emperor, has, of 
drubbing his enemies in his speeches, messages, and 
bulletins, where he has the talk all on his own side, 
they may be sure the high-mettled William Kieft did 
not suffer so favourable an occasion to escape him, 
of evincing that gallantry of tongue, common to all 
able legislators. Before he commenced, it is re- 
corded that he took out his pocket-handkerchief, and 
gave a very sonorous blast of the nose, according to 
the usual custom of great orators. This, in general, 
I believe, is intended as a signal trumpet, to call the 
attention of the auditors, but with William the Testy 
it boasted a more classic cause, for he had read of 
the singular expedient of that famous demagogue, 
Caius Gracchus, who, when he harangued the Ro- 
man populace, modulated his tones by an oratorical 
flute or pitchpipe. 

This preparatory symphony being performed, he 
commenced by expressing an humble sense of his 
own want of talents — his utter unworthiness of the 
honour conferred upon him, and his humiliating inca- 
pacity to discharge the important duties of his new 



station — in short, he expressed so contemptible an 
opinion of himself, that many simple country mem- 
bers present, ignorant that these were mere words 
of course, always used on such occasions, were very 
uneasy, and even felt wroth that he should accept 
an office, for which he was consciously so inadequate. 

He then proceeded in a manner highly classic and 
profoundly erudite, though nothing at all to the pur- 
pose, being nothing more than a pompous account 
of all the governments of ancient Greece, and the 
wars of Rome and Carthage, together with the rise 
and fall of sundry outlandish empires, about which 
the assembly knew no more than their great-grand- 
children yet unborn. Thus having, after the manner 
of your learned orators, convinced the audience that 
he was a man of many words and great erudition, 
he at length came to the less important part of his 
speech, the situation of the province — and here he 
soon worked himself into a fearful rage against the 
Yankees, whom he compared to the Gauls who deso- 
lated Rome, and the Goths and Vandals who over- 
ran the fairest plains of Europe — nor did he forget 
to mention, in terms of adequate opprobrium, the 
insolence with which they had encroached upon the 
territories of New-Netherlands, and the unparalleled 
audacity with which they had commenced the town 
of New-Plymouth, and planted the onion-patches of 
Weathersfield, under the very walls of Fort Goed 
Hoop. 

Having thus artfully wrought up his tale of terror 
to a climax, he assumed a self-satisfied look, and de- 
clared, with a nod of knowing import, that he had 
taken measures to put a final stop to these encroach- 
ments — that he had been obliged to have recourse 
to a dreadful engine of warfare, lately invented, aw- 
ful in its effects, but authorized by direful necessity. 
In a word, he was resolved to conquer the Yankees 
— by proclamation I 

For this purpose he had prepared a tremendous 
instrument of the kind, ordering, commanding, and 
enjoining the intruders aforesaid, forthwith to re- 
move, depart, and withdraw from the districts, re- 
gions, and territories aforesaid, under pain of suffer- 
ing all the penalties, forfeitures, and punishments in 
such case made and provided. This proclamation, 
he assured them, would at once exterminate the 
enemy from the face of the country, and he jjledged 
his valour as a governor, that within two months af- 
ter it was published, not one stone should remain on 
another in any of the towns which they had built. 

The council remained for some time silent after 
he had finished ; whether struck dumb with admira- 
tion at the brilliancy of his project, or put to sleep 
by the length of his harangue, the history of the 
times does not mention. Suffice it to say, they at 
length gave a universal grunt of acquiescence — the 
proclamation was immediately despatched with due 
ceremony, having the great seal of the province, 
which was about the size of a buckwheat pancake, 
attached to it by a broad red riband. Governor 
Kieft having thus vented his indignation, felt 
greatly relieved — adjourned the council — put on his 
cocked hat and corduroy small-clothes, and mount- 
ing a tall, raw-boned charger, trotted out to his 
country-seat, which was situated in a sweet, se- 
questered swamp, now called Dutch-street, but more 
comnionlv known by the name of Dog's Misery. 

Here, like the good Numa, he reposed from the 
toils of legislation, taking lessons in government, 
not from the nymph Egeria, but from the honoured 
wife of his bosom ; who was one of that peculiar 
kind of females, sent upon earth a little after the 
flood, as a punishment for the sins of mankind, and 
commonly known by the appellation of kiwwing 
, women. In fact, my duty as a historian obliges me 



584 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



to make known a circumstance which was a great 
secret at the time, and consequently was not a sub- 
ject of scandal at more than half the tea-tables in 
New-Amsterdam, but which, like many other great 
secrets, has leaked out in the lapse of years — and 
this was, that the great Wilhelmus the Testy, 
though one of the most potent little men that ever 
breathed, yet submitted at home to a species of 
government, neither laid down in Aristotle nor 
Plato ; in short, it partook of the nature of a pure, 
unmixed tyranny, and is familiarly denominated 
petticoat g07'ernment. — An absolute sway, which, 
though exceedingly common in these modern days, 
was very rare among the ancients, if we may judge 
from the rout made about the domestic economy of 
honest Socrates ; which is the only ancient case on 
record. 

The great Kieft, however, warded off all the 
sneers and sarcasms of his particular friends, who 
are ever ready to joke with a man on sore points 
of the kind, by alleging that it was a government 
of his own election, to which he submitted through 
choice ; adding at the same time a profound maxim 
which he had found in an ancient author, that " he 
who would aspire to govern, should first learn to 
obey." 



CHAPTER II. 



IN WHICH ARE RECORDED THE SAGE PROJECTS 
OF A RULER OF UNIVERSAL GENIUS — THE 
ART OF FIGHTING BY PROCLAMATION — AND 
HOW THAT THE VALIANT JACOBUS VAN CUR- 
LET CAME TO BE FOULLY DISHONOURED AT 
FORT GOED HOOP. 

Never was a more comprehensive, a more expe- 
ditious, or, what is still better, a more economical 
measure devised, than this of defeating the Yankees 
by proclamation — an expedient, likewise, so humane, 
so gentle and pacific, there were ten chances to one 
in favour of its succeeding, — but then there' was one 
chance to ten that it would not succeed — as the ill- 
natured fates would have it, that single chance car- 
ried the day. The proclamation was perfect in all 
its parts, well constructed, well written, well sealed, 
and well published — all that was wanting to insure 
its effect was that the Yankees should stand in awe 
of it ; but, provoking to relate, they treated it with 
the most absolute contempt, applied it to an un- 
seemly purpose, and thus did the first warlike proc- 
lamation come to a shameful end — a fate which I 
am credibly informed has befallen but too many of 
its successors. 

It was a long time before Wilhelmus Kieft could 
be persuaded, by the united efforts of all his coun- 
sellors, that his war measures had failed in produc- 
ing any effect. On the contrary, he flew in a passion 
whenever any one dared to question its efficacy ; 
and swore that, though it was slow in operating, yet 
when once it began to work, it would soon purge 
the land of these rapacious intruders. Time, how- 
ever, th.nt test of all experiments, both in philosophy 
and politics, at length convinced the great Kieft 
that his proclamation was abortive ; and that not- 
withstanding he had waited nearly four years in a 
state of constant irritation, yet he was still farther 
off than ever from the object of his wishes. His 
implacable adversaries in the east became more and 
more troublesome in their encroachments, and 
founded the thriving colony of Hartford close upon 
the skirts of Fort Goed Hoop. They, moreover, 
commenced the fair settlement of New -Haven 
(otherwise called the Red Hills) within the domains 



of their High Mightinesses — while the onion-patches 
of Piquag were a continual eyesore to the garrison 
of Van Curlet. Upon beholding, theret'ore, the in- 
efficacy of his measure, the sage Kieft, like many a 
worthy practitioner of physic, laid the blame not to 
the medicine, but to the quantity administered, and 
resolutely resolved to double the dose. 

In the year 1638, therefore, that being the fourth 
year of his reign, he fulminated against them a sec- 
ond proclamation, of heavier metal than the former ; 
written in thundering long sentences, not one word 
of which was under five syllables. This, in fact, was 
a kind of non-intercourse bill, forbidding and pro- 
hibiting all commerce and connexion between any 
and every of the said Yankee intruders, and the said 
fortified post of Fort Goed Hoop, and ordering, com- 
manding, and advising all his trusty, loyal, and well- 
beloved subjects to furnish them wiih no supplies of 
gin, gingerbread, or sour-crout ; to buy none of their 
pacing horses, measly pork, apple - brandy, Yankee 
rum, cider-water, apple sweetmeats, Weathersfield 
onions, tin-ware, or wooden bowls, but to starve and 
exterminate them from the face of the land. 

Another pause of a twelvemonth ensued, during 
which this proclamation received the same attention 
and experienced the same fate as the first. In truth, 
it was rendered of no avail by the heroic spirit of the 
Nederlanders themselves. No sooner were they pro- 
hibited the use of Yankee merchandise, than it imme- 
diately became indispensable to their very existence. 
The men who all their lives had been content to 
drink gin and ride Esopus switch-tails, now swore 
that it was sheer tyranny to deprive them of apple- 
brandy and Narraghanset pacers ; and as to the 
women, they declared there was no comfort in life 
without Weathersfield onions, tin kettles, and wooden 
bowls. So they all set to work, with might and main, 
to carry on a sm.uggling trade over the borders ; and 
the province was as full as ever of Yankee wares, — 
with this difference, that those who used them had 
to pay double price, for the trouble and risk incurred 
in breaking the laws. 

A signal benefit arose from these measures of Wil- 
liam the Testy. The efforts to evade them had a 
marvellous effect in sharpening the intellects of the 
people. They were no longer to be governed without 
laws, as in the time of Oloffe the Dreamer; nor 
would the jack-knife and tobacco-box of Walter the 
Doubter have any more served as a judicial process. 
The old Nederlandt maxim, that " honesty is the best 
policy," was scouted as the bane of all ingenious en- 
terprise. To use a modern phrase, " a great impulse 
had been given to the public mind ;" and from the 
time of this first experience in smuggling, we may 
perceive a vast increase in the number, intricacy, and 
severity of laws and statutes — a sure proof of the in- 
creasing keenness of public intellect. 

A twelvemonth having elapsed since the issuing 
of the proclamation, the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet 
despatched his annual messenger, with his customary 
budget of complaints and entreaties. Whether the 
regular interval of a year, intervening between the 
arrival of Van Curlet's couriers, was occasioned by 
the systematic regularity of his movements, or by the 
immense distance at which he was stationed from the 
seat of government, is a matter of uncertainty. Some 
have ascribed it to the slowness of his messengers, 
who, as I have before noticed, were chosen from the 
shortest and fattest of his garrison, as least likely to 
be worn out on the road ; and who, being pursy, 
short-winded little men, generally travelled fifteen 
miles a day, and then laid by a whole week to rest. 
All these, however, are matters of conjecture ; and I 
rather think it may be ascribed to the immemorial 
maxim of this worthy country— and which has ever 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



585 



influenced all its public transactions — not to do things 
in a hurry. 

The gallant Jacobus Van Curlet, in his despatches, 
respectfully represented that several years had now 
elapsed since his first application to his late excel- 
lency, Wouter Van Twiller ; during which interval 
his garrison had been reduced nearly one-eighth, by 
the death of two of his most valiant and corpulent 
soldiers, who had accidentally over-eaten themselves 
on some fat salmon, caught in the Varsche river. 
He further stated, that the enemy persisted in their 
inroads, taking no notice of the fort or its inhabitants : 
but squatting themselves down, and fornimg settle- 
ments all around it ; so that, in a little while, he 
should find himself inclosed and blockaded by the 
enemy, and totally at their mercy. 

But among the most atrocious of his grievances, I 
find the following still on record, w-hich may serve 
to show the bloody-minded outrages of these savage 
intruders. " In the meantime, they of Hartford have 
not onely usurped and taken in the lands of Connecti- 
cott, although unrighteously and against the lawes 
of nations, but have hindered our nation in sowing 
theire own purchased broken up lands, but have also 
soued them with corne in the night, which the Neth- 
erlanders had broken up and intended to sowe : and 
have beaten the servants of the high and mighty the 
honored companie, whicU were labouring upon theire 
master's lands, from theire lands, with sticks and 
plow staves in hostile manner laming, and among 
the rest, struck Ever Duckings* a hole in his head, 
with a stick, so that the blood ran downe very strongly 
downe upon his body." 

But what is still more atrocious — • 

" Those of Hartford sold a hogg, that belonged to 
the honored companie, under pretence that it had 
eaten of theire grounde grass, when they had not 
any foot of inheritance. They proffered the hogg 
for 5^. if the commissioners would have given 5^-. lor 
damage ; which the commissioners denied, because 
noe man's own hogg (as men used to say) can tres- 
pass upon his owne master's grounde."t 

The receipt of this melancholy intelligence in- 
censed the whole community — there was something 
in it that spoke to the dull comprehension, and touch- 
ed the obtuse feelings, even of the puissant vulgar, 
who generally require a kick in the rear to awaken 
their slumbering dignity. I have known my pro- 
found fellow-citizens bear, without murmur, a thou- 
sand essential infringements of their rights, merely 
because they were not immediately obvious to their 
senses— but the moment the unlucky Pearce was 
shot upon our coasts, the whole body politic was in 
a ferment — so the enlightened Nederlanders, though 
they had treated the encroachments of their eastern 
neighbours with but little regard, and left their quill- 
valiant governor to bear the whole brunt of war 
with his single pen — yet now every individual felt 
his head broken in the broken head of Duckings — 
and the unhappy fate of their fellow-citizen the hog 
being impressed, carried and sold into captivity, 
awakened a grunt of sympathy from every bosom. 

The governor and council, goaded by the clamours 
of the multitude, now set themselves earnestly to 
deliberate upon what was to be done. — Proclama- 
tions had at length fallen into temporary disrepute : 
some were for sending the Yankees a tribute, as we 
make peace-offering to the petty Barbary powers, or 
as the Indians sacrifice to the devil ; others were for 
buying them out, but this was opposed, as it would 
be acknowledging their title to the land they had 

* This name is no doubt misspelt. In some old Dutch MSS. of 
the time, we find the name of Evert Duyckingh, who is unqueslion- 
ibly the unfortunate hero above alluded to. 

t Haz. Col. State Papers. 



seized. A variety of measures were, as usual in 
such cases, produced, discussed, and abandoned ; 
and the council had at last to adopt the means, 
which being the most common and obvious, had 
been knowingly overlooked — for your amazing acute 
politicians are for ever looking through telescopes, 
which only enable them to see such objects as are 
far off, and unattainable, but which incapacitate 
them to see such things as are in their reach, and 
obvious to all simple folks, who are content to look 
with the naked eyes Heaven has given them. The 
profound council, as I have said, in the pursuit after 
Jack-o'-lanterns, accidentally stumbled on the very 
measure they were in need of: which was to raise 
a body of troops, and despatch them to the relief and 
reenforcement of the garrison. This measure was 
carried into such pompt operation, that in less than 
twelve months, the whole expedition, consisting of 
a sergeant and twelve men, was ready to march ; 
and was reviewed for that purpose, in the public 
square, now known by the name of the Bowling- 
Green. Just at this juncture, the whole community 
was thrown into consternation, by the sudden arrival 
of the gallant Jacobus Van Curlet, who came strag- 
gling into town at the head of his crew of tatterde- 
malions, and bringing the melancholy tidings of his 
own defeat, and the capture of the redoubtable post 
of Fort Goed Hoop by the ferocious Yankees. 

The fate of this important fortress is an impressive 
warning to all military commanders. It was neither 
carried by storm nor famine ; no practicable breach 
was effected by cannon or mines ; no magazines 
were blown up by red-hot shot, nor were the bar- 
racks demolished, or the garrison destroyed, by the 
bursting of bombshells. In fact, the place was 
taken by a stratagem no less singular than effectual ; 
and one that can never fail of success, whenever an 
opportunity occurs of putting it in practice. Happy 
am I to add, for the credit of our illustrious ances- 
tors, that it was a stratagem, which though it im- 
peached the vigilance, yet left the bravery of the in- 
trepid Van Curlet and his garrison perfectly free 
from reproach. 

It appears that the crafty Yankees, having heard 
of the regular habits of the garrison, watched a fa- 
vourable "opportunity, and silently introduced thev- 
selves into the fort, about the middle of a sultry day ; 
when its vigilant defenders, having gorged themselves 
with a hearty dinner, and smoked out their pipes, 
were one and all snoring most obstreperously at their 
posts, little dreaming of so disastrous an occurrence. 
The enemy most inhumanly seized Jacobus Van 
Curlet and his sturdy myrmidons by the nape of the 
neck, gallanted them to the gate of the fort, and dis- 
missed them severally, with a kick on the crupper, 
as Charles the Twelfth dismissed the heavy-bottom- 
ed Russians, after the battle of Narva— only taking 
care to give two kicks to Van Curlet, as a signal 
mark of distinction. 

A strong garrison was immediately established in 
the fort, consisting of twenty long sided, hard-fisted 
Yankees, with Weathersfield onions stuck in their 
hats by way of cockades and feathers— long rusty 
fowling-pieces for muskets— hasty-pudding, dumb- 
fish, pork and molasses, for stores ; and a huge 
pumpkin was hoisted on the end of a pole, as a 
standard— liberty caps not having yet come into 
fashion. 



386 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER III. 

CONTAINING THE FEARFUL WRATH OF WILLIAM 
THE TESTY, AND THE GREAT DOLOUR OF THE 
NEW-AMSTERDAMMERS, BECAUSE OF THE AF- 
FAIR OF FORT GOED HOOP — AND, MOREOVER, 
HOW WILLIAM THE TESTY DID STRONGLY 
FJRTIFY THE CITY — TOGETHER WITH THE 
EXPLOITS OF STOFFEL BRINKERHOFF. 

Language cannot express the prodigious fury 
into which the testy Wilhehnus Kiel't was thrown by 
this provoking inteUigence. For three good hours 
the rage of the little man was too great for words, 
or rather the words were too great for him ; and he 
was nearly choked by some dozen huge, misshapen, 
nine-comered Dutch oaths, that crowded all at once 
into his gullet. Having blazed off the first broad- 
side, he kept up a constant firing for three whole 
days — anathematizing the Yankees, man, woman, 
and child, body and soul, for a set of dieven, schob- 
bejaken, deugenieten, twist-zoekeren, loozen-schalk- 
en, blaes-kaken, kakken-bedden, and a thousand 
other names, of which, unfortunately for posterity, 
history does not make mention. Finally, he swore 
that he would have nothing more to do with such a 
squatting, bundling, guessing, questioning, swap- 
ping, pumpkin-eating, molasses-daubing, shingle- 
splitting, cider-watering, horse-jockeying, notion- 
peddling crew — that they might stay at Fort Goed 
Hoop and rot, before he would dirty his hands by 
attempting to drive them away ; in proof of which, 
he ordered the new-raised troops to be marched 
forthwith into winter quarters, although it was not 
as yet quite mid-summer. Governor Kieft faithfully 
kept his word, and his adversaries as faithfully kept 
their post ; and thus the glorious river Connecticut, 
and all the gay valleys through which it rolls, to- 
gether with the salmon, shad, and other fish within 
its waters, fell into the hands of the victorious 
Yankees, by whom they are held at this very day. 

Great despondency seized upon the city of New- 
Amsterdam, in consequence of these melancholy 
events. The name of Yankee became as terrible 
among our good ancestors as was that of Gaul 
among the ancient Romans ; and all the sage old 
women of the province used it as a bugbear, where- 
with to frighten their unruly children into obedience. 

The eyes of all the province were now turned upon 
their governor, to know what he would do for the 
protection of the common weal, in these days of 
darkness and peril. Great apprehensions prevailed 
among the reflecting part of the community, especial- 
ly the old women, that these terrible warriors of Con- 
necticut, not content with the conquest of Fort Goed 
Hoop, would incontinently march on to New-Amster- 
dam and take it by storm^and as these old ladies, 
through means of the governor's spouse, who, as 
has been already hinted, was " the better horse," 
had obtained considerable influence in public affairs, 
keeping the province under a kind of petticoat gov- 
ernment, it was determined that measures should be 
taken for the effective fortification of the city. 

Now it happened, that at this time there sojourned 
in New-Amsterdam one Anthony Van Corlear,* a 
jolly fat Dutch trumpeter, of a pleasant burly visage, 
famous for his long wind and his huge whiskers, and 
who, as the story goes, could twang so potently up- 
on his instrument, as to produce an effect upon all 
within hearing, as though ten thousand bag-pipes 



* David Pietrez De Vri'es, in his " Reyze naer Nieuw-Nederlant 
onder het year 1640," makes mention of one Corlear^ a trumpeter 
in Fort Amsterdam, who gave name to Corlear's Hook, and who 
was doubtless this same champion described by Mr. Knickerbocker. 
— Editor. 



were singing right lustily i' the nose. Him did the 
illustrious Kieft pick out as the man of all the world 
most fitted to be the champion of New-Amsterdam, 
and to garrison its fort ; making little doubt but that 
his instrument would be as efieclual and offensive in 
war as was that of the Paladin Astolpho, or the 
more classic horn of Alecto. It would have done 
one's heart good to have seen the governor snapping 
his fingers and fidgeting with delight, while his 
sturdy trumpeter strutted up and down the ramparts, 
fearlessly twanging his trumpet in the face of the 
whole world, like a thrice-valorous editor daringly 
insulting all the principalities and powers — on the 
other side of the Atlantic. 

Nor was he content with thus strongly garrison- 
ing the fort, but he likewise added exceedingly to its 
strength, by furnishing it with a formidable battery 
of quaker guns — rearing a stupendous flag-staff in 
the centre, which overtopped the whole city — and, 
moreover, by building a great windmill on one of the 
bastions.* This last, to be sure, was somewhat of a 
novelty in the art of fortification, but, as I have al- 
ready observed, William Kieft was notorious for in- 
novations and experiments ; and traditions do affirm, 
that he was much given to mechanical inventions — 
constructing patent smoke-jacks — carts that went 
before the horses, and especially erecting windmills, 
for which machines he had acquired a singular pre- 
dilection in his native town of Saardam. 

All these scientific vagaries of the little governor 
were cried up with ecstasy by his adherents, as 
proofs of his universal genius — but there were not 
wanting ill-natured grumblers, who railed at him as 
employing his mind in frivolous pursuits, and de- 
voting that time to smoke-jacks and windmills which 
should have been occupied in the more important 
concerns of the province. Nay, they even went so 
far as to hint, once or twice, that his head was 
turned by his experiments, and that he really 
thought to manage his government as he did his 
mills — by mere wind ! — such are the illiberality and 
slander to which enlightened rulers are ever subject. 

Notwithstanding all the measures, therefore, of 
William the Testy, to place the city in a posture of 
defence, the inhabitants continued in great alarm 
and despondency. But fortune, who seems always 
careful, in the very nick of time, to throw a bone for 
hope to gnaw upon, that the starveling elf may be 
kept alive, did about this time crown the arms of the 
province with success in another quarter, and thus 
cheered the drooping hearts of the forlorn Neder- 
landers ; otherwise, there is no knowing to what 
lengths they might have gone in the excess of their 
sorrowing — -"for grief," says the profound historian 
of the seven champions of Christendom, " is com- 
panion with despair, and despair a procurer of in- 
famous death ! " 

Among the numerous inroads of the mosstroopers 
of Connecticut, which tor some time past had occa- 
sioned such great tribulation, I should particularly 
have mentioned a settlement made on the eastern 
part of Long Island, at a place which, from the pe- 
culiar excellence of its shell-fish, was called Oyster 
Bay. This was attacking the province in the most 
sensible part, and occasioned great agitation at New- 
Amsterdam. 

It is an incontrovertible fact, well known to skilful 
physiologists, that the high road to the aft'ections is 
through the throat ; and this may be accounted for 
on the same principles which I have already quoted 
in my strictures on fat aldermen. Nor is the fact 
unknown to the world at large ; and hence do we 



* De Vries mentions that this windmill stood on the south-cast 
bastion ■ and it is likewise to be seen, together with the flag-staff, in 
Justus Danker 's View of New-Amsterdam. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



587 



observe, that the surest way to gain the hearts of the 
milhoii, is to feed them well — and that a man is 
never so disposed to flatter, to please and serve an- 
other, as when he is feeding at his expense ; which 
is one reason why your rich men, who give frequent 
dinners, have such abundance of sincere and taithful 
friends. It is on this principle that our knowing 
leaders of parties secure the affections of their par- 
tisans, by rewarding them bountifully with loaves 
and fishes ; and entrap the suffrages of the greasy 
mob, by treating them with bull feasts and roasted 
oxen. I have known many a man, in this same city, 
acquire considerable importance in society, and 
usurp a large share of the good-will of his enlighten- 
ed fellow-citizens, when the only thing that could be 
said in his eulogium was, that " he gave a good din- 
ner, and kept excellent wine." 

Since, then, the heart and the stomach are so 
nearly allied, it follows conclusively that what affects 
the one, must sympathetically affect the other. Now, 
it is an equally incontrovertible fact, thr.t of all offer- 
ings to the stomach, there is none more grateful than 
the testaceous marine animal, known commonly by 
the vulgar name of Oyster. And in such great rev- 
erence has it ever been held, by my gormandizing 
fellow-citizens, that temples have been dedicated to 
it, time out of mind, in every street, lane, and alley 
throughout this well-fed city. It is not to be ex- 
pected, therefore, that the seizing of Oyster Bay, a 
place abounding with their favourite delicacy, would 
be tolerated by the inhabitants of New-Amsterdam. 
An attack upon their honour they might have par- 
doned ; even the massacre of a few citizens might 
have been passed over in silence ; but an outrage 
that affected the larders of the great city of New- 
Amsterdam, and threatened the stomachs ot its cor- 
pulent burgomasters, was too serious to pass unre- 
venged. — The whole council was unanimous in 
opinion, that the intruders should me immediately 
driven by force of arms from Oyster Bay and its 
vicinity, and a detachment was accordingly des- 
patched for the purpose, under the command of one 
Stoffel Brmkerhoff, or Brinkerhoofd, {i.e. Stoffel, the 
head-breaker,) so called because he was a man ol 
mighty deeds, famous throughout the whole extent 
of Nieuw-Nederlandts for his skill at quarter-staff; 
and for size, he would have been a match for Col- 
brand, the Danish champion, slain by Guy of War- 
wick. 

Stoffel Brinkerhoff was a man of few words, but 
prompt actions — one of your straight-going officers, 
who march directly forward, and do their orders 
without making any parade. He used no extraordi- 
nary speed in his movements, but trudged steadily on, 
through Nineveh and Babylon, and Jericho and Pat- 
chog, and the mighty town of Quag, and various 
other renowned cities of yore, which, by some unac- 
countable witchcraft of the Yankees, have been 
strangely transplanted to Long Island, until he ar- 
rived in the neighbourhood of Oyster Bay. 

Here was he encountered by a tumultuous host of 
valiant warriors, headed by Preserved Fish, and Hab- 
bakuk Nutter, and Return Strong, and Zerubbabel 
Fisk, and Jonathan Doolittle, and Determined Cock! 
— at the sound of whose names the courageous 
Stoffel verily believed that the whole parliament of 
Praise-God-Barebones had been let loose to discomfit 
him. Finding, however, that this formidable body 
was composed merely of the " select men " of the 
settlement, armed with no other weapon but their 
tongues, and that they had issued forth with no other 
intent than to meet him on the field of argument — 
he succeeded in putting them to the rout with little 
difficulty, and completely broke up their settlement. 
Without waiting to write an account of his victory 



on the spot, and thus letting the enemy slip through 
his fingers, while he was securing his own laurels, as 
a more experienced general would have done, the 
brave Stoffel thought of nothing but completing his 
enterprise, and utterly driving the Yankees from the 
island. This hardy enterprise he performed in much 
the same manner as he had been accustomed to drive 
his oxen ; for as the Yankees fled before him, he 
pulled up his breeches and trudged steadily after 
them, and would infallibly have driven them into the 
sea, had they not begged for quarter, and agreed to 
pay tribute. 

The news of this achievement was a seasonable 
restorative to the spirits of the citizens of New-Am- 
sterdam. To gratily them still more, the governor 
resolved to astonish them with one of those gorgeous 
spectacles, known in the days of classic antiquity, a 
full account of which had been flogged into his mem- 
ory, when a school-boy at the Hague. A grand tri- 
umph, therefore, was decreed to Stoffel Brinkerhoff, 
who made his triumphant entrance into town riding 
on a Naraganset pacer ; five pumpkins, which, like 
Roman eagles, had served the enemy for standards, 
were carried before him— fifty cart-loads of oysters, 
five hundred bushels of Weathersfield onions, a hun- 
dred quintals of codfish, two hogsheads of molasses, 
and various oth^r treasures, were exhibited as the 
spoils and tribute ot the Yankees ; while three no- 
torious counterfeiters of Manhattan notes* were led 
captive, to grace the hero's tritmiph. The proces- 
sion was enlivened by martial music from the trump- 
et of Anthony Van Corlear, the champion, accom- 
panied by a select band of boys and negroes per- 
forming on the national instruments of rattle-bones 
and clam-shells. The citizens devoured the spoils 
in sheer gladness of heart — every man did honour to 
the conqueror, by getting devoutly drunk on New- 
England rum— and the learned Wilhelmus Kieft, 
calling to mind, in a momentary fit of enthusiasm 
and generosity, that it was customary among the an- 
cients to honour their victorious generals with public 
statues, passed a gracious decree, by which every 
tavern-keeper was permitted to paint the head of the 
intrepid Stoffel on his sign ! 



CHAPTER IV. 

PHILOSOPHIC.\L REFLECTIONS ON THE FOLLY OF 
BEING HAPPY IN TIMES OF PROSPERITY — SUN- 
DRY TROUBLES ON THE SOUTHERN FRONTIERS 
— HO%V WILLIAM THE TESTY HAD WELL NIGH 
RUINED THE PROVINCE THROUGH A CABALIS- 
TIC WORD — AS ALSO THE SECRET EXPEDITION 
OF JAN JANSEN ALPENDAM, AND HIS ASTON- 
ISHING REWARD. 

If we could but get a peep at the tally of dame 
Fortune, where, like a notable landlady, she regu- 
larly chalks up the debtor and creditor accounts of 
mankind, we should find that, upon the whole, good 
and evil are pretty near balanced in this world ; and 
that though we may for a long while revel in the very 
lap of prosperity, the time will at length come when 
we must ruefully pay off the reckoning. Fortune, 
in fact, is a pestilent shrew, and withal a most inex- 
orable creditor ; for though she may indulge her fa- 
vourites in long credits, and overwhelm them with 



* This is one of those trivial anachronisms, that now and then 
occur in the course of this otherwise authentic history. How could 
.Manhattan notes be counterfeited, when as yet Banks were un- 
itnown in this country >— and our simple progenitors had not even 
dreamt of those inexhaustible mines of fa-per o^uknce.—PRiHT. 
Dkv. 



-83 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



her favours, yet sooner or later she brings up her 
arrears with the rigour of an experienced publican, 
and washes out her scores with their tears. " Since," 
says good old Boetius, " no man can retain her at his 
pleasure, and since her flight is so deeply lamented, 
what are her favours but sure prognostications of 
approaching trouble and calamity ? " 

There is nothing that more moves my contempt 
at the stupidity and want of reflection of my fellow- 
men, than to behold them rejoicing, and indulging 
in security and self-confidence, in times of prosperity. 
To a wise man, who is blessed with the light of rea- 
son, those are the very moments of anxiety and ap- 
prehension ; well knowing that according to the sys- 
tem of things, happiness is at best but transient — 
and that the higher he is elevated by the capricious 
breath of fortune, the lower must be his proportion- 
ate depression. Whereas, he who is overwhelmed 
by calamity, has the less chance of encountering 
fresh disasters, as a man at the bottom of a ladder 
runs very little risk of breaking his neck by tumbling 
to the top. 

This is the very essence of true wisdom, which 
consists in knowing when we ought to be miserable ; 
and was discovered much about the same time with 
that invaluable secret, that " every thing is vanity 
and vexation of spirit ;" in consequence of which 
maxim, your wise men have ever been the unhap- 
piest of the human race ; esteeming it as an infalli- 
ble mark of genius to be distressed without reason — 
since any man may be miserable in time of misfor- 
tune, but it is the philosopher alone who can dis- 
cover cause for grief in the very hour of prosperity. 

According to the principle I have just advanced, 
we find that the colony of New-Netherlands, which, 
under the reign of the renowned Van Twiller, had 
flourished in such alarming and fatal serenity, is 
now paying for its former welfare, and discharging 
the enormous debt of comfort which it contracted. 
Foes harass it from different quarters ; the city of 
New-Amsterdam, while yet in its infancy, is kept in 
constant alarm ; and its valiant commander, William 
the Testy, answers the vulgar, but expressive idea, 
of " a man in a peck of troubles." 

While busily engaged repelling his bitter enemies 
the Yankees on one side, we find him suddenly mo- 
lested in another quarter, and by other assailants. 
A vagrant colony of Swedes, under the conduct of 
Peter Minnewits, and professing allegiance to that 
redoubtable virago, Christina, queen of Sweden, had 
settled themselves and erected a fort on South (or 
Delaware) River — within the boundaries claimed by 
the go\ernment of the New-Netherlands. History 
is mute as to the particulars of their first landing, 
and their real pretensions to the soil ; and this is the 
more to be lamented, as this same colony of Swedes 
will hereafter be found most materially to affect not 
only the interests of the Nederlanders, but of the 
world at large ! 

In whatever manner, therefore, this vagabond col- 
ony of Swedes first took possession of the country, 
it is certain that in 1638 they established a fort, and 
Minnewits, according to the off-hand usage of his 
contemporaries, declared himself governor of all the 
adjacent country, under the name of the province of 
New Sweden. No sooner did this reach the ears 
of the choleric Wilhelmus, than, like a true-spirited 
chieftain, he immediately broke into a violent rage, 
and calling together his council, belaboured the 
Swedes most lustily in the longest speech that had 
ever been heard in the colony, since the memorable 
dispute of Ten Breeches and Tough Breeches. Hav- 
ing thus given vent to the first ebullitions of his in- 
dignation, he had resort to his favourite measure of 
proclamation, and despatched one, piping hot, in the 



first year of his reign, informing Peter Minnewits 
that the whole territory, bordering on the South 
river, had, time out of mind, been in possession of 
the Dutch colonists, having been " beset with forts, 
and sealed with their blood." 

The latter sanguinary sentence would convey an 
idea of diretul war and bloodshed, were we not re- 
lieved by the information that it merely related to a 
fray, in which some half-a-dozen Dutchmen had been 
killed by the Indians, in their benevolent attempts to 
establish a colony and promote civilization. By this 
it wdl be seen, that William Kieft, though a very 
small man, delighted in big expressions, and was 
much given to a praiseworthy figure of rhetoric, gen- 
erally cultivated by your little great men, called hy- 
perbole — a figure which has been found of infinite 
service among many of his class, and which has 
helped to swell the grandeur of many a mighty, self- 
important, but windy chief magistrate. Nor can I 
refrain in this place from observing how much my 
beloved country is indebted to this same figure of 
hyperbole, for supporting certain of her greatest 
characters — statesmen, orators, civilians, and divines; 
who, by dint of big words, inflated periods, and windy 
doctrines, are kept afloat on the surface of society, 
as ignorant swimmers are buoyed up by blown blad- 
ders. 

The proclamation against Minnewits concluded 
by ordering the self-dubbed governor, and his gang 
of Swedish adventurers, immediately to leave the 
country, under penalty of the high displeasure and 
inevitable vengeance of the puissant government of 
the Nieuw-Nederlandts. This " strong measure," 
however, does not seem to have had a whit more 
effect than its predecessors which had been thunder- 
ed against the Yankees — the Swedes resolutely held 
on to the territory they had taken possession of — 
whereupon matters for the present remained in 
statu quo. 

That Wilhelmus Kieft should put up with this in 
Solent obstinacy in the Swedes, would appear incom- 
patible with his valorous temperament ; but we find 
that about this time the little man had his hands full, 
and, what with one annoyance and another, was 
kept continually on the bounce. 

There is a certain description of active legislators, 
who, by shrewd management, contrive always to 
have a hundred irons on the anvil, every one of 
which must be immediately attended to ; who conse- 
quently are ever full of temporary shifts and expe- 
dients, patching up the public welfare, and cobbling 
the national affairs, so as to make nine holes where 
they mend one — stopping chinks and flaws with 
whatever comes first to hand, like the Yankees I 
have mentioned, stuffing old clothes in broken win- 
dows. Of this class of statesmen was William the 
Testy — and had he only been blessed with powers 
equal to his zeal, or his zeal been disciplined by a 
little discretion, there is very little doubt that he 
would have made the greatest governor of his size 
on record — the renowned governor of the island of 
Barataria alone excepted. 

The great defect of Wilhelmus Kieft's policy was, 
that though no man could be more ready to stand 
forth in an hour of emergency, yet he was so intent 
upon guarding the national pocket, that he suffered 
the enemy to break its head — in other words, what- 
ever precaution for public safety he adopted, he was 
so intent upon rendering it cheap, that he invariably 
rendered it ineffectual. All this was a remote con- 
sequence of his profound education at the Hague — 
where, having acquired a smattering of knowledge, 
he was ever after a great Conner of indexes, contin- 
ually dipping into books, without ever studying to 
the bottom of any subject ; so that he had the scum 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



589 



of all kinds of authors fermenting in his pericranium. 
In some of these titie-page researches, he unluckily 
stumbled over a grand political cabalistic word, 
which, with his customary facility, he immediately 
incorporated into his great scheme of government, 
to the irretrievable injuiy and delusion of the honest 
province of Nieuw-Nederlandts, and the eternal mis- 
leading of all experimental rulers. 

In vain have I pored over the theurgia of the 
Chaldeans, the cabala of the Jews, the necromancy 
of the Arabians, the magic of the Persians, the hocus- 
pocus of the English, the witchcraft of the Yankees, 
or the powwowing of the Indians, to discover where 
the little man first laid eyes on this terrible word. 
Neither the Sephir Jetzirah, that famous cabalistic 
volume, ascribed to the patriarch Abraham ; nor the 
pagesofZohar, containing the mysteries of the cabala, 
recorded by the learned rabbi Simon Sochaides, yield 
any light to my inquiries — nor am 1 in the least bene- 
fited by my painful researches in the Sheni-ham- 
phorah of Benjamin, the wandering Jew, though it 
enabled Davidus Elm to make a ten days' journey 
in twenty-four hours. Neither can I perceive the 
slightest affinity in the Tetragrammaton, or sacred 
name of four letters, the profoundest word of the He- 
brew cabala ; a mystery sublime, ineffable, and in- 
communicable — and the letters of which, Jod-He- 
Vau-He, having been stolen by the pagans, consti- 
tuted their great name, Jao or Jove. In short, in 
all my cabalistic, theurgic, necromantic, magical, 
and astrological researches, from the Tetractys of 
Pythagoras to the recondite works of Breslaw and 
Mother Bunch, I have not discovered the least ves- 
tige of an origin of this word, nor have I discovered 
any word of sufficient potency to counteract it. 

Not to keep my reader in any suspense, the word 
which had so wonderfully arrested the attention of 
William the Testy, and which in German characters 
had a particularly black and ominous aspect, on 
being fairly translated into the English, is no other 
than ECONOMY — a talismanic term, which, by con- 
stant use and frequent mention, has ceased to be for- 
midable in our eyes, but which has as terrible potency 
as any in the arcana of necromancy. 

When pronounced in a national assembly, it has 
an immediate effect in closing the hearts, beclouding 
the intellects, drawing the purse-strings and button- 
ing the breeches- pockets of all philosophic legislators. 
Nor arc its effects on the eyes less wonderful. It 
produces a contraction of the retina, an obscurity of 
the crystalline lens, a viscidity of the vitreous, and an 
inspissation of the aqueous humours, an induration 
of the tunica sclerotica and a convexity'of the cor- 
nea ; insomuch that the organ of vision loses its 
strength and perspicuity, and the unfortunate patient 
becomes myopes, or, in plain English, purblind ; per- 
ceiving only the amount of immediate expense, with- 
out being able to look farther, and regard it in con- 
nexion with the ultimate object to be effected — " So 
that," to quote the words of the eloquent Burke, 
" a briar at his nose is of greater magnitude than an 
oak at five hundred yards' distance." Such are its 
instantaneous operations, and the results are still 
more astonishing. By its magic influence, seventy- 
fours shrink into frigates — frigates into sloops, and 
sloops into gun-boats. 

This all-potent word, which served as his touch- 
stone in politics, at once explains the whole system 
of proclamations, protests, empty threats, windmills, 
trumpeters, and paper war, carried on by Wilhelmus 
the Testy — and we may trace its operations in an 
armament which he fitted out in 1642, in a moment 
of great wrath, consisting of two sloops and thirty 
men, under the command of Mynheer Jan Jansen 
Alpendam, as admiral of the fleet, and commander- 



in-chief of the forces. This formidable expedition, 
which can only be paralleled by some of the daring 
cruises of our infant navy about the bay and up the 
Sound, was intended to drive the Marylanders from 
the Schuylkill, of which they had recently taken pos- 
session — and which was claimed as part of the prov- 
ince of New-Nederlandts — for it appears that at this 
time our infant colony was in that enviable state, so 
much coveted by ambitious nations, that is to say, 
the government had a vast extent of territory, part 
of which it enjoyed, and the greater part of which it 
had continually to quarrel about. 

Admiral Jan Jansen Alpendam was a man of great 
mettle and prowess, and no way dismayed at the 
character of the enemy, who were represented as a 
gigantic, gunpowder race of men, who lived on hoe- 
cakes and bacon, drank mint-juleps and apple-toddy, 
and were exceedingly expert at boxing, biting, goug- 
ing, tar and feathering, and a variety of other athletic 
accomplishments, which they had borrowed from 
their cousins-german and prototypes, the Virginians, 
to whom they have ever borne considerable resem- 
blance. Notwithstanding all these alarming repre- 
sentations, the admiral entered the Schuylkill most 
undauntedly with his fleet, and arrived without dis- 
aster or opposition at the place of destination. 

Here he attacked the enemy in a vigorous speech 
in Low Dutch, which the wary Kieft had previously 
put in his pocket ; wherein he courteously com- 
menced by calling them a pack of lazy, touting, 
dram-drinking, cock-fighting, horse-racing, slave- 
driving, tavern-haunting. Sabbath-breaking, mulatto- 
breeding upstarts — and concluded by ordering them 
to evacuate the country immediately — to which they 
most laconically replied in plain English, " they'd see 
him d d first." 

Now this was a reply for which neither Jan Jansen 
Alpendam nor Wilhelmus Kieft had made any cal- 
culation — and finding himself totally unprepared to 
answer so terrible a rebuff with suitable hostility, he 
concluded that his wisest course was to return home 
and report progress. He accordingly sailed back to 
New-Amsterdam, where he was received with great 
honours, and considered as a pattern for all com- 
manders ; having achieved a most hazardous enter- 
prise, at a trifling expense of treasure, and without 
losing a single man to the State ! — He was unani- 
mously called the deliverer of his country, (an ap- 
pellation liberally bestowed on all great men ;) his 
two sloops, having done their duty, were laid up (or 
dry-docked) in a cove now called the Albany basin, 
where they quietly rotted in the mud ; and to im- 
mortalize his name, they erected, by subscription, a 
magnificent shingle monument on the top of Flatten- 
barrack hill, which lasted three whole years ; when 
it fell to pieces and was burnt for firewood. 



CHAPTER V. 

HOW WILLIAM THE TESTY ENRICHED THE PROV- 
INCE BY A MULTITUDE OF LAWS, AND CAME 
TO BE THE PATRON OF LAWYERS AND BUM- 
BAILIFFS — AND HOW THE PEOPLE BECAME EX- 
CEEDINGLY ENLIGHTENED AND UNHAPPY UN- 
DER HIS INSTRUCTIONS. 

Among the many wrecks and fragments of ex- 
alted wisdom which have floated down the stream 
of time, from venerable antiquity, and have been 
carefully picked up by those humble, but industrious 
wights, who ply along the shores of literature, we 
find the following sage ordinance of Charondas, the 
Locrian legislator. Anxious to preserve the ancient 



590 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



laws of the state from the additions and improve- 
ments of profound " countr)' members," or officious 
candidates for popularity, he ordained that whoever 
proposed a new law, should do it with a halter about 
his neck ; so that in case his proposition was re- 
jected, they just hung him up — and there the matter 
ended. 

This salutary institution had such an effect, that 
for more than two hundred years there was only one 
trifling alteration in the criminal code — and the 
whole race of lawyers starved to death for want of 
■ employment. The consequence of this was, that the 
Locrians, being unprotected by an overwhelming 
load of excellent laws, and undefended by a stand- 
ing army of pettifoggers and sheriff's officers, lived 
very lovingly together, and were such a happy peo- 
ple, that they scarce make any figure throughout the 
whole Grecian history — for it is well known that 
none but your unlucky, quarrelsome, rantipole na- 
tions make any noise in the world. 

Well would it have been for William the Testy, 
had he haply, in the course of his " universal ac- 
quirements," stumbled upon this precaution of the 
good Charondas. On the contrary, he conceived 
that the true policy of a legislator was to multiply 
laws, and thus secure the propertv, the persons, and 
the morals of the people, by surrounding them in a 
manner wiih men-traps and spring-guns, and beset- 
ting even the sweet sequestered walks of private life 
with quickset hedges, so that a man could scarcely 
turn, without the risk of encountering some of these 
pestiferous protectors. Thus was he continually 
coining petty laws for every petty offence that oc- 
curred, until in time they became too numerous to 
be remembered, and remained like those of certain 
modern legislators, mere dead-letters — revived occa- 
sionally for the purpose of individual oppression, or 
to entrap ignorant offenders. 

Petty courts consequently began to appear, where 
the law was administered with nearly as much wis- 
dom and impartiality as in those august tribunals, 
the aldennan's and justice's courts of the present 
day. The plaintiff was generally favoured, as being 
a customer and bringing business to the shop ; the 
offences of the rich were discreetly winked at — for 
fear of hurting the feelings of their friends ; — but it 
could never be laid to the charge of the vigilant 
burgomasters, that they suffered vice to skulk un- 
punished, under the disgraceful rags of poverty. 

About this time may we date the first introduction 
of capital punishments — a goodly gallows being 
erected on the water-side, about where Whitehall 
stairs are at present, a little to the east of the Bat- 
tery. Hard by also was erected another gibbet of a 
very strange, uncouth, and unmatchable description, 
but on which the ingenious William Kieft valued 
himself not a little, being a punishment entirely of 
his own invention. 

It was for loftiness of altitude not a whit inferior 
to that of Haman, so renowned in Bible history ; 
but the marvel of the contrivance was, that the cul- 
prit, instead of being suspended by the neck, accord- 
ing to venerable custom, was hoisted by the waist- 
band, and was kept for an hour together dangling 
and sprawling between heaven and earth — to the in- 
finite entertainment and doubtless great edification 
of the multitude of respectable citizens, who usually 
attend upon exhibitions of the kind. 

It is incredible how the little governor chuckled 
at behold mg caitiff vagrants and sturdy beggars 
thus swinging by the crupper, and cutting antic 
gambols in the air. He had a thousand pleasantries 
and mirthful conceits to utter upon these occasions. 
He called them his dandle-lions — his wild-fowl — his 
high-llyers — his spread-eagles— his goshawks — his 



scarecrows, and finally his gallows-birds, which, in- 
genious appellation, though originally confined to 
worthies who had taken the air in this strange man- 
ner, has since grown to be a cant name given to all 
candidates for legal elevation. This punishment, 
moreover, if we may credit the assertions of certain 
grave etymologists, gave the first hint for a kind of 
harnessing, or strapping, by which our forefathers 
braced up their multifarious breeches, and which has 
of late years been revived, and continues to be worn 
at the present day. 

Such were the admirable improvements of Wil- 
liam Kieft in criminal law — nor was his civil code 
less a matter of wonderment ; and much does it 
grieve me that the limits of my work will not suffer 
me to expatiate on both, with the prolixity they de- 
serve. Let it suffice then to say, that in a little 
while the blessings of innumerable laws became no- 
toriously apparent. It was soon found necessary to 
have a certain class of men to expound and confound 
them — divers pettifoggers accordingly made their 
appearance, under whose protecting care the com- 
munity was soon set together by the ears. 

I would not here be thought to insinuate any thing 
derogatory to the profession of the law, or to its dig- 
nified members. Well am I aware, that we have in 
this ancient city innumerable worthy gentlemen who 
have embraced that honourable order, not for the 
sordid love of filthy lucre, nor the selfish cravings of 
renown, but through no other motives but a fervent 
zeal for the correct administration of justice, and a 
generous and disinterested devotion to the interests 
of their fellow-citizens ! — Sooner would I throw this 
trusty pen into the flames, and cork up my ink-bot- 
tle for ever, than infringe even for a nail's breadth 
upon the dignity of this truly benevolent class of 
citizens — on the contrary, I allude solely to that 
crew of caitiff scouts, who, in these latter days of 
evil, have become so numerous — who infest the 
skirts of the profession, as did the recreant Cornish 
knights the honourable order of chivalry — who, 
under its auspices, commit their depredations on so- 
ciety — who thrive by quibbles, quirks, and chicanery, 
and, like vermin, swarm most where there is most 
corruption. 

Nothing so soon awakens the malevolent passions, 
as the facility of gratification. The courts of law 
would never be so constantly crowded with petty, 
vexatious, and disgraceful suits, were it not for the 
herds of pettifogging lawyers that infest them. 
These tamper with the passions of the lower and 
more ignorant classes ; who, as if poverty were not 
a sufficient misery in itself, are always ready to 
heighten it by the bitterness of litigation. They are 
in law what quacks are in medicine — exciting the 
malady for the purpose of profiting by the cure, and 
retarding the cure for the purpose of augmenting 
the fees. Where one destroys the constitution, the 
other impoverishes the purse ; and it may likewise 
be observed, that a patient, who has once been un- 
der the hands of a quack, is ever after dabbling in 
drugs, and poisoning himself with infallible reme- 
dies ; and an ignorant man, who has once meddled 
with the law under the auspices of one of these em- 
pirics, is for ever after embroiling himself with his 
neighbours, and impoverishing himself with success- 
ful law-suits. — My readers will excuse this digres- 
sion, into which I have been unwarily betrayed ; but 
I could not avoid giving a cool, unprejudiced account 
of an abomination too prevalent in this excellent 
city, and with the effects of which I am unluckily 
acquainted to my cost ; having been nearly ruined 
by a law-suit, which was unjustly decided against 
me — and my ruin having been completed by another, 
which was decided in my favour. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



591 



It has been remarked by the observant writer of 
the Stu\'%'e.sant manuscript, that under the adminis- 
tration of Wilhelmus Kiel't tlie disposition of the in- 
habitants of New-Amsterdam experienced an essen- 
tial cliange, so that they became very meddlesome 
and factious. The constant exacerbations of temper 
into which the little governor was thrown by the 
maraudings on his frontiers, and his unfortunate pro- 
pensity to experiment and innovation, occasioned him 
to keep his council in a continual worry — and the 
council being, to the people at large, what yest or 
leaven is to a batch, they threw the whole community 
into a ferment — and the people at large being to the 
city what the mind is to the body, the unhappy com- 
motions they underwent operated most disastrously 
upon New-Amsterdam — insomuch, that in certain 
of their paroxysms of consternation and perplexity, 
they begat several of the most crooked, distorted, 
and abominable streets, lanes, and alleys, with which 
this metropolis is disfigured. 

But the worst of the matter was, that just about 
this time the mob, since called the sovereign people, 
like Balaam's ass, began to grow more enlightened 
than its rider, and exhibited a strange desire of gov- 
erning itself. This was another effect of the " uni- 
versal acquirements " of William the Testy. In 
some of his pestilent researches among the rubbish of 
antiquity, he was struck with admiration at the in- 
stitution of public tables among the Lacedsemonians, 
where they discussed topics of a general and interest- 
ing nature — at the schools of the philosophers, where 
they engaged in profound disputes upon politics and 
morals — where gray-beards were taught the rudi- 
ments of wisdom, and youths learned to become lit- 
tle men before they were boys. " There is nothing," 
said the ingenious Kieft, shutting up the book, " there 
is nothing more essential to the well-management of 
a country, than education among the people : the 
basis of a good government should be laid in the 
public mind." — Now this was true enough, but it 
was ever the wayward fate of William the Testy, 
that when he thought right, he was sure to go to 
work wrong. In the present instance, he could 
scarcely eat or sleep until he had set on foot brawl- 
ing debating societies among the simple citizens of 
New-Amsterdam. This was the one thing wanting 
to complete his confusion. The honest Dutch burgh- 
ers, though in truth but little given to argument or 
wordy altercation, yet by dint of meeting often to- 
gether, fuddling themselves with strong drink, be- 
clouding their brains with tobacco-smoke, and listen- 
ing to the harangues of some half-a-dozen oracles, 
soon became exceedingly wise, and — as is always the 
case where the mob is politically enlightened — ex- 
ceedingly discontented. They found out, with won- 
derful quickness of disce/nment, the fearful error in 
which they had indulged, in fancying themselves the 
happiest people in creation — and were fortunately 
convinced, that, all circumstances to the contrary 
notwithstanding, they were a very unhappy, deluded, 
and consequently ruined people. 

In a short time, the quidnuncs of New-Amsterdam 
formed themselves into sage juntos of political croak- 
ers, who daily met together to groan over political 
affairs, and make themselves miserable ; thronging 
to these unhappy assemblages, with the same eager- 
ness that zealots have in all ages abandoned the 
milder and more peaceful paths of religion, to crowd 
to the howling convocations of fanaticism. We are 
naturally prone to discontent, and avaricious after 
imaginary causes of lamentation — like lubberly 
monks, we belabour our own shoulders, and seem to 
take a vast satisfaction in the music of our own 
groans. Nor is this said for the sake of paradox ; 
daily e.xperience shows the truth of these observa- 



tions. It is almost impossible to elevate the spirits 
of a man groaning under ideal calamities ; but noth- 
ing is more easy than to render him wretched, though 
on the pinnacle of felicity ; as it is a Herculean task 
to hoist a man to the top of a steeple, though the 
merest child can topple him off thence. 

In the sage assemblages I have noticed, the reader 
will at once perceive the faint germs of those sapient 
convocations called popular meetings, prevalent at 
our day. Thither resorted all those idlers and 
"squires of low degree," who, like rags, hang loose 
upon the back of society, and are ready to be blown 
away by every wind of doctrine. Cobblers aban- 
doned their stalls, and hastened thither to give les- 
sons on political economy — blacksmiths left their 
handicraft and suflered their own fires to go out, 
while they blew the bellows and stirred up the fire 
of faction ; and even tailors, though but the shreds 
and patches, the ninth parts of humanity, neglected 
their own measures to attend to the measures of 
government. — Nothing was wanting but half-a-dozen 
newspapers and patriotic editors, to have completed 
this public illumination, and to have thrown the 
whole province in an uproar ! 

I should not forget to mention, that these popular 
meetings were held at a noted tavern ; for houses of 
that description have always been found the most 
fostering nurseries of politics ; abounding with those 
genial streams which give strength and sustenance 
to faction. We are told that the ancient Germans 
had an admirable mode of treating any question of 
importance ; they first deliberated upon it when 
drunk, and afterwards reconsidered it when sober. 
The shrewder mobs of America, who dislike having 
two minds upon a subject, both determine and act 
upon it drunk ; by which means a world of cold and 
tedious speculation is dispensed with — and as it is uni- 
versally allowed, that when a man is drunk he sees 
double, it follows most conclusively that he sees 
twice as well as his sober neighbours. 



CHAPTER VI. 

OF THE GREAT PIPE PLOT — AND OF THE DOLOR- 
OUS PERPLEXITIES INTO WHICH WILLIAM THE 
TESTY WAS THROWN, BY REASON OF HIS HAV- 
ING ENLIGHTENED THE MULTITUDE. 

Wilhelmus Kieft, as has already been made 
manifest, was a great legislator upon a small scale. 
He was of an active, or rather a busy mind ; that is 
to say, his was one of those small, but brisk minds, 
which make up by bustle and constant motion for 
the want of great scope and power. He had, when 
quite a youngling, been impressed with the advice of 
Solomon, " go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider her 
ways and be wise;" in conformity to which, he had 
ever been of a restless, ant-like turn, worrying hither 
and thither, busying himself about little matters, 
with an air of great importance and anxiety — laying 
up wisdom by the morsel, and often toiling and puff- 
ing at a grain of mustard-seed, under the full con- 
viction that he was moving a mountain. 

Thus we are told, that once upon a time, in one 
of his fits of mental bustle, which he termed deliber- 
ation, he framed an unlucky law, to prohibit the uni- 
versal practice of smoking. This he proved, by 
mathematical demonstration, to be, not merely a 
hea\'y tax on the public pocket, but an incredible 
consumer of time, a great encourager of idleness, 
and, of course, a deadly bane to the prosperity and 
morals of the people. Ill-fated Kieft ! had he lived 
in this enJichtened and libel-loving age, and at- 



592 



WORKS OF AVASHINGTON IRVING. 



tempted to subvert the inestimable liberty of the 
press, he could not have struck more closely on the 
sensibilities of the million. 

The populace were in as violent a turmoil as the 
constitutional gravity of their deportment would per- 
mit — a mob of factious citizens had even the hardi- 
hood to assemble before the governor's house, where, 
setting themselves re.solutely down, like a besieging 
army before a fortress, they one and all fell to smok- 
ing with a determined perseverance, that seemed as 
though it were their intention to smoke him into 
terms. The testy William issued out of his man- 
sion like a wrathful spider, and demanded to know 
the cause of this seditious assemblage, and this law- 
less fumigation ; to which these sturdy rioters made 
no other reply, than to loll back phlegmatically in 
their seats, and puff away with redoubled fury ; 
whereby they raised such a murky cloud, that the 
governor was fain to take refuge in the interior of 
liis castle. 

The governor immediately perceived the object 
of this unusual tumult, and that it would be impos- 
sible to suppress a practice, which, by long indul- 
gence, had become a second nature. And here I 
would observe, partly to explain why I have so often 
made mention of this practice in my history, that it 
was inseparably connected with all the affairs, both 
public and private, of our revered ancestors. The 
pipe, in fact, was never from the mouth of the true- 
born Nederlander. It was his companion in soli- 
tude, the relaxation of his gayer hours, his counsel- 
lor, his consoler, his joy, his pride ; in a word, he 
seemed to think and breathe through his pipe. 

When William the Testy bethought himself of all 
these matters, which he certainly did, although a lit- 
tle too late, he came to a compromise with the besieg- 
ing multitude. The result was, that though he con- 
tinued to permit the custom of smoking, yet did he 
abolish the fair long pipes which were used in the 
days of Wouter Van Twiller, denoting ease, tran- 
quillity, and sobriety of deportment ; and, in place 
thereof, did introduce little, captious, short pipes, 
two inches in length ; which, he observed, could be 
stuck in one corner of the mouth, or twisted in the 
hat-band, and would not be in the way of business. 
By this the multitude seemed somewhat appeased, 
and dispersed to their habitations. Thus ended this 
alarming insurrection, which was long known by the 
name of the pipe plot, and which, it has been some- 
what quaintly observed, did end, like most other 
plots, seditions, and conspiracies, in mere smoke. 

But mark, oh reader ! the deplorable consequences 
that did afterwards result. The smoke of these vil- 
lainous little pipes, continually ascending in a cloud 
about the nose, penetrated into, and befogged the 
cerebellum, dried up all the kindly moisture of the 
brain, and rendered the people that used them as 
vapourish and testy as their renowned little governor 
— nay, what is more, from a goodly, burly race of 
folk, they became, like our worthy Dutch farmers, 
who smoke short pipes, a lantern-jawed, smoke- 
dried, leathern-hided race of men. 

Nor was this all, for from hence may we date the 
rise of parties in this province. Certain of the more 
wealthy and important burghers adhering to the an- 
cient fashion, formed a kind of aristocracy, which 
went by the appellation of the Long Pipes — while 
the lower orders, submitting to the innovation, which 
they found to be more convenient in their handicraft 
employments, and to le.ave them more liberty of ac 
tion, were branded with the plebeian name of Short 
Pipes. A third party likewise sprang up, differing 
from both the other, headed by the descendants of 
the famous Robert Chewit, the companion of the 
great Hudson. These entirely discarded the use of 



pipes, and took to chewing tobacco, and hence they 
were called Quids. It is worthy of notice, that this 
last appellation has since come to be invariably ap- 
plied to those mongrel or third parties, that will 
sometimes spring up between two great contending 
parties, as a mule is produced between a horse and 
an ass. 

And here I would remark the great benefit of these 
party distinctions, by which the people at large are 
saved the vast trouble of thinking. Hesiod divides 
mankind into three classes : those who think for 
themselves, those who let others think for them, and 
those who will neither do one nor the other. The 
second class, liowever, comprises the great mass of 
society ; and hence is the origin of parly, by which 
is meant a large body of people, some lew of whom 
think, and all the rest talk. The former, who are 
called the leaders, marshal out and discipline the 
latter, teaching them what they must approve — what 
they must hoot at — what they must say — whom they 
must support — but, above all, whom they must hate 
— for no man can be a right good partisan, unless he 
be a determined and thorough-going hater. 

But when the sovereign people are thus properly 
broken to the harness, yoked, curbed, and reined, it 
is delectable to see with what docility and harmony 
they jog onward, through mud and mire, at the will 
of their drivers, dragging the dirt-carts of faction at 
their heels. How many a patriotic member of Con- 
gress have I seen, who would never have known how 
to make up his mind on any question, and might 
have run a great risk of voting right by mere acci- 
dent, had he not had others to think for him, and a 
file-leader to vote after ! 

Thus then the enlightened inhabitants of the Man- 
hattoes, being divided into parties, were enabled to 
organize dissension, and to oppose and hate one 
another more accurately. And now the great busi- 
ness of politics went bravely on — the parties assem- 
bling in separate beer-houses, and smoking at each 
other with implacable animosity, to the great support 
of the state, and emolument of the tavern-keepers. 
Some, indeed, who were more zealous than the rest, 
went farther, and began to bespatter one another 
with numerous very hard names and scandalous lit- 
tle words, to be found in the Dutch language ; every 
partisan believing religiously that he was serving his 
country, when he traduced the character or impov- 
erished the pocket of a political adversary. But, how- 
ever they might differ between themselves, all parties 
agreed on one point, to cavil at and condemn every 
measure of government, whether right or wrong ; for 
as the governor was by his station independent of 
their power, and was not elected by their choice, and 
as he had not decided in favour of either faction, 
neither of them was interested in his success, or in 
the prosperity of the counti-y, while under his ad- 
ministration. 

" Unhappy William Kieft ! " exclaims the sage 
writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript — " doomed to 
contend with enemies too knowing to be entrapped, 
and to reign over a people too wise to be governed ! " 
All his expeditions against his enemies were baffled 
and set at nought, and all his measures for the public 
safety were cavilled at by the people. Did he pro- 
pose levying an efficient body of troops for internal 
defence— the mob, that is to say those vagabond 
members of the community who have nothing to 
lose, immediately took the alarm, vociferated that 
their interests were in danger — that a standing army 
was a legion of moths, preying on the pockets of 
society ; a rod of iron in the hands of go\ernment ; 
and that a government with a military force at its 
command would inevitably swell into a despotism. 
Did he, as was but too commonly the case, defer 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



593 



preparation until the moment of emergency, and tlien 
hastily collect a handlul of undisciplined vagrants — 
the measure was hooted at as feeble and inadequate, 
as trifling with the public dignity and safety, and as 
lavishing the public funds on impotent enterprises. 
Did lie resort to the economic measure of proclama- 
tion—he was laughed at by the Yankees ; did he 
back it by non-intercourse — it was evaded and coun- 
teracted by his own subjects. Whichever way he 
turned himself, he was beleaguered and distracted 
by petitions of " numerous and respectable meet- 
ings," consisting of some half-a-dozen brawling pot- 
house politicians — all of which he read, and, what is 
worse, all of which he attended to. The consequence 
was, that by incessantly changing his measures, he 
gave none of them a fair trial ; and by listening to 
the clamours of the mob, and endeavouring to do 
every thing, he, in sober truth, did nothing. 

I would not have it supposed, however, that he 
took all these memorials and interferences good- 
naturedly, for such an idea would do injustice to his 
valiant spirit ; on the contrary, he never received a 
piece of advice in the whole course of his life, with- 
out first getting into a passion with the giver. But 
I have ever observed that your passionate little men, 
like small boats with large sails, are the easiest upset 
or blown out of their course ; and this is demonstra- 
ted by Governor Kieft, who, though in temperament 
as hot as an old radish, and with a mind, the terri- 
tory of which was subjected to perpetual whirlwinds 
and tornadoes, yet never failed to be carried away by 
the last piece of advice that was blown into his ear. 
Lucky was it for him that his power was not de- 
pendent upon the greasy multitude, and that as yet 
the populace did not possess the important privilege 
of nominating their chief magistrate ! They, how- 
ever, did their best to help along public affairs ; pes- 
tering their governor incessantly, by goading him on 
with harangues and petitions, and then thwarting his 
fiery spirit with reproaches and memorials, like Sun- 
day jockies managing an unlucky devil of a hack- 
horse— so that Wilhelmus Kieft may be said to have 
been kept either on a worry or a hand-gallop through- 
out the whole of his administration. 



CHAPTER VII. 

CONTAINING DIVERS FEARFUL ACroUNTS OF 
BORDER WARS, AND THE FLAGRANT OUTRAGES 
OF THE MOSSTROOPERS OF CONNECTICUT — 
WITH THE RISE OF THE GREAT AMPHYCTIONIC 
COUNCIL OF THE EAST, AND THE DECLINE OF 
WILLIAM THE TESTY. 

It was asserted by the wise men of ancient times, 
who were intimately acquainted with these matters, 
that at the gate of Jupiter's palace lay two huge tuns, 
the one filled with blessings, the other with misfor- 
tunes — and it verily seems as if the latter had been 
completely overturned and left to deluge the unlucky 
province of Nieuw-Nederlandts. Among the many 
internal and external causes of irritation, the inces- 
sant irruptions of the Yankees upon his frontiers 
were continually adding fuel to the inflammable tem- 
per of William the Testy. Numerous accounts of 
these molestations may still be found among the 
records of the times ; for the commanders on the 
frontiers were especially careful to evince their vigi- 
lance and zeal by striving who should send home 
the most frequent and voluminous budgets of com- 
plaints — as your faithful servant is eternally running 
with complaints to the parlour, of the petty squab- 
bles and misdemeanours of the kitchen. 
38 



Far be it from me to insinuate, however, that our 
worthy ancestors indulged in groundless alarms ; on 
the contrary, they were daily suffering a repetition 
of cruel wrongs,* not one of which but was a suffi- 
cient reason, according to the maxims of national 
dignity and honour, for throwing the whole universe 
into hostility and confusion. 

Oh, )e powers ! into what indignation did every 
one of these outrages throw the philosophic William ! . 
letter after letter, protest after protest, proclamation 
after proclamation, bad Latin, worse English, and 
hideous Low Dutch were exhausted in vain upon 
the inexorable Yankees ; and the four-and-twenty 
letters of the alphabet, which, excepting his cham- 
pion, the sturdy trumpeter Van Corlear, composed 
the only standing army he had at his command, 
were never off duty throughout the whole of his ad- 
ministration. Nor was Antony the trumpeter a 
whit behind his patron in fiery zeal ; but like a faith- 
ful champion of the public safety, on the arrival of 
every fresh article of news, he was sure to sound his 
trumpet from the ramparts, with most disastrous 
notes, throwing the people into violent alarms, and 
disturbing their rest at all times and seasons — which 
caused him to be held in very great regard, the pub- 
lic pampering and rewarding him, as we do brawl- 
ing editors for similar services. 

1 am well aware of the perils that environ me in 
this part of my history. While raking with curious 
hands, but pious heart, among the mouldering re- 
mains of former days, anxious to draw therefrom the 
honey of wisdom, I may fare somewhat like that 
valiant worthy, Samson, who, in meddling with the 
carcass of a dead lion, drew a swarm of bees about 
his ears. Thus, while narrating the many misdeeds 
of the Yanokie or Yankee tribe, it is ten chances to 
one but I offend the morbid sensibilities of certain 
of their unreasonable descendants, who may fly out 
and raise such a buzzing about this unlucky head of 
mine, that I shall need the tough hide of an Achilles 
or an Orlando Furioso to protect me from their 
stings. 

Should such be the case, I should deeply and sin- 
cerely lament — not my misfortune in giving offence — 
but the wrong-headed perverseness of an ill-natured 
generation, in taking offence at any thing I say. 
That their ancestors did use my ancestors ill, is true, 
and I am very sorry for it. I would, with all my 
heart, the fact were otherwise ; but as I am record- 
ing the sacred events of history, I'd not bate one 
nail's breadth of the honest truth, though 1 were 
sure the whole edition of my work should be bought 
up and burnt by the common hangman of Connec- 
ticut. And in sooth, now that these testy gentlemen 
have drawn me out, I will make bold to go farther 
and observe, that this is one of the grand purposes 
for which we impartial historians are sent into the 
world — to redress wrongs and render justice on the 
heads of the guilty. So that, though a powerful na- 



* From among a multitude of bitter grievances still on record, I 
select a i"ew of the most atrocious, and leave my readers to judge 
if our ancestors were not justifiable in gelling into a very valiant 
passion on the occasion. 

" 24 June, 1641. Some of Hartford have taken a hogg out of the 
vlact or common, and shut it up out of meer hate or other preju- 
dice, causing it to starve fur hunger in the stye ! " 

"26 July. The foremencioned English did again drive the 
Companie's hoggs out of the vlact of Sicojoke into Hartford ; con- 
tending daily with reproaches, blows, beatnig the people with all 
disgrace that they could imagine." 

'■ May 20, 1642. The English of Hartford have violently cut 
loose a horse of the honoured Companie's, that stood bound upon 
the common or vlact." 

" May g. 1643. The Companie's horses pastured upon the Com- 
panie's ground, were driven away by them of Connecticott or 
Hartford, and the herdsmen lustily beaten with hatchets and 
slicks." 

** 16. Again they sold a young hogg belonging to the Compa- 
nie which piggs had pastured on the Companie's land." 

Haz. Col. Stale Papers. 



591 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tion may wrong its neighbours with tempornry im- 
punity, yet sooner or later a historian springs up 
who wrealvS ample chastisement on it in return. 

Thus these mosstroopers of the east little thought, 
I'll warrant it, while they were harassing the inoffen- 
sive province of Nieuw-Nederlandts, and driving its 
unhappy governor to his wit's end, that a historian 
should ever arise and give them their own with 
interest. Since, then, I am but performing my bounden 
duty as a historian, in avenging the wrongs of our 
revered ancestors, I shall make no further apology ; 
and indeed, when it is considered that I have all 
these ancient borderers of the east in my power, and 
at the mercy of my pen, I trust that it will be admit- 
ted I conduct myself with great humanity and 
moderation. 

To resume, then, the course of my history. Ap- 
pearances to the eastward began now to assume a 
more formidable aspect than ever — for I would have 
you note that hitherto the province had been chiefly 
molested by its imriiediate neighbours, the people of 
Connecticut, particularly of Hartford; which, if we 
may judge from ancient chronicles, was the strong- 
hold of these sturdy mosstroopers, from whence they 
sallied forth, on their daring incursions, carrying 
terror and devastation into the barns, the hen- 
roosts, and pig-styes of our revered ancestors. 

Albeit, about the year 1643, the people of the east 
country, inhabiting the colonies of Massachusetts, 
Connecticut, New- Plymouth, and New-Haven, gath- 
ered together into a mighty conclave, and after buz- 
zing and debating for many days, like a political hive 
of bees in swarming time, at length settled them- 
selves into a formidable confederation, under the 
title of the United Colonies of New-England. By 
this union, they pledged themselves to stand by one 
another in all perils and assaults, and to co-operate 
in all measures, offensive and defensive, against the 
surrounding savages, among which were dou'otlessly 
included our honoured ancestors of the Manhattoes ; 
and to give more strength and system to this con- 
federation, a general assembly or grand council was 
to be annually held, composed of representatives 
from each of the provinces. 

On receiving accounts of this combination, Wil- 
helmus Kieft was struck with consternation, and, for 
the first time in his whole life, forgot to bounce, at 
hearing an unwelcome piece of intelligence — which 
a venerable historian of the time observes, was 
especially noticed among the politicians of New- 
Amsterdam. The truth was, on turning over in his 
mind all that he had read at the Hague, about leagues 
and combinations, he found that this was an exact 
imitation of the Amphyctionic council, by which the 
states of Greece were enabled to attain to such 
power and supremacy, and the very idea made his 
heart to quake for the safety of his empire at the 
Manhattoes. 

He strenuously insisted that the whole object of 
this confederation was to drive the Nederlanders out 
of their fair domains ; and always flew into a great 
rage if any one presumed to doubt the probability 
of liis conjecture. Nor was he wholly unwarranted 
in such a suspicion ; for at the very first annual 
meeting of th; grand council, held at Boston, (which 
governor Kieft denominated the Delphos of this truly 
classic league,) strong representations were made 
against the Nederlanders, forasmuch as that in their 
dealings with the Indians, they carried on a traffic 
in "guns, powther, and shott — a trade damnable 
and injurious to the colonists."* Not but what cer- 
tam of the Connecticut traders did likewise dabble a 
little in this " damnable traffic " — but then thev al- 



* Haz. Col. State Papers, 



ways sold the Indians such scurvy guns, that they 
burst at the first discharge — and consequently hurt 
no one but these pagan savages. 

The rise of this potent confederacy was a death- 
blow to the glory of William the Testy, for from that 
day forward, it was remarked by many, he never 
held up his head, but appeared quite crestfallen. 
His subsequent reign, therefore, affords but scanty 
food for the historic pen — we find the grand council 
continually augmenting in power, and threatening to 
overwhelm the jirovince of Nieuw-Nederlandts ; 
wliile Wilhclmus Kielt kept constantly fulminating 
proclamations and protests, like a shrewd sea-cap- 
tain firing off carronades and swivels, in order to 
break and disperse a waterspout — but alas ! they 
had no more effect than it they had been so many 
blank cartridges. 

The last document on record of this learned, 
philosophic, but unfortunate little man, is a long let- 
ter to the council of the Amphyctions, wherein, in 
the bitterness of his heart, he rails at the people of 
New-Haven, or Red Hills, for their uncourteous con- 
tempt of his protest, levelled at them for squatting 
within the province of their High Mightinesses. 
From this letter, which is a model of epistolary 
writing, abounding with pithy apophthegms and 
classic figures, my limits will barely allow me to ex- 
tract the following recondite passage : — " Certainly 
when we heare the Inhabitants of New-Hartford 
complayninge of us, we seem to heare Esop's wolfe 
complayninge of the lamb, or the admonition of the 
younge man, who cryed out to his mother, chideing 
with her neighboures, ' Oh Mother revile her, lest 
she first take up that practice against you.' But be- 
ing taught by precedent passages, we received such 
an answer to our protest from the inhabitants of 
New-Haven as we expected ; the Eagle always dc- 
spiseth the Beetle Fly ; yet notwithstanding we do | 
undauntedly continue on our purpose of pursuing our ' 
own right, by just arms and righteous means, and 
doe hope without scruple to execute the express 
commands of our superiors."* To show that this 
last sentence was not a mere empty menace, he con- 
cluded his letter by intrepidly protesting against the 
whole council, as a horde of squatters and inter- 
lopers, inasmuch as they held their meeting at New- 
Haven, or the Red-Hills, which he claimed as being 
within the province of the New-Netherlands. 

Thus end the authenticated chronicles of the reign 
of William the Testy — for henceforth, in the trou- 
bles, the perplexities, and the confusion of the times, 
he seems to have been totally overlooked, and to 
have slipped for ever through the fingers of scrupu- 
lous history. Indeed, for some cause or other which 
I cannot divine, there appears to have been a combi- 
nation among historians to sink his very name into 
oblivion, in consequence of which they have one and 
all torborne even to speak of his exploits. This 
shows how important it is for great men to cultivate 
the favour of the learned, if they are ambitious of 
honour and renown. " Insult not the dervise," said 
a wise caliph to his son, " lest thou offend thine his- 
torian ;" and many a mighty man of the olden time, 
had he observed so obvious a maxim, might have 
escaped divers cruel wipes of the pen, which have 
been drawn across his character. 

It has been a matter of deep concern to me, that 
such darkness and obscurity should hang over the 
latter days of the illustrious Kieft — for he was a 
mighty and great little man, worthy of being utterly 
renowned, seeing that he was the first potentate that 
introduced into this land the art of fighting by proc- 
lamation, and defending a country by trumpeters 



* Vide Haz. Col. State Papers. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



595 



and windmills — an economic and humane mode of 
warfare, since revived with great applause, and 
which promises, if it can ever be carried into full 
effect, to save great trouble and treasure, and spare 
infinitely more bloodshed than either the discovery 
of gunpowder, or the invention of torpedoes. 

It is true, that certain of the early provincial poets, 
of whom there were great numbers in the Nieuw- 
Nederlandts, taking advantage of the mysterious 
exit of William the Testy, have fabled, that like 
Romulus, he was translated to the skies, and forms 
a very fiery little star, somewhere on the left claw of 
the crab ; while others, equally fanciful, declare that 
he had experienced a fate similar to that of the good 
King Arthur ; who, we are assured by ancient bards, 
was carried away to the delicious abodes of fairy 
land, where he still exists, in pristine worth and 
vigour, and will one day or another return to restore 
the gallantry, the honour, and the immaculate pro- 
bity which prevailed in the glorious days of the 
Round Table.*" 

All these, however, are but pleasing fantasies, the 
cobweb visions of those dreaming varlets, the poets, 
to which I would not have my judicious reader at- 
tach any credibility. Neither am I disposed to yield 



* The old Welch bards believed that king Arthur was not dead, 
but carried aiv-iie by the fairies into some pleasant place, where he 
shold rejnaine for a lime, and then returne againe and reigne in as 
great authority as ever. — Holtins^Iwd. 

The Britons suppose that he shall come yet and conquere all 
Britaigne, for certes, this is the prophicye of Merlyn — He say'd 
that his deth shall be doubleous ; and said soth, for men thereof 
yet have doubte and shuUen for ever more — for men wyt not 
whether that he lyveth or is dede. — De Leew Ckron. 



any credit to the assertion of an ancient and rather 
apocr}'phal historian, who alleges that the ingenious 
Wilhelnius was annihilated by the blowing down of 
one of his windmills — nor to that of a writer of later 
times, who affirms that he fell a victim to a philo- 
sophical experiment, which he had for many years 
been vainly striving to accomplish ; having the mis- 
fortune to break his neck from the garret-window of 
the stadt-house, in an ineffectual attempt to catch 
swallows, by sprinkling fresh salt upon their tails. 

The most probable account, and to which I am 
inclined to give my implicit faith, is contained in a 
very obscure tradition, which declares, that what 
with the constant troubles on his t'rontiers — the in- 
cessant schemings and projects going on in his own 
pericranium — the memorials, petitions, remonstran- 
ces, and sage pieces of advice from divers respectable 
meetings of the sovereign people — together with the 
refractory disposition of his council, who were sure 
to differ from him on every point, and uniformly to 
be in the wrong — all these, I say, did eternally oper- 
ate to keep his mind in a kind of furnace heat, until 
he at length became as completely burnt out as a 
Dutch family pipe which has passed through three 
generations of hard smokers. In this manner did 
the choleric but magnanimous William the Testy 
undergo a kind of animal combustion, consuming 
away like a farthing rush-light — so that, when grim 
Death finally snuffed him out, there was scarce left 
enough of him to bury ! 

[END OF VOL. ONE]. 



A History of New-York, 



FROM THE 



BEGINNING OF THE WORLD TO THE END OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY. 

By Diedrich Knickerbocker. 



VOLUME SECOND. 



BOOK V. 

CONTAINING THE FIRST PART OF THE REIGN 
OF PETER STUYVE.SANT, AND HIS TROUBLES 
WITH THE AMPHYCTIONIC COUNCIL. 



CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN IS 
SHOWN TO BE NO VERY INCONSOLABLE MAT- 
TER OF SORROW — AND HOW PETER STUYVES- 
ANT ACQUIRED A GREAT NAME FROM THE 
UNCOMMON STRENGTH OF HIS HEAD. 

To a profound philosopher, like myself, who am 
apt to see clear through a subject, where the pene- 
tration of ordinary people extends but half-way, 
there is no fact more simple and manifest, than that 
the death of a great man is a matter of very little 
importance. Much as we may think of ourselves, 



and much as we may excite the empty plaudits of 
the million, it is certain that the greatest among us 
do actually fill but an exceeding small space in the 
world; and it is equally certain, that even that small 
space is quickly supplied when we leave it vacant. 
" Of what consequence is it," said Pliny, "that in- 
dividuals appear, or make their exit ? the world is a 
theatre whose scenes and actors are continually 
changing." Never did philosopher speak more cor- 
rectly ; and I only wonder that so wise a remark 
could have existed so many ages, and mankind not 
have laid it more to heart. Sage follows on in the 
footsteps of sage ; one hero just steps out of his tri- 
umphal car to make way for the hero who comes af- 
ter him ; and of the proudest monarch it is merely 
said, that — " he slept with his fathers, and his suc- 
cessor reigned in his stead." 

The world, to tell the private truth, cares but little 
for their loss, and if left to itself would soon forget 
to grieve ; and though a nation has often been fig- 
uratively drowned in tears on the death of a great 
man, yet it is ten chances to one if an individual 



598 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tear has been shed on the occasion, excepting from 
the forlorn pen of some hungry author. It is the 
historian, the biographer, and the poet, who have 
the whole burden of grief to sustain ; who — kind 
souls ! — like undertakers in England, act the part 
of chief mourners — who inflate a nation with sighs 
it never heaved, and deluge it with tears it never 
dreamt of shedding. Thus, while the patriotic 
author is weeping and howling, in prose, in blank 
verse, and in rhyme, and collecting the drops of 
public sorrow into his volume, as into a lachrymal 
vase, it is more than probable his fellow-citizens 
are eating and drinking, fiddling and dancing, as 
utterly ignorant of the bitter lamentations made in 
their name, as are those men of straw, John Doe 
and Richard Roe, of the plaintiffs for whom they 
are generously pleased on divers occasions to be- 
come sureties. 

The most glorious and praiseworthy hero that 
ever desolated nations, might have mouldered into 
oblivion among the rubbish of his own monument, 
did not some historian take him into favour, and 
benevolently transmit his name to posterity — and 
much as the valiant William Kieft worried, and 
bustled, and turmoiled, while he had the destinies 
of a whole colony in his hand, I question seriously 
whether he will not be obliged to this authentic his- 
tory for all his future celebrity. 

His exit occasioned no convulsion in the city of 
New-Amsterdam or its vicinity : the earth trembled 
not, neither did any stars shoot from their spheres — 
the heavens were not shrouded in black, as poets 
would fain persuade us they have been on the unfor- 
tunate death of a hero — the rocks (hard-hearted var- 
lets !) melted not into tears, nor did the trees hang 
their heads in silent sorrow ; and as to the sun, he 
laid abed the next night, just as long, and showed 
as jolly a face when he arose, as he ever did on the 
same day of the month in any year, either before or 
since. The good people of New-Amsterdam, one 
and all, declared that he had been a very busy, act- 
ive, bustling little governor; that he was "the fa- 
ther of his country" — that he was "the noblest 
work of God " — that " he was a man, take him for 
all in all, they ne'er should look upon his like again " 
— together with sundry other civil and affectionate 
speeches, that are regularly said on the death of all 
great men ; after which they smoked their pipes, 
thought no more about him, and Peter Stuyvesant 
succeeded to his station. 

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the re- 
nowned Wouter Van Twiller, he was also the best 
of our ancient Dutch governors : Wouter having 
surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, or Piet, 
as he was sociably called by the old Dutch burghers, 
who were ever prone to familiarize names, having 
never been equalled by any successor. He was, in 
fact, the very man fitted by Nature to retrieve the 
desperate fortunes of her beloved province, had not 
the fates, those most potent and unrelenting of all 
ancient spinsters, destined them to inextricable con- 
fusion. 

To say merely that he was a hero would be doing 
him great injustice — he was in truth a combination 
of heroes — for he was of a sturdy, rawbone make, 
like Ajax Telamon, with a pair of round shoulders 
that Hercules would Rave given his hide for, (mean- 
ing his lion's hide,) when he undertook to ease old 
Atlas of his load. He was, moreover, as Plutarch 
describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for the lorce 
of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which sounded 
as though it came out of a barrel ; and like the self- 
same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for 
the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was 
enough ,of itself to make the very bowels of his ad- 



versaries quake with terror and dismay. All this 
martial excellency of appearance was inexpressibly 
heightened by an accidental advantage, with which 
I am surprised that neither Homer nor Virgil have 
graced any of their heroes. This was nothing less 
than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he had 
gained, in bravely fighting the battles of his coun- 
try, but of which he was so proud, that he was 
often heard to declare he valued it more than all 
his other limbs put together; indeed, so highly did 
he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased and 
relieved with silver devices, w'hich caused it to be 
related in divers histories and legends that he wore 
a silver leg."*" 

Like that choleric warrior, Achilles, he was some- 
w^hat subject to extempore bursts of passion, which 
were ofttimes rather unpleasant to his favourites and 
attendants, whose perceptions he was apt to quicken, 
after the manner of his illustrious imitator, Peter 
the Great, by anointing their shoulders with his 
walking-staff. 

Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or 
Aristotle, or Hobbes, or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, 
or Tom Paine, yet did he sometimes manifest a 
shrewdness and sagacity in his measures, that one 
would hardly expect from a man who did not know 
Greek, and had never studied the ancients. True it 
is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he had an un- 
reasonable aversion to experiments, and w'as fond of 
governing his province after the simplest manner — 
but then he contrived to keep it in better order than 
did the erudite Kieft, though he had all the philoso- 
phers ancient and modern to assist and perplex him. 
I must likewise own that he made but very few laws, 
but then again he took care that those few were 
rigidly and impartially enforced — and I do not know 
but justice on the whole was as well administered as 
if there had been volumes of sage acts and statutes 
yearly made, and daily neglected and forgotten. 

He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predeces- 
sors, being neither tranquil and inert, like Walter the 
Doubter, nor restless and fidgeting, like William the 
Testy ; but a man, or rather a governor, of such un- 
common activity and decision of mind that he never 
sought or accepted the advice of others; depending 
confidently upon his single head, as did the heroes ot 
yore upon their single arms, to work his way through 
all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, 
he wanted no other requisite for a perfect statesman, 
than to think always right, for no one can deny that 
he always acted as he thought ; and if he wanted in 
correctness, he made up for it in perseverance — an 
excellent quality ! since it is surely more dignified 
for a ruler to be persevering and consistent in error, 
than wavering and contradictory, in endeavouring to 
do what is right. This much is certain — and it is a 
maxim worthy the attention of- all legislators, both 
great and small, who stand shaking in the wind, with- 
out knowing which way to steer — a ruler who acts 
according to his own will is sure of pleasing himself, 
while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims 
of others, runs a great risk of pleasing nobody. The 
clock that stands still, and points steadfastly in one 
direction, is certain of being right twice in the four- 
and-tvventy hours — while others may keep going con- 
tinually, and continually be going wrong. 

Nor did this magnanimous virtue escape the dis- 
cernment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ; 
on the contrary, so high an opinion had they of the 
independent mind and vigorous intellect of their 
new governor, that they universally called him Hard- 
koppig Pift, or Peter the Headstrong — a great com- 
pliment to his understanding 1 



* See the histories of Masters Josselya and Blome, 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



597 



If from all that I have said thou dost not gather, 
worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a lough, 
sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten, mettlesome, obsti- 
nate, leathern-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spirited 
old governor, either I have written to but little pur- 
pose, or thou art very dull at drawing conclusions. 

This most excellent governor, whose character I 
have thus attempted feebly to delineate, commenced 
his administration on the 29th of May, 1647 ; a re- 
markably stormy day, distinguished in all the alma- 
nacs of the time which have come down to us, by 
the name of Windy Friday. As he was very jealous 
of his personal and official dignity, he was inaugu- 
rated into office with great ceremony ; the goodly 
oaken chair of the renowned Wouter Van TwiUer 
being carefully preserved for such occasions, in like 
manner as the chair and stone were reverentially 
preserved at Schone, in Scotland, for the coronation 
of the Caledonian monarchs. 

I must not omit to mention, that the tempestuous 
state of the elements, together with its being that 
unlucky day of the week, termed " hanging day," 
did not fail to excite much grave speculation and 
divers very reasonable apprehensions among the more 
ancient and enlightened inhabitants ; and several of 
the sager sex, who were reputed to be not a little 
skilled in the mysteries of astrology and fortune- 
telling, did declare outright that they were omens 
of a disastrous administration — an event that came 
to be lamentably verified, and which proves, beyond 
dispute, the wisdom of attending to those preter- 
natural intimations furnished by dreams and visions, 
the flying of birds, falling of stones, and cackling of 
geese, on which the sages and rulers of ancient times 
placed such reliance — or to those shootings of stars, 
eclipses of the moon, howlmgs of dogs, and flarings 
of candles, carefully noted and interpreted by the 
oracular sybils of our day ; who, in my humljle opin- 
ion, are the legitimate inheritors and preservers of 
the ancient science of divination. This much is cer- 
tain, that governor Stuyvesant succeeded to the chair 
of state at a turbulent period ; when foes thronged 
and threatened from without ; when anarchy and 
stiff-necked opposition reigned rampant within ; 
when the authority of their High Mightinesses the 
Lords States General, though founded on the broad 
Dutch bottom of unoffending imbecility ; though 
supported by economy, and defended by speeches, 
protests, and proclamations, yet tottered to its very 
centre ; and when the great citv of New-Amster- 
dam, though fortified by flag-stafis, trumpeters, and 
windmills, seemed like some fair lady of easy 
virtue, to lie open to attack, and ready to yield to 
the first invader. 



CHAPTER n. 

SHOWING HOW PETER THE HEADSTRONG BE- 
STIRRED HIMSELF AMONG THE RATS AND COB- 
WEBS, ON ENTERING INTO OFFICE — AND THE 
PERILOUS MISTAKE HE WAS GUILTY OF, IN HIS 
DEALINGS WITH THE AMPHYCTIONS. 

The very first movements of the great Peter, on 
taking the reins of government, displayed the mag- 
nanimity of his mind, though they occasioned not a 
little m.irvel and uneasiness among the people of the 
Manhattoes. Finding himself constantly interrupted 
by the opposition, and annoyed by the advice, of his 
privy council, the members of which had acquired 
the unreasonable habit of thinking and speaking for 
themselves during the preceding reign, he determined 
at once to put a stop to such grievous abominations. 
Scarcely, therefore, had he entered upon his authori- 



ty, than he turned out of office all those meddlesome 
spirits that composed the factious cabinet of William 
the Testy ; in place of whom he chose unto himself 
counsellors Irom those fat, somniferous, respectable 
families, that had flourished and slumbered under 
the easy reign of Walter the Doubter. All these he 
caused to be furnished with abundance of fair long 
pipes, and to be regaled with frequent corporation 
dinners, admonishing them to smoke, and eat, and 
sleep for the good of the nation, while he took all 
the burden of government upon his own shoulders — 
an arrangement to which they gave hearty acqui- 
escence. 

Nor did he stop here, but made a hideous rout 
among the inventions and expedients of his learned 
predecessor — demolishing his flagstaffs and wind- 
mills, which, like mighty giants, guarded the ram- 
parts of New-Amsterdam — pitching to the duyvel 
whole batteries of quaker guns — rooting up his pat- 
ent gallows, where caitiff vagabonds were suspended 
by the waistband — and, in a word, turning topsy- 
turvy the whole philosophic, economic, and windmill 
system of the immortal sage of Saardam. 

The honest folks of New-Amsterdam began to 
quake now for the fatex)f their matchless champion, 
Antony the trumpeter, who had acquired prodigious 
favour in the eyes of the women, by means of his 
whiskers and his trumpet. Him did Peter the Head- 
strong cause to be brought into his presence, and 
eyeing him for a moment from head to foot, with a 
countenance that would have appalled any thing else 
than a sounder of brass — " Prythee, vvho and what 
art thou.'" said he. — " Sire," replied the other, in 
no wise dismayed, — " for my name, it is Antony Van 
Corlear — for my parentage, 1 am the son of my 
mother — for my profession, I am champion and 
garrison of this great city of New-Amsterdam." — 
"I doubt me much," said Peter Stuyvesant, "that 
thou art some scurvy costardmonger knave— how 
didst thou acquire this paramount honour and dig- 
nity } " — " Marry, sir," replied the other, " like many 
a great man before me, simply by soundi>-g my own 
trumpet." — "Ay, is it so.?" quoth the governor, 
" why, then, let us have a relish of thy art." Where- 
upon he put his instrument to his lips, and sounded 
a charge with such a tremendous outset, such a de- 
lectable quaver, and such a triumphant cadence, that 
it was enough to make your heart leap out of your 
mouth only to be within a mile ot it. Like as a war- 
worn charger, while sporting in peaceful plains, if by 
chance he hear the strains of martial music, pricks 
up his ears, and snorts and paws and kmdles at the 
noise, so did the heroic soul of the mighty Peter joy 
to hear the clangour of the trumpet ; for of him might 
truly be said what was recorded of the renowned 
St. George of England, " there was nothing in all the 
world that more rejoiced his heart, than to hear the 
pleasant sound of war, and see the soldiers brandish 
forth their steeled weapons." Casting his eyes more 
kindly, therefore, upon the sturdy Van Corlear, and 
finding him to be a jolly, fat little man, shrewd in his 
discourse, yet of great discretion and immeasurable 
wind, he straightway conceived a vast kindness for 
him, and discharging him from the troublesome duty 
of garrisoning, defending, and alarming the city, ever 
after retained him about his person, as his chief fa- 
vourite, confidential envoy, and trusty 'squire. In- 
stead of disturbing the city with disastrous notes, he 
was instructed to play so as to delight the governor 
while at his repasts, as did the minstrels of yore in 
the days of glorious chivalry— and on all public oc- 
casions to rejoice the ears of the people with warlike 
melody — thereby keeping alive a noble and martial 
spirit. 

Many other alterations and reformations, both for 



598 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the better and for the worse, did the governor make, 
of which my time will not serve me to record the 
particulars ; suffice it to say, he soon contrived to 
make the province feel that he was its master, and 
treated the sovereign people with such tyrannical 
rigour, that they were all fain to hold their tongues, 
stay at home, and attend to their business ; insomuch 
that party feuds and distinctions were almost forgot- 
ten, and many thriving keepers of taverns and dram- 
shops were utterly ruined for want of business. 

Indeed, the critical state of public affairs at this 
time demanded the utmost vigilance and promptitude. 
The formidable council of the Aniphyctions, which 
had caused so much tribulation to the unfortunate 
Kieft, still continued augmenting its forces, and 
threatened to link within its union all the mighty 
principalities and powers of the east. In the very 
year following the inauguration of Governor Stuy- 
vesant, a grand deputation departed from the city 
of Providence (famous for its dusty streets and beau- 
teous women,) in behalf of the puissant plantation 
of Rhode Island, praying to be admitted into the 
league. 

The following mention is made of this application, 
in certain records of that assemblage of worthies, 
which are still extant.* 

" Mr. Will Cottington and captain Partridg of 
Rhoode-lland presented this insewing request to the 
commissioners in wrighting^ 

" Our request and motion is in behalfe of Rhoode- 
lland, that wee the Ilanders of Rhoode-lland may be 
rescauied into combination with all the united colo- 
nyes of New-England in a firme and perpetuall league 
of friendship and amity of ofence and defence, mu- 
tuall advice and succor upon all just occasions for 
our mutuall safety and welifaire, &c. 

Will Cottington, 
Alicxsander Partridg." 

There is certainly something in the very physi- 
ognomy of this document that might well inspire 
apprehension. The name of Alexander, however 
misspelt, has been warlike in every age ; and though 
its fierceness is in some measure softened by being 
coupled with the gentle cognomen of Partridge, still, 
like the colour of scarlet, it bears an exceeding great 
resemblance to the sound of a trumpet. From the 
style of the letter, moreover, and the soldier-like ig- 
norance of orthography displayed by the noble cap- 
tain Alicxsander Partridg in spelling his own name, 
we may picture to ourselves this mighty man of 
Rhodes, strong in arms, potent in the field, and as 
great a scholar as though he had been educated 
among that learned people of Thrace, who, Aristotle 
assures us, could not count beyond the number four. 

But, whatever might be the threatening aspect of 
this famous confederation, Peter Stuyvesant was not 
a man to be kept in a state of incertitude and vague 
apprehension ; he liked nothing so much as to meet 
danger face to face, and take it by the beard. De- 
termined, therefore, to put an end to all these petty 
maraudings on the borders, he wrote two or three 
categorical letters to the grand council ; which, 
though neither couched in bad Latin, nor yet graced 
by rhetorical tropes about wolves and lambS, and 
beetle-flies, yet had more effect than all the elaborate 
epistles, protests, and proclamations of his learned 
predecessor put together. In consequence of his urgent 
propositions, the great confederacy of the east agreed 
to enter into a final ac]justment of grievances and 
settlement of boundaries, to the end that a perpetual 
and happy peace might take place between the two 
powers. For this purpose, Governor Stuyvesant de- 



* Haz. Col. State Papers. 



puted two ambassadors to negotiate with commis- 
sioners from the grand council of the league ; and a 
treaty was solemnly concluded at Hartford. On re- 
ceiving intelligence of this event, the whole commu- 
nity was in an uproar of exultation. The trumpet 
of the sturdy Van Corlear sounded all day with joy- 
ful clangour from the ramparts of Fort Amsterdam, 
and at night the city was magnificently illuminated 
with two hundred and fifty tallow candles ; besides 
a barrel of tar, which was burnt before the governor's 
house, on the cheering aspect of public affairs. 

And now my worthy reader is, doubtless, like the 
great and good Peter, congratulating himself with the 
idea, that his feelings will no longer be molested by 
afflicting details of stolen horses, broken heads, im- 
pounded hogs, and all the other catalogue of heart- 
rending cruelties that disgraced these border wars. 
But if he should indulge in such expectations, it is a 
proof that he is but little versed in the paradoxical 
ways of cabinets ; to convince him of which, I solicit 
his serious attention to my next chapter, wherein I 
will show that Peter Stuyvesant has already com- 
mitted a great error in politics ; and by effecting a 
peace, has materially hazarded the tranquillity of the 
province. 



CHAPTER III. 



CONTAINING DIVERS SPECULATIONS ON WAR AND 
NEGOTIATIONS — SHOWING THAT A TREATY OF 
PEACE IS A GREAT NATIONAL EVIL. 

It was the opinion of that poetical philosopher, 
Lucretius, that war was the original state of man, 
whom he described as being primitively a savage 
beast of prey, engaged in a constant state of hostility 
with his own species ; and that this ferocious spirit 
was tamed and meliorated by society. The same 
opinion has been advocated by Hobbes ;* nor have 
there been wanting many other philosophers, to ad- 
mit and defend it. 

For my part, though prodigiously fond of these 
valuable speculations, so complimentary to human 
nature, yet, in this instance, I am inclined to take the 
proposition by halves, believing, with Horace,t that 
though war may have f)een originally the favourite 
amusement and industrious employment of our pro- 
genitors, yet, like many other excellent habits, so far 
from being meliorated, it has been cultivated and con- 
firmed by refinement and civilization, and increases 
in exact proportion as we approach towards that 
state of perfection which is the ne phis ultra of 
modern philosophy. 

The first conflict between man and man was the 
mere exertion of physical force, unaided by auxiliary 
weapons — his arm was his buckler, his fist was his 
mace, and a broken head the catastrophe of his 
encounters. The battle of unassisted strength was 
succeeded bv the more rugged one of stones and 
clubs, and war assumed a sanguinary aspect. As 
man advanced in refinement, as his faculties ex- 
panded, and his sensibilities became more exquisite, 
he grew rapidly more ingenious and experienced in 
the art of murdering his fellow-beings. He invented 
a thousand devices to defend and to assault — the 
helmet, the cuirass, and the buckler, the sword, the 
dart, and the javelin, prepared him to elude the 
wound, as well as to lanch the blow. Still urging 



* Hobbes' Leviathan. Part i. chap. 13. 

t Quiim prorepserunt primis animalia terris, 
Nlutuum ac turpe pecus, glandem atque cubilia propter, 
Unguibus et pugnis, dein fustibus, atque ita purro 
Fugnabant armis, quae post fabricaverat usus. 

Hjr. Sat. 1. i. s. 3. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



59y 



on, in the brilliant and philanthropic career of inven- 
tion, he enlarges and heightens his powers of de- 
fence and injur)' — the Aries, the Scorpio, the Balista, 
and the Catapulta, give a horror and sublimity to 
war, and magnify its glory by increasing its desola- 
tion. Still insatiable, though armed with machiner)- 
that seemed to reach the limits of destructive inven- 
tion, and to yield a power of injury commensurate 
even with the desires of revenge — still deeper re- 
searches must be made in the diabolical arcana. 
With furious zeal he dives into the liowels of the 
earth ; he toils midst poisonous minerals and deadly 
salts — the sublime discovery of gunpowder blazes 
upon the world — and finally, the dreadful art of fight- 
ing l.iy proclamation seems to endow the demon of 
war with ubiquity and omnipotence ! 

This, indeed, is grand ! — this, indeed, marks the 
powers of mind, and bespeaks that divine endow- 
ment of reason wdiich distinguishes us from the ani- 
mals, our inferiors. The unenlightened brutes con- 
tent themselves with the native force wliich Provi- 
dence has assigned them. The angry bull butts wUh 
his horns, as did his progenitors before him — the 
lion, the leopard, and the tiger seek only with their 
talons and their fangs to gratify their sanguinary 
fury ; and even the subtle serpent darts the same 
venom and uses the same wiles as did his sire before 
the flood. Man alone, blessed with the inventive 
mind, goes on from discovery to discovery — enlarges 
and multiplies his powers of destruction ; arrogates 
the tremendous weapons of Deity itself, and tasks 
creation to assist him in murdering his brother 
worm ! 

In proportion as the art of war has increased in 
improvement, has the art of preserving peace ad- 
vanced in equal ratio ; and, as we have discovered, 
in this age of wonders and inventions, that a procla- 
mation is the most formidable engine in war, so 
have we disco\ered the no less ingenious mode of 
maintaining peace by perpetual negotiations. 

A treaty, or, to speak more correctly, a negotiation, 
therefore, according to the acceptation of experienced 
statesmen, learned in these matters, is no longer an 
attempt to accommodate differences, to ascertain 
rights, and to establish an equitable exchange of 
kind offices ; but a contest of skill between two 
powers, which shall overreach and take in the other. 
It is a cunning endeavour to obtain, by peaceable 
manoeuvre and the chicanery of cabinets, those ad- 
vantages which a nation would otherwise have 
wrested by force of arms : in the same manner that a 
conscientious highwayman reforms and becomes an 
excellent and praiseworthy citizen, contenting him- 
self with cheating his neighbour out of that property 
he would formerly have seized with open violence. 

In fact, the only time when two nations can be 
said to be in a state of perfect amity, is when a ne- 
gotiation is open and a treaty pending. Then, as 
there are no stipulations entered into, no bonds to 
restrain the will, no specific limits to awaken the 
captious jealousy of right implanted in our nature, as 
each party has some advantage to hope and expect 
from the other, then it is that the two nations are so 
gracious and friendly to each other; their ministers 
professing the highest mutual regard, exchanging 
billetsdoux, making fine speeches, and indulging in 
all those diplomatic flirtations, coquetries, and fond- 
lings, that do so marvellously tickle the good-humour 
of the respective nations. Thus it may paradoxically 
be said, that there is never so good an understand- 
ing between two nations as when there is a little 
misunderstandmg — and that so long as there are no 
terms, they are on the best terms in the world ! 

I do not by any means pretend to claim the merit 
of having made the above political discovery. It has, 



in fact, long been secretly acted upon by certain en- 
lightened cabinets, and is, together with divers other 
notable theories, privately copied out of the common- 
place book of an illustrious gentleman, who has been 
member of Congress and enjoyed the unlimited con- 
fidence of heads of departments. To this principle 
may be ascribi'd the wonderful ingenuity that has 
been shown of late \ears in protracting and inter- 
rupting negotiations. Hence the cunning measure 
of appointing as ambassador some political pettifog- 
ger skilled in delays, sophisms, and misapprehen- 
sions, and dexterous in the art of baffling argument 
— or some blundering statesman, whose errors and 
misconstructions may be a plea for refusing to ratify 
his engagements. And hence, too, that most nota- 
ble expedient, so popular with our government, of 
sending out a brace of_ ambassadors ; who, having 
each an individual will to consult, character to estab- 
lish, and interest to promote, you may as well look 
for unanimity and concord between two lovers with 
one mistress, two dogs with one bone, or two naked 
rogues with one pair of breeches. This disagree- 
ment, therefore, is continually breeding delays and 
impediments, in consequence of which the negotia- 
tion goes on swimmingly — insomuch as there is no 
prospect of its ever coming to a close. Nothing is 
lost by these delays and obstacles but time, and in a 
negotiation, according to the theory I have exposed, 
all time lost is in reality so much time gained — with 
what delightful paradoxes does modern political 
economy abound ! 

Now all that I have here advanced is so notori- 
ously true, that I almost blush to take up the time 
of my readers with treating of matters which must 
many a time have stared them in the face. But the 
proposition to which I would most earnestly call 
their attention, is this — that though a negotiation be 
the most harmonizing of all national transactions, 
yet a treaty of peace is a great political evil, and one 
of the most fruitful sources of war. 

I have rarely seen an instance of any special con- 
tract between individuals, that did not produce jeal- 
ousies, bickerings, and often downright ruptures be- 
tween them ; nor did I ever know of a treaty be- 
tween two nations, that did not occasion continual 
misunderstandings. How many worthy country 
neighbours have 1 known, who, after living in peace 
and good-fellowship for years, have been thrown into 
a state of distrust, cavilling, and animosity, by some 
ill-starred agreement about fences, runs of water, 
and stray cattle. And how many well-meaning na- 
tions, who would otherwise have remained in the 
most amicable disposition towards each other, have 
been brought to sword's points about the infringe- 
ment or misconstruction of some treaty, which in an 
evil hour they had concluded by way of making their 
amity more sure ! 

Treaties, at best, are but complied with so long as 
interest requires their fulfilment ; consequently, they 
are virtually binding on the weaker party only, or. 
in plain truth, they are not binding at all. No na- 
tion will wantonly go to war with another, if it has 
nothing to gain thereby, and, therefore, needs no 
treaty to restrain it from violence; and if it have any 
thing to gain, I much question, from what I have 
witnessed of the righteous conduct of nations, 
whether any treaty could be made so strong that it 
could not thrust the sword through— nay, I would 
hold, ten to one, the treaty itself would be the very 
source to which resort would be had, to find a pre- 
text for hostilities. 

Thus, therefore, I conclude — that though it is the 
best of all policies for a nation to keep up a constant 
negotiation with its neighbours, yet it is the summit 
of folly for it ever to be beguiled into a treaty ; for 



GOO 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



then comes on the non-fulfihnent and infraction, 
then remonstrance, then altercation, tlien retalia- 
tion, then recrimination, and finally open war. In 
a word, negotiation is like courtship, a time of sweet 
words, gallant speeches, soft looks, and endearing 
caresses ; but the marriage ceremony is the signal 
for hostilities. 



CHAPTER IV. 



HOW PETER STUYVESANT WAS GREATLY BELIED 
BY HIS ADVERSARIES, THE MOSSTROOPERS — 
AND HIS CONDUCT THEREUPON. 

If my pains-taking reader lie not somewhat per- 
plexed, in the course of th^ ratiocination of my last 
chapter, he will doubtless at one glance perceive 
that the great Peter, in concluding a treaty with his 
eastern neighbours, was guilty of a lamentable error 
and heterodoxy in politics. To this unlucky agree- 
ment may justly be ascribed a world of little in- 
fringements, altercations, negotiations, and bicker- 
ings, which afterwards took place between the irre- 
proachable Stuyvesant, and the evil-disposed council 
of Amphyctions. All these did not a little disturb 
the constitutional serenity of the good burghers of 
Manna-hata ; but in sooth they were so very pitiful 
in their nature and effects, that a grave historian, 
who grudges the time spent in any thing less than 
recording the fall of empires, and the revolution of 
worlds, would think them unworthy to be inscribed 
on his sacred page. 

The reader is, therefore, to take it for granted, 
though I scorn to waste in the detail that time 
which my furrowed brow and trembling hand in- 
form me is invaluable, that all the while the great 
Peter was occupied in those tremendous and bloody 
contests that 1 shall shortly rehearse, there was a 
continued series of little, dirty, snivelling skirmishes, 
scourings, broils, and maraudings, made on the east- 
ern frontiers, by the mosstroopers of Connecticut, 
But, like that mirror of chivalry, the sage and val- 
ourous Don Quixote, I leave these petty contests for 
some future Sancho Panza of a historian, while I 
reserve my prowess and my pen for achievements 
of higher dignity. 

Now did the great Peter conclude, that his la- 
bours had come to a close in the east, and that he 
had nothing to do but apply himself to the internal 
prosperity of his beloved Manhattoes. Though a 
man of great modesly, he could not help boasting 
that he had at length shut the temple of Janus, and 
that, were all rulers like a certain person who 
should be nameless, it would never be opened 
again. But the exultation of the worthy governor 
was put to a speedy check ; for scarce was the treaty 
concluded, and hardly was the ink dried on the pa- 
per, before the crafty and discourteous council of the 
league sought a new pretence for re-illuming the 
flames of discord. 

It seems to be the nature of confederacies, repub- 
lics, and such like powers, that want the true mas- 
culine character, to indulge exceedingly in certain 
feminine panics and suspicions. Like some good 
lady of delicate and sickly virtue, who is in constant 
dread of having her vestal purity contaminated or 
seduced, and who, if a man do but take her by the 
hand, or look her in the face, is ready to cry out, 
r.ipe ! and ruin ! — so these squeamish governments 
are perpetually on the alarm for the virtue of the 
country ; every manly measure is a violation of the 
constitution — every monarchy or other masculine 
government around them is laying snares for their 
•seduction ; and they are for ever detecting infernal 



plots, by which they were to be betrayed, dishon- 
oured, and " brought upon the town." 

If any proof were wanting of the truth of these 
opinions, I would instance the conduct of a certain 
republic of our day ; who, good dame, has already 
withstood so many plots and conspiracies against her 
virtue, and has so often come near being made " no 
better than she should be." I would notice her con- 
stant jealousies of poor old England, who, by her 
own account, has been incessantly trying to sap her 
honour; though, from my soul, I never could believe 
the honest old gentleman meant her any rudeness. 
Whereas, on the contrary, I think I have several 
times caught her squeezing hands and indulging in 
certain amorous oglings with that sad fellow Buona- 
parte — who all the world knows to be a great de- 
spoiler of national virtue, to have ruined all the em- 
pires in his neighbourhood, and to have debauched 
every republic that came in his way — but so it is, 
these rakes seem always to gain singular favour with 
the ladies. 

But I crave pardon of my reader for thus wander- 
ing, and will endeavour in some measure to apply 
the foregoing remarks ; for in the year 1651, we are 
told, the great confederacy of the east accused the 
immaculate Peter — the soul of honour and heart of 
steel — that by divers gifts and promises he had been 
secretly endeavouring to instigate the Narrohigan- 
sett, (or Narraganset) Mohaque, and Pequot Indians, 
to surprise and massacre the Yankee settlements. 
" For," as the council slanderously observed, " the 
Indians round about for divers hundred miles cer- 
cute, seeme to have drunke deep of an intoxicating 
cupp, att or from the Manhatoes against the English, 
whoe have sought their good, both in bodily and 
spirituall respects." 

History does not make mention how the great 
council of the Amphyctions came by this precious 
plot ; whether it was honestly bought at a fair mar- 
ket price, or discovered by sheer good fortune — it is 
certain, however, that they examined divers Indians, 
who all swore to the fact as sturdily as though ihey 
had been so many Christian troopers ; and to be 
more sure of their veracity, the sage council previous- 
ly made every mother's son of them devoutly drunk, 
remembering an old and trite proverb, which it is 
not necessary for me to repeat. 

Though descended from a family which suffered 
much injury from the losel Yankees of those times — 
my great-grandfather having had a yoke of oxen and 
his best pacer stolen, and having received a pair of 
black eyes and a bloody nose in one of these border 
wars; and my grandfather, when a very little boy 
tending pigs, having been kidnapped and severely 
flogged by a long-sided Connecticut schoolmaster — 
yet I should have passed over all these wrongs with 
forgiveness and oblivion — I could even have suffered 
them to have broken Evert Ducking's head, to have 
kicked the doughty Jacobus Van Curlet and his rag- 
ged regiment out of doors, carried every hog into 
captivity, and depopulated every hen-roost on the 
face of the earth, with perfect impunity. — But this 
wanton attack upon one of the most gallant and ir- 
reproachable heroes of modern times is too much 
even for me to digest, and has overset, with a single 
puff, the patience of the historian, and the forbear- 
ance of the Dutchman. 

Oh, reader, it was false ! — I swear to thee, it was 
false ! if thou hast any respect to my word — if the 
undeviating character for veracity, which I have en- 
deavoured to maintain throughout this work, has its 
due weight with thee, thou wilt not give thy faith to 
this tale of slander ; for I pledge my honour and my 
immortal fame to thee, that the gallant Peter Stuy- 
vesant was not only innocent of this foul conspiracy, 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



601 



but would have suffered his right arm, or even his 
wooden leg, to consume with slow and everlasting 
flames, rather than attempt to destroy his enemies in 
any other way than open, generous warfare — beshrew 
those caitiff scouts, that conspired to sully his honest 
name by such an imputation ! 

Peter Stuyvesant, though he perhaps had never 
heard of a knight-errant, yet had he as true a heart 
of chivalry as ever beat at the round table of King 
Arthur. There was a spirit of native gallantry, a 
noble and generous hardihood diffused through his 
rugged manners, which altogether gave unquestion- 
able tokens of a heroic mind. He was, in truth, a 
hero of chivalry, struck off by the hand of Nature 
at a single heat, and though she had taken no far- 
ther care to polish and refine her workmanship, he 
stood forth a miracle of her skill. 

But, not to be figurative, (a fault in historic writ- 
ing which I particularly eschew,) the great Peter 
possessed, in an eminent degree, the seven renowned 
and noble virtues of knighthood, which, as he had 
never consulted authors in the disciplining and culti- 
vating of his mind, I verily believe must have been 
implanted in the corner of his heart by dame Nature 
herself — where they flourished among his hardy 
qualities like so manv sweet wild flowers, shooting 
forth and thrivmg with redundant luxuriance among 
stubborn rocks. Such was the mind of Peter the 
Headstrong, and if my admiration for it has, on this 
occasion, transported my style beyond the sober 
gravity which becomes the laborious scribe of his- 
toric events, I can plead as an apology, that though 
a little gray-headed Dutchman arrived almost at the 
bottom of the down-hill of life, I still retain some 
portion of that celestial fire which sparkles in the eye 
of youth, when contemplating the virtues and achieve- 
ments of ancient worthies. Blessed, thrice and nine 
times blessed be the good St. Nicholas — that I have 
escaped the influence of that chilling apathy, which 
too often freezes the sympathies of age ; which, like 
a churlish spirit, sits at the portals of the heart, re- 
pulsing every genial sentiment, and paralyzing every 
spontaneous glow of enthusiasm ! 

No sooner, then, did this scoundrel imputation on 
his honour reach the car of Peter Stuyvesant, than 
he proceeded in a manner which would have re- 
dounded to his credit, even though he had studied 
for years in the library of Don Quixote himself. He 
immediately despatched his valiant trumpeter and 
squire, Antony Van Corlear, with orders to ride 
night and day, as herald, to the Amphyctionic coun- 
cil, reproaching them, in terms of noble indignation, 
for giving ear to the slanders of heathen infidels, 
against the character of a Christian, a gentleman, 
and a soldier — and declaring, that as to the treach- 
erous and bloody plot alleged against him, whoever 
affirmed it to be true, lied in his teeth ! — to prove 
which, he defied the president of the council and all 
his compeers, or, if they pleased, their puissant 
champion, captain Alicxsander Partridg, that mighty 
man of Rhodes, to meet him in single combat, where 
he would trust the vindication of his innocence to 
the prowess of his arm. 

This challenge being delivered with due ceremony, 
Antony Van Corlear sounded a trumpet of defiance 
before the whole council, ending with a most horrific 
and nasal twang, full in the face of Captain Partridg, 
who almost jumped out of his skin in an ecstasy of 
astonishment at the noise. This done, he mounted 
a tall Flanders mare, which he always rode, and 
trotted merrily towards the Manhattoes — passing 
through Hartford, and Piquag, and iMiddletown, and 
all the other border towns — twanging his trumpet 
like a very devil, so that the sweet valleys and banks 
of the Connecticut resounded with the warlike melody 



— and stopping occasionally to eat pumpkin pies, 
dance at country frolics, and bundle with the beau- 
teous lasses of those parts — ^whom he rejoiced ex- 
ceedingly with his soul-stirring instrument. 

But the grand council, being composed of consid- 
erate men, had no idea of running a tilting with such 
a fiery hero as the hardy Peter — on the contrary, 
they sent him an answer couched in the meekest, the 
most mild, and provoking terms, in which they as- 
sured him that his guilt was proved to their perfect 
satisfaction, by the testimony of divers sober and 
respectable Indians, and concluding with this truly 
amiable paragraph — " For youre confidant denialls 
of the Barbarous plott charged will waigh little in 
balance against such evidence, soe that we must still 
require and seeke due satisfaction and cecurite, so 
we rest, Sir, 

Youres in wayes of Righteousness, &c." 

I am aware that the above transaction has been 
differently recorded by certain historians of the east, 
and elsewhere ; who seem to have inherited the bit- 
ter enmity of their ancestors to the brave Peter — 
and much good may their inheritance do them. 
These declare, that Peter Stuyvesant requested to 
have the charges against him inquired into, by com- 
missioners to be appointed for the pur^iose; and yet, 
that when such commissioners were appointed, he 
refused to submit to their examination. In this art- 
ful account, there is but the semblance of truth — he 
did, indeed, most gallantly offer, when that he tbund 
a deaf ear was turned to his challenge, to submit his 
conduct to the rigorous inspection of a court of hon- 
our — but then he expected to find it an august tribu- 
nal, composed of courteous gentlemen, the governors 
and nobility of the confederate plantations, and of the 
province of New-Netherlands ; where he might be 
tried by his peers, in a manner worthy of his rank 
and dignity — whereas, let me perish, if they did not 
send to the Manhattoes two lean-sided, hungry petti- 
foggers, mounted on Narraganset pacers, with saddle- 
bags under their bottoms, and green satchels under 
their arms, as though they were about to beat the 
hoof from one county court to another in search of a 
law-suit. 

The chivalric Peter, as might be expected, took no 
notice of these cunning varlets ; who, with profes- 
sional industry, fell to prying and sifting about, in 
quest of ex parte evidence ; perplexing divers simple 
Indians and old women, with their cross-questioning, 
until they contradicted and forswore themselves 
most horribly. Thus having fulfilled their errand to 
their own satisfaction, they returned to the grand 
council with their satchels and saddle-bags stuffed 
full of villainous rumours, apocryphal stories, and out- 
rageous calumnies, — for all which the great Peter 
did not care a tobacco-stopper ; but, I warrant me, 
had they attempted to play off the same trick upon 
William' the Testy, be would have treated them both 
to an aerial gambol on his patent gallows. 

The grand council of the east held a very solemn 
meeting, on the return of their envoys ; and after 
they had pondered a long time on the situation of 
affairs, were upon the point of adjourning without 
being able to agree upon any thing. At this critical 
moment, one of those meddlesome, indefatigable 
spirits, who endeavour to establish a character for 
patriotism by blowing the bellows of ]iarty, until the 
whole furnace of politics is red-hot with sparks and 
cinders — and who have just cunning enough to know 
that there is no time so favourable forgetting on the 
people's backs as when they are in a state of turmoil, 
and attending to every body's business but their own 
— this aspiring imp of faction, who was called a great 
politician, because he had secured a seat in council 
by calumniating all his opponents — he, I say, con- 



602 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ceived this a fit opportunity to strike a blow that 
should secure his popularity among his constituents 
who lived on the borders of Nieuvv-Nederlandt, and 
were the greatest poachers in Christendom, except- 
ing the Scotch border nobles. Like a second Peter 
the Hermit, therefore, he stood forth and preached 
up a crusade against Peter Stuyvesant, and his de- 
voted citv. 

He made a speech which lasted six hours, accord- 
ing to the ancient custom in these parts, in which he 
represented the Dutch as a race of impious heretics, 
who neither believed in witchcraft, nor the sovereign 
virtues of horse-shoes — who left their country for 
the lucre of gain, not like themselves, for the enjoy- 
ment o{ liberty of conscience — who, in short, were a 
race of mere cannibals and anthropophagi, inasmuch 
as they never eat cod-fish on Saturday, devoured 
swine's flesh without molasses, and held pumpkins 
in utter contempt. 

This speech had the desired effect, for the coun- 
cil, being awakened by the sergeant-at-arms, rul)bed 
their eyes, and declared that it was just and politic 
to declare instant war against these unchristian anti- 
punipkinites. But it was necessary that the people 
at large should first be prepared for this measure ; 
and for this purpose the arguments of the orator 
were preached from the pulpit for several Sundavs 
subsequent, and earnestly recommended to the con- 
sideration of every good Christian, who professed 
as well as practiced the doctrines of meekness, char- 
ity, and the forgiveness of injuries. This is the first 
time we hear of the "drum ecclesiastic " beating up 
for political recruits in our country; and it proved 
of such signal efticacy, that it has since been called 
into frequent service throughout our Union. A cun- 
ning politician is often found skulking under the 
clerical robe, with an outside all religion, and an in- 
side all political rancour. Things spiritual and things 
temporal are strangely jurribled together, like poi- 
sons and antidotes or^ an apothecary's shelf; and 
instead of a devout sermon, the simple church-going 
folk have often a political pamphlet thrust down their 
throats, labelled with a pious text from Scripture. 



CHAPTER V. 

HOW THE NEW-AMSTERDAMMERS BECAME GREAT 
IN ARMS, AND OF THE DIREFUL CATASTROPHE 
OF A MIGHTY ARMY — TOGETHER WITH PETER 
STUYVESANT'S MEASURES TO FORTIFY THE 
CITY ■ — AND HOW HE WAS THE ORIGINAL 
FOUNDER OF THE BATTERY. 

But, notwithstanding that the grand council, as I 
have already shown, were amazingly discreet in their 
proceedings respecting the New-Netherlands, and 
conducted the whole with almost as much silence 
and mystery as does the sage British cabinet one 
of its ill-starred secret expeditions — jet did the ever- 
watchful Peter receive as full and accurate informa- 
tion of every movement as does the court of France 
of all the notable enterprises I have mentioned. He 
accordingly sat himself to work, to render the machi- 
nations of his bitter adversaries abortive. 

I know that many will censure the precipitation 
of this stout-hearted old governor, in that he hurried 
into the expenses of fortification, without ascertain- 
ing whether they were necessary, by prudently wait- 
ing until the enemy was at the door. I3ut they should 
recollect that Peter Stuyvesant had not the benefit 
of an insight into the modern arcana of politics, and 
was strangely bigoted to certain. obsolete maxims of 
the old school ; among which he firmly believed, that 



to render a country respected abroad, it was neces- 
sary to make it formidable at home — and that a na- 
tion should place its reliance for peace and security 
more upon its own strength, than on the justice or 
good-will of its neighbours. He proceeded, there- 
fore, with all diligence, to put the province and me- 
tropolis in a strong posture of defence. 

Among the few remnants of ingenious inventions j 
which remained from the days of William the Testy I 
were those impregnable bulwarks of public safety ' 
militia laws ; by which the inhabitants were obliged 
to turn out twice a year, with such military equip- 
ments — as it pleased God ; and were put under the 
command of very valiant tailors, and man-milliners, 
who though on ordinary occasions the meekest, pip- 
pin-hearted little men m the world, were very devils 
at parades and courts-martial, when they had cocked 
hats on their heads, and swords by their sides. Un- 
der the instructions of these periodical warriors, the 
gallant train-bands made marvellous proficiencv in 
the mystery of gunpowder. They were taught to 
face to the right, to wheel to the left, to snap off 
empty fire-locks without winking, to turn a corner 
without any great uproar or irregularity, and to 
march through sun and rain from one end of the 
town to the other without flinching — until in the end 
they became so valorous, that they fired off blank 
cartridges, without so much as turning away their 
heads — could hear the largest field-piece discharged, 
without stopping their ears, or falling into much con- 
fusion — and would even go through all the fatigues 
and perils of a summer day's parade, without having 
their ranks much thinned by desertion ! 

True it is, the genius of this truly pacific people 
was so little given to war, that during the intervals 
which occurred between field d.ays, they generally 
contrived to forget all the military tuition they had 
received ; so that when they reappeared on parade, 
they scarcely knew the butt-end of the inus'Ket from 
the muzzle, and invariably mistook the right shoulder 
for the left — a mistake which, however, was soon 
obviated by chalking their left arms. But whatever 
might be their blunders and awkwardness, the saga- 
cious Kieft declared them to be of but little impor- 
tance — since, as he judiciously observed, one cam- 
paign would be of more instruction to them than a 
hundred parades ; for though two-thirds of them 
might be food for powder, yet such of the other 
third as did not run away would become most expe- 
rienced veterans. 

The great Stuyvesant had no particular veneration 
for the ingenious experiments and institutions of his 
shrewd predecessor, and among other things held 
the militia system in very considerable contempt, 
which he was often heard to call in joke — for he 
was sometimes fond of a joke — governor Kieft's 
broken reed. As, however, the present emer- 
gency was pressing, he was obliged to avail 
himself of such means of defence as were next at 
hand, and accordingly appointed a general inspec- 
tion and parade of the train-bands. But oh ! Mars 
and Bellona, and all ye other powers of war, both 
great and small, what a turning out was here ! — 
Here came men without officers, and officers without 
men — long fowling-pieces, and short blunderbusses 
— muskets of all sorts and sizes, some without bay- 
onets, others without locks, others without stocks, 
and many without either lock, stock, or barrel — 
cartridge-boxes, shot-belts, powder-horns, swords, 
hatchets, snicker-snees, crow-bars, and broomsticks, 
all mingled higgledy piggledy — like one of our con- 
tinental armies at the breaking out of the revolu- 
tion. 

This sudden transformation of a pacific commu- 
nity into a band of warriors, is doubtless what is 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



603 



meant, in modern days, by "putting a nation in 
armour," and " fixing it in an attitude " — in whicli 
armour and attitude it makes as maitial a tigure, 
and as lii<ely to acquit itself with as mucli prowess 
as the renowned Sancho Panza, when suddenly 
equipped to defend his island of Barataria. 

The sturdy Peter eyed this ragged regiment with 
some such rueful aspect as a man would eye the 
devil ; but knowing, like a wise man, that all he had 
to do was to make the best out of a bad bargain, he 
determined to give his heroes a seasoning. Having, 
therefore, drilled them through the manual exercise 
over and over again, he ordered the fifes to strike up 
a quick march, and trudged his sturdy troops hack- 
wards and forwai ds about the streets of New-Am- 
sterdam, and the fields adjacent, until their short 
legs ached, and their fat sides sweated again. But 
this was not all; the martial spu'it of the old gov- 
ernor caught fire from the sprightly music of the fife, 
and he resolved to try the mettle of his troops, and 
give them a taste of the hardships of iron war. To 
this end he encamped them, as the shades of evening 
fell, upon a hill formerly called Bunker's Hill, at 
some distance from the town, with a full intention 
of initiating them into the discipline of camps, and 
of renewing, the next day, the toils and perils of the 
field. But so it came to pass, that in the night there 
fell a great and heavy rain, which descended in tor- 
rents upon the camp, and the mighty army strangely 
melted away before it ; so that when Gaffer Phoebus 
came to shed his morning beams upon the place, 
saving Peter Stuyvesant and his trumpeter, \'an 
Corlear, scarce one was to be found of all the multi- 
tude that had encamped there the night before. 

This awful dissolution of his army would have ap- 
palled a commander of less nerve than Peter Stuy- 
vesant ; but he considered it as a matter of but 
small importance, though he thenceforward regard- 
ed the militia system with ten tmies greater con- 
tempt than ever, and took care to provide himself 
with a good garrison of chosen men, whom he kept 
in pay, of whom he boasted that they at least pos- 
sessed the quality, indispensable in soldiers, of being 
water-proof. 

The next care of the vigilant Stuyvesant was to 
strengthen and fortify New-Amsterdam. For this 
purpose, he caused to be built a strong picket fence, 
that reached across the island, from river to river, 
being intended to protect the city not merely from 
the sudden invasions of foreign enemies, but likewise 
from the incursions of the neighbouring savages.* 

Some traditions, it is true, have ascribed the build- 
ing of this wall to a later period, but they are wholly 
incorrect ; for a memorandum in the Stuyvesant 
manuscript, dated towards the middle of the gov- 
ernor's reign, mentions this wall particularly, as a 
very strong and curious piece of workmanship, and 
the admiration of all the savages in the neighbour- 
hood. And it mentions, moreover, the alarming cir- 
cumstance of a drove of stray cows breaking through 
the grand wall of a dark night ; by which the whole 
community of New-Amsterdam was thrown into a 
terrible panic. 

In addition to this great wall, he cast up several 
outworks to Fort Amsterdam, to protect the sea- 
board, at the point of the island. These consisted 
of formidable mud batteries, solidly faced, after the 



* In an antique view of New-Amsterdam, taken some years 
after the above period, is a representation of this wall, which 
stretched along the course of Wall-street, so called in com- 
memoration of this great bulwark. One gate, called the Land- 
Poort, opened upon Broadway, hard by where at present stands 
the Trinity Church ; and another, called the Water - Poort, 
stood about where the Tontine Coffee -House is at present — 
opening upon Smits Vleye, or as it is commonly called, Smith 
Fly. then a marshy valley, with a creek or inlet extending up what 
we call Maiden-lane. 



manner of the Dutch ovens, common in those days, 
with clam-shells. 

These frowning bulwarks, in process of time, came 
to be pleasantly overrun by a verdant carpet of grass 
and clover, and their high embankments overshadow- 
ed by wide-spreading sycamores, among whose foliage 
the little birds sported about, rejoicing the ear with 
their melodious notes. The old burghers would re- 
pair of an afternoon to smoke their pipes under the 
shade of their branches, contemplating the golden 
sun as he gradually sunk into the west, an emblem 
of that tranquil end towards which themselves were 
hastening — while the young men and the damsels of 
the town would take many a moonlight stroll among 
these favourite haunts, watching the silver beams of 
chaste Cynthia tremble along the calm bosom of the 
bay, or light up the white sail of some gliding bark, 
and interchanging the honest vows of constant affec- 
tion. Such was the origin of that renowned walk, 
The Battery, which, though ostensibly devoted to 
the purpose of war, has ever been consecrated to the 
sweet delights of peace. The favourite walk of de- 
clining age — the healthful resort of the feeble invalid 
— the Sunday refreshment of tlie dusty tradesman — 
the scene of many a boyish gambol — the rendezvous 
of many a tender assignation — the comfort of the 
citizen — the ornament of New-York, and the pride 
of the lovely island of Manna-hata. 



CHAPTER VI. 

HOW THE PEOPLE OF THE EAST COUNTRY WERE 
SUDDENLY AFFLICTED WITH A DIABOLICAL 
EVIL — AND THEIR JUDICIOUS MEASURES FOR 
THE EXTIRPATION THEREOF. 

Having thus provided for the temporary security 
of New-Amsterdam, and guarded it against any sud- 
den surprise, the gallant Peter took a hearty pinch 
of snuft', and, snapping his fingers, set the great 
council of Amphyctions, and their champion, the 
doughty Alicxsander Partridg, at defiance. It is 
impossible to say, notwithstanding, what might have 
been the issue of this affair, had not the council been 
all at once involved in sad perplexity, and as much 
dissension sown among its members, as of yore was 
stirred up in the camp of the brawling warriors of 
Greece. 

The council of the league, as I have shown in my 
last chapter, had already announced its hostile deter- 
minations, and already was the mighty colony of 
New-Haven, and the puissant town of Piquag, oth- 
erwise called Wealhersfield — famous for its onions 
and its witches — and the great trading house of 
Hartford, and all the other redoubtable border 
towns, in a prodigious turmoil, furbishing up their 
rusty fowling-pieces, and shouting aloud for war ; by 
which they anticipated easy conquests, and gorgeous 
spoils, from the little fat Dutch villages. But this 
joyous brawling was soon silenced by the conduct 
of the colony of Massachusetts. Struck with the 
gallant spirit of the brave old Peter, and convinced 
by the chivalric frankness and heroic warmth of his 
vindication, they refused to believe him guilty of the 
infamous plot most wrongfully laid at his door. With 
a generosity for which I would yield them immortal 
honour, they declared that no determination of the 
grand council of the league should bind the general 
court of Massachusetts to join in an offensive war 
which should appear to such general court to be 
unjust.* 



* Haz. Col. State Papers. 



604 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



This refusal immediately involved the colony of 
Massachusetts and the other combined colonies in 
very serious difficulties and disputes, and would no 
doubt have produced a dissolution of the confederacy, 
but that the council of Amphyctions, finding that 
they could not stand alone, if mutilated by the loss 
of so important a member as Massachusetts, were 
fain to abandon for the present their hostile machi- 
nations against the Manhattoes. Such is the marvel- 
lous energy and the puissance of those confederacies, 
composed of a number of sturdy, self-willed, discord- 
ant ])arts, loosely banded together by a puny general 
government. As it was, however, the warlike towns 
of Connecticut had no cause to deplore this disap- 
pointment ol their martial ardour ; for by my faith — 
though the combined powers of the league might 
have been too potent, in the end, for the robustious 
warriors of the Manhattoes — yet in the interim 
would the lion-hearted Peter and his myrmidons 
have choked the stomachful heroes of Pic|uag with 
their own onions, and have given the other little 
border towns such a scouring, that I warrant they 
would have had no stomach to squat on the land, or 
invade the hen-roost of a New-Nederlander, for a 
century to come. 

Indeed, there was more than one cause to divert 
the attention of the good people of the east, from 
their hostile purposes ; for just about this time were 
they horribly beleaguered and harassed by the in- 
roads of the prince of darkness, divers of whose 
liege subjects they detected, lurking within their 
camp, all of whom they incontinently roasted as so 
many spies and dangerous enemies. Not to speak 
in parables, we are informed, that at this juncture 
the New-England provinces were exceedingly troub- 
led by multitudes of losel witches, who wrought 
strange devices to beguile and distress the multi- 
tude ; and notwithstanding numerous judicious and 
bloody laws had been enacted against all " solemn 
conversing or compacting with the divil, by way of 
conjuracon or the like,"* yet did the dark crime of 
witchcraft continue to increase to an alarming de- 
gree, that would almost transcend belief, were not 
the fact too well authenticated to be even doubted 
for an instant. 

What is particularly worthy of admiration is, that 
this terrible art, which so long has baffled the pain- 
ful researches and abstruse studies of philosophers, 
astrologers, alchymists, theurgists, and other sages, 
was chiefly confined to the most ignorant, decrepit, 
and ugly old women in the community, who had 
scarcely more brains than the broomsticks they rode 
upon. 

When once an alarm is sounded, the public, who 
love dearly to be in a panic, are not long in want 
of proofs to support it — raise but the cry of yellow 
fever, and immediately every headache, and indi- 
gestion, and overflowing of the bile, is pronounced 
the terrible epidemic. In like manner, in the present 
instance, whoever was troubled with colic or lum- 
bago, was sure to be bewitched : and woe to any 
unlucky old woman that lived m his neighbourhood. 
Such a howling abomination could not be suffered to 
remain long unnoticed, and it accordmgly soon at- 
tracted the fiery indignation of the sober and reflect- 
ive part of the community — more especially of those, 
who, whilome, had evinced so much active benevo- 
lence in the conversion of Quakers and Anabaptists. 
The grand council of the Amphyctions publicly set 
their faces against so deadly and dangerous a sin ; 
and a severe scrutiny took place after those nefarious 
witches, who were easily detected by devil's pinches, 
black cats, broomsticks, and the circumstance of 



their only being able to weep three tears, and those 
out of the left eye. 

It is incredible the number of offences that were 
detected, " for every one of which," says the pro- 
found and reverend Cotton Mather, in that excellent 
work, the History of New-England — " we have such 
a sufficient evidence, that no reasonable man in this 
whole country ever did question them ; and it will 
be iiiir en sellable to do it in any other."'*- 

Indeed, that authentic and judicious historian, 
John Josselyn, Gent., furnishes us with unquestion- 
able facts on this subject. "There are none," ob- 
serves he, "that beg in this country, but there be 
witches too many — bottle-bellied witches and others, 
that produce many strange apparitions, if you will 
believe report, of a shallop at sea manned with wom- 
en — and of a ship, and great red horse standing 
by the mainmast; the ship being in small cove to 
the eastward, vanished of a sudden," etc. 

The number of delinquents, however, and their 
magical devices, were not more remarkable than 
their diabolical obstinacy. Though exhorted in the 
most solemn, persuasive, and affectionate manner, to 
confess themselves guilty, and be burnt for the good 
of religion, and the entertainment of the public ; yet 
did they most pertinaciously persist in asserting their 
innocence. Such incredible obstinacy was in itself 
deserving of immediate punishment, and was suffi- 
cient proof, if proof were necessary, that they were 
in league with the devil, who is perverseness itself. 
But their judges were just and merciful, and were 
determined to punish none that were not convicted 
on the best of testimony ; not that they needed any 
evidence to satisfy their own minds, for, like true and 
experienced judges, their minds were perfectly made 
up, and they were thoroughly satisfied of the guilt 
of the prisoners, before they proceeded to try them ; 
but still something was necessary to convince the 
community at large — to quiet those prying quidnuncs 
who should come after them — in short, the world 
must be satisfied. Oh, the world — the world ! — all 
the world knows the world of trouble the world is 
eternally occasioning ! — The worthy judges, there- 
fore, were driven to the necessity of sifting, detect- 
ing, and making evident as noon-day, matters which 
were at the commencement all clearly understood 
and firmly decided upon in their own pericraniums — 
so that it may truly be said that the witches were 
burnt to gratify the populace of the day — but were 
tried for the satisfaction of the whole world that 
should come after them. 

Finding, therefore, that neither exhortation, sound 
reason, nor friendly entreaty had any avail on these 
hardened offenders, they resorted to the more urgent 
arguments of the torture, and having thus abso- 
lutely wrung the truth from tlieir stubborn lips, 
they condemned them to undergo the roasting due 
unto the heinous crimes they had confessed. Some 
even carried their perverseness so far as to expire 
under the torture, protesting their innocence to the 
last ; but these were looked upon as thoroughly and 
absolutely possessed by the devil, and the pious by- 
standers only lamented that they had not lived a lit- 
tle longer, to have perished in the flames. 

In the city of Ephesus, we are told that the 
plague was expelled by stoning a ragged old beggar 
to death, whom Appolonius pointed out as being 
the evil spirit that caused it, and who actually 
showed himself to be a demon, by changing into a 
shagged dog. In like manner, and by measures 
equally sagacious, a salutary check was given to this 
growing evil. The witches were all burnt, banished, 
or panic-struck, and in a little while there was not 



* New-Plymouth Record. 



' Mather's Hist. New-Eng., b. 6. ch. 7. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



605 



an ugly old woman to be found throughout New- 
England — which is doubtless one reason why all the 
young women there are so handsome. Those hon- 
est tolls, who had suffered from their incantations 
gradually recovered, e.\cepting such as had been 
afflicted with twitches and aches, which, however, 
assumed the less alarming aspect of rheumatism, 
sciatics, and lumbagos — and the good people of 
New-England, abandoning the study of the occult 
sciences, turned tlieir attention to the more profit- 
able hocus-pocus of trade, and soon became expert 
in the legerdemain art of turning a penny. Still, 
however, a tinge of the old leaven is discernible, 
even unto this day, in their characters — vvilches oc- 
casionally start up among them in different dis- 
guises, as physicians, civilians, and divines. The 
people at large show a keenness, a cleverness, and 
a profundity of wisdom that savours strongly of 
witchcraft — and it has been remarked, that when- 
ever any stones fall from the moon, the greater part 
of them are sure to tumble into New-England ! 



CHAPTER VII. 

WHICH RECORDS THE RISE AND RENOWN OF A 
VALIANT COMMANDER, SHOWING THAT A 
MAN, LIKE A BLADDER, MAY BE PUFFED UP 
TO GREATNESS AND IMPORTANCE BY MERE 
WIND. 

When treating of these tempestuous times, the 
unknown writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript 
breaks out into a vehement apostrophe, in praise 
of the good St. Nicholas ; to whose protecting care 
he entirely ascribes the strange dissensions that 
broke out in the council of the Amphyctions, and 
the direful witchcraft that prevailed in the east coun- 
try — whereby the hostde machinations against the 
Nederlanders were for a time frustrated, and his fa- 
vourite city of New-Amsterdam preserved from im- 
minent peril and deadly warfaie. Darkness and 
lowering superstition hung over the fair valleys of 
the east; the pleasant banks of the Connecticut no 
longer echoed with the sounds of rustic gayety; 
direful phantoms and portentous apparitions were 
seen in the air — gliding spectrums haunted every 
wild brook and dreary glen — strange voices, made 
by viewless forms, were heard in desert solitudes — 
and the border towns were so occupied in detecting 
and punishing the knowing old women who had pro- 
duced these alarming appearances, that for a while 
the province of Nieuw-Nederlandt and its inhabit- 
ants were totally forgotten. 

The great Peter, therefore, finding that nothing 
was to be immediately apprehended from his eastern 
neighbours, turned himself about, with a praise- 
worthy vigilance that ever distinguished him, to put 
a stop to the insults of the Swedes. These freeboot- 
ers, my attentive reader will recollect, had begun to 
be very troublesome towards the latter part of the 
reign of William the Testy, having set the procla- 
mations of that doughty little governor at nought, 
and put the intrepid Jan Jansen Alpendam to a per- 
fect nonplus ! 

Peter Stuyvesant, however, as has already been 
shown, was a governor of different habits and turn 
of mind — without more ado, he immediately issued 
orders for raising a corps of troops to be stationed 
on the southern frontier, under the command of brig- 
adier-genera] Jacobus Van Poffenburgh. This illus- 
trious warrior had risen to great importance during 
the reign of Wilhelmus Kieft, and if histories speak 
true, was second in coir.mand to the hapless Van 



Curlet, when he and his ragged regiment were inhu- 
manly kicked out of Fort Good Hope by the Yan- 
kees. In consequence of having been in such a 
" memorable affair," and of having received more 
wounds on a certain honourable part tiiat shall be 
nameless than any of his comrades, he was ever after 
considered as a hero, who had "seen some service." 
Certain it is, he enjoyed the unlimited confidence and 
friendship of William the Testy ; who would sit for 
hours, and listen with wonder to his gunpowder nar- 
ratives of surprising victories — he had never gained; 
and dreadful battles — from which he had run away. 

It was tropically observed by honest old Socrates, 
that heaven had inlused into some men at their birth 
a portion of intellectual gold ; into others of intel- 
lectual silver ; while others were bounteously fur- 
nished out with abundance of brass and iron — now 
of this last class was undoubtedly the great General 
Van Poffenburgh ; and from the disjjlay he continu- 
ally made thereof, I am inclined to think that dame 
Nature, who will sometimes be partial, had blessed 
him with enough of those valuable materials to have 
fitted up a dozen ordinary braziers. But what is 
most to be admired is, that he contrived to pass off 
all his brass and copper upon Wilhelmus Kieft, who 
was no great judge of base coin, as pure and genu- 
ine gold. The consequence was, that upon the res- 
ignation of Jacobus Van Curlet, who, after the loss 
of Fort Good Hope, retired, like a veteran general, 
to live under the shade of his laurels, the mighty 
" copper captain " was promoted to his station. This 
he tilled with great importance, always styling him- 
self " commander-in-chief of the armies of New 
Netherlands;" though, to tell the truth, the armies, 
or rather army, consisted of a handful of hen-steal- 
ing, bottle-bruising ragamuffins. 

Such was the character of the warrior appointed 
by Peter Stuyvesant to defend his southern frontier; 
nor may it be uninteresting to my reader to have a 
glimpse of his person. He was not very tali, but 
notwithstanding, a huge, full-bodied man, whose bulk 
did not so much arise from his being fat, as windy ; 
being so completely inflated with his own impor- 
tance, that he resembled one of those bags of wind 
which /Eolus, in an incredible fit of generosity, gave 
to that wandering warrior Ulysses. 

His dress comported with his character, for he had 
almost as much brass and copper without as nature 
had stored away within — his coat was crossed and 
slashed, and carbonadoed with stripes of copper 
lace, and swathed round the body with a crimson 
sash, of the size and te.xture of a fishing-net, doubt- 
less to keep his valiant heart from bursting through 
his ribs. His head and whiskers were profusely 
powdered, from the midst of which his full-blooded 
face glowed like a fiery furnace ; and his magnani- 
mous soul seemed ready to bounce out at a pair of 
large, glassy, blinking eyes, which projected like those 
of a lobster. 

I swear to thee, worthy reader, if report belie not 
this warrior, I would give all the money in my pocket 
to have seen him accoutred cap-a-pie, in martial ar- 
ray — booted to the middle — sashed to the chin — col- 
lared to the ears — whiskered to the teeth — crowned 
with an overshadowing cocked hat, and girded with 
a leathern belt ten inches broad, from which trailed 
a falchion, of a length that I dare not mention. Thus 
equipped, he strutted about, as bitter-looking a man 
of war as the far-famed More of More Hall, when 
he sallied forth, armed at all points, to slay the 
Dragon of Wantley.* 



•" Had you but seen liim in his dress 

How fierce he loolt'd and how big ; 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian Porcupig. 



60G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Notwithstanding all these great endowments and 
transcendent qualities of this renowned general, I 
must confess he was not exactly the kind of man that 
the gallant Peter would have chosen to command 
his troops — but the truth is, that in those days the 
province did not abound, as at present, in great mil- 
itary characters ; who, like so many Cincinnatuses, 
people every little village — marshalling out cabbages 
instead of soldiers, and signalizing themselves in the 
corn-field, instead of the field of battle ; — who have 
surrendered the toils of war for the more useful but 
inglorious arts of peace ; and so blended the laurel 
with the olive, that you may have a general for a 
landlord, a colonel for a stage-driver, and your horse 
shod by a valiant "captain of volunteers." The re- 
doubtable General Van Pofifenburgh, therefore, was 
appointed to the command of the new-levied troops, 
chiefly because there were no competitors for the 
station, and partly because it would have been a 
breach of military etiquette to have appointed a 
younger officer over his head — an injustice which 
the great Peter would have rather died than ha\-e 
committed. 

No sooner did this thrice-valiant copper captain 
receive marching orders, than he conducted his army 
undauntedly to the southern frontier ; through wild 
lands and savage deserts ; over insurmountable moun- 
tains, across impassable floods, and through impene- 
trable forests ; subduing a vast tract of uninhabited 
country, and encountering more perils, according to 
his own account, than did ever the great Xenophon 
in his far-famed retreat with his ten thousand Gre- 
cians. All this accomplished, he established on the 
South (or Delaware) river, a redoubtable redoubt, 
named Fort CaSIMIR, in honour of a favourite pair 
of brimstone-coloured trunk breeches of the gov- 
ernor. As this fort will be found to give rise to very 
important and interesting events, it may be worth 
while to notice that it was afterwards called Nieuw- 
Amstel, and was the original germ of the present 
flourishing town of New-CaSTLE, an appellation 
erroneously substituted for No Castle, there neither 
being, nor ever haWng been, a castle, or any thing 
of the kind, upon the premises. 

The Swedes did not suffer tamely this menacing 
movement of the Nederlanders ; on the contrary, 
Jan Printz, at that time governor of New-Sweden, 
issued a protest against what he termed an encroach- 
ment upon his jurisdiction. But Van Poffenburgh 
had become too well versed in the nature of procla- 
mations and protests, while he served under William 
the Testy, to be in any wise daunted by such paper 
warfare. His fortress being finished, it would have 
done any man's heart good to behold into what a 
magnitude he immediately swelled. He would stride 
in and out a dozen times a day, surveying it in front 
and in rear; on this side and on that. Then would 
he dress himself in full regimentals, and strut back- 
wards and forwards, for hours together, on the top 
of his little rampart — like a vain-glorious cock-pigeon 
vapouring on the top of his coop. In a word, un- 
less my readers have noticed, with curious eye. the 
petty commander of one of our little, snivelling mili- 
tary posts, swelling with all the vanity of new regi- 
mentals, and the pomposity derived from coinmand- 
ing a handfull of tatterdemalions, I despair of giving 
them any adequate idea of the prodigious dignity of 
General Van Poffenburgh. 

It is recorded, in the delectable romance of Pierce 
Forest, that a young knight being dubbed by king 



" He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 

Each cow, each horse, and each ho^ ', 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog." 

Ballad 0/ Drag, 0/ Want, 



Alexander, did incontinently gallop into an adjoining 
forest, and belaboured the trees with such might and 
main, that the whole- court was convinced that he 
was the most potent and courageous gentleman on 
the face of the earth. In like manner the great Van 
Poffenburgh would ease off that valorous spleen, 
which like wind is so apt to grow unruly in the 
stomachs of new-made soldiers, impelling them to 
box-lobby brawls and broken-headed quarrels. For 
at such times, when he found his martial spirit wax- 
ing hot within him, he would prudently sally forth 
into the fields, and lugging out his trusty sabre, 
would lay about him most lustily, decapitating cab- 
bages by platoons ; hewing down whole phalanxes 
of sunflowers, which he termed gigantic Swedes ; 
and if, peradventure, he espied a colony of honest, 
big-bellied pumpkins quietly basking themselves in 
the sun, " Ah, caitiff Yankees," would he roar, " have 
I caught ye at last ? " — so saying, with one sweep 
of his sword, he would cleave the unhappy vegetables 
from their chins to their w-aistbands ; by which 
warlike havoc his choler being in some sort allayed, 
he would return to his garrison with a full conviction 
that he was a very miracle of military prowess. 

The next ambition of General Van Poffenburgh 
was to be thought a strict disciplinarian. Well 
knowing that discipline is the soul of all military en- 
terprise, he enforced it with the most rigorous pre- 
cision ; obliging every man to turn out liis toes and 
hold up his head on parade, and prescribing the 
breadth of their ruffles to all such as had any shirts 
to their backs. 

Having one day, in the course of his devout re- 
searches in the Bible, (for the pious Eneas himself 
could not exceed him in outward religion,) encoun- 
tered the history of Absalom and his melancholy end, 
the general, in an evil hour, issued orders for crop- 
ping the hair of both officers and men throughout 
the garrison. Now it came to pass, that among his 
officers was one Kildermeester, a sturdy veteran, 
who had cherished, through the course of a long life, 
a rugged mop of hair, not a little resembling the 
shag of a Newfoundland dog, terminating with an 
immoderate queue like the handle of a frying-pan ; 
and queued so tightly to his head, that his eyes and 
mouth generally stood ajar, and his eyebrows were 
drawn up to the top of his forehead. It may natural- 
ly be supposed that the possessor of so goodly an ap- 
pendage would resist wMth abhorrence an order con- 
demning it to the shears. On hearing the general 
orders, he discharged a tempest of veteran, soldier- 
like oaths, and dunder and blixums —swore he would 
break any man's head who attempted to meddle with 
his tail — queued it stiffer than ever, and whisked 
it about the garrison as fiercely as the tail of a 
crocodile. 

The eel-skin queue of old Kildermeester became 
instantly an affair of the utmost importance. The 
commander-in-chief was too enlightened an officer 
not to perceive that the discipline of the garrison, the 
subordination and good order of the armies of the 
Nieuw-Nederlandts, the consequent safety of the 
whole province, and ultimately the dignity and pros- 
perity of their High Mightinesses, the Lords States 
General, but above all, the dignity of the great Gen- 
eral Van Poffenburgh, all imperiously demanded the 
docking of that stubborn queue. He therefore de- 
termined that old Kildermeester should be publicly 
shorn of his glories in the presence of the whole gar- 
rison — the old man as resolutely stood on the de- 
fensive — whereupon the general, as became a great 
man, was highly exasperated, and the. offender was 
arrested and tried by a court-martial for mutiny, de- 
sertion, and all the other list of offences noticed in 
the articles of war, ending with a " videlicet, in wear- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



607 



ing an oel-skin queue, three feet 10115, contrary to 
orders." -Then came on arraignments, and trials, 
and pleadings; and the whole country was in a fer- 
ment about this unfortunate queue. As it is well 
known that the commander of a distant frontier 
post has the power of acting pretty much after his 
own will, there is little doubt that the veteran would 
have been hanged or shot at least, had he not luckily 
fallen ill of a fever, through mere chagrin and morti- 
fication — and most flagitiously deserted from all 
earthlv command, with his beloved locks unviolated. 
His obstinacy remained unshaken to the very last 
moment, when he directed that he should be carried 
to his grave with his eel-skin queue sticking out of a 
hole in his coffin. 

This magnanimous affair obtained the general 
great credit as an excellent disciplinarian, but it is 
hinted that he was ever after subject to bad dreams 
and fearful visitations in the night — when the grizzly 
spectrum of old Kildermeester would stand sentmel 
by his bed-side, erect as a pump, his enormous queue 
strutting out like the handle. 



BOOK VI. 

CONTAINING THE SECOND PART OF THE REIGN OF 
PETER THE HEADSTRONG, AND HIS GALLANT 
ACHIEVEMENTS ON THE DELAWARE. 



CHAPTER I. 

IN WHICH IS EXHIBITED A WARLIKE PORTRAIT 
OF THE GREAT PETER — AND HOW GENERAL 
VAN POFFENBURGH DISTINGUISHED HIMSELF 
AT FORT CASIMIR. 

Hitherto, most venerable and courteous reader, 
have I shown thee the administration of the valorous 
Stuyvesant, under the mild moonshine of peace, or 
rather the grim tranquillity of awful expectation ; but 
now the war-drum rumbles from afar, the brazen 
trumpet brays its thrilling note, and the rude clash of 
hostile arms speaks fearful prophecies of coming 
troubles. The gallant warrior starts from soft repose, 
from golden visions, and voluptuous ease ; where, in 
the dulcet, "piping time of peace," he sought sweet 
solace after all his toils. No more in beauty's syren 
lap reclined, he weaves fair garlands for bis lady's 
brows ; no more entwines with flowers his shining 
sword, nor through the live-long lazy summer's day 
chants forth his lovesick soul in madrigals. To man- 
hood roused, he spurns the amorous flute ; doffs from 
his brawny back the robe of peace, and clothes his 
pampered limbs in panoply of steel. O'er his dark 
brow, where late the myrtle waved, where wanton 
roses breathed enervate love, he rears the beaming 
casque and nodding plume ; grasps the bright shield 
and shakes the ponderous lance ; or mounts with 
eager pride his fiery steed, and burns for deeds of 
glorious chivalry ! 

But soft, worthy reader ! I would not have you 
imagine, that any pr^ux cheva!ic-r, thus hideously be- 
girt with iron, existed in the city of New-Amster- 
dam. This is but a lofty and gigantic mode in which 
heroic writers always talk of war, thereby to give it 
a noble and imposing aspect ; equipping our warriors 
with bucklers, helms, and lances, and such like out- 
landish and obsolete weapons, the like of which per- 
chance they had never seen or heard of; in the same 
manner that a cunning statuary arrays a modern 



general or an admiral in the accoutrements of a 
Caesar or an Alexander. The simple truth, then, of 
all this oratorical flourish is this — that the valiant 
Peter Stuyvesant all of a sudden found it necessary 
to scour his trusty blade, which too long had rusted 
in its scabbard, and prepare himself to undergo those 
hardy toils of war in which his mighty soul so much 
delighted. 

Methinks t at this moment behold him in my im- 
agination — or rather, I behold his goodly portrait, 
w-hich still hangs up in the family mansion of the 
Stuyvesants — arrayed in all the terrors of a true 
Dutch general. His regimental coat of German 
blue, gorgeously decorated with a goodly show of 
large brass buttons reaching from his waistband to 
his chin. The voluminous skirts turned up at the 
corners, and separating gallantly behind, so as to dis- 
play the seat of a sumptuous pair of brimstone- 
coloured trunk breeches — a graceful style still preva- 
lent among the warriors of our day, and which is in 
conformity to the custom of ancient heroes, who 
scorned to defend themselves in the rear. — His face 
rendered exceedingly terrible and warlike by a pair 
of black mustachios ; his hair strutting out on each 
side in stiffly pomatumed ear-locks, and descending 
in a rat-tail queue below his waist ; a shining stock 
of black leather supporting his chin, and a little but 
fierce cocked hat stuck with a gallant and fiery air 
over his left eye. Such was the chivalric port of 
Peter the Headstrong ; and when he made a sudden 
halt, planted himself firmly on his solid supporter, 
with his wooden leg inlaid with silver, a little in ad- 
vance, in order to strengthen his position, his right 
hand grasping a gold-headed rane, his left resting 
upon the pummel of his sword; his head dressing 
spiritedly to the right, with a most appalling and 
hard-favoured frown upon his brow — he presented 
altogether one of tlie most commanding, bitter-look- 
ing, and soldier-like figures that ever strutted upon 
canvas. Proceed we now to inquire the cause of 
this warlike preparation. 

The encroaching disposition of the Swedes, on the 
South, or Delaware river, has been duly recorded in 
the chronicles of the reign of Williain the Testy. 
These encroachments having been endured with 
that heroic magnanimity which is the corner-stone 
of true courage, had been repeatedly and wickedly 
aggravated. 

The Swedes, who were of that class of cunning 
pretenders to Christianity, who read the Bible upside- 
down, whenever it interferes with their interests, in- 
verted the golden maximi and when their neighbour 
suffered them to smite him on the one cheek, they 
generally smote him on the other also, whether turn- 
ed to them or not. Their repeated aggressions had 
been among the numerous sources of vexation that 
conspired to keep the irritable sensibilities of Wil- 
helmus Kieft in a constant fever, and it was only 
owing to the unfortunate circumstance, that he had 
always a hundred things to do at once, that he did 
not take such unrelenting vengeance as their of- 
fences merited. But they had now a chieftain of a 
different character to deal with ; and they were soon 
guilty of a piece of treachery, that threw his honest 
blood into a ferinent, and precluded all further 
sufferance. 

Printz, the governor of the province of New- 
Sweden, being either deceased or removed, for of 
this fact some uncertainty exists, was succeeded by 
Jan Risingh, a gigantic Swede, and who, had he not 
been rather knock-kneed and splay-footed, might 
have served for the model of a Samson or a Her- 
cules. He was no less rapacious than mighty, and 
withal as crafty as he was rapacious ; so that, in fact, 
there is very little doubt, had he lived some four of 



COS 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



five centuries before, he would have been one of 
those wicked giants, who took such a cruel pleasure 
in pocketing distressed damsels, when gadding about 
the world, and locking them up in enchanted cas- 
tles, without a toilet, a change of linen, or any other 
convenience — in consequence of which enormities, 
they fell under the high displeasure of chivalry, and 
all true, loyal, and gallant knights were instructed to 
attack and slay outright any miscreant they might 
happen to find, above six feet high ; which is doubt- 
less one reason that the race of large men is nearly 
e.xtinct, and the generations of latter ages so exceed- 
ing small. 

No sooner did Governor Risingh enter upon his 
office, than he immediately cast his eyes upon the 
important post of Fort Casimir, and formed the 
righteous resolution of taking it into his possession. 
The only thing that remained to consider, was the 
mode of carrying his resolution into effect ; and here 
I must do him the justice to say, that he exhibited a 
humanity rarely to be met with among leaders, and 
which I have never seen equalled in modern times, 
excepting among the English, in their glorious affair 
at Copenhagen. Wilhng to spare the effusion of 
blood, and the miseries of open warfare, he benevo- 
lently shunned every thing like avowed hostility or 
regular siege, and resorted to the less glorious, but 
more merciful expedient of treachery. 

Under pretence, therefore, of paying a neighbourly 
visit to General Van Poffenburgh, at his new post of 
Fort Casimir, he made requisite preparation, sailed 
in great state up the Delaware, displayed his flag 
with the most ceremonious punctilio, and honoured 
the fortress with a royal salute, previous to dropping 
anchor. The unusual noise awakened a veteran 
Dutch sentinel, who was napping faithfully at his 
])ost, and who, having suffered his match to go out, 
contrived to return the compliment, by discharging 
his rusty musket with the spark of a pipe, which he 
borrowed from one of his comrades. The salute in- 
deed would have been answered by the guns of the 
fort, had they not unfortunately been out of order, 
and the magazine deficient in ammunition — accidents 
to which torts have in all ages been liable, and which 
were the more excusable in the present instance, as 
Fort Casimir had only been erected about two years, 
and General Van Poffenburgh, its mighty commander, 
had been fully occupied with matters of much greater 
importance. 

Risingh, highly satisfied with this courteous reply 
to his salute, treated the fort to a second, for he well 
knew its commander was marvellously delighted with 
these little ceremonials, which he considered as so 
many acts of homage paid unto his greatness. He 
then landed in great state, attended by a suite of 
thirty men — a prodigious and vain-glorious retinue, 
for a petty governor of a petty settlement, in those 
days of primitive simplicity ; and to the full as great 
an army as generally swells the pomp and marches 
in the rear of our frontier commanders, at the pres- 
ent day. 

The number, in fact, might have awakened suspi- 
cion, had not the mind of the great Van Poffenburgh 
been so completely engrossed with an all-pervading 
idea of himself that he had not room to admit a 
thought besides. In fact, he considered the con- 
course of Risingh 's followers as a compliment to 
himself — so apt are great men to stand between 
themselves and the sun, and completely eclipse the 
truth by their own shadow. 

It may readily be imagined how much Genera! 
Van Poffenburgh was flattered by a visit from so 
august a personage ; his only embarrassment was, 
how he should receive him in such a manner as to 
appear to the greatest advantage, and make the most 



advantageous impression. The main guard was or- 
dered immediately to turn out, and the arms and regi- 
mentals (of which the garrison possessed full half-a- 
dozen suits) wei'e equally distributed among the sol- 
diers. One tall lank fellow appeared in a coat 
intended for a small man, the skirts of which reach- 
ed a little below his waist, the buttons were between 
his shoulders, and the sleeves half-way to his wrists, 
so that his hands looked like a couple of huge spades 
— and the coat, not being large enough to meet in 
front, was linked together by loops, made of a pair 
of red worsted garters. Another had an old cocked 
hat stuck on the back of his head, and decorated 
with a bunch of cocks' tails — a third had a pair of 
rusty gailers hanging about his heels — while a fourth, 
who was short and duck-legged, was equipped in a 
huge pair of the general's cast-off breeches, which he 
held up with one hand, while he grasped his firelock 
with the other. The rest were accoutred in similar 
style, excepting three graceless ragamuffins, who had 
no shirts, and but a pair and a half of breeches be- 
tween them, wherefore they were sent to the black 
hole to keep them out of view. There is nothing in 
which the talents of a prudent commander are more 
completely testified, than in thus setting matters 
off to the greatest advantage ; and it is tor this reason 
that our frontier posts at the present day (that of 
Niagara for example) display their best suit of regi- 
mentals on the back of the sentinel who stands in 
sight of travellers. . 

His men being thus gallantly arrayed — those who 
lacked muskets shouldering spades and pickaxes, 
and every man being ordered to tuck in his shirt-tail 
and pull up his brogues — General Van Poffenburgh 
tirst took a sturdy draught of foaming ale, which, like 
the magnanimous More of Morehall,* was his inva- 
riable practice on all great occasions — which done, 
he put himself at their head, ordered the pine planks, 
which served as a draw-bridge, to be laid down, and 
issued forth from his castle like a mighty giant just 
refreshed with wine. But when the two heroes met, 
then began a scene of warlike parade and chivalric 
courtesy that beggars all description— Risingh, who, 
as I before hinted, was a shrewd, cunning politician, 
and had grown gray much before his time, in conse- 
quence of his craftiness, saw at one glance the ruling 
passion of the great Van Poffenburgh, and humoured 
him in all his valorous fantasies. 

Their detachments were accordingly drawn up in 
front of each other ; they carried arms and they pre- 
sented arms ; they gave the standing salute and the 
passing salute— they rolled their drums and flour- 
ished tiieir fifes, and they waved their colours — they 
faced to the left, and they faced to the right, and 
they faced to the right about — they wheeled for- 
ward, and they wheeled backward, and they wheeled 
into echellon — they marched and they counter- 
marched, by grand divisions, by single divisions, and 
by sub-divisions — by platoons, by sections, and by 
files — in quick time, in slow time, and in no time at 
all : for, having gone through all the evolutions of 
two great armies, including the eighteen manoeuvres 
of Dundas, having exhausted all that they could rec- 
ollect or imagine of military tactics, including sundry 
strange and irregular evolutions, the like of which 
was never seen before nor since, excepting among 
certain of our newly-raised militia, the two great 
commanders and their respective troops came at 
length to a dead halt, completely exhausted by the 
toils of war. Never did two valiant train-band cap- 
tains, or two buskined theatric heroes, in the re- 



- as soon as lie rose, 



To make him strong and miglity. 
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale 
And a quart of aqua-vitae." 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



609 



nowned tragedies of Pizarro, Tom Thumb, or any 
otlief heroical and fighting tragedy, marshal their 
gallows-looking, duck-legged, heavy-heeled myrmi- 
dons with more glory and self-admiration. 

These military compliments being finished, Gen- 
eral Van Potfenburgh escorted his illustrious visitor, 
with great ceremony, into the fort ; attended him 
throughout the fortifications ; showed him the horn- 
works, crown-works, half-moons, and various other 
outworks ; or rather the places where they ought to 
be erected, and where they might be erected if he 
pleased ; plainly demonstrating that it was a place 
of "great capability," and though at present but a 
little redoubt, yet that it evidently was a formidaljle 
fortress, in embryo. This survey over, he next had 
the whole garrison put under arms, exercised and 
reviewed, and concluded by ordering the three Bride- 
well birds to be hauled out of the black hole, brought 
up to the halberts and soundly flogged for the amuse- 
ment of his visitor, and to convince him that he was 
a great disciplinarian. 

The cunning Risingh, while he pretended to be 
struck dumb outright, with the puissance of the 
great Yan Poffenburgh, took silent note of the incom- 
petency of his garrison, of which he gave a hiat to 
his trusty followers, who tipped each other the wink, 
and laughed most obstreperously — in their sleeves. 

The inspection, review, and flogging being con- 
cluded, the party adjourned to the table ; for among 
his other great qualities, the general was remarkably 
addicted to huge entertainments, or rather carousals, 
and in one afternoon's campaign would leave more 
dead men on the field than he ever did in the whole 
course of his military career. Many bulletins of these 
bloodless victories do still remain on record ; and 
the whole province was once thrown in a maze by 
the return of one of his campaigns; wherein it was 
stated that though, like Captain Bobadil, he had only 
twenty men to back him, yet in the short space of 
six months he had conquered and utterly annihilated 
sixty oxen, ninety hogs, one hundred sheep, ten thou- 
sand cabbages, one thousand bushels of potatoes, 
one hundred and fifty kilderkins of small-beer, two 
thousand seven hundred and thirty-five pipes, sev- 
enty-eight pounds of sugar-plums, and forty bars of 
iron, besides sundry small meats, game, poultry, and 
garden stuff: — An achievement unparalleled since 
the days of Pantagruel and his all-devouring army, 
and which showed that it was only necessary to let 
bellipotent Van Poffenburgh and his garrison loose 
in an enemy's country, and in a little while they 
would breed a famine and starve all the inhabitants. 

No sooner, therefore, had the general received the 
first intiination of the visit of Governor Risingh, than 
he ordered a great dinner to be prepared ; and pri- 
vately sent out a detachment of his most experienced 
veterans to rob all the hen-roosts in the neighbour- 
hood and lay the pig-sties under contribution ; a 
ser\'ice to which they had been long inured, and 
which they discharged with such incredible zeal and 
promptitude that the garrison table groaned under 
the weight of their spoils. 

I wish, with all my heart, my readers could see 
the valiant Van Poffenburgh, as he presided at the 
head of the banquet ; it was a sight worth beholding : 
— there he sat, in his greatest glory, surrounded by 
his soldiers, like that famous wine-bibber, Alexan- 
der, whose thirsty virtues he did most ably imitate — 
telling astounding stories of his hair-breadth advent- 
ures and heroic exploits, at which, though all his 
auditors knew them to be most incontinent and out- 
rageous gasconadoes, yet did they cast up their eyes 
in admiration and utter many interjections of aston- 
ishment. Nor could the general pronounce any thing 
that bore the remotest semblance to a joke, but the 
39 



stout Risingh would strike his brawny fist upon the 
table till every glass rattled again, throwing himself 
back in the chair and uttering gigantic peals of 
laughter, swearing most horribly it was the best joke 
he ever heard in his life. — Thus all was rout and 
revelry and hideous carousal within Fort Casimir, 
and so lustily did Van Poffenburgh ply the bottle, 
that in less than four short hours he made himself 
and his whole garrison, who all sedulously emulated 
the deeds of their chieftain, dead drunk, and singing 
songs, quaffing bumpers, and drinking patriotic 
toasts, none of which but was as long as a Welsh 
pedigree or a plea in chancery. 

No sooner did things come to this pass, than the 
crafty Risingh and his Swedes, who had cunningly 
kept themselves sober, rose on their entertainers, tied 
them neck and heels, and took formal possession of 
the fort, and all its dependencies, in the name of 
Queen Christina of Sweden : administering at the 
same time an oath of allegiance to all the Dutch sol- 
diers who could be made sober enough to swallow it. 
Risingh then put the fortification in order, appointed 
his discreet and vigilant friend, Suen Scutz, a tall, 
wind-dried, water-drinking Swede, to the command, 
and departed, bearing with him this truly amiable 
garrison, and their puissant commander ; who, when 
brought to himself by a sound drubbing, bore no 
little resemblance to a " deboshed fish," or bloated 
sea-monster, caught upon dry land. 

The transportation of the garrison was done to 
prevent the transmission of intelligence to New-Am- 
sterdam ; for, much as the cunning Risingh exulted 
in his stratagem, he dreaded the vengeance of the 
sturdy Peter Stuyvesant ; whose name spread as 
much terror in the neighbourhood as did whilom 
that of the unconquerable Scanderberg among his 
scurvy enemies, the Turks. 



CHAPTER II. 

SHOWING HOW PROFOUND SECRETS ARE OFTEN 
BROUGHT TO LIGHT; WITH THE PROCEEDINGS 
OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG, WHEN HE HEARD 
OF THE MISFORTUNES OF GENERAL VAN POF- 
FENBURGH. 

Whoever first described common fame, or rumour, 
as belonging to the sager sex, was a very owl for 
shrewdness. She has, in truth, ceitain feminine 
qualities to an astonishing degree ; particularly that 
benevolent anxiety to take care of the affairs of 
others, which keeps her continually hunting after 
secrets, and gadding about proclaiming them. What- 
ever is done openly and in the face of the world, 
she takes but transient notice of; but whenever 
a transaction is done in a corner, and attempted 
to be shrouded in mystery, then her goddess-ship 
is at her wit's end to find it out, and takes a most 
mischievous and lady-like pleasure in publishing it to 
the world. 

It is this truly feminine propensity that induces 
her continually to be prying into cabinets of princes, 
listening at the key-holes of senate chambers, and 
peering through chinks and crannies, when our wor- 
thy Congress are sitting with closed doors, deliber- 
ating between a dozen excellent modes of ruining 
the nation. It is this which makes her so obnoxious 
to all wary statesmen and intriguing commanders — ■ 
such a stumbling-block to private negotiations and 
secret expeditions ; which she often betrays, by 
means and instruments which never would have been 
thought of by any but a female head. 

Thus it was in the case of the affair of Fort Casi- 



610 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mir. No doubt the cunning Risingh imagined, that 
by securing the garrison he should for a long time 
prevent the history of its fate from reaching the 
ears of the gallant Stuyvesant ; but his exploit 
was blown to the world when he least expected 
it, and by one of the last beings he would ever have 
suspected of enlisting as trumpeter to the wide- 
mouthed deity. 

This was one Dirk Echuiler, (or Skulker.) a kind 
of hanger-on to the garrison ; who seemed to belong 
to nobody, and in a manner to be self-outlawed. He 
was one of those vagabond cosmopolites, who shark 
about the world as if they had no right or business 
in it, and who infest the skirts of society like poach- 
ers and interlopers. Every garrison and country 
village has one or more scape-goats of this kind, 
whose life is a kmd of enigma, whose existence is 
without motive, who comes from the Lord knows 
where, who lives the Lord knows how, and seems to 
be made for no other earthly purpose but to keep up 
the ancient and honourable order of idleness. This 
vagrant philosopher was supposed to have some In- 
dian blood in his veins, which was manifested by a 
certain Indian complexion and cast of countenance ; 
but more especially by his propensities and habits. 
He was a tall, lank fellow, swift of foot and long- 
winded. He was generally equipped in a half Indian 
dress, with belt, leggings, and moccasons. His hair 
hung in straight gallows locks about his ears, and 
added not a little to his sharking demeanour. It is 
an old remark, that persons of Indian mixture are 
half civilized, half savage, and half devil, a third half 
being expressly provided for their particular conveni- 
ence. It is for similar reasons, and probably with 
equal truth, that the back-wood-men of Kentucky 
are styled half man, half horse, and half alligator, 
by the settlers on the Mississippi, and held accord- 
ingly in great respect and abhorrence. 

The above character may have presented itself to 
the garrison as applicable to Dirk Schuiler, whom 
they familiarly dubbed Gallows Dirk. Certain it is, 
he acknowledged allegiance to no one — was an utter 
enemy to work, holding it in no manner of estima- 
tion — but lounged about the fort, depending upon 
chance for a subsistence, getting drunk whenever he 
could get liquor, and stealing whatever he could lay 
his hands on. Every day or two he was sure to get 
a sound rib-roasting for some of his misdemeanours, 
which, however, as it broke no bones, he made very 
light of, and scrupled not to repeat the offence, when- 
ever another opportunity presented. Sometimes, in 
consequence of some flagrant villainy, he would ab- 
scond from the garrison, and be absent for a month 
at a time ; skulking about the woods and swamps, 
with a long fowling-piece on his shoulder, laying in 
ambush for game — or squatting himself down on the 
edge of a pond catching fish for hours together, and 
bearing no little resemblance to that notable bird 
ycleped the mudpoke. When he thought his crimes 
had been forgotten or forgiven, he would sneak back 
to the fort with a bundle of skins, or a bunch of 
poultry, which perchance he had stolen, and would 
exchange them for liquor, with which, having well 
soaked his carcass, he would lay in the sun and 
enjoy all the luxurious indolence of that swinish 
philosopher, Diogenes. He was the terror of all the 
farm-yards in the country, into which he made fear- 
ful inroads ; and sometimes he would make his sud- 
den appearance at the garrison at day-break, with 
the whole neighborhood at his heels, like a scoundrel 
thief of a fox, detected in his maraudings and hunted 
to his hole. Such was this Dirk Schuiler ; and from 
the total indifference he showed to the world or its 
concerns, and from his tmly Indian stoicism and 
taciturnity, no one would ever have dreamt that he 



would have been the publisher of the treachery of 
Risingh. 

When the carousal was going on, which proved so 
fatal to the brave Van Poffenburgh and his watchful 
garrison. Dirk skulked about from room to room, 
being a kind of privileged vagrant, or useless hound, 
whom nobody noticed. But though a fellow of few 
words, yet, like your taciturn people, his eyes and 
ears were always open, and in the course of his 
prowlings he overheard the whole plot of the Swedes. 
Dirk immediately settled in his own mind how he 
should turn the matter to his own advantage. He 
played the perfect jack-of-both-sides — that is to say, 
he made a prize of every thing that came in his 
reach, robbed both parties, stuck the copper-bound 
cocked-hat of the puissant Van Poffenburgh on his 
head, whipped a huge pair of Risingh's jack-boots 
under his arms, and took to his heels, just before the 
catastrophe and confusion at the garrison. 

Finding himself completely dislodged from his 
haunt in this quarter, he directed his flight towards 
his native place, New-Amsterdam, from whence he 
had formerly been obliged to abscond precipitately, 
in consequence of misfortune in business — that is to 
sav. having been detected in the act of sheep-stealing. 
After wandering many days in the woods, toiling 
through swamps, fording brooks, swimming various 
rivers, and encountering a world of hardships, that 
would have killed any other being but an Indian, a 
back-wood-man, or the devil, he at length arrived, 
half famished, and lank as a starved weasel, at Com- 
munipaw, where he stole a canoe, and paddled over 
to New- Amsterdam. Immediately on landing, he re- 
paired to Governor Stuyvesant, and in more words 
than he had ever spoken before in the whole course 
of his life, gave an account of the disastrous affair. 

On receiving these direful tidings, the valiant 
Peter started from his seat — dashed the pipe he was 
smoking against the back of the chimney — thrust 
a prodigious quid of tobacco into his left cheek — 
pulled up his galligaskins, and strode up and down 
the room, humming, as was customary with him 
when in a pas;ion, a hideous north-west ditty. But 
as I have before shown, he was not a man to vent his 
spleen in idle vapouring. His first measure after the 
paroxysm of wrath had subsided, was to stump up- 
stairs to a huge wooden chest, which served as his 
armory, from whence he drew forth that identical 
suit of regimentals described in the preceding chap- 
ter. In these portentous habiliments he arrayed 
himself, like Achilles, in the armour of Vulcan, main- 
taining all the while a most appalling silence, knitting 
his brows, ^nd drawing his breath through his clench- 
ed teeth. Being hastily equipped, he strode down into 
the parlour, jerked down his trusty sword from over 
the fire-place, where it was usually suspended ; but 
before he girded it on his thigh, he drew it from its 
scabbard, and as his eye coursed along the rusty 
blade, a grim smile stole over his iron visage — it was 
the first smile that had visited his countenance for 
five long weeks ; but every one who beheld it, 
prophesied that there would soon be warm work in 
the province ! 

Thus armed at all points, with grizzly war de- 
pictured in each feature, his very cocked hat assum- 
ing an air of uncommon defiance, he instantly |)ut 
himself upon the alert, and despatched Antony Van 
Corlear hither and thither, this way and that way, 
through all the muddy streets and crooked lanes of 
the city, summoning by sound of trumpet his trusty 
peers to assemble in instant council. This done, by 
way of expediting matters, according to the custom 
of people in a hurry, he kept in continual bustle, 
shifting from chair to chair, popping his head out of 
every window, and stumping up and down stairs with 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



611 



his wooden leg in such brisk and incessant motion, 
that, as we are informed by an authentic historian 
of the times, the continual clatter bore no small re- 
semblance to the music of a cooper hooping a flour- 
barrel. 

A summons so peremptory, and from a man of the 
governor's mettle, was not to be trifled with ; the 
sages forthwith repaired to the council chamber, 
seated themselves with the utmost tranquillity, and 
lighting their long pipes, gazed with unruffled com- 
posure on his excellency and his regimentals ; being, 
as all counsellors should be, not easily flustered, or 
taken by surprise. The governor, looking around 
for a moment with a lofty and soldier-like air, and 
resting one hand on the pummel of his sword, and 
flintring the other forth in a free and spirited manner, 
addressed theiu in a short, but soul-stirring harangue. 

I am extreiTiely sorry that I have not the advan- 
tages of Livy, Thucydides, Plutarch, and others of my 
predecessors, who are furnished, as I am told, with 
the speeches of all their great emperors, generals, 
and orators, taken down in short-hand, by the most 
accurate stenographers of the time ; whereby they 
were enabled wonderfully to enrich their histories, 
and delight their readers with sul)lime strains of elo- 
quence. Not having such important auxiliaries, I 
cannot possibly pronounce what was the tenor of 
Governor Stuyvesant's speech. I am bold, however, 
to say, from the tenor of his character, that he did 
not wrap his rugged subject in silks and ermines, and 
other sickly trickeries of phrase ; but spoke forth, 
like a man of nerve and vigour, who scorned to shrink, 
in words, from those dangers which he stood ready 
to encounter in very deed. This much is certain, 
that he concluded by announcing his determination 
of leading on his troops in person, and routing these 
costardmonger Swedes from their usurped quarters 
at Fort Casimir. To this hardy resolution such of 
his council as were awake gave their usual signal of 
concurrence, and as to the rest who had fallen 
asleep about the middle of the harangue, (their 
" usual custom in the afternoon ") — they made not 
the le.ist objection. 

And now was seen in the fair city of New-Am- 
sterdam, a prodigious bustle and preparation for iron 
war. Recruiting parties marclied hither and thither, 
calling lustily upon all the scrubs, the runagates, and 
tatterdemalions of the Manhattoes and its vicinity, 
who had any ambition of sixpence a day, and im- 
mortal fame into the bargain, to enlist in the cause of 
glory. For I would have you note that your war- 
like heroes who trudge in the rear of conquerors, are 
generally of that illustrious class of gentlemen, who 
are equal candidates for the army or the Bridewell — 
the halberts or the whipping-post — for whom dame 
Fortune has cast an even die, whether they shall 
make their exit by the sword or the halter — and 
whose deaths shall, at all events, be a lofty example 
to their counti^men. 

But notw ithstanding all this martial rout and invi- 
tation, the ranks of honour were but scantily sup- 
plied ; so averse were the peaceful burghers of New- 
Amsterdam from enlisting in foreign broils, or stirring 
beyond that home which rounded all their earthly 
ideas. Upon beholding this, the great Peter, whose 
noble heart was all on fire with war and sweet re- 
venge, determined to wait no longer for the tardy as- 
sistance of these oily citizens, but to muster up his 
merry men of the Hudson ; who, brought up among 
woods and wilds and savage beasts, like our yeomen 
of Kentucky, delighted in nothing so much as desper- 
ate adventures and perilous expeditions through the 
wilderness. Thus resolving, he ordered his trusty 
squire, Antony Van Corlear, to have his state galley 
prepared and du'y victualled ; which being perform- 



ed, he attended public service at the great church oi 
St. Nicholas, like a true and pious governor, and then 
leaving peremptory orders with his council to have 
the chivalry of the Manhattoes marshalled out and 
appointed against his return, departed upon his re- 
cruiting voyage, up the waters of the Hudson. 



CHAPTER III. 



CONTAINING PETER STUYVESANT S VOYAGE UP 
THE HUDSON, AND THE WONDERS AND DE- 
LIGHTS OF THAT RENOWNED RIVER. 

Now did the soft breezes of the south steal sweetly 
over the beauteous face of nature, tempering the 
panting heats of summer into genial and prolific 
warmth — when that miracle of hardihood and chiv- 
alric virtue, the dauntless Peter Stuyvesant, spread 
his canvas to the wind, and departed from the fair 
island of Manna-hata. The galley in which he em- 
barked was sumptuously adorned with pendants and 
streamers of gorgeous dyes, which fluttered gayly in 
the wind, or drooped their ends in the bosom of the 
stream. The bow and poop of this majestic vessel 
were gallantly bedight, after the rarest Dutch fashion, 
with figures of little pursy Cupids with periwigs on 
their heads, and bearing in their hands garlands of 
flowers, the like of which are not to be found in any 
book of botany ; being the matchless flowers which 
flourished in the golden age, and exist no longer, 
unless it be in the imaginations of ingenious carvers 
of wood and discolourers of canvas. 

Thus rarely decorated, in style befitting the state 
of the puissant potentate of the Manhattoes, did the 
galley of Peter Stuyvesant launch forth upon the 
bosom of the lordly Hudson ; which, as it rolled its 
broad waves to the ocean, seem.ed to pause for a 
while, and swell with pride, as if conscious of the 
illustrious burthen it sustained. 

But trust me, g'entlefolk, far other was the scene 
presented to the contemplation of the crew, from 
that which may be witnessed at this degenerate day. 
Wildness and savage majesty reigned on the borders 
of this mighty river — the hand of cultivation had not 
as yet laid down the dark forests, and tamed the 
features of the landscape — nor had the frequent sail 
of commerce yet broken in upon the profound and 
awful solitude of ages. Here and there might be 
seen a rude wigwam perched among the cliffs of the 
mountains, with its curling column of smoke mount- 
ing in the transparent atmosphere — but so loftily sit- 
uated, that the whoopings of the savage children, 
gambolling on the margin of the dizzy heights, fell 
almost as faintly on the ear, as do the notes of the 
lark, when lost in the azure vault of heaven. Now 
and then, from the beetling brow of some rocky 
precipice, the wild deer would look timidly down 
upon the splendid pageant as it passed below ; and 
then, tossing his branching antlers in the air, would 
bound away into the thickets of the forest. 

Through such scenes did the stately vessel of Peter 
Stuyvesant pass. Now did they skirt the bases of 
the rocky heights of Jersey, which spring up like 
everlasting walls, reaching from the waves unto the 
heavens ; and were fashioned, if traditions may be 
believed, in times long past, by the mighty spirit 
Manetho, to protect his favourite abodes from the 
unhallowed eyes of mortals. Now did they career it 
gayly across the vast expanse of Tappan Bay, whose 
wide extended shores present a vast variety of delec- 
table scenery — here the bold promontory, crowned 
with embowering trees, advancing into the bay — 
there the long woodland slope, sweeping up from the 



612 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



shore in rich luxuriance, and terminating in the up 
land precipice — while at a distance a long- waving 
line of rocky heights threw their gigantic shades 
across the water. Now would they pass where some 
modest little interval, opening among these stupen- 
dous scenes, yet retreating as it were for protection 
into the embraces of the neighbouring mountains, 
displayed a rural paradise, fraught with sweet and 
pastoral beauties; the velvet-tufted lawn — the bushy 
copse — the tinkling rivulet, stealing through the fresh 
and vivid verdure — on whose banks was situated 
some little Indian village, or, peradventure, the rude 
cabin of some solitary hunter. 

The different periods of the revolving day seemed 
each, with cunning magic, to diffuse a different charm 
over the scene. Now would the jovial sun break 
gloriously from the east, blazing from the summits 
of the hills, and sparkling the landscape with a thou 
sand dewy gems ; while along the borders of the 
river were seen he.avy masses of mist, which, like 
midnight caitiffs, disturbed at his approach, made a 
sluggish retreat, rolling in sullen reluctance up the 
mountains. At such times, all was brightness and 
life and gayety— ;-the atmosphere seemed of an in- 
describable pureness and transparency — the birds 
broke forth in w-anton madrigals, and the freshening 
breezes wafted the vessel merrily on her course. 
But when the sun sunk amid a flood of glory in the 
west, mantling the heavens and the earth with a 
thousand gorgeous dyes — then all was calm, and si- 
lent, and magnificent. The late swelling sail hung 
lifelessly against the mast — the seamen with folded 
arms leaned against the shrouds, lost in that invol- 
untary musing which the sober grandeur of nature 
commands in the rudest of her children. The vast 
bosom of the Hudson was like an unruffled mirror, 
reflecting the golden splendour of the heavens, ex- 
cepting that now and then a bark canoe would steal 
across its surface, filled with painted savages, whose 
gay feathers glared brightly, as perchance a lingering 
ray of the setting sun gleamed upon them from the 
western mountains. 

But when the hour of twilight spread its magic 
mists around, then did the face of nature assume a 
thousand fugitive charms, which, to the worthy 
heart that seeks enjoyment in the glorious works of 
its Maker, are inexpressibly captivating. The mel- 
low dubious light that prevailed, just served to tinge 
with illusive colours the softened features of the 
scenery. The deceived but delighted eye sought 
vainly to discern, in the broad masses of shade, the 
separating line between the land and water ; or to 
distinguish the fading objects that seemed sinking 
into chaos. Now did the busy fancy supply the fee- 
bleness of vision, producing with industrious craft a 
fairy creation of her own. Under her plastic wand 
the barren rocks frowned upon the watery waste, in 
the semblance of lofty towers and high embattled 
castles — trees assumed the direful forms of mighty 
giants, and the inaccessible summits of the mountains 
seemed peopled with a thousand shadowy beings. 

Now broke forth from the shores the notes of an 
innumerable variety of insects, which filled the air 
with a strange but not inhannonious concert — while 
ever and anon was heard the melancholy plaint of 
the whip-poor-will, who, perched on some lone tree, 
wearied the ear of night with his incessant moanings. 
The mind, soothed into a hallowed melancholy, lis- 
tened with pensive stillness to catch and distinguish 
each sound that vaguely echoed from the shore — now 
and then startled perchance by the whoop of some 
straggling savage, or the dreary howl of a wolf, steal- 
ing forth upon his nightly prowlings. 

Thus happily did they pursue their course, until 
they entered upon thosf; awful defiles denominated 



The HIGHLAND.S, where it would seem that the gi- 
gantic Titans had erst waged their impious war with 
heaven, piling up cliffs on cliffs, and hurling vast 
masses of rock in wild confusion. Bat in sooth, very 
different is the history of these cloud-capped mount- 
ains. — These in ancient days, before tlie Hudson 
poured his waters from the lakes, formed one vast 
prison, within whose rocky bosom the omnipotent 
Manetho confined the rebellious spirits who repined 
at his control. Here, bound in adamantine chains, 
or jammed in rifted pines, or crushed by ponderous 
rocks, they groaned for many an age. At length the 
conquering Hudson, in his irresistible career towards 
the ocean, burst open their prison-house, rolling his 
tide triumphantly through its stupendous ruins. 

Still, however, do many of them lurk about their 
old abodes; and these it is, according to venerable 
legends, that cause the echoes which resound through- 
out these awful solitudes; which are nothing but 
their angry clamours, when any noise disturbs the 
profoundness of their repose. For when the elements 
are agitated by tempest, when the winds are up and 
the thunder rolls, then horrible is the yelling and 
howling of these troubled spirits, making the mount- 
ains to rebellow with their hideous uproar ; for at 
such times, it is said, they think the great Manetho 
is returning once more to plunge them in gloomy 
caverns, and renew their intolerable captivity. 

But all these fair and glorious scenes were lost 
upon the gallant Stuyves,ant ; nought occupied his 
mind but thoughts of iron war, and proud anticipa- 
tions of hardy deeds of arms. Neither did his honest 
crew tremble their vacant heads with any romantic 
speculations of the kind. The pilot at the helm 
quietly smoked his pipe, thinking of nothing either 
past, present, or to come — those of his comrades who 
were not industriously snoring under the hatches were 
listening with open mouths to Antony Van Corlear ; 
who, seated on the windlass, was relating to them 
the marvellous history of those myriads of fire-flies 
that sparkled like gems and spangles upon the dusky 
robe of night. These, according to tradition, were 
originally a race of pestilent sempiternous beldames, 
who peopled these parts long before the memory of 
man ; being of that abominated race emphatically 
called brimstones ; and who, for their innumerable 
sins against the children of men, and to furnish an 
awful warning to the beauteous sex, were doomed 
to infest the earth in the shape of these threatening 
and terrible little bugs ; enduring the internal tor- 
ments of that fire, which they formerly carried in 
their hearts, and breathed forth in their words ; but 
now are sentenced to bear about for ever — in their 
tails. 

And now am I going to tell a fact, which I doubt 
much my readers will hesitate to believe ; but if they 
do, they are welcome not to believe a word in this 
whole history, for nothing which it contains is more 
true. It must be known then that the nose of Antony 
the trumpeter was of a very lusty size, strutting 
boldly from his countenance like a mountain of Gol- 
conda ; being sumptuously bedecked with rubies and 
other precious stones — the true regalia of a king of 
good fellows, which jolly Bacchus grants to all who 
bouse it heartily at the Hagon. Now thus it happened, 
that bright and early in the morning, the good Antony 
having washed his burly visage, was leaning over the 
quarter-railing of the galley, contemplating it in the 
glassy wave below — just at this moment, the illustri- 
ous sun, breaking in all his splendour from behind 
one of the high bluffs of the Highlands, did dart one 
of his most potent beams full upon the refulgent nose 
of the sounder of brass — the reflection of which shot 
straightway down, hissing hot, into the water, and 
killed a mighty sturgeon that was sporting beside the 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



GV3 



vessel ! This huge monster being with infinite labour 
hoisted on board, furnished a luxurious repast to all 
the crew, being accounted of excellent flavour, ex- 
cepting about the wound, where it smacl-:ed a little 
of brimstone — and this, on my veracity, was the first 
time that ever sturgeon was eaten in these parts by 
Christian people.* 

When this astonishing miracle came to be made 
known to Peter Stuyvesant, and that he tasted of the 
unknown fisli, he, as may well he supposed, marvelled 
exceedingly ; and as a monument thereof, he gave 
the name o( Antony's Nosf to a stout promontory in 
the neighbourhood — and it has continued to be called 
Antony's Nose ever since that time. 

But hold — Whither am I wandering ? — By the 
mass, if 1 attempt to accompany the good Peter 
Stuyvesant on this vojage, I shall never make an 
end, for never was there a voyage so fraught with 
marvellous incidents, nor a river so abounding with 
transcendent beauties, worthy of being severally re- 
corded. Even now I have it on the point of my pen 
to relate, how his crew were most horribly frightened, 
on going on shore above the Highlands, by a gang of 
merry, roistering devils, frisking and curveting on a 
huge flat rock, which projected into the river — and 
which is called the Duyvcl's Dans-Kamcr to this 
very day. — But no ! Diedrich Knickerbocker — it be- 
comes thee not to idle thus in thy historic wayfaring. 

Recollect that while dwelling with the fond gar- 
rulity of age over these fairy scenes, endeared to thee 
by the recollections of thy youth, and the charms of 
a thousand legendary tales which beguiled the simple 
ear of thy childhood ; recollect that thou art trifling 
with those fleeting moments which should be devo- 
ted to loftier themes. — Is not Time — relentless Time ! 
— shaking, with palsied hand, his almost exhausted 
hour-glass before thee ? — hasten then to pursue thy 
weary task, lest the last sands be run, ere thou hast 
finished thy history of the Manhattoes. 

Let us then commit the dauntless Peter, his brave 
galley, and his loyal crew, to the protection of the 
blessed St. Nicholas ; who, I have no doubt, will 
prosper him in his voyage, while we await his return 
at the great city of New-Amsterdam. 



CHAPTER IV. 

DESCRIBING THE POWERFUL ARMY rnkT AS- 
SEMBLED AT THE CITY OF NEW-AMSTERDAM 
— TOGETHER WITH THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN 
PETER THE HEADSTRONG AND GENERAL 
VAN POFFENBURGH, AND PETER'S SENTIMENTS 
TOUCHING UNFORTUNATE GREAT MEN. 

While thus the enterprising Peter was coasting, 
with flowing sail, up the shores of the lordly Hudson, 
and arousing all the phlegmatic little Dutch settle- 
ments upon its borders, a great and puissant con- 
course of warriors was assembling at the city of New- 
Amsterdam. And here that invaluable fragment of 
antiquity, the Stuyvesant manuscript, is more than 
commonly particular ; by which means I am enabled 
to record the illustrious host that encamped itself in 
the public square in front of the fort, at present de- 
nominated the Bowling-Green. 

In the centre, then, was pitched the tent of the 
men of battle of the Manhattoes, who being the in- 
mates of the metropolis, composed the life-guards of 
the governor. These were commanded by the valiant 

* The learned H.ins Megapolen^is, treating of the country about 
Albany, in a letter which was written some lime after the settle- 
ment thereof, says : " There is in the river great plenty of Sturgeon, 
which we Christians do not make use of; but the Indians eat them 
greedilie." 



Stoffel Brinkerhoff, who whilom had acquired such 
immortal tame at Oyster Bay — they displayed as a 
standard, a beaver rampant on a field of orange ; 
being tlie arms of the province, and denoting the 
persevering industry and the amphibious origin of 
the Nederlanders.* 

On their right hand might be seen the vassals of 
that renowned Mynheer, Michael Paw,t who lorded 
it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia, and the 
lands away south, even unto the Navesink mount- 
ains,]: and was moreover patroon of Gibbet Island. 
His standard was borne by his trusty squire, Cor- 
nelius Van Vorst ; consisting of a huge oyster ?r- 
cwnbcnt upon a sea-green field ; being the armorial 
bearings of his favourite metropolis, Communipaw. 
He brought to the camp a stout force of warriors, 
heavily armed, being each clad in ten pair of linsey- 
woolsey breeches, and overshadowed by Ijioad-brim- 
med beavers, with short pipes twisted in their hat- 
bands. These were the men who vegetated in the 
mud along the shores of Pavonia ; being of the race 
of genuine copperheads, and were fabled to have 
sprung from oysters. 

At a little distance were encamped the tribe of 
warriors who came from the neighbourhood of Hell- 
Gate. These were commanded by the Suy Dams, 
and the Van Dams, incontinent hard swearers, as 
their names betoken — they were terrible-looking fel- 
lows, clad in broad-skirted gaberdines, of that curi- 
ous coloured cloth called thunder and lightning — 
and bore as a standard three Devil's-darning-needies, 
volant, in a flame-coloured field. 

Hard by was the tent of the men of battle from 
the marshy borders of the Waale-Boght§ and the 
country thereabouts — these were of a sour aspect by 
reason that they lived on crabs, which abound in 
these parts. Tliey were the first institutors of that 
honourable order of knighthood, called Fly market 
sJiirks, and, if tradition speak true, did likewise in- 
troduce the far-famed step in dancing, called " double 
trouble." They were commanded by the tearless 
Jacobus Varra Vanger, and had moreover a jolly 
band of Breuckelenll ferry-men, who performed a 
brave concerto on conch-shells. 

But 1 refrain from pursuing this minute descrip- 
tion, which goes on to describe the warriors of 
Bloemendael, and Wee-hawk, and Hoboken, and 
sundry other places, well known in history and song 
— for now does the sound of martial music alarm the 
people of New-Amsterdam, sounding afar from be- 
yond the walls of the city. But this alarm was in a 
little while relieved ; for lo, from the midst of a vast 
cloud of dust, they recognised the brimstone-coloured 
breeches, and splendid silver leg, of Peter Stuyvesant, 
glaring in the sunbeams ; and beheld him approach- 
ing at the head of a formidable armv, which he had 
mustered along the banks of the Hudson. And here 
the excellent, but anonymous writer of the Stuyves- 
ant manuscript, breaks out into a brave and glorious 
description of the forces, as they defiled through the 



* This was likewise the great seal of the New-Netherlands, as 
may still be seen in ancient records. 

t Besides what is related in the Stuyvesant MS., I have found 
mention made of this illustrious Patroon in another manuscript, 
which says: " De Heer l,or the squire) Michael Paw. a Dutch sub- 
ject, about loth Aug., i6to, by deed purchased Staten Island. 
N. B. The same Michael Paw had what the Dutch call a colonic 
at Pavonia, on the Jersey shore, opposite New-York, and his over- 
seer, in i6 6, was named Corns. Van Vorst — a person of the same 
name in 176^ owned Powles Hook, and a large farm at Pavonia, 
and is a lineal descendant from Van Vorst." 

t So called from the Navesink tribe of Indians that inhabitet* 
these parts— at present they are erroneously denominated the 
Neversink, or Neversunk mountains. 

§ Since corrupted into the Watlabouti the bay where the Navy- 
Yard is situated. 

I Now spelt Brooklyn. 



61i 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



principal gate of the city, that stood by the head of 
Wall-street. 

First of all came the Van Bummels, who inhabit 
the pleasant borders of the Bronx — these were short 
fat men, wearing exceeding large trunk breeches, 
and are renovvned for feats of the trencher — they 
were the first inventors of suppawn or mush-and- 
inilk. — Close in their rear marched the Van V'lotens, 
of Kaatskill, most horrible quaffers of new cider, and 
arrant braggarts in their liquor. — After them came 
the Van Pelts, of Groodt Esopus, dexterous horse- 
men, mounted upon goodly switch-tailed steeds of 
the Esopus breed — these were mighty hunters of 
minks and musk-rats, whence came the word I'cllry. 
— Then the Van Nests, of Kinderhook, valiant rob- 
bers of birds' nests, as their name denotes ; to these, 
if report may be believed, are we indebted for the in- 
vention of slap-jacks, or buckwheat cakes. — Then 
the Van Higginbottoms, of Wapping's creek ; these 
came armed with ferules and birchen rods, being a 
race of schoolmasters, who first discovered the mar- 
vellous sympathy between the seat of honour and 
the seat of intellect, and that the shortest way to get 
knowledge into the head, was to hammer it into the 
bottom. — Then the Van Grolls, of Antony's Nose, 
who carried their liquor in fair round little pottles, 
by reason they could not bouse it out of their can- 
teens, having such rare long noses. — Then the Gar- 
deniers, of Hudson and thereabouts, distinguished 
by many triumphant feats, such as robbing water- 
melon patches, smoking rabbits out of their holes, 
and the like ; and by being great lovers of roasted 
pig's tails ; these were the ancestors of the renowned 
congressman of that name. — Then the Van Hoesens, 
of Sing-Sing, great choristers and players upon the 
jews-liarp ; these marched two and two, singing the 
great song of St. Nicholas. — Then the Couenhovens, 
of Sleepy Hollow ; these gave birth to a jolly race of 
publicans, who first discovered the magic artifice of 
conjuring a quart of wine into a pint bottle. — Then 
the Van Kortlandts, who lived on the wild banks of 
the Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, be- 
ing much spoken of for their skill in shooting with 
the long bow. — Then the Van Bunschotens, of Nyack 
and Kakiat, who were the first that did ever kick 
with the left foot ; they were gallant bush-whackers 
and hunters of raccoons by moonlight. — Then the 
Van Winkles, of Haerlem, potent suckers of eggs, 
and noted for running of horses, and running up of 
scores at taverns ; they were the first that ever 
winked with both eyes at once. — Lastly came the 
Knickerbockers, of the great town of Schaghti- 
coke, where the folk lay stones upon the houses in 
windy weather, lest they should be blown away. 
These derive their name, as some say, from Knicker, 
to shake, and Bcker, a goblet, indicating thereby 
that they were sturdy toss-pots of yore ; but, in 
truth, it was derived from Knicker, to nod, and 
Botkcn, books ; plainly meaning that they were great 
nodders or dozers over books — from them did de- 
scend the writer of this history. 

Such was the legion of sturdy bush-beaters that 
poured in at the grand gate of New-Amsterdam ; the 
Stuyvesant manuscript indeed speaks of many more, 
whose names I omit to mention, seeing that it be- 
hoves me to hasten to matters of greater moment. 
Nothing could surpass the joy and martial pride of 
the lion-hearted Peter, as he reviewed this mighty 
host of warriors, and he determined no longer to de- 
fer the gratification of his much-wished-for revenge 
upon the scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir. 

But before I hasten to record those unmatchable 
events, which will be found in the sequel of this 
faithful history, let me pause to notice the fate of 
Jacobus Van Poffenburgh, the discomfited com- 



mander-in-chief of the armies of the New-Nether- 
lands. Such is the inherent uncharitableness of hu- 
man nature, that scarcely did the news become 
public of his deplorable discomfiture at Fort Casi- 
mir. than a thousand scurvy rumours were set afloat 
in New-Amsterdam, wherein it was insinuated, that 
he had in reality a treacherous understanding with 
the Swedish commander ; that he had long been in 
the practice of privately communicating with the 
Swedes ; together with divers hints about " secret 
service money:" — to all which deadly charges I do 
not give a jot more credit than I think they deserve. 

Certain it is, that the general vindicated his char- 
acter by the most vehement oaths and protestations 
and put every man out of the ranks of honour who 
dared to doubt his integrity. Moreover, on returning 
to New-Amsterdam, he paraded up and down the 
streets with a crew of hard swearers at his heels — ■ 
sturdy bottle companions, whom ho gorged and fat- 
tened, and who were ready to bolster him through 
all the courts of justice — heroes of his own kidney, 
fierce-whiskered, broad-shouldered, colbrand-Iooking 
swaggerers — not one of whom but looked as though 
he could eat up an ox, and pick his teeth with the 
horns. These lite-guard men quarrelled all this quar- 
rels, were ready to fight all his battles, and scowled 
at every man that turned up his nose at the general, 
as though they would devour him alive. Their con- 
versation was interspersed with oaths like ininute- 
guns, and every bombastic rodomontade was rounded 
off by a thundering execration, like a patriotic toast 
honoured with a discharge of artillery. 

All these valorous vapourings had a considerable 
effect in convincing certain profound sages, many of 
whom began to think the general a hero of unutter- 
able loftiness and magnanimity of soul, particularly 
as he was continually protesting on the honour of a 
soldier — a marvellously high-sounding asseveration. 
Nay, one of the members of the council went so far 
as to propose they should immortalize him by an 
imperishable statue of plaster of Paris. 

But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was not 
thus to be deceived. — Sending privately for the com- 
mander-in-chief of all the armies, and having heard 
all his story, garnished with the customary pious 
oaths, protestations, and ejaculations — " Harkee, 
comrade," cried he, " though by your own account 
you are the most brave, upright, and honourable man 
in the whole province, yet do you lie under the mis- 
fortune of being damnably traduced, and immeasur- 
ably despised. Now, though it is certainly hard to 
punish a man for his misfortunes, and though it is 
very possible you are totally innocent of the crimes 
laid to your charge, yet as Heaven, at present, doubt- 
less for some wise purpose, sees fit to withhold all 
proofs of your innocence, far be it from me to coun- 
teract its sovereign will. Besides, 1 cannot consent 
to venture my armies with a commander whom they 
despise, or to trust the welfare of my people to a 
champion whom they distrust. Retire, therefore, my 
friend, from the irksome toils and cares of public 
life, with this comforting reflection — that if guilty, 
you are but enjoying your just rev/ard — and if inno- 
cent, you are not the first great and good man who 
has most wrongfully been slandered and maltreated 
in this wicked world — doubtless to bo better treated 
in a better world, where there shall be neither error, 
calumny, nor persecution. In the ineantime let me 
never see your face again, for I have a horrible an- 
tipathy to the countenances of unfortunate great 
men like yourself." 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



615 



CHAPTER V. 



IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DISCOURSES VERY IN- 
GENUOUSLY OF HIMSELF— AFTER WHICH IS TO 
BE FOUND MUCH INTERESTING HISTORY ABOUT 
PETER THE HEADSTRONG AND HIS FOLLOWERS. 
As my readers and myself are about entering on 
as many perils as ever a confederacy of meddlesome 
knights-errant wilfully ran their heads into, it is meet 
that, like those hardy adventurers, we should jom 
hands, bury all differences, and swear to stand by 
one another, in weal or woe, to the end of the enter- 
prise. My readers must doubtless perceive how 
completely I have altered my tone and deportment, 
since we tirst set out together. I warrant they then 
thought me a crabbed, cynical, impertinent little son 
of a^Dutchman ; for I scarcely ever gave them a 
civil word, nor so much as touched my beaver, when 
I had occasion to address them. But as we jogged 
along together, in the high-road of my history, I 
gradually began to relax, to grow more courteous, 
and occasionally to enter into lamiliar discourse, un- 
til at length 1 came to conceive a most social, com- 
panionable, kind regard for them. This is just my 
way— I am always a little cold and reserved at first, 
particularly to people whom I neither know nor care 
for, and am only to be completely won by long inti- 
tnacy. 

Besides, why should I have been sociable to the 
crowd of how-d'ye-do acquaintances that flocked 
around me at my first appearance? Many were 
merely attracted by a new face ; and having stared 
me full in the title-page, walked off without saymg a 
word; while others lingered yawningly through the 
preface, and having gratified their short-lived curios- 
ity, soon dropped off' one by one. But more especi- 
ally to try their mettle, I had recourse to an expedi- 
ent, similar to one which we are told was used by 
that peerless flower of chivalry. King Arthur; who, 
before he admitted any knight to his intimacy, first 
required that he should show himself superior to 
danger or hardships, by encountering unheard-of 
mishaps, slaying some dozen giants, vanquishing 
wicked enchanters, not to say a word of dwarls, hip- 
pogritTs, and fiery dragons. On a similar principle, 
I cunningly led my readers, at the first sally, into 
two or three knotty chapters, where they were most 
wofuUy belaboured and buffeted by a host of pagan 
philosophers and infidel writers. Though naturally 
a very grave man, yet could I scarce refrain from 
smiling outright at seeing the utter confusion and 
dismay of my valiant cavaliers — some dropped down 
dead (asleep) on the field ; others threw down my 
book in the middle of the first chapter, took to their 
heels, and never ceased scampering until they had 
fairly run it out of sight ; when they stopped to take 
breath, to tell their friends what troubles they had 
undergone, and to warn all others from venturing on 
so thankless an expedition. Every page thinned my 
ranks more and more ; and of the vast multitude 
that first set out, but a comparatively few made shilt 
to survive, in exceedingly battered condition, through 
the five introductory chapters. 

What, then ! would you have had me take such 
sunshine, faint-hearted recreants to my bosom at 
our first acquaintance? No— no ; 1 reserved my 
friendship for those who deserved it, lor those who 
undauntedly bore me company, in despite of difficul- 
ties, dingers, and fatigues. And now, as to those 
who adhere to me at present, I take them affection- 
ately by the hand. — Worthy and thrice-beloved 
readers ! brave and well-tried comrades ! who have 
faithfully followed my footsteps through all my wan- 
derings—I salute you from my heart— I pledge my- 
self to stand by you to the last ; and to conduct you 



(so Heaven speed this trusty weapon which I now 
hold between my fingers) triumphantly to the end of 
this our stupendous undertaking. 

But, hark! while we are thus talking, the city of 
New-Amsterdam is in a bustle. The host of war- 
riors encamped in the Bowling-Green are striking 
their tents ; the brazen trumpet of Antony Van Cor- 
lear makes the welkin to resound with portentous 
clangour— the drums beat— the standards of the 
Manhattoes, of Hell-Gate, and of Michael Paw, 
wave proudly in the air. And now behold where 
the mariners are busily employed hoisting the sails of 
yon topsail schooner, and those clump-built sloops, 
which are to waft the army of the Nederianders to 
gather immortal honours on the Delaware ! 

The entire population of the city, man, woman, 
and child, turned out to behold the chivalry of New- 
Amsterdam, as it paraded the streets previous to 
embarkation. Many a handkerchief was waved out 
at the windows ; many a fair nose was blown in 
melodious sorrow, on the mournful occasion. The 
grief of the fair dames and beauteous damsels ot 
Granada could not have been more vociferous on 
the banishment of the gallant tribe of Abencei- 
rages, than was that of the kind-hearted fair ones 
of New-Amsterdam on the departure of their in- 
trepid warriors. Every love-sick maiden fondly 
crammed the pockets of her hero with gingerbread 
and doughnuts— many a copper ring was exchanged 
and crooked sixpence broken, in pledge of eternal 
constancy— and there remain extant to this day some 
love-verses written on that occasion, sufficiently 
crabbed and incomprehensible to confound the 
whole universe. 

But it was a moving sight to see the buxom 
lasses, how they hung about the doughty Antony 
Van Corlear— for he was a jolly, rosy-laced, lusty 
bachelor, fond of his joke, and withal a desperate 
rogue among the women. Fain would they have 
kept him to comfort them while the army was away : 
for besides what I have said of him, it is no more 
than justice to add, that he was a kind-hearted soul, 
noted for his benevolent attentions in comforting 
disconsolate wives during the absence of their hus- 
bands—and this made him to be very much regarded 
by the honest burghers of the city. But nothing 
could keep the valiant Antony from following the 
heels of the old governor, whom he loved as he did 
his very soul— so, embracing all the young vrouws, 
and giving every one of them that had good teeth 
and rosy lips, a dozen hearty smacks, he departed 
loaded with their kind wishes. 

Nor was the departure of the gallant Peter among 
the least causes of public distress. Though the old 
governor was by no means indulgent to the follies 
and waywardness of his subjects, yet some how or 
other he had become strangely popular among the 
people. There is something so captivating in per- 
sonal bravery, that, with the common mass ol man- 
kind, it takes the lead of most other merits. The 
simple folk of New-Amsterdam looked upon Peter 
Stuyvesant as a prodigy of valour. His wooden leg, 
that trophy of his martial encounter, was regarded 
with reverence and admiration. Every old burgher 
had a budget of miraculous stories to tell about the 
exploits of Hardkopping Piet, wherewith he regaled 
his children of a long winter night ; and on which 
he dwelt with as much delight and exaggeration, 
as do our honest country yeomen on the hardy ad- 
ventures of old General Putnam (or as he is lamil- 
iariy termed. Old Put.) during our glorious revolu- 
tion. Not an individual but verily believed the old 
governor was a match for Belzebub himsell : and 
there was even a stoty told, with great mystery, and 
under the rose, of his having shot the devil with a 



616 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



silver bullet, one dark, stormy night, as he was sail- 
ing in a canoe through Hell-Gale. — But this I do 
not record as being an absolute fact — perish the 
man who would let fall a drop to discolour the pure 
stream of history ! 

Certain it is, not an old woman in New-Amster- 
dam but considered Peter Stuyvesant as a tower of 
strength, and rested satisfied that the public welfare 
was secure so long as he was in the city. It is not 
surprising, then, that they looked upon his departure 
as a sore affliction. With heavy hearts they dragged 
at the heels of his troop, as they marched down to 
the river side to emb.ark. The governor, from the 
stern of his schooner, gave a short, but truly patri- 
archal address to his citizens ; wherein he recom- 
mended them to comport like loyal and peaceable 
subjects — to go to church regularly on Sundays, and 
to mind their business all the week besides. — That 
the women should be dutiful and affectionate to their 
husbands — looking after nobody's concerns but their 
own : eschewing all gossipings and morning gad- 
dings — and carrying short tongues and long petti- 
coats. — That the men should abstain from inter- 
meddling in public concerns, intrusting the cares of 
government to the officers appointed to support 
them — staying at home like good citizens, making 
money for themselves, and getting children for the 
benefit of their country. That the burgomasters 
should look well to the public interest — not oppress- 
ing the poor, nor indulging the rich — not tasking 
their sagacity to devise new laws, but faithfully en- 
forcing those which were already made — rather 
bending their attention to prevent evil than to pun- 
ish it ; ever recollecting that civil magistrates should 
consider themselves more as guardians of public 
morals, than rat-catchers employed to entrap public 
delinquents. Finally, he exhorted them, one and 
all, high and low, rich and poor, to conduct them- 
selves as u<cll as they could ; assuring them that if 
they faithfully and conscientiously complied with 
this golden rule, there was no danger but that 
they would all conduct themselves well enough. — 
This done, he gave them a paternal benediction ; 
the sturdy Antony sounded a most loving farewell 
with his trumpet, the jolly crews put up a shout of 
triumph, and the invincible armada swept off proudly 
down the bay. 

The good people of New-Amsterdam crowded 
■ down to the Battery — that blest resort, from whence 
so many a tender prayer has been wafted, so many a 
fair hand waved, so many a tearful look been cast by 
love-sick damsels, after the lessening bark, bearing 
her adventurous swain to distant climes. Here the 
populace watched with straining eyes the gallant 
squadron, as it slowly floated down the bay, and 
when the intervening land at the Narrows shut it 
from their sight, gradually dispersed with silent 
tongues and downcast countenances. 

A heavy gloom hung over the late bustling city. — 
The honest burghers smoked their pipes in profound 
thoughtfulness, casting many a wistful look to the 
weathercock, on the church of Saint Nicholas; and 
all the old women, having no longer the presence of 
Peter Stuyvesant to hearten them, gathered their 
children home, and barricadoed the doors and win- 
dows every evening at sun-down. 

In the meanwhile, the armada of the sturdy Peter 
proceeded prosperously on its voyage, and after en- 
countering about as many storms, and waterspouts, 
and whales, and other horrors and phenomena, as 
generally befall adventurous landsmen, in perilous 
voyages of the kind ; and after undergoing a severe 
scouring from that deplorable and unpitied malady 
called sea-sickness, the whole squadron arrived safely 
in the Delaw'are. 



Without so much as dropping anchor and giving 
his wearied ships time to breathe after labouring so 
long in the ocean, the intrepid Peter pursued his 
course up the Delaware, and made a sudden appear- 
ance before Fort Casimir. — Having summoned the 
astonished garrison by a terrific blast from the trump- 
et of the long-winded Van Corlear, he demanded 
in a tone of thunder an instant surrender of the fort. 
To this demand, Suen Scutz, the wind-dried com- 
mandant, replied in a shrill, whiffling voice, which, 
by reason of his extreme spareness, sounded like the 
wind whistling through a broken bellows — " that he 
had no very strong reasons for refusing, except that 
the demand was particularly disagreeable, as he had 
been ordered to maintain his post to the last extrem- 
ity." He requested time, therefore, to consult with 
Governor Risingh, and proposed a truce for that 
purpose. 

The choleric Peter, indignant at having his right- 
ful fort so treacherously taken from him, and thus 
pertinaciously withheld, refused the proposed armis- 
tice, and swore by the pipe of St. Nicholas, which 
like the sacred fire was never extinguished, that un- 
less the fort were surrendered in ten minutes, he 
would incontinently storm the works, make all the 
garrison run the gauntlet, and split their scoundrel 
of a commander like a pickled shad. To give this 
menace the greater effect, he drew forth his trusty 
sword, and shook it at them with such a fierce and 
vigorous motion, that doubtless if it had not been ex- 
ceeding rusty, it would have lightened terror into the 
eyes and hearts of the enemy. He then ordered his 
men to bring a broadside to bear upon the fort, con- 
sisting of two swivels, three muskets, a long duck 
fowling-piece, and two brace of horse-pistols. 

In the meantime the sturdy Van Corlear mar- 
shalled all his forces, and commenced his warlike 
operations. Distending his cheeks like a very Boreas, 
he kept up a most horrific twanging of his trumpet 
— the lusty choristers of Sing-Sing broke forth into a 
hideous song of battle — the warriors of Breuckelen 
and the Wallabout blew a potent and astounding 
blast on their conch-shells, altogether forming as 
outrageous a concerto as though five thousand French 
orchestras were displaying their skill in a modern 
overture. 

Whether the formidable front of war thus suddenly 
presented, smote the garrison with sore dismay — or 
whether the concluding terms of the summons, which 
mentioned that he should surrender " at discretion " 
were mistaken by Suen Scutz, who, though a Swede, 
was a very considerate, easy-tempered man — as a 
compliment to his discretion, I will not take upon me 
to say ; certain it is, he found it impossible to resist 
so courteous a demand. Accordingly, in the very 
nick of time, just as the cabin-boy had gone after a 
coal of fire, to discharge the swivel, a chamade was 
beat on the rampart, by the only drum in the gar- 
rison, to the no small satisfaction of both parties ; 
who, notwithstanding their great stomach for fight- 
ing, had full as good an inclination to eat a quiet 
dinner, as to excliange black eyes and bloody noses. 

Thus did this impregnable fortress once more re- 
turn to the domination of their High Mightinesses; 
Scutz and his garrison of twenty men were allowed 
to march out with the honours of war, and the vic- 
torious Peter, who was as generous as brave, per- 
mitted them to keep possession of all their arms and 
ammunition — the same on inspection being found 
totally unfit for service, having long rusted in the 
magazine of the fortress, even before it was wrested 
by the Swedes from the magnanimous, but windy 
Van Poffenburgh. But I must not omit to mention, 
that the governor was so well pleased with the serv- 
ices of his faithful squire. Van Corlear, in the reduc- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



617 



tion of this great fortress, that he made him on the 
spot lord of a goodly domain in the vicinity of New- 
Amsterdam —which goes by the name Corlear's Hook 
unto this very day. 

The unexampled liberality of the valiant Stuyves- 
ant towards the Swedes occasioned great surprise 
in the city of New-Amsterdam — nay, certain of these 
factious individuals, who had been enlightened by 
the political meetings that prevailed during the days 
of William the Testy, but who had not dared to in- 
dulge their meddlesome habits, under the eye of their 
present ruler, now emboldened by his absence, dared 
even to give vent to their censures in the street. 
Murmurs were heard in the very council chamber 
of New-Amsterdam ; and there is no knowing wheth- 
er they would not have broken out into downright 
speeches and invectives, had not Peter Stuyvesant 
privately sent home his walking-staff, to be laid as a 
mace on the table of the council chamber, in the 
midst of his counsellors ; who, like wise men, took 
the hint, and for ever after held their peace. 



CHAPTER VI. 

SHOWING THE GREAT ADVANTAGE THAT THE 
AUTHOR HAS OVER HIS READER IN TIME OF 
BATTLE — TOGETHER WITH DIVERS PORTENT- 
OUS MOVEMENTS, WHICH BETOKEN THAT SOME- 
THING TERRIBLE IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. 

Like as a mighty alderman, when at a corporation 
feast the first spoonful of turtle soup salutes his pal- 
ate, feels his impatient appetite but tenfold quick- 
ened, and redoubles his vigorous attacks upon the 
tureen, while his voracious eyes, projecting from his 
head, roll greedily round, devouring every thing at 
table — so did the mettlesome Peter Stuyvesant feel 
that intolerable hunger for martial glory, which 
raged within his very bowels, inflamed bv the cap- 
ture of Fort Casimir, and nothing could allay it but 
the conquest of all New-Sweden. No sooner, there- 
fore, had he secured his conquest, than he stumped 
resolutely on, flushed with success, to gather fresh 
laurels at Fort Christina.* 

This was the grand Swedish post, established on a 
small river (or as it is improperlv termed, creek) of 
the same name ; and here that crafty Governor Jan 
Risingh lay grimly drawn up, like a gray-bearded 
spider in the citadel of his web. 

But before we hurry into the direful scenes that 
must attend the meeting of two such potent chief- 
tains, it is advisable that we pause for a moment, and 
hold a kind of warlike council. Battles should not 
be rushed into precipitately by the historian and his 
readers, any more than by the general and his sol- 
diers. The great commanders of antiquity never 
engaged the enemy, without previously preparing 
the minds of their followers by animating harangues ; 
spiriting them up to heroic feelings, assuring them 
of the protection of the gods, and inspiring them 
with a confidence in the prowess of their leaders. So 
the historian should awaken the attention and enlist 
the passions of his readers, and having set them all 
on fire with the importance of h's subject, he should 
put himself at their head, flourish his pen, and lead 
them on to the thickest of the fight. 

An illustrious example of this rule may be seen in 
that mirror of historians, the immortal Thucydides. 
Having arrived at the breaking out of the Pelopon- 
nesian war, one of his commentators observes, that 



* This is at present a flourishing town, called Christiana, or 
Christeen, about thirty-seven miles fiom Philadelphia, on the post- 
road to Baltimore. 



"he sounds the charge in all the disposition and 
spirit of Homer. He catalogues the allies on both 
sides. He awakens our expectations, and fast en- 
gages our attention. All mankind are concerned in 
the important point now going to be decided. En- 
deavours are made to disclose futurity. Heaven 
itself is interested in the dispute. The earth totters, 
and nature seems to labour with the great event. 
This is his solemn sublime manner of setting out. 
Thus he magnifies a war between two, as Rapin 
styles them, petty states ; and thus artfully he sup- 
ports a little subject, by treating it ia a great and 
noble method." 

In like manner, having conducted my readers into 
the very teeth of peril — having followed the advent- 
urous Peter and his band into foreign regions — sur- 
rounded by foes, and stunned by the hoirid din of 
arms — at this important moment, while darkness and 
doubt hang o'er each coming chapter, I hold it m;ct 
to harangue them, and prepare them for the events 
that are to follow. 

And here I would premise one great advantage 
which, as the historian, I possess over my reader ; 
and this it is, that though I cannot save the life of 
my favourite hero, nor absolutely contradict the event 
of a battle, (both which liberties, though often taken 
by the French writers of the present reign. I hold to 
be utterly unworthy of a scrupulous historian,) yet I 
can now and then make him to bestow on his enemy 
a sturdy back-stroke sufficient to fell a giant ; though, 
in honest truth, he may never have done any thing 
of the kind — or I can drive his antagonist clear round 
and round the field, as did Homer make that fine fel- 
low Hector scamper like a poltroon round the walls 
of Troy ; for which, if ever they have encountered 
one another in the Elysian fields, I'll warrant the 
prince of poets has had to make the most humble 
apology. 

1 am aware that many conscientious readers will 
be ready to cry out " foul play ! " whenever I render 
a little assistance to my hero — but I consider it one 
of those privileges exercised by historians of all ages, 
and one which has never been disputed. In fact, 
a historian is, as it were, bound in honour to stand 
by his hero — the fame of the latter is intrusted to his 
hands, and it is his duty to do the best by it he can. 
Never was there a general, an admiral, or any other 
commander, who, in giving an account of any battle 
he had fought, did not sorely belabour the enemy ; 
and I have no doubt that, had my heroes written the 
history of their own achievements, they would have 
dealt much harder blows than any that I shall re- 
count. .Standing forth, therefore, as the guardian 
of their fame, it behoves me to do them the same 
justice they would have done themselves ; and if I 
happen to be a little hard upon the Swedes, I give 
free leave to any of their descendants, who may write 
a history of the State of Delaware, to take fair retal- 
iation, and belabour Peter Stuyvesant as hard as they 
please. 

Therefore stand by for broken heads and bloody 
noses ! — my pen hath long itched for a battle — siege 
after siege have I carried on without blows or blood- 
shed ; but now I have at length got a chance, and I 
vow to Heaven and St. Nicholas, that, let the chron- 
icles of the time say what they please, neither .Sallust, 
Livy, Tacitus, Polybius, nor any other historian, did 
ever record a fiercer fight than that in which my 
valiant chieftains are now about to engage. 

And you, oh most excellent readers, whom, for 
your faithful adherence, I could cherish in the warm- 
est corner of my heart — be not uneasy— trust the 
fate of our favourite Stuyvesant to me — for by the 
rood, come what may, I'll stick by Hard-kopping 
Piet to the last ; 111 make him drive about these 



618 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



losels vile, as did the renowned Launcelot of the 
lake, a herd of recreant Cornish Icnights— and if he 
does fall, let me never draw my pen to fight another 
battle, in behalf of a brave man, if I don't make these 
lubberly Swedes pay for it. 

No sooner had Peter Stuyvesant arrived before 
Fort Christina than he proceeded without delay to 
intrench himself, and immediately on running his 
first parallel, despatched Antony Van Corlear to 
summon the fortress to surrender. Van Corlear was 
received with all due formality, hoodwinked at the 
portal, and conducted through a pestiferous smell of 
salt fish and onions, to the citadel, a substantial hut, 
built of pine logs. His eyes were here uncovered, 
and he found himself in the august presence of 
Governor Risingh. This chieftain, as I have before 
noted, was a very giantly man ; and was clad in a 
coarse blue coat, strapped round the waist with a 
leathern belt, which caused the enormous skirts and 
pockets to set off with a very warlike sweep. His 
ponderous legs were cased in a pair of foxy-coloured 
jack-boots, and he was straddling in the attitude of 
the Colossus of Rhodes, before a bit of broken look- 
ing-glass, shaving himself with a villainously dull 
razor. This afflicting operation caused him to make 
a series of horrible grimaces, that heightened exceed- 
ingly the grizzly terrors of his visage. On Antony 
Van Corlear's being announced, the grim commander 
paused for a moment, in the midst of one of his 
most hard-favoured contortions, and after eyeing 
him askance over the shoulder, with a kind of snarl- 
ing grin on his countenance, resumed his labours at 
the glass. 

This iron harvest being reaped, he turned once 
more to the trumpeter, and demanded the purport 
of his errand. Antony Van Corlear delivered in a 
few words, being a kind of short-hand speaker, 
a long message from his excellency, recounting 
the whole history of the province, with a recapitula- 
tion of grievances, and enumeration of claims, and 
concluding with a peremptory demand of instant 
surrender ; which done, he turned aside, took his 
nose between his thumb and finger, and blew a 
tremendous blast, not unlike the flourish of a trump- 
et of defiance — which it had doubtless learned from 
a long and intimate neighbourhood with that melo- 
dious instrument. 

Governor Risingh heard him through, trumpet and 
all, but with infinite impatience ; leaning at times, 
as was his usual custom, on the pommel of his sword, 
and at times twirling a huge steel watch-chain, or 
snapping his fingers. Van Corlear having finished, 
he bluntly replied, that Peter Stuyvesant and his 

summons might go to the d 1, whither he hoped 

to send him and his crew of ragamuffins before sup- 
per-time. Then unsheathing his brass-hilted sword, 
and throwing away the scabbard — " Fore gad," quod 
he, " but I will not sheathe thee again, until I make 
a scabbard of the smoke-dried, leathern hide of this 
runagate Dutchman." Then having flung a fierce 
defiance in the teeth of his adversary, by the lips of 
his messenger, the latter was reconducted to the 
portal, with all the ceremonious civility due to the 
trumpeter, 'squire, and ambassador of so great a 
commander, and being again unblinded, was courte- 
ously dismissed with a tweak of the nose, to assist 
him in recollecting his message. 

No sooner did the gallant Peter receive this inso- 
lent reply, than he let fly a tremendous volley of red- 
hot execrations, that would infallibly have battered 
down the fortifications, and blown up the powder- 
magazine about the ears of the fiery Swede, had not 
the ramparts been remarkably strong, and the maga- 
zine bomb-proof. Perceiving that the v/orks with- 
stood this terrific blast, and that it was utterly impos- 



sible (as it really was in those unphilosophic days) to 
carry on a war with words, he ordered his meriy 
men all to prepare for an immediate assault. But 
here a strange murmur broke out among his troops, 
beginning with the tribe of the Van Bummels, those 
valiant trencher-men of the Bronx, and spreading 
from man to man, accompanied with certain muti- 
nous looks and discontented murmurs. For once 
in his life, and only for once, did the great Peter 
turn pale, for he verily thought his warriors were 
going to falter in this hour of perilous trial, and thus 
tarnish for ever the fame of the province of New- 
Nederlands. 

But soon did he discover, to his great joy, that in 
this suspicion he deeply wronged this most undaunt- 
ed army ; for the cause of this agitation and un- 
easiness simply was, that the hour of dinner was at 
hand, and it would have almost broken the hearts of 
these regular Dutch warriors, to have broken in 
upon the invariable routine of their habits Besides, 
it was an established rule among our valiant ances- 
tors, always to fight upon a full stomach, and to 
this may be doubtless attributed the circumstance 
that they came to be so renowned in arms. 

And now are the hearty men of the Manhattoes, 
and their no less hearty comrades, all lustily engaged 
under the trees, buffeting stoutly with the contents 
of their wallets, and taking such affectionate em- 
braces of their canteens and pottles, as though they 
verily believed they were to be the last, .^nd as I 
foresee we shall have hot work in a page or two, 
I advise my readers to do the same, for which pur- 
pose I will bring this chapter to a close ; giving them 
my word of honour that no advantage shall be taken 
of this armistice to surprise, or in any wise molest, 
the honest Nederlanders while at their vigorous 
repast. 



CHAPTER Vn. 

CONT.MNING THE MOST HORRIBLE B-JiTTLE EVER 
RECORDED IN POETRY OR PROSE — WITH THE 
ADMIRABLE EXPLOITS OF PETER THE HEAD- 
STRONG. 

" Now had the Dutchmen snatched a huge re- 
past," and finding themselves wonderfully encour- 
aged and animated thereby, prepared to take the 
field. Expectation, says the writer of the Stuyvesant 
manuscript — Expectation now stood on stilts. The 
world forgot to turn round, or rather stood still, that 
it might witness the affray ; like a fat, round-bellied 
alderman, watching the combat of two chivalric flies 
upon his jerkin. The eyes of all mankind, as usual 
in such cases, were turned upon Fort Christina. 
The sun, like a little man in a crowd at a puppet- 
show, scampered about the heavens, popping his 
head here and there, and endeavouring to get a peep 
between the unmannerly clouds that obtruded them- 
selves in his way. The historians filled their ink- 
horns — the poets went without their dinners, either 
that they might buy paper and goose-quills, or be- 
cause they could not get any thing to eat — antiquity 
scowled sulkily out of its grave, to see itself outdone 
— while even posterity stood mute, gazing in gaping 
ecstasy of retrospection on the eventful field. 

The immortal deities, who whilom had seen service 
at the " affair " of Troy — now mounted their feather- 
bed clouds, and sailed over the plain or mingled 
among the combatants in different disguises, all itch- 
ing to have a finger in the pie. Jupiter sent off his 
thunderbolt to a noted coppersmith, to have it fur- 
bished up for the direful occasion. Venus swore by 
her chastity she'd patronize the Swedes, and in sem- 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



Gli) 



blance of a blear-eyed trull, paraded the battlements 
of Fort Christina, accompanied by Diana as a ser- 
geant's widow, of cracked reputation. — The noted 
bully. Mars, stuck two horse-pistols into his Ijelt, 
shouldered a rusty firelock, and gallantly swaggered 
at their elbow as a drunken corporal — while Apollo 
trudged in their rear as a bandy-legged tiler, playing 
most villainously out of tune. 

On the other side, the ox-eyed Juno, who had 
gained a pair of black eyes overnight, in one of 
her curtain lectures with old Jupiter, displayed her 
haughty beauties on a baggage-wagon — Minei"va, as 
a brawny gin sutler, tucked up her skirts, brandished 
her fists, and swore most heroically in exceeding bad 
Dutch, (having but lately studied thd language,) by 
way of keeping up the spirits of the soldiers ; while 
Vulcan halted as a club-footed blacksmith, lately 
promoted to be a captain of militia. AH was silent 
horror, or bustling preparation ; war reared his hor- 
rid front, gnashed loud his iron fangs, and shook his 
direful crest of bristling bayonets. 

And now the mighty chieftains marshalled out 
xheir hosts. Here stood stout Risingh, firm as a 
thousand rocks — incrusted with stockades and en- 
trenched to the chin in mud batteries. His valiant 
soldiery lined the breastwork in grim array, each 
having his mustachios fiercely greased, and his hair 
pomatumed back and queued so stifly that he grin- 
ned above the ramparts like a grizzly death's head. 

There came on the intrepid Peter — his brows knit, 
his teeth set, his fists clenched, almost breathing 
forth volumes of smoke, so fierce was the fire that 
raged within his bosom. His faithful 'squire. Van 
Corlear, trudged valiantly at his heels, with his 
trumpet gorgeously bedecked with red and yellow 
fibands, the remembrances of his fair mistresses at 
the Manhattoes. Then came waddling on the sturdy 
chivalry of the Hudson. There were the Van Wycks, 
and the Van Dycks, and the Ten Eycks — the Van 
Nesses, the Van Tassels, the Van GroUs, the Van 
Hoesens, the Van Giesons, and the Van Blarcoms 
— the Van Warts, the Van Winkles, the Van Dams, 
the Van Pelts, the Van Rippers, and the Van Brunts. 
— There were the Van Homes, the Van Hooks, the 
Van Bunschotens ; the Van Gelders, the Van Ars- 
dales, and the Van Bummels — the Vander Belts, 
the Vander Hoofs, the Vander Voorts, the Vander 
Lyns, the Vander Pools, and the Vander Spiegels. 
— There came the Hoffmans, the Hooghlands, the 
Hoppers, the Cloppers, the Ryckmans, the Dyck- 
mans, the Hogebooms, the Rosebooms, the Oothouts, 
the Quackenbosses, the Roerbacks, the Garrebrantzs, 
the Bensons, the Brouwers, the Waldrons, the On- 
derdonks, the Varra Vangers, the Schermerhornes, 
the .Stoutenburghs, the Brinkerhoffs, the Bontecous, 
the Knickerbockers, the Hockstrassers, the Ten 
Breecheses, and the Tough Breecheses, with a 
host more of worthies, whose names are too crab- 
bed to be written, or if they could be written, it 
would be impossible for man to utter — all fortified 
with a mighty dinner, and to use the words of a 
great Dutch poet, 

" Brimful of wrath and cabbage !" 

For an instant the mighty Peter paused in the 
midst of his career, and mounting on a stump, ad- 
dressed his troops in eloquent Low Dutch, exhort- 
ing them to fight like diiyveh, and assuring them 
that if they conquered, they should get plenty of 
booty — if they fell, they should be allowed the un- 
paralleled satisfaction, while dying, of reflecting that 
it was in the service of their country — and after they 
were dead, of seeing their names inscribed in the 
temple of renown, and handed down, in company 
with all the other great men of the year, for the ad- 



miration of posterity. — Finally, he swore to them, 
on the word of a governor, (and they knew him too 
well lo doubt it for a moment) that if he caught any 
mother's son of them looking pale, or playing cra- 
ven, he'd curry his hide till he made him run out of 
it like a snake in spring-time. — Then lugging out his 
trusty sabre, he brandished it three times over his 
head, ordered Van Corlear to sound a tremendous 
charge, and shouting the words, "St. Nicholas and 
the Manhattoes ! " courageously dashed forwards. 
His warlike followers, who had employed the inter- 
val in lighting their pipes, instantly stuck them in 
their mouths, gave a furious puff, and charged gal- 
lantly, under cover of the smoke. 

The Swedish garrison, ordered by the cunning 
Risingh not to fire until they could distinguish the 
whites of their assailants' eyes, stood in horrid si- 
lence on the covert-way, until the eager Dutchmen 
had ascended the glacis. Then did they pour into 
them such a tremendous volley, that the very hills 
quaked around, and were terrified even unto an in- 
continence of water, insomuch that certain springs 
burst forth from their sides, which continue to run 
unto the present day. Not a Dutchman but would 
have bitten the dust, beneath that dreadful fire, had 
not the protecting Minerva kindly taken care that the 
Swedes should, one and all, observe their usual cus- 
tom of shutting their eyes and turning away their 
heads, at the moment of discharge. 

The Swedes followed up their fire by leaping the 
counterscarp, and falling tooth and nail upon the 
foe, with furious outcries. And now might be seen 
prodigies of valour, of which neither history nor 
song has ever recorded a parallel. Here was beheld 
the sturdy Stoffel Brinkerhoff, brandishing his lusty 
quarter-staff, like the terrible giant Blanderon his 
oak tree, (for he scorned to carry any other weapon,) 
and druiTiming a horrific tune upon the heads of 
whole squadrons of Swedes. There were the crafty 
Van Kortlandts, posted at a distance, like the Lo- 
crian archers of yore, and plying it most potently 
with the long bow, for which they were so justly re- 
nowned. At another place were collected on a ris- 
ing knoll the valiant men of Sing-Sing, who assisted 
marvellously in the fight, by chanting forth the great 
song of St. Nicholas ; but as to the Gardeniers of 
Hudson, they were absent from the battle, having 
been sent out on a marauding party, to lay waste 
the neighbouring water-melon patches. In a differ- 
ent part of the field might be seen the Van GroUs 
of Antony's Nose ; but they were horribly perplexed 
in a defile between two little hills, by reason of the 
length of their noses. There were the Van Bun- 
schotens of Nyack and Kakiat, so renowned for 
kicking with the left foot, but their skill availed them 
little at present, being short of wind in consequence 
of the hearty dinner they had eaten, and they would 
irretrievably have been put to rout, had they not 
been reinforced by a gallant corps of Voltii^cures, 
composed of the Hoppers, who advanced to their 
assistance nimbly on one foot. Nor must I omit to 
mention the incomparable achievements of Antony 
Van Corlear, who, for a good quarter of an hour, 
waged stubborn fight with a little, pursy Swedish 
drummer, whose hide he drummed most magnifi- 
cently ; and had he not come into the battle with no 
other weapon but his trumpet, would infallibly have 
put him to an untimely end. 

But now the combat thickened — on came the 
mighty Jacobus Varra Vanger, and the fighting men 
of the Wallabout ; after them thundered the Van 
Pelts of Esopus, together with the Van Rippers and 
the Van Brunts, bearing down all before them — then 
the Suy Dams and the Van Dams, pressing forward 
with many a blustering oath, at the head of the war- 



620 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



riors of Hell-Gate, clad in their thunder and light- 
ning gaberdines ; and lastly, the standard-bearers 
and body-guards of Peter Stuyvesant, bearing the 
great beaver of the Manhattoes^ 

And now commenced the horrid din, the desper- 
ate struggle, the maddening ferocity, the frantic des- 
peration, the confusion and self-abandonment of 
war. Dutchman and Swede commingled, tugged, 
panted, and blovved. The heavens were darkened 
with a tempest of missives. Bang ! went the guns 
— whack ! struck the broad-swords — thump ! went 
the cudgels — crash ! went the musket stocks— blows 
— kicks — cuffs- -scratches — black eyes and bloody 
noses, swelling the horrors of the scene! Thick- 
thwack, cut and hack, helter-skelter, higgledy-pig- 
gledy, hurly-burly, head over heels, rough and tum- 
ble ! Dunderand blixum ! swore the Dutchmen — 

splitter and splutter ! cried the Swedes. — Storm the 
works! shouted Hardkoppig Peter— fire the mine! 
roared stout Risingh — Tanta-ra-ra-ra ! twanged the 
trumpet- of Antony Van Corlear — until all voice and 
sound became unintelligible — grunts of pain, yells 
of fuiy, and shouts of triumph commingling in one 
hideous clamour. The earth shook as if struck with 
a paralytic stroke — trees shrunk aghast, and with- 
ered at the sight — rocks burrowed in the ground 
like rabbits, and even Christina creek turned from its 
course, and ran up a mountain in breathless terror ! 

Long hung the contest doubtful ; for, though a 
heavy shower of rain, sent by the " cloud-compel- 
ling Jove," in some measure cooled their ardour, as 
doth a bucket of water thrown on a grouD of fight- 
ing mastiO's, yet did they but pause for a moment, to 
return with tenfold fury to the charge, belabouring 
each other with black and bloody bruises. Just at 
this juncture was seen a vast and dense colunm of 
smoke, slowly rolling towards the scene of battle, 
which for a while made even the furious combatants 
to stay their arms in mute astonishment — but the 
wind for a moment dispersing the murky cloud, 
from the midst thereof emerged the flaunting ban- 
ner of the immortal Michael Paw. This noble chief- 
tain came fearlessly on, leading a solid phalanx of 
oyster-fed Pavonians, who had remained behind, 
partly as a corps He reserve, and partly to digest the 
enormous dinner they had eaten. These sturdy yeo- 
men, nothing daunted, did trudge manfully forward, 
smoking their pipes with outrageous vigour, so as to 
raise the awful cloud that has been mentioned ; but 
marching exceedingly slow, being short of leg, and 
of great rotundity in the belt. 

And now the protecting deities of the army of 
New-Amsterdam, having unthinkingly left the field 
and slept into a neighbouring tavern to refresh them- 
selves with a pot of beer, a direful catastrophe had 
well-nigh clianced to befall the Nederlanders. Scarce- 
ly had the myrmidons of the puissant Paw attained 
the front of battle, before the Swedes, instructed by 
the cunning Risingh, levelled a shower of blows full 
at their tobacco-pipes. Astounded at this unexpect- 
ed assault, and totally discomfited at seeing their 
pipes broken, the valiant Dutchmen fell in vast con- 
fusion—already they begin to fly — like a frightened 
drove of unwieldy elephants they throw their own 
army in an uproar, bearing down a whole legion of 
little Hoppers — the sacred banner, on which i; 
blazoned the gigantic oyster of Communipaw, is 
trampled in the dirt — the Swedes pluck up new 
spirits, and pressing on their rear, apply their feet a 
parte posfe, with a vigour that prodigiously accelerates 
their motions — nor doth the renowned Paw himself 
fail to receive divers grievous and dishonourable visi- 
tations of shoe-leather ! 

But what, oh muse ! was the rage of the gallant 
Peter, when from afar he saw his army yield .'' With 



a voice of thunder did he roar after his recreant war- 
riors. The men of the Manhattoes plucked up new 
courage when they heard their leader — or rather they 
dreaded his fierce displeasure, of which they stood in 
more awe than of all the Swedes in Christendom — 
but the daring Peter, not waiting for their aid, plunged, 
sword in hand, into the thickest of the foe. Then 
did he display some such incredible achievements as 
have never been known since the miraculous days of 
the giants. Wherever he went, the enemy shrunk 
before him — with fierce impetuosity he pushed for- 
ward, driving the Swedes, like dogs, into their own 
ditch — but as he fearlessly advanced, the foe thronged 
in his rear, and hung upon his flank with fearful peril. 
One crafty Swede, advancing warily on one side, 
drove his dastard sword full at the hero's heart ; but 
the protecting power that watches over the safety of 
all great and good men, turned aside the hostile 
blade, and directed it to a side pocket, where reposed 
an enormous iron tobacco-box, endov.'ed, like the 
shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers — no 
doubt in consequence of its being piously decorated 
with a portrait of the blessed St. Nicholas. Thus 
was the dreadful blow repelled, but not without oc- 
casioning to the great Peter a fearful loss of wind. 

Like as a furious bear, when gored by curs, turns 
fiercely round, gnashes his teeth, and springs upon 
the foe, so did our hero turn upon the treacherous 
Swede. The miserable varlet sought in flight for 
safety — but the active Peter, seizing him by an im- 
measurable queue, that dangled from his head — "Ah, 
whoreson caterpillar!" roared he, "here is what 
shall make dug's meat of thee ! " So saying, he whirl- 
ed his trusty sword, and made a blow that would 
have decapitated him, but that the pitying steel struck 
short, and shaved the queue for ever from his crown. 
At this very moment a cunning arquebusier, perched 
on the summit of a neighbouring mound, levelled 
his deadly instrument, and would have sent the gal- 
lant Stu)vesant a wailing ghost to haunt the Stygian 
shore, had not the watchlul Minerva, who had just 
stopped to tie up her garter, seen the great peril of 
her favourite chief, and despatched old Boreas with 
his bellows ; who, in the very nick of time, just as 
the match descended to the pan, gave such a lucky 
blast, as blew all the priming from the touch-hole ! 

Thus waged the horrid fight — when the stout Ri- 
singh, surveying the battle from the top of a little 
ravelin, perceived his faithful troops banged, beaten, 
and kicked by the invincible Peter. Language can- 
not describe the choler with which he was seized at 
the sight — he only stopped for a moment to disbur- 
then himself of five thousand anathemas ; and then, 
drawing his immeasurable falchion, straddled down 
to the field of combat, with some such thundering 
strides as Jupiter is said by Hesiod to have taken 
when he strode down the spheres, to hurl his thun- 
derbolts at the Titans. 

No sooner did these two rival heroes come face to 
face, than they each made a prodigious start, such as 
is made by your most experienced stage champions. 
Then did they regard each other for a moment, with 
bitter aspect, like two furious ram-cats, on the very 
point of a clapper-clawing. Then did they throw 
themselves in one attitude, then in another, striking 
their swords on the ground, first on the right side, 
then on the left — at last, at it they went witti incred- 
ible ferocity. Words cannot tell the prodigies of 
strength and valour displayed in this direful encoun- 
ter — an encounter, compared to which the far-famed 
battles of Ajax with Hector, of Eneas with Turnus, 
Orlando with Rodomont, Guy of Warwick with Col- 
brand the Dane, or that renowned Welsh knight. Sir 
Owen of the Mountains with the giant Guylon, were 
all gentle sports and holyday recreations. At length 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



621 



the valiant Peter, watching his opportunity, aimed a 
fearful blow, with the full intention of cleaving his 
adversary to the very chine ; but Risingh, nimbly 
raising his sword, warded it off so narrowly, that 
glancing on one side, it shaved away a huge canteen 
that lie always carried swung on one side ; thence 
pursuing its trenchant course, it severed off a deep 
coat-pocket, stored with bread and cheese — all which 
dainties rolling among the armies, occasioned a fear- 
ful scrambling between the Swedes and Dutchmen, 
and made the general battle to wax ten times more 
furious than ever. 

Enraged to see his military stores thus wofully laid 
waste, the stout Risingh, collecting all his forces, 
aimed a mighty blow lull at the hero's crest. In vain 
did his fierce little cocked hat oppose its course ; the 
biting steel clove through the stubborn ram-beaver, 
and would infallibly have cracked his crown, but 
that the skull was of such adamantine hardness, that 
the brittle weapon shivered into pieces, shedding a 
thousand sparks, like beams of glory, round his grizzly 
visage. 

Stunned with the blow, the valiant Peter reeled, 
turned up his eyes, and beheld fifty thousand suns, 
besides moons and stars, dancing about the firmament 
— at length, missing his footing, by reason of his 
wooden leg, down he came, on his seat of honour, 
with a crash that shook the surrounding hills, and 
would infallibly have wrecked his anatomical system, 
had he not been received into a cushion softer than 
velvet, which Providence, or Minerva, or St. Nicho- 
las, or some kindly cow, had benevolently prepared 
for his reception. 

The furious Risingh, in despite of that noble 
maxim, cherished by all true knights, that " fair play 
is a jewel," hastened to take advantage of the hero's 
fall ; but just as he was stooping to give the fatal 
blow, the ever-vigilant Peter bestowed him a sturdy 
thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg, that 
set some dozen chimes of bells ringing triple bob- 
majors in his cerebellum. The bewildered Swede 
staggered with the blow, and in the meantime the 
wary Peter, espying a pocket-pistol lying hard by, 
(which had dropped from the wallet of his faithful 
'squire and trumpeter, Van Corlear, during his furious 
encounter with the drummer,) discharged it full at 
the head of the reeling Risingh. — Let not my reader 
inistake — it was not a murderous weapon loaded with 
powder and ball, but a little sturdy stone pottle, 
charged to the muzzle with a double dram of true 
Dutch courage, which the knowing Van Corlear al- 
ways carried about him by way of replenishing his 
valour. The hideous missive sung through the air, 
and true to its course, as was the mighty fragment of 
a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax, encoun- 
tered the huge head of the gigantic Swede with match- 
less violence. 

This heaven-directed blow decided the eventful 
battle. The ponderous pericranium of General Jan 
Risingh sunk upon his breast ; his knees tottered 
under him ; a deathlike torpor seized upon his giant 
frame, and he tumbled to the earth with such tre- 
mendous violence, that old Pluto started with affright, 
lest he should have broken through the roof of his 
infernal palace. 

His fall was the signal of defeat and victory. — The 
Swedes gave way — the Dutch pressed forward ; the 
former took to their heels, the latter hotly pursued — 
some entered with them, pell-mell, through the sally- 
port — others stormed the bastion, and others scram- 
bled over the curtain. Thus, in a little while, the 
impregnable fortress of Fort Christina, which like 
another Troy had stood a siege of full ten hours, was 
finally carried by assault, without the loss of a single 
man on either side. Victory, in the likeness of a 



gigantic ox-fly, sat perched upon the cocked hat of 
the gallant Stuyvesant ; and it was universally de- 
clared, by all the writers whom he hired to write the 
history of his expedition, that on this memorable day 
he gained a sufficient quantity of glory to immor- 
talize a dozen of the greatest heroes in Christendom ! 



CHAPTER Vni. 

IX WHICH THE AUTHOR AND THE READER, 

WHILE REPOSING AFTER THE BATTLE, FALL 
INTO A VERY GRAVE DISCOURSE — AFTER WHICH 
IS RECORDED THE CONDUCT OF PETER STUY- 
VtSANT AFTER HIS VICTORY. 

Thanks to St. Nicholas, we have safely finished 
this tremendous battle ; let us sit down, my worthy 
reader, and cool ourselves, for I am in a prodigious 
sweat and agitation. — Truly this fighting of battles is 
hot work ! and if your great commanders did but 
know what trouble they give their historians, they 
would not have the conscience to achieve so many 
horrible victories. But methinks I hear my reader 
complain, that throughout this boasted battle, there 
is not the least slaughter, nor a single individual 
maimed, if we except the unhappy Swede, who was 
shorn of his queue by the trenchant blade of Peter 
Stuyvesant ; all which, he observes, is a great outrage 
on probability, and highly injurious to the interest of 
the narration. 

This is certainly an objection of no little moment ; 
but it arises entirely from the obscurity that envelopes 
the remote periods of time, about which I have un- 
dertaken to write. Thus, though, doubtless, from 
the importance of the object, and the prowess of the 
parties concerned, there must have been terrible car- 
nage, and prodigies of valour displayed, before the 
walls of Christina, yet, notwithstanding that I have 
consulted every history, manuscript, and tradition, 
touching this memorable, though long-tbrgottcn bat- 
tle. I cannot find mention made of a single man kill- 
ed or wounded in the whole affair. 

This is, without doubt, owing to the extreme mod- 
esty of our forel'athers, who, like their descendants, 
were never prone to vaunt of their achievements ; 
but it is a virtue that places their historian in a most 
embarrassing predicament ; for, having promised my 
readers a hideous and unparalleled battle, and having 
worked them up into a warlike and bloodthirsty 
state of mind, to put them off without any havoc and 
slaughter, was as bitter a disappointment as to sum- 
mon a multitude of good people to attend, an execu- 
tion, and then cruelly balk by a reprieve. 

Had the inexorable fates only allowed me some 
half a score of dead men, I had been content ; for I 
would have made them such heroes as abounded in 
the olden time, but whose race is now unfortunately 
extinct — any one of whom, if we may believe those 
authentic Vviriters, the poets, could drive great armies 
like sheep before him, and conquer and desolate 
whole cities by his single arm. 

But seeing that I had not a single life at my dis- 
posal, all that was left me was to make the most I 
could of my battle, by means of kicks, and cuffs, and 
bruises, and such like ignoble v,'ounds. And here I 
cannot but compare my dilemma, in some sort, to 
that of the divine Milton, who, having arrayed with 
sublime preparation his immortal hosts against each 
other, is sadly put to it how to manage them, and 
how he shall make the end of his battle answer 
to the beginning; inasmuch as, being mere spirits, 
he cannot deal a mortal blow, nor even give a flesh 
wound to any of his combatants. For my part, the 



622 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



greatest difficulty I found, was, when I had once put 
my warriors in a passion, and let them loose into the 
midst of the enemy, to keep them from doing mis- 
chief. Many a time had 1 to restrain the sturdy 
Peter from cleaving a gigantic Swede to the very 
waistband, or spitting half-a-dozen little fellows on 
his sword, like so many sparrows ; and when I had 
set some hundreds of missives flying in the air, I did 
not dare to suffer one of them to reach the ground, 
lest it should have put an end to some unlucky 
Dutchman. 

Tlie reader cannot conceive how mortifying it is 
to a writer, thus in a manner to have his hands tied, 
and how many tempting opportunities I had to wink 
at, where I might have made as fine a death-blow as 
any recorded in history or song. 

From my own experience, 1 begin to doubt most 
potently of the authenticity of many of Homer's sto- 
ries. 1 verily believe, that when he had once lanched 
one of his favourite heroes among a crowd of the 
enemy, he cut down many an honest fellow, without 
any authority for so doing, excepting that he present- 
ed a fair mark — and that often a poor devil was sent 
to grim Pluto's domains, merely because he had a 
name that would give a sounding turn to a period. 
But I disclaim all such unprincipled liberties — let 
me but have truth and the law on my side, and no 
man would fight harder than myself: but since the 
various records I consulted did not warrant it, I had 
too much conscience to kill a single soldier. By St. 
Nicholas, but it would have been a pretty piece of 
business ! My enemies, the critics, who I foresee 
will be ready enough to lay any crime they can dis- 
cover at my door, might have charged me with mur- 
der outright — and I should have esteemed myself 
lucky to escape with no harsher verdict than man- 
slaughter ! 

And now, gentle reader, that we are tranquilly sit- 
ting down here, smoking our pipes, permit me to 
indulge in a melancholy reflection, which at this mo- 
ment passes across my mind. — How vain, how fleet- 
ing, how uncertain are all those gaudy bubbles after 
which we are panting and toiling in this world of 
fair delusion ! The wealth which the miser has 
amassed with so many weary days, so many sleepless 
nights, a spendthrift heir may squander away in joy- 
less prodigality. The noblest monuments which 
pride has ever reared to perpetuate a name, the hand 
of time will shortly tumble into ruins — and even the 
brightest laurels, gained by feats of arms, may wither 
and be for ever blighted by the chilling neglect of 
mankind. — " How many illustrious heroes," says the 
good Boetius, " who were once the pride and glory 
of the age, hath the silence of historians buried in 
eternal oblivion ! " And this it was that induced the 
Spartans, when they went to battle, solemnly to sac- 
rifice to the muses, supplicating that their achieve- 
ments should be worthily recorded. Had not Homer 
tuned his lofty lyre, observes the elegant Cicero, the 
valour of Achilles had remained unsung. And such, 
too, after all the toils and perils he had braved, after 
all the gallant actions he had achieved, such too had 
nearly been the fate of the chivalric Peter Stuyves- 
ant, but that 1 fortunately stepped in and engraved 
his name on the indelible tablet of history, just as the 
caitiff Time was silently brushing it away for ever. 

The more I reflect, the more am I astonished at 
the important character of the historian. He is the 
sovereign censor, to decide upon the renown or 
infamy of his fellow-men — he is the patron of kings 
■and conquerors, on whom it depends whether they 
shall live in after ages, or be forgotten, as were their 
ancestors before them. The tyrant may oppress 
while the object of his tyranny exists, but the histo- 
rian possesses superior might, for his power extends 



even beyond the grave. The shades of departed and 
long-forgotten heroes anxiously bend down from 
above, while he writes, watching each movement of 
his pen, whether it shall pass by their names with 
neglect, or inscribe them on the deathless pages of 
renown. Even the drop of ink that hangs trembling 
on his pen, which he may either dash upon the floor 
or waste in idle scrawlings — that very drop, which to 
him is not worth the twentieth part of a I'arthing, may 
be of incalculable value to some departed worthy — • 
may elevate half a score, in one moment, to immor- 
tality, who would have given worlds, had they pos- 
sessed them, to insure the glorious meed. 

Let not my readers imagine, however, that I am 
indulging in vain-glorious boastings, or am anxious 
to blazon forth the importance of my tribe. On the 
contraiy, I shrink when I reflect on the awful re- 
sponsibility we historians assume — I shudder to think 
what direful commotions and calamities we occasion 
in the world — I swear to thee, honest reader, as I 
am a man, I weep at the very idea 1 Why. let me 
ask, are so many illustrious men daily tearing them- 
selves away from the embraces of their families — • 
slighting the smiles of beauty — despising the allure- 
ments of fortune, and exposing themselves to the 
miseries of war.' — Why are kmgs desolating em- 
pires, and depopulating whole countries ? In short, 
what induces all great men, of all ages and coun- 
tries, to commit so many victories and misdeeds, and 
inflict so many miseries upon mankind and on them- 
selves, but the mere hope that some historian will 
kindly take them into notice, and admit them into a 
corner of his volume. For, in short, the mighty ob- 
ject of all their toils, their hardships, and privations, 
is nothing but immortal fame — and what is immor- 
tal fame ? — why, half a page of dirty paper ! — Alas ! 
alas ! how humiliating the idea — that the renown 
of so great a man as Peter Stuyvesant should de- 
pend upon the pen of so little a man as Diedrich 
Knickerbocker ! 

And now, having refreshed ourselves after the 
fatigues and perils of the field, it behoves us to return 
once more to the scene of conflict, and inquire what 
were the results of this renowned conquest. The 
1 fortress of Christina being the fair metropolis, and in 
a manner the key to New-Swetlen, its capture was 
speedily followed by the entire subjugation of the 
province. This was not a little promoted by the 
gallant and courteous deportment of the chivalric 
Peter. Though a man terrible in battle, yet in the 
hour of victory was he endued with a spirit gener- 
ous, merciful, and humane — he vaunted not over his 
enemies, nor did he make defeat more galling by un- 
manly insults ; for like that mirror of knightly virtue, 
the renowned Paladin Orlando, he was more anxious 
to do great actions than to talk of them after they 
were done. He put no man to death ; ordered no 
houses to be burnt down ; permitted no ravages to 
be perpetrated on the property of the vanquished, 
and even gave one of his bravest officers a severe ad- 
monisl-.ment with his walking-staff, for having been 
detected in the act of sacking a hen-roost. 

He moreover issued a proclamation, inviting the 
inhabitants to submit to the authority of their High 
Mightinesses ; but declaring, with unexampled clem- 
ency, that whoever refused should be lodged, at the 
public expense, in a goodly castle provided for the 
purpose, and have an armed retinue to wait on them 
in the bargain. In consequence of these beneficent 
terms, about thirty Swedes stepped manfully for- 
ward and took the oath of allegiance; in reward for 
which, they were graciously permitted to remain on 
the banks of the Delaware, where their descendants 
reside at this very day. But I am toid by divers ob- 
servant travellers, that they have never been able to 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



623 



get over the chapfallen looks of their ancestors, and 
do still unaccountably transmit from father to son 
manifest marks of the sound drubbing given them 
by the sturdy Amsterdammers. 

The whole country of New-Sweden, having thus 
yielded to the arms of the triumphant Peter, was re- 
duced to a colony, called South River, and placed 
under the superintendence of a lieutenant-governor ; 
subject to the control of the supreme government at 
New-Amsterdam. This great dignitary was called 
Mynheer William Beekman, or rather .Str/fnian, who 
derived his surname, as did Ovidius Naso of yore, 
from the lordly dimensions of his nose, which pro- 
jected from the centre of his countenance like the 
beak of a parrot. He was the great progenitor of 
the tribe of the Beekmans, one of the most ancient 
and honourable families of the province, the mem- 
bers of which do gratefully commemorate the origin 
of their dignity, not as your noble families in En- 
gland would do, by having a glowing proboscis em- 
blazoned in their escutcheon, but by one and all 
wearing a right goodly nose stuck in the very middle 
of their faces. 

Thus was this perilous enterprise gloriously termi- 
nated with the loss of only two men — Wolfert Van 
Home, a tall, spare man, who was knocked over- 
board by the boom of a sloop, in a flaw of wind ; and 
fat Brom Van Bummel, who was suddenly carried 
off by an indigestion ; both, however, were immor- 
talized as having bravely fallen in the service of their 
country. True it is, Peter Stuvvesant had one of 
his limbs terribly fractured, being shattered to pieces 
in the act of storming the fortress ; but as it was for- 
tunately his wooden leg, the wound was promptly 
and effectually healed. 

And now nothing remains to this branch of my 
history, but to mention that this immaculate hero, 
and his victorious army, returned joyously to the 
Manhattoes, where they made a solemn and tri- 
umphant entry, bearing with them the conquered 
Risingh, and the remnant of his battered crew, who 
had refused allegiance ; for it appears that the gigan- 
tic Swede had only fallen into a swoon at the end of 
the battle, from whence he was speedily restored by 
a wholesome tweak of the nose. 

These captive heroes were lodged, according to 
the promise of the governor, at the public expense, 
in a fair and spacious castle ; being the prison of 
state, of which Stoffel Brinkerhoff, the immortal 
conqueror of Oyster Bay, was appointed governor ; 
and which has ever since remained in the possession 
of his descendants.* 

It was a pleasant and goodly sight to witness the 
joy of the people of New-.'\msterdam, at beholding 
their warriors once more return from this war in the 
wilderness. The old women thronged round Antony 
Van Corlear, who gave the whole history of the 
campaign with matchless accuracy : saving that he 
took the credit of fighting the whole battle himself, 
and especially of vanquishing the stout Risingh, which 
he considered himself as clearly entitled to, seeing 
that it was effected by his own stone pottle. 

The schoolmasters throughout the town gave holy- 
day to their little urchins, who followed in droves 
after the drums, with paper caps on their heads, and 
sticks in their breeches, thus taking the first lesson 
in the art of war. As to the sturdy rabble, they 
thronged at the heels of Peter Stuyvesant wherever 
he went, waving their greasy hats in the air, and 
shouting " Hard-koppig Piet for ever ! " 

It was, indeed, a day of roaring rout and jubilee. 
A huge dinner was prepared at the Stadt-house in 



* This castle, though ver>* much altered and modernized, is still 
in being, and stands at the corner of Pearl-street, facing Coenties' 
slip. 



honour of the conquerors, where were assembled, in 
one glorious constellation, the great and the little lu- 
minaries of New-Amsterdam. There were the lordly 
Schout and his obsequious deputy — the burgomasters 
with their officious schepens at their elbows — the 
subaltern officers at the elbows of the schepens, and 
so on to the lowest hanger-on of police ; every Tag 
having his Rag at his side, to finish his pipe, drink 
oft" his heel-ta])S, and laugh at his flights of immortal 
dulness. In short — for a city feast is a city feast all 
the world over, and has been a city feast ever since 
the creation — the dinner went off much the same as 
do our great corporation junketings and fourth of 
July banquets. Loads of fish, flesh, and fowl were 
devoured, oceans of liquor drunk, thousands of pipes 
smoked, and many a dull joke honoured with much 
obstreperous fat-sided laughter. 

I must not omit to mention, that to this far-famed 
victory Peter Stuyvesant was indebted for another 
of his many titles — for so hugely delighted were the 
honest burghers with his achievements, that they 
unanimously honoured him with the name of Pietre 
dc Groodt, that is to say, Peter the Great, or, as it 
was translated by the people of New-Amsterdam, 
Piet de Pig — an appellition which he maintained 
even unto the day of his death. 



BOOK VII. 

CONTAINING THE THIRD PART OF THE REIGN 
OF PETER THE HEADSTRONG — HIS Tr'oUBLES 
WITH THE BRITISH NATION, AND THE DECLINE 
AND FALL OF THE DUTCH DYNASTY. 



CHAPTER I. 

HOW PETER STUYVESANT RELIEVED THE SOV- 
EREIGN PEOPLE FROM THE BURTHEN OF TAK- 
ING CARE OF THE NATION — WITH SUNDRY 
PARTICULARS OF HIS CONDUCT IN TIME OF 
PEACE. 

The history of the reign of Peter Stuyvesant fur- 
nishes a melancholy picture of the incessant cares 
and vexations inseparable from government ; and 
may serve as a solemn warning to all who are am- 
bitious of attaining the seat of power. Though 
crowned with victor^', enriched by conquest, and 
returning in triumph to his metropolis, his exulta- 
tion was checked by beholding the sad abuses that 
had taken place during the short interval of his 
absence. 

The populace, unfortunately for their own comfort, 
had taken a deep draught of the intoxicating cup of 
pow'er, during the reign of William the Testy; and 
though, upon the accession of Peter Stuyvesant, they 
felt, with a certain instinctive perception, which 
mobs as well as cattle possess, that the reins of gov- 
ernment had passed into stronger hands, yet could 
they not help fretting and chafing and champing 
upon the bit in restive silence. 

It seems, by some strange and inscrutable fatality, 
to be the destiny of most countries, (and more espe- 
cially of your enlightened republics,) always to be 
governed by the most incompetent man in the na- 
tion — so that you will scarcely find an individual, 
throughout the whole community, who cannot point 
out innumerable errors in admmistration, and con- 
vince you, in the end, that had he been at the head 
of affairs, matters would have gone on a thousand 



624 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



times more prosperously. Strange ! that govern- 
ment, which seems to be so generally understood, 
should invariably be so erroneously administered — 
strange, that the talent of legislation, so prodigally 
bestowed, should be denied to the only man in the 
nation to whose station it is requisite ! 

Thus it was in the present instance ; not a man 
of all the herd of pseudo politicians in New-Amster- 
dam, but was an oracle on topics of state, and could 
have directed public affairs incomparably better than 
Peter Stuyvesant. But so severe was the old gover- 
nor, in his disposition, that he would never suffer one 
of the multitude of able counsellors by whom he 
was surrounded, to intrude his advice, and save the 
country from destruction. 

Scarcely, therefore, had he departed on his expe- 
dition against the Swedes, than the old factions of 
William Kieft's reign began to thrust their heads 
above water, and to gather together in political 
meetings, to discuss "the state of the nation." At 
these assemblages, the busy burgomasters and their 
officious schepens made a very considerable fig^ire. 
These v\orthy dignitaries were no longer the fat, 
well-fed, tranquil magistrates that presided in the 
peaceful days of Wouter Van Twiller — on the con- 
trary, being elected by the people, they formed in a 
manner a sturdy bulwark between the mob and the 
administration. They were great candidates for pop- 
ularity, and strenuous advocates for the rights of the 
rabble ; resembling in disinterested zeal the wide- 
mouthed tribunes of ancient Rome, or those virtuous 
patriots of modern days, emphatically denominated 
" the friends of the people." 

Undef the tuition of these profound politicians, it 
is astonishing how suddenly enlightened the swinish 
multitude became, in matters above their compre- 
hensions. Cobblers, tinkers, and tailors, all at once 
felt themselves inspired, like those religious idiots, in 
the glorious times of monkish illumination ; and, with- 
out any previous study or experience, became in- 
stantly capable of directing all the movements of 
government. Nor must I neglect to mention a num- 
ber of superannuated, wrong-headed old burghers, 
who had come over, when boys, in the crew of the 
Goede Vronui, and were held up as infallible oracles 
by the enlightened mob. To suppose that a man 
who had helped to discover a country, did not know 
how it ought to be governed, was preposterous in the 
extreme. It would have been deemed as much a 
heresy, as at the present day to question the political 
talents and universal infallibility of our old " heroes 
of '76 " — and to doubt that he who had fought for a 
government, however stupid he might naturally be, 
was not competent to fill any station under it. 

But as Peter Stuyvesant had a singular inclination 
to govern his province without the assistance of his 
subjects, he felt highly incensed on his return to find 
the factious appearance they had assumed during his 
absence. His first measure, therefore, was to restore 
perfect order, by prostrating the dignity of the sov- 
ereign people. 

He accordingly watched his opportunity, and one 
evening, when the enlightened mob was gathered 
together, listening to a patriotic speech from an in- 
spired cobbler, the intrepid Peter all at once ap- 
peared among them, with a countenance sufficient to 
petrify a mill-stone. The whole meeting was thrown 
into consternation — the orator seemed to have re- 
ceived a paralytic stroke in the very middle of a 
sublime sentence, and stood aghast with open mouth 
and trembling knees, while the words horror ! tyr- 
anny ! liberty ! rights ! taxes ! death ! destruction ! 
and a deluge of other patriotic phrases, came roaring 
from his throat, before he had power to close his 
lips. The shrewd Peter took no notice of the skulk- 



ing throng around him, but advancing to the brawling 
bully-ruffian, and drawing out a huge silver watch 
v/hich might have served in times of yore as a town 
clock, and which is still retained by his descendants 
as a family curiosity, requested the orator to mend 
it, and set it going. The orator humbly confessed it 
was utterly out of his power, as he was unacquainted 
with the nature of its construction. " Nay, but," 
said Peter, "try your ingenuity, man; you see all 
the springs and wheels, and how easily the clumsiest 
hand may stop it, and pull it to pieces ; and why 
should it not be equally easy to regulate as to stop 
it?" The orator declared that his trade was wholly 
different — that he was a poor cobbler, and had never 
meddled with a watch in his life — that there were 
men skilled in the art, whose business it was to at- 
tend to those matters, but for his part, he should only 
mar the workmanship, and put the whole in confusion. 
— " Why, harkee, master of mine," cried Peter, turn- 
ing suddenly upon him, with a countenance that al- 
most petrified the patcher of shoes into a perfect lap- 
stone — "dost thou pretend to meddle with the move- 
ments of government — to regulate, and correct, and 
patch, and cobble a complicated machine, the prin- 
ciples of which are above thy comprehension, and 
its simplest operations too subtle for thy understand- 
ing; when thou canst not correct a trifling error in 
a common piece of mechanism, the whole mystery 
of which is open to thy inspection .' — Hence with 
thee to the leather and stone, which are emblems of 
thy head ; cobble thy shoes, and confine thyself to 
the vocation for which Heaven has fitted thee. — But," 
elevating his voice until it made the welkin ring, " if 
ever I catch thee, or any of thy tribe, meddling again 
with affairs of government, by St. Nicholas, but I'll 
have every mother's bastard of ye fiay'd alive, and 
your hides stretched for drum-heads, that ye may 
thenceforth make a noise to some purpose ! " 

This threat, and the tremendous voice in which it 
was uttered, caused the whole multitude to quake 
with fear. The hair of the orator arose on his head 
like his own swine's bristles, and not a knight of the 
thimble present but his heart died within him, and 
he felt as though he could have verily escaped 
through the eye of a needle. 

But though this measure produced the desired 
effect in reducing the community to order, yet it 
tended to injure the popularity of the great Peter 
among the enlightened vulgar. Many accused him 
of entertaining highly aristocratic sentmients, and of 
leaning too much in favour of the patricians. In- 
deed, there appeared to be some ground for such an 
accusation, as he always carried himself w'ith a very 
lofty, soldier-like port, and was somewhat particular 
in his dress ; dressing hitnself, when not in uniform, 
in simple, but rich apparel, and was especially noted 
for having his sound leg (which was a very comely 
one) always arrayed in a red stocking, and high- 
heeled shoe. Though a man of great simplicity of 
manners, yet there was something about him that re- 
pelled rucle familiarity, while it encouraged frank, 
and even social intercourse. 

He likewise observed some appearance of court 
ceremony and etiquette. He received the common 
class of visitors on the stoop* before his door, accord- 
ing to the custom of our Dutch ancestors. But 
when visitors were formally received in his par- 
lour, it was expected they would appear in clean 
linen ; by no means to be bare-footed, and always 
to take their hats off. On public occasions, he 
appeared with great pomp of equipage, (tor, in 
truth, his station required a little show and dignity). 



* Properly spelled stoch — the porch commonly built in front of 
Dutcli houses, with benches on each side. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



625 



and always rode to church in a yellow wagon with 
flaming red wheels. 

These symptoms of state and ceremony occasioned 
considerable discontent among the vulgar. They had 
been accustomed to tind easy access to their former 
governors, and in particular had lived on terms of 
extreme familiarity with William the Testy. They 
therefore were very impatient of these dignified pre- 
cautions, which discouraged intrusion. But Peter 
Stuyvesant had his own way of thinking in these 
matters, and was a staunch upholder of the dignity 
of office. 

He always maintained that government to be the 
least popular which is most open to popular access 
and control ; and that the very brawlers against court 
ceremony, and the reserve of men in power, would 
soon despise rulers among whom they found even 
themselves to be of consequence. Such, at least, 
had been the case with the administration of William 
the Testy ; who, bent on making himself popular, 
had listened to every man's advice, suffered every- 
body to have admittance to his person at all hours, 
and, in a word, treated every one as his thorough 
equal. By this means, every scrub politician, and 
public busy-body, was enabled to measure wits with 
him, and to find out the true dimensions, not only of 
his person, but his mind. — And what great man can 
stand such scrutiny.' — It is the mystery that envelopes 
great men that gives them half their greatness. We 
are always inclined to think highly of those who hold 
themselves aloof from our examination. There is 
likewise a kind of superstitious reverence for office, 
which leads us to exaggerate the merits and abilities 
of men in power, and to suppose that they must be 
constituted different from other men. And, indeed, 
faith is as necessary in politics as in religion. It 
certainly is of the first importance, that a country 
should be governed by wise men ; but then it is al- 
most equally important, that the people should believe 
them to be wise ; for this belief alone can produce 
willing subordination. 

To keep up, therefore, this desirable confidence in 
rulers, the people should be allowed to see as little 
of them as possible. He who gains access to cabi- 
nets soon finds out by what foolishness the world is 
governed. He discovers that there is quackery in 
legislation, as well as in every thing else; that many 
a measure, which is supposed by the million to be 
the result of great wisdom and deep deliberation, is 
the effect of mere chance, or, perhaps, of hairbrained 
experiment — that rulers have their whims and errors 
as well as other men, and after all are not so won- 
derfully superior to their fellow-creatures as he at 
first imagined ; since he finds that even his own 
opinions have had some weight with them. Thus 
awe subsides into confidence, confidence inspires 
familiarity, and familiarity produces contempt. Peter 
Stuyvesant, on the contrary, by conducting himself 
with dignity and loftiness, was looked up to with 
great reverence. As he never gave his reasons for 
any thing he did, the public always gave him credit 
for very profound ones — every movement, however 
intrinsically unimportant, was a matter of specula- 
tion, and his very red stockings excited some respect, 
as being different from the stockings of other men. 

To these times may we refer the rise of family 
pride and aristocratic distinctions ;* and indeed, I 
cannet but look back with reverence to the early 
planting of those mighty Dutch families, which have 
taken such vigorous root, and branched out so luxu- 



*ln a work published many years after the time here treated of, 
(in 1701, by C. W, A. M.) it is mentifmed that Frederick l^hilipse 
was counted the richest Mynheer in New-York, and was said to 
have ivhole ho^sksads p/ Indian money or wampum : and had a 
son and daugiiter, who, according to the Dutch custom, should 
divide it equally 

40 



riantly in our state. The blood which has flowed 
down uncontaminated through a succession of steady, 
virtuous generations since the times of the patriarchs 
of Communipaw, must certainly be pure and worthy. 
And if so, then are the Van Rensselaers, the Van 
Zandts, the Van Homes, the Rutgers, the Bensons, 
the Brinkerhoffs, the Schermerhornes, and all the 
true descendants of the ancient Pavonians, the only 
legitimate nobility and real lords of the soil. 

I have been led to mention thus particularly the 
well-authenticated claims of our genuine Dutch I'ami- 
lies, because I have noticed, with great sorrow and 
vexation, that they have been somewhat elbo^ved 
aside in latter days by foreign intruders. It is really 
astonishing to behold how many great families have 
sprung up of late vears, who pride themselves exces- 
sively on the score of ancestry. Thus he who can 
look up to his father without humiliation assumes not 
a little importance — he who can safely talk of his 
grandfather, is still more vain-gloi ious — hut he who 
can look back to his great-grandfather without blush- 
ing, is absolutely intolerable in his pretensions to fam- 
ily — bless us ! what a piece of work is here, between 
these mushrooms of an hour, and these mushrooms 
of a day ! 

But from what I have recounted in the former 
part of this chapter, I would not have my reader 
imagine that the great Peter was a tyrannical gov- 
ernor, ruling his subjects with a rod of iron — on the 
contrary, where the dignity of authority was not 
implicated, he abounded with generosity and cour- 
teous condescension. In fact, he really believed, 
though I fear my more enlightened republican readers 
will consider it a proof of his ignorance and illiber- 
ality, that in preventing the cup of social life from 
being dashed with the intoxicating ingredient of poli- 
tics, he promoted the tranquillity and happiness of 
the people — and by detaching their minds from sub- 
jects which they could not understand, and which 
only tended to inflame their passions, he enabled 
them to attend more faithfully and industriously to 
their proper callings ; becoming more useful citizens, 
and more attentive to their families and fortunes. 

So far from having any unreasonable austerity, he 
delighted to see the poor and the labouring man re- 
joice, and for this purpose was a great promoter of 
holydays and public amusements. Under his reign 
was first introduced the custom of cracking eggs at 
Paas, or Easter. New-year's day was also observed 
with extravagant festivitj', and ushered in by the 
ringing of bells and firing of guns. Every house was 
a temple to the jolly god — oceans of cherry brandy, 
true Hollands, and mulled cider, were set afloat on 
the occasion ; and not a poor man in town but made 
it a point to get drunk, out of a principle of pure 
economy — taking in liquor enough to serve him for 
half a year afterwards. 

It would have done one's heart good, also, to have 
seen the valiant Peter, seated among the old burghers 
and their wives of a Saturday afternoon, under the 
great trees that spread their shade over the Battery, 
watching the young men and women, as they danced 
on the green. Here he would smoke his pipe, crack 
his joke, and forget the rugged toils of war in the 
sweet oblivious festivities of peace. He would oc- 
casionally give a nod of approbation to those of the 
young men w-ho shuffled and kicked most vigorously, 
and now and then give a hearty smack, in all honesty 
of soul, to the buxom lass that held out longest, and 
tired down all her competitors, which he considered 
as infallible proofs of her being the best dancer. 
Once, it is true, the harmony of the meeting was 
rather interrupted. A young vrouw, of great figure 
in the gay world, and who, having lately come from 
Holland, of course led the fashions in the city, made 



626 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



her appearance in not more than half-a-dozen petti- 
coats, and these too of most alarming shortness. An 
universal whisper ran through the assembly, the old 
ladies all felt shocked in the extreme, the young ladies 
blushed, and felt excessively for the " poor thing," 
and even the governor himself was observed to be a 
little troubled in mind. To complete the astonish- 
ment of the good folks, she undertook, in the course 
of a jig, to describe some astonishing figures in al- 
gebra, which she had learned from a dancing-master 
at Rotterdam. Whether she was too animated in 
flourishing her feet, or whether some vagabond 
zephyr took the liberty of obtruding his services, cer- 
tain it is that in the course of a grand evolution, 
which would not have disgraced a modern ball-room, 
she made a most unexpected display— whereat the 
whole assembly was thrown into great admiration, 
several grave country members were not a little 
moved, and the good Peter himself, who was a man 
of unparalleled modesty, felt himself grievously scan- 
dalized. 

The shortness of the female dresses, which had 
continued in fashion ever since the days of William 
Kieft, had long offended his eye, and though ex- 
tremely averse to meddling with the petticoats of the 
ladies, yet he immediately recommended that every 
one should be furnished with a flounce to the bot- 
tom. He likewise ordered that the ladies, and in- 
deed the gentlemen, should use no other step in 
dancing, than shuffle-and-turn, and double-trouble ; 
and forbade, under pain of his high displeasure, any 
young lady thenceforth to attempt what was termed 
" exhibiting the graces." 

These were the only restrictions he ever imposed 
upon the sex, and these were considered by them as 
tyrannical oppressions, and resisted with that becom- 
ing spirit, always manifested by the gentle sex, 
whenever their privileges are invaded. — In fact, Peter 
Stuyvesant plainly perceived, that if he attempted to 
push the matter any farther, there was danger of 
their leaving off petticoats altogether; so like a wise 
man, experienced in the ways ot women, he held his 
peace, and suffered them ever after to wear their 
petticoats and cut their capers as high as they 
pleased. 



CHAPTER II. 

HOW PETER STUYVESANT WAS MUCH MOLESTED 
BY THE MOSSTROOPERS OF THE EAST, AND 
THE GIANTS OF MERRYLAND— AND HOW A 
DARK AND HORRID CONSPIRACY WAS CAR- 
RIED ON IN THE BRITISH CABINET AGAINST 
THE PROSPERITY OF THE MANHATTOES. 

We are now approaching towards the crisis of 
our work, and if I be not mistaken in my forebod- 
ings, we shall have a world of business to despatch 
in the ensuing chapters. 

It is with some communities, as it is with certain 
meddlesome individuals, they have a wonderful fa- 
cility at getting into scrapes ; and I have always re- 
marked, that those are most liable to get in, who 
have the least talent at getting out again. This is, 
doubtless, owing to the excessive valour of those 
states ; for I have likewise noticed that this rampant 
and ungovernable quality is always most unruly 
where most confined ; which accounts for its vapour- 
ing so amazingly in little states, little men, and ugly 
little women especially. 

Thus, when one reflects, that the province of the 
Manhattoes, though of prodigious importance in the 
eyes of its inhabitants and its historian, was really 
of no very great consequence in the eyes of the rest 



of the world ; that it had but little wealth or other 
spoils to reward the trouble of assailing it, and that 
it had nothing to expect from running wantonly into 
war, save an exceeding good beating. — On ponder- 
ing these things, I say, one would utterly despair of 
finding in its history either battles or bloodshed, or 
any other of those calamities which give importance 
to a nation, and entertainment to the reader. But, 
on the contrary, we find, so valiant is this province, 
that it has already drawn upon itself a host of 
enemies ; has had as many buffetings as would 
gratify the ambition of the most warlike nation ; 
and is, in sober sadness, a very forlorn, distressed, 
and woe-begone little province ! — all which was, no 
doubt, kindly ordered by Providence, to give interest 
and sublimity to this pathetic history. 

But I forbear to enter into a detail of the pitiful 
maraudings and harassments, that, for a long while 
after the victory on the Delaware, continued to insult 
the dignity, and disturb the repose, of the Neder- 
landers. Suffice it in brevity to say, that the implac- 
able hostility of the people of the east, which had 
so miraculously been prevented from breaking out. 
as my readers must remember, by the sudden prev- 
alence of witchcraft, and the dissensions in the coun- 
cil of Amphyctions, now again displayed itself in a 
thousand grievous and bitter scourings upon the 
borders. 

Scarcely a month passed but what the Dutch set- 
tlements on the frontiers were alarmed by the sudden 
appearance of an invading army from Connecticut. 
This would advance resolutely through the country, 
like a puissant caravan of the deserts, the women 
and children mounted in carts loaded with pots and 
kettles, as though they meant to boil the honest 
Dutchmen alive, and devour them like so many lob- 
sters. At the tails of these carts would stalk a crew 
of long-hmbed, lank-sided varlets, with axes on their 
shoulders and packs on their backs, resolutely bent 
upon imprmiing the country in despite of its pro- 
prietors. These, settling themselves down, would in 
a short time completely dislodge the unfortunate 
Nederlanders ; elbowing them out of those rich bot- 
toms and fertile valleys, in which our Dutch yeo- 
manry are so famous for nestling themselves. For 
it is notorious, that wherever these shrewd men of 
the east get a footing, the honest Dutchmen do 
gradually disappear, retiring slowlv. like the Indians 
before the whites; being totally discomtitcd by the 
talking, chaffering, swapping, bargaining disposition 
of their new neighbours. 

All these audacious infringements on the territories 
of their High Mightinesses were accompanied, as has 
before been hinted, by a world of rascally brawls, 
ribroastings, and bundlings, which would doubtless 
have incensed the valiant Peter to wreak immediate 
chastisement, had he not at the very same time 
been perplexed by distressing accounts from Myn- 
heer Beckman, who commanded the territories at 
South river. 

The restless Swedes, who had so graciously been 
suffered to remain about the Delaware, already be- 
gan to show signs of mutiny and disaffection. But 
what was worse, a peremptory claim was laid to the 
whole territory, as the rightful property of Lord Bal- 
timore, by Feudal, a chieftain who ruled over the 
colony of Maryland, or Merry-land, as it was an- 
ciently called, because that the inhabitants, not 
having the fear of the Lord before their eyes, were 
notoriously prone to get fuddled and make merry 
with mint-julep and apple-toddy. Nay, so hostile 
was this bully Feudal, that he threatened, unless 
his claim was instantly complied with, to march in- 
continently at the head of a potent force of the roar- 
ing boys of Merry-land, together with a great and 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



627 



mightv train of giants, who infested the banks of the 
Susquelianna* — and to lay waste and depopulate the 
whole country of South river. 

By this it is manifest, that this boasted colony, 
like all great acquisitions of territory, soon became a 
jreater evil to the conqueror than the loss of it was 
to the conquered ; and caused greater uneasiness 
and trouble than all the territory of the New-Neth- 
erlands besides. Thus Providence wisely orders that 
one evil shall balance another. The conqueror who 
wrests the property of his neighbour, who wrongs a 
nation and desolates a country, though he may ac- 
quire increase of empire and immortal fame, yet in- 
sures his own inevitable punishment. He takes to 
limself a cause of endless anxiety — he incorporates 
with his late sound domain a loose part — a rotten, 
disaffected member; which is an exhaustless source 
of internal treason and disunion, and external alter- 
cation and hostility. Happy is that nation, which 
compact, united, loyal in all its parts, and concen- 
trated in its strength, seeks no idle acquisition of 
unprofitable and ungovernable territory — which, con- 
tent to be prosperous and happy, has no ambition to 
be great. It is like a man well organized in his sys- 
tem, sound in health, and full of vigour ; unencum- 
bered by useless trappings, and fixed in an unshaken 
attitude. But the nation, insatiable of territory, 
whose domains are scattered, feebly united and 
weakly organized, is like a senseless miser sprawl- 
ing among golden stores, open to every attack, and 
unable to defend the riches he vainly endeavours to 
overshadow. 

At the time of receiving the alarming despatches 
from South river, the great Peter was busily employ- 
ed in quelling certain Indian troubles that had broken 
out about Esopus, and was moreover meditating how 
to relieve his eastern borders on the Connecticut. 
He, however, sent word to Mynheer Beckman to be 
of good heart, to maintain incessant vigilance, and 
to let him know if matters wore a more threatening 
appearance ; in which case he would incontinently 
repair with his warriors of the Hudson, to spoil the 
merriment of these Merry-landers ; for he coveted 
e.xceedingly to have a bout, hand to hand, with some 
half a score of these giants — having never encoun- 
tered a giant in his whole life, unless we may so call 
the stout Risingh, and he was but a little one. 

Nothing farther, however, occurred to molest the 
tranquillity of Mynheer Beckman and his colony. 
Fendal and his myrmidons remained at home, carous- 
ing it soundly upon hoe-cakes, bacon, and mint-julep, 
and running horses, and fighting cocks, for which 
they were greatly renowned. — At hearing of this, 
Peter Stuvvesant was very well pleased, for notwith- 
standing his inclination to measure weapons with 
these monstrous men of the Susquehanna, yet he had 
already as much employment nearer home as he could 
turn his hands to. Little did he think, worthy soul, 
that this southern calm was but the deceitful prelude 
to a most terrible and fatal storm, then brewing, 
which was soon to burst forth and overwhelm the 
unsuspecting city of New-Amsterdam ! 

Now so it was, that while this excellent governor 
was giving his little senate laws, and not only giving 
them, but enforcing them too — while he was inces- 

* We find very curious and wonderful accounts of these Strang; 
people (who were doubtless the ancestors of the present Mary- 
landers) made by Master Hariot, in his interesting history. " The 
Susquesahanocks," observes he, '"arc a giaiitly people, strange 
in proportion, behaviour, and attire — their voice sounding from 
them as if out of a cave. Their tobacco-pipes were three quarters 
of a yard long, carved at the great end with a bird, beare, or other 
device, sufficient to beat out the braines of a horse, (and how many 
asses braines are beaten out, or rather men's braines stnolced out, 
and asses braines haled in, by O'-r lesser pipes at home.) The 
calfe of one of their legges measured three quarters of a yard about, 
the rest of his limbs proportionable." — Master Hariot's Journ. 
Purck. Pil. 



santly travelling the rounds of his beloved province 
— posting from place to place to redress grievances, 
and while busy at one corner of his dominions, all 
the rest getting into an uproar — at this very time, I 
say, a dark and direful plot was hatching against him, 
in that nursery of monstrous projects, the British cab- 
inet. The news of his achievements on the Dela- 
ware, according to a sage old historian of New-Am- 
sterdam, had occasioned not a little talk and marvel 
in the courts of Europe. And the same profound 
writer assures us, that the cabinet of England began 
to entertain great jealousy and uneasiness at the in- 
creasing power of the Manhattoes, and the valour of 
its sturdy yeomanry. 

Agents, the same historian observes, were sent by 
the Amphyctionic council of the east to entreat the 
assistance of the British cabinet in subjugating this 
mighty province. Lord Sterling also asserted his 
right to Long Island, and, at the same time. Lord 
Baltimore, whose agent, as has before been men- 
tioned, had so alarmed Mynheer Beckman, laid his 
claim before the cabinet to the lands of South river, 
which he complained were unjustly and forcibly de- 
tained from him, by these daring usurpers of the 
Nieuw-Nederlandts. 

Thus did the unlucky empire of the Manhattoes 
stand in imminent danger of experiencing the fate of 
Poland, and being torn limb from limb to be shared 
among its savage neighbours. But while these rapa- 
cious powers were whetting their fangs, and waiting 
for the signal to fall tooth and nail upon this delicious 
little fat Dutch empire, the lordly lion, who sat as 
umpire, all at once settled the claims of all parties, 
by laying his own paw upon the spoil. For we are 
told that his majesty, Charles the Second, not to be 
perplexed by adjusting these several pretensions, 
made a present of a large tract of North America, 
including the province of New-Netherlands, to his 
brother, the Duke of York — a donation truly loyal, 
since none but great monarchs have a right to give 
away what does not belong to them. 

That this munificent gift might not be merely 
nominal, his majesty, on the 12th of March, 1664, 
ordered that an armament should be forthwith pre- 
pared, to invade the city of New-Amsterdam by land 
and water, and put his brother in complete possession 
of the premises. 

Thus critically are situated the affairs of the New- 
Netherlanders. The honest burghers, so far from 
thinking of the jeopardy in which their interests are 
placed, are soberly smoking their pipes, and thinking 
of nothing at all — the privy counsellors of the prov- 
ince are at this moment snoring in full quorum, while 
the active Peter, who takes all the labour of thinking 
and acting upon himself, is busily devising some 
method of bringing the grand council of Amphyc- 
tions to terms. In the meanwhile, an angry cloud is 
darkly scowling on the horizon — soon shall it rattle 
about the ears of these dozing Nederlanders, and put 
the mettle of their stout-hearted governor completely 
to the trial. 

But come what may, I here pledge my veracity 
that in all warlike conliicts and subtle perplexities, 
he shall still acquit himself with the gallant bearing 
and spotless honour of a noble-minded, obstinate old 
cavalier. — Forward then to the charge !— shine out, 
propitious stars, on the renowned city of the Man- 
hattoes ; and may the blessing of St. Nicholas go 
with thee — honest Peter Stuvvesant ! 



628 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER 111. 

OF PETER STUYVES.^NT'S EXPEDITION INTO THE 
EAST COUNTRY, SHOWING THAT THOUGH AN 
OLD BIRD, HE DID NOT UNDERSTAND TRAP. 

Great nations resemble great men in this particu- 
lar, that their greatness is seldom known until they 
get in trouble ; adversity, therefore, has been wisely 
denominated the ordeal of true greatness, which, like 
gold, can never receive its real estimation, until it 
has passed through the furnace. In proportion, there- 
fore, as a nation, a community, or an individual (pos- 
sessing the inherent quality of greatness) is involved 
in perils and misfortunes, in proportion does it rise 
in grandeur — and even when sinking under calamity, 
makes, like a house on fire, a more glorious display 
than ever it did in the fairest period of its prosperity. 
The vast empire of China, though teeming with 
population and imbibing and concentrating the wealth 
of nations, has vegetated through a succession of 
drowsy ages ; and were it not for its internal revo- 
lution, and the subversion of its ancient government 
by the Tartars, might have presented nothing but an 
uninteresting detail of dull, monotonous prosperity. 
Pompeii and Herculaneum might have passed into 
obli\ion, with a herd of their contemporaries, if they 
had not been fortunately overwhelmed by a volcano. 
The renowned city of Troy has acquired celebrity 
only from its ten years' distress, and final conflagra- 
tion — Paris rises in importance by the plots and mas- 
sacres which have ended in the exaltation of the il- 
lustrious Napoleon — and even the mighty London 
itself has skulked through the records of time, cele- 
brated for nothing of moment, excepting the plague, 
the great fire, and Guy Faux's gunpowder plot ! — 
Thus cities and empires seem to creep along, enlarg- 
ing in silent obscurity under the pen of the historian, 
until at length they burst forth in some tremendous 
calamity — and snatch, as it were, immortality from 
the explosion ! 

The above principle being admitted, my reader 
will plainly perceive that the city of New-Amster- 
dam, and its dependent province, are on the high 
road to greatness. Dangers and hostilities threaten 
from every side, and it is really a matter of astonish- 
ment to me, how so small a state has been able, in 
so short a time, to entangle itself in so many diffi- 
culties. Ever since the province was first taken by 
the nose, at the Fort of Good Hope, in the tranquil 
days of Wouter Van Twiller, has it been gradually 
increasing in historic importance ; and never could 
it have had a more appropriate chieftain to conduct 
it to the pinnacle of grandeur, than Peter Stuyvesant. 
In the fiery heart of this iron-headed old warrior 
sat enthroned all those five kinds of courage describ- 
ed by Aristotle, and had the philosopher mentioned 
five hundred more to the back of them, I verily be- 
lieve he would have been found master of them all. 
The only misfortune was, that he was deficient in 
the better part of valour, called discretion, a cold- 
blooded virtue which could not exist in the tropical 
climate of his mighty soul. Hence it was, he was 
continually hurrying into those unheard-of enter- 
prises that give an air of chivalric romance to all his 
hislor)', and hence it was that he now conceived a 
project worthy of the hero of La Mancha himself. 

This was no other than to repair in person to the 
great council of the Amphyclions, bearing the sword 
in one hand and the olive-branch in the other — to 
require immediate reparation for the innumerable 
violations of that treaty which in an evil hour he had 
formed — to put a stop to those repeated maraudings 
on the eastern borders— or else to throw his gauntlet 
and appeal to arms for satisfaction. 



On declaring this resolution in his privy council, 
the venerable members were seized with vast aston- 
ishment ; for once in their lives they ventured to re- 
monstrate, setting forth the rashness of exposing his 
sacred person in the midst of a strange and barbarous 
people, with sundry other weighty remonstrances — 
all which had about as much influence upon the de- 
termination of the headstrong Peter as though you 
were to endeavour to turn a rusty weathercock with 
a broken-winded bellows. 

-Summoning, therefore, to his presence his trusty 
follower, .A.ntony Van Corlear, he commanded him 
to hold himself in readiness to accompany him the 
following morning on this his hazardous enterprise. 
Now Antony the trumpeter was a little stricken in 
years, yet by dint of keeping up a good heart, and 
having never known care or sorrow, (having never 
been "married,) he was still a hearty, jocund, rubi- 
cund, gamesome wag, and of great capacity in the 
doublet. This last was ascribed to his living a jolly 
life on those domains at the Hook, which Peter Stuy- 
vesant had granted to him for his gallantry at Fort 
Casimir. 

Be this as it may, there was nothing that more de- 
lighted Antony than this command of the great 
Peter, for he could have followed the stout-hearted 
old governor to the world's end with love and loyalty 
— and he moreover still remembered the frolicking, 
and dancing, and bundling, and other disports of 
the east country, and entertained dainty recollection 
of numerous kind and buxom lasses, whom he longed 
exceedingly again to encounter. 

Thus, "then," did this mirror of hardihood set forth, 
with no other attendant but his trumpeter, upon one 
of the most perilous enterprises ever recorded in the 
annals of knight-errantry. For a single waiTior to 
venture openly among a whole nation of foes ; but 
above all, for a plain downright Dutchman to thii\k 
of negotiating with the whole council of New- 
England — never was there known a more desperate 
undertaking! — Ever since I have entered upon the 
chronicles of this peeriess, but hitherto uncelebrated, 
chieftain, has he kept ine in a state of incessant ac- 
tion and anxiety with the toils and dangers he is 
constantly encountering.— Oh ! for a chapter of the 
tranquil reign of Wouter Van Twiller, that I might 
repose on it as on a feather bed ! 

Is it not enough, Peter Stuyvesant, that I have 
once already rescued thee from the machinations of 
these terrible Amphyctions, by bringing the whole 
powers of witchcraft to thine aid ? — Is it not enough 
that I have followed thee undaunted, like a guardian 
spirit, into the midst of the horrid battle of Fort 
Christina ? — That I have been put incessantly to my 
trumps to keep thee safe and sound — now warding 
off with my single pen the shower of dastard blows 
that fell upon thy rear — now narrowly shielding thee 
froin a deadly thrust, by a mere tobacco-bo.x — now 
casing thy daiintless skull with adamant, when even 
thy stubborn ram-beaver failed to resist the sword 
of the stout Risingh — and now. not merely bringing 
thee off alive, but triumphant, froin the clutches of 
the gigantic Swede, by the desperate means of a 
paltry stone pottle ?— Is not all this enough, but 
must thou still be plunging into new difficulties, and 
jeopardizing in headlong enterprises, thyself, thy 
trumpeter, and thy historian ? 

And now the ruddy-faced Aurora, like a buxom 
chamber-maid, draws aside the sable curtains of the 
night, and out bounces from his bed the jolly red- 
haired Phoebus, startled at being caught so late in 
the embraces of Dame Thetis. With many a sable 
oath, he harnesses his brazen-footed steeds, and 
whips and lashes, and splashes up the firmament, 
like a loitering post-boy, half an hour behind his 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



629 



time. And now behold that imp of fame and prow- 
ess, the headstrong Peter, bestriding a raw-boned, 
switch-tailed charger, gallantly arrayed in full regi- 
mentals, and bracing on his thigh that trusty brass- 
hiked sword, which had wrought such fearful deeds 
on the banks of the Delaware. 

Behold, hard alter him, his doughty trumpeter Van 
Corlear, mounted on a broken-winded, wall-eyed, 
calico mare ; his stone pottle, which had laid low the 
mighty Risingh, slung under his arm. and his trumpet 
displayed vauntingly in his right hand, decorated 
with a gorgeous banner, on which is emblazoned the 
great beaver of the Manhattoes. See them proudly 
issuing out of the city gate like an iron-chd hero of 
yore, with his faithful 'squire at his heels, the popu- 
lace following them with their eyes, and shouting 
many a parting wish and hearty cheering. — Farewell, 
Hardkoppig Piet ! Farewell, honest Antony ! — 
Pleasant be your wayfaring — prosperous your re- 
turn ! The stoutest hero that ever drew a sword, 
and the worthiest trumpeter that ever trod shoe- 
leather ! 

Legends are lamentably silent about the events 
that befell our adventurers in this their adventurous 
travel, excepting the Stuyvesant manuscript, which 
gives the substance of a pleasant little heroic poem, 
written on the occasion by Domini .■Egidius Luyck,* 
v/ho appears to have been the poet laureat of New- 
Amsterdam. This inestimable manuscript assures 
us that it was a rare spectacle to behold the great 
Peter and his loyal follower hailing the morning sun, 
and rejoicing in the clear countenance of nature, as 
they pranced it through the pastor.al scenes of Bloe- 
men Dael;t which in those days was a sweet and 
rural valley, beautified with many a brigiit wild 
flower, refreshed by many a pure streamlet, and en- 
livened here and there by a delectable little Dutch 
cottage, sheltered under some sloping hill, and al- 
most buried in embowering trees. 

Now did they enter upon the confines of Connec- 
ticut, where they encountered many grievous diffi- 
culties and perils. At one place they were assailed 
by a troop of country 'squires and militia colonels, 
who, mounted on goodly steeds, hung upon their 
rear for several miles, harassing them exceedingly 
with guesses and questions, more especially the 
worthy Peter, whose silver-chased leg excited not a 
little marvel. At another place, hard by the re- 
nowned town of Stamford, they were set upon by a 
great and mighty legion of church deacons, who im- 
periously demanded of them five shillings, for travel- 
ling on Sunday, and threatened to carry them captive 
to a neighbouring church, whose steeple peered 
above the trees ; but these the valiant Peter put to 
rout with little difficulty, insoinuch that thev bestrode 
their canes and galloped off in horrible confusion, 
leaving their cocked hats behind in the hurry of their 
flight. But not so easily did he escape from the 
hands of a crafty man of Piquag; who, with undaunted 
perseverance, and repeated onsets, fairly bargained 
him out of his goodly switched-tailed charger, leaving 
in place there of avillainous foundered Narraganset 
pacer. 

But, maugre all these hardships, they pursued their 
journey cheerily along the course of the soft flowing 
Connecticut, whose gentle waves, says the song, roll 
through many a fertile Vale and sunny plain ; now 
reflecting the lofty spires of the bustling city, and 
now the rural beauties of the humble hamlet ; now 



* Thk Luyck was,moreover,rectorof the Latin School in Nieuw- 
iNederlaniit, 1663. There are two pieces addressed to ./Egidius 
Luyck. in D. Selyn's MSS. of poesies, upon his marriage with Ju- 
dith Isendoorn, Old MS. 

t Now called Blooming Dale, about four miles from New-York 



echoing with the busy hum of commerce, and now 
with the cheerful song of the peasant. 

At every town would Peter Stuyvesant, who was 
noted for warlike punctilio, order the sturdy Antony 
to sound a courteous salutation ; though the manu- 
script observes, that the inhabitants were thrown 
into great dismay when they heard of his approach. 
For the fame of his incomparable achievements on 
the Delaware had spread throughout the east coun- 
try, and they dreaded lest he had come to take ven- 
geance on their manifold transgressions. 

But the good Peter rode through these towns with 
a smiling aspect; waving his hand with inexpressible 
majesty and condescension ; for he verily believed 
that the old clothes which these ingenious people 
had thrust into their broken windows, and the fes- 
toons of dried apples and peaches which ornamented 
the fronts of their houses, were so many decorations 
in honour of his approach ; as it was the custom, in 
the days of chivahy, to compliment renowned heroes 
by suinptuous displays of tapestry and gorgeous fur- 
niture. The women crowded to the doors to gaze 
upon him as he passed, so much does prowess in 
arms delight the gentle sex. The little children, too, 
ran after him in troops, staring with wonder at his 
regimentals, his brimstone breeches, and the silver 
garniture of his wooden leg. Nor must I omit to 
mention the joy which many strapping wenches be- 
trayed at beholding the jovial Van Corlear, who had 
whilom delighted them so much with his truinpet, 
when he bore the great Peter's challenge to the Am- 
phyctions. The kind-hearted Antony alighted from 
his calico mare, and kissed them all with infinite 
loving kindness — and was right pleased to see a 
crew of little trumpeters crowding around him for 
his blessing; each of whom he patted on the head, 
bade him be a good boy, and gave him a penny to 
buy molasses candy. 

The Stuyvesant manuscript makes but little farther 
mention of the governor's adventures upon this expe- 
dition, excepting that he was received with extrava- 
gant courtesy and respect by the great council of the 
Amphyctions, who almost talked hiin to death with 
complimentary and congratulatory harangues. I will 
not detain my readers by dwelling on his negotiations 
with the grand council. Suffice it to mention, it was 
like all other negotiations — a great deal was said, and 
very little done : one conversation led to another — 
one conference begat misunderstandings which it 
took a dozen conferences to explain ; at the end of 
which, the parties found themselves just where they 
were at first ; excepting that they had entangled 
themselves in a host of questions of etiquette, and 
conceived a cordial distrust of each other, that ren- 
dered their future negotiations ten times more diffi- 
cult than ever.* 

In the midst of all these perplexities, which bewil- 
dered the brain and incensed the ire of the sturdy 
Peter, who was perhaps of all men in the world, least 
fitted for diplomatic wiles, he privately received the 
first intimation of the dark conspiracy which had 
been matured in the Cabinet of England. To this 
was added the astounding intelligence that a hostile 
squadron had already sailed from England, destined 
to reduce the province of New-Netherlands, and that 
the grand council of Amphyctions had engaged to 
co-operate, by sending a great army to invade New- 
Amsterdam by land. 

Unfortunate Peter ! did I not enter with sad fore- 
boding upon this ill-starred expedition.' did I not 
tremble when I saw thee, with no other counsellor 



* For certain of the particulars of this ancient negotiation see 
Haz. Col. State Papers. It is singular that Smith is entiiely silent 
with respect to this memorable expedition of Peter Stuyvesant. 



G30 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



but thine own head, with no otiier armour but an 
honest tongue, a spotless conscience, and a rusty 
sword ! with no other protector but St. Nicholas — 
and no other attendant but a trumpeter — did 1 not 
tremble when I beheld thee thus sallv forth to con- 
tend with all the knowing powers of New-England ? 

Oh, how did the sturdy old warrior rage and roar, 
when he found himself thus entrapped, like a lion in 
the hunter's toil ! Now did he determine tn draw 
his trusty sword, and manfully to fight his way 
through all the countries of the east. Now did he 
resolve to break in upon the council of the Amphyc- 
tions, and put every mother's son of them to death. 
At length, as his direful wrath subsided, he resorted 
to safer though less glorious expedients. 

Concealing from the council his knowledge of 
their machinations, he privately despatched a trusty 
messenger, with missives to his counsellors at New- 
Amsterdam, apprising them of the impending dan- 
ger, commanding them immediately to put the city 
in a posture of defence, while in the meantime he 
would endeavour to elude his enemies and come to 
their assistance. This done, he felt himself marvel- 
lously relieved, rose slowly, shook himself like a 
rhinoceros, and issued forth from his den, in much 
the same manner as Giant Despair is described to 
have issued from Doubting Castle, in the chivalric 
history of the Pilgrim's Progress. 

And now, much does it grieve me that I must 
leave the gallant Peter in this imminent jeopardy: 
but it behoves us to hurry back and see what is go- 
ing on at New-Amsterdam, for greatly do I fear that 
city is already in a turmoil. Such was ever the fate 
of Peter Stuyvesant; while doing one thing with 
heart and soul, he was too apt to leave every thing 
else at sixes and sevens. While, like a potentate of 
yore, he was absent, attending to those things in per- 
son, which in modern days are trusted to generals 
and ambassadors, his little territory at l-.ome was sure 
to get in an uproar. — All which was owing to that 
uncommon strength of intellect which induced him 
to trust to nobody but himself, and which had ac- 
quired him the renowned appellation of Peter the 
Headstrong. 



CHAPTER IV. 

HOW THE PEOPLE OF NEW-AMSTERDAM WERE 
THROWN INTO A GREAT PANIC, BV THE 
NEWS OF A THREATENED INVASION, AND THE 
MANNER IN WHICH THEY FORTIFIED THEM- 
SELVES. 

There is no sight more truly interesting to a 
philosopher, than to contemplate a community, 
where every individual has a voice in public affairs, 
where every individual thinks himself the Atlas of 
the nation, and where every individual thinks it his 
duty to bestir himself for the good of his country. — 
I say, there is nothing more interesting to a philoso- 
pher, than to see such a community in a sudden bus- 
tle of war. Such a clamour of tongues — such a 
bawling of patriotism — such running hither and 
thither — every body in a hurry — every body up to 
the ears in trouble — every body in the way, and ev- 
ery body interrupting his industrious neighbour — 
who is busily employed in doing nothing ! it is like 
witnessing a great fire, where every man is at work 
like a hero — some dragging about empty engines — 
others scampering with lull buckets, and spilling the 
contents into the boots of their neighbours — and 
others ringing the church bells all night, by way of 
putting out the fire. Little firemen, like sturdy little 
knights storming a breach, clambering up and down 



scaling-ladders, and bawling through tin trumpets, 
by way of directing the attack. — Here one busy fel- 
low, in his great zeal to save the property of the un- 
fortunate, catches up an anonymous chamber uten- 
sil, and gallants it off with an air of as much self- 
importance, as if he had rescued a pot of money — 
another throws looking-glasses and china out of the 
window, to save them from the flames, whilst those 
who can do nothing else to assist the great calamity, 
run up and down the streets with open throats, keep- 
ing up an incessant cry of Fire ! Fire ! Fire! 

" When the news arrived at Sinope," says the 
grave and profound Lucian — though 1 own the story 
is rather trite, "that Philip was about to atlack 
them, the inhabitants were thrown into violent 
alarm. Some ran to furbish up their arms ; others 
rolled stones to build up the walls — every body, in 
short, was employed, and every body was in the way 
of his neighbour. Diogenes alone was the only man 
who could find nothing to do — whereupon, deter- 
mining not to be idle when the welfare of his coun- 
try was at stake, he tucked up his robe, and fell to 
rolling his tub with might and main up and down 
the Gymnasium." In like manner did every mother's 
son, in the patriotic community of New-Amsterdam, 
on receiving the missives of Peter Stuyvesant, busy 
himself most mightily in putting things in confusion, 
and assisting the general uproar. " Every man " — 
saith the Stuyvesant manuscript — " flew to arms!" 
— by which is meant, that not one of our honest 
Dutch citizens would venture to church or to mar- 
ket, without an old-fashioned spit of a sword dang- 
ling at his side, and a long, Dutch fowling-piece on 
his shoulder — nor would he go out of a mght with- 
out a lantern ; nor turn a corner without first peep- 
ing cautiously round, lest he should come unawares 
upon a British army. — And we are informed that 
Stoffel BrinkerhoFf, who was considered by the old 
women almost as brave a man as the governor him- 
self — actually had two one-pound swivels mounted 
in his entry, one pointing out at the front door, and 
the other at the back. 

But the most strenuous measure resorted to on 
this awful occasion, and one which has since been 
found of wonderful efficacy, was to assemble popu- 
lar meetings. These brawling convocations, I have 
already shown, were extremely offensive to Peter 
Stuyvesant, but as this was a moment of unusual 
agitation, and as the old governor was not present to 
repress them, they broke out with intolerable vio- 
lence. Hither, therefore, the orators and politicians 
repaired, and there seemed to be a competition among 
them who should bawl the loudest, and exceed the 
others in hyperbolical bursts of patriotism, and in 
resolutions to uphold and defend the Government. 
In these sage and all-powerful meetings, it was de- 
termined, nejn. coti., that they were the most enlight- 
ened, the most dignified, the most formidable, and 
the most ancient community upon the face of the 
earth. Finding that this resolution was so univer- 
sally and readily carried, another was immediately 
proposed — whether it were not possible and politic 
to exterminate Great Britain ? upon which sixty-nine 
members spoke most eloquently in the aftirmative, 
and only one rose to suggest some doubts — who, as a 
punishment for his treasonable presumption, was im- 
mediately seized by the mob, and tarred and feather- 
ed — which punishment being equivalent to the Tar- 
peian Rock, he was afterwards considered as an out- 
cast from society, and his opinion went for nothing. 
The question, therefore, being unanimously carried 
in the aflirmative, it was recommended to the grand 
council to pass it into a law ; which was accordingly 
done. — By this measure, the hearts of the people at 
large were wonderfully encouraged, and they waxed 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



631 



exceeding choleric and valorous. Indeed, the first 
paroxysm of alarm having in some measure sub- 
sided ; the old women having buried all the money 
they could lay their hands on, and their husbands 
daily getting fuddled with what was left — the com- 
munity began even to stand on the offensive. Songs 
were manufactured in Low Dutch, and sung about 
the streets, wherein the English were most wofuUy 
beaten, and shown no quarter; and popular addresses 
were made, wherein it was proved to a certainty that 
the fate of Old England depended upon the will of 
the New-Amsterdammers. 

Finally, to strike a violent blow at the very vitals of 
Great Britain, a multitude of the wiser inhabitants as- 
sembled, and having purchased all the British manu- 
factures they could find, they made thereof a huge 
bonfire ; and in the patriotic glow of the moment, 
everr man present, who had a hat or breeches of 
English workmanship, pulled it off, and threw it most 
undauntedly into the flames — to the irreparable det- 
riment, loss, and ruin of the English manufacturers. 
In commemoration of this great exploit, they erected 
a pole on the spot, with a device on the top intended 
to represent the province of Nieuw-Nederlandts de- 
stroying Great Britain, under the similitude of an 
eagle picking the little island of Old England out of 
the globe ; but either through the unskilfulness of the 
sculptor, or his ill-timed waggery, it bore a striking 
resemblance to a goose vainly striving to get hold of 
a dumpling. 



CHAPTER V. 

SHOWING HOW THE GRAND COUNCIL OF THE 
NEW-NETHERLANDS CAME TO BE MIRACU- 
LOUSLY GIFTED WITH LONG TONGUES — TO- 
GETHER WITH A GREAT TRIUMPH OF ECONOMY. 

It will need but very little penetration in any one 
acquainted with the character and habits of that 
most potent and blustering monapch, the sovereign 
people, to discover that, notwithstanding all the bustle 
and talk of war that stunned him in the last chapter, 
the renowned city of New- Amsterdam is, in sad re- 
ality, not a whit better prepared for defence than be- 
fore. Now, though the people, having gotten over 
the first alarm, and finding no enemy immediately at 
hand, had, with that valour of tongue, for which 
your illustrious rabble is so famous, run into the op- 
posite extreme, and by dint of gallant vapouring and 
rodomontado, had actually talked themselves into 
the opinion that they were the bravest and most 
powerful people under the sun, yet were the privy 
counsellors of Peter Stuyvesant somewhat dubious 
on that point. They dreaded moreover lest that 
stern hero should return, and find, that instead of 
obeying his peremptory orders, they had wasted their 
time in listening to the hectorings of the mob, than 
which, they well knew, there was nothing he held in 
more exalted contempt. 

To make up, therefore, as speedily as possible, for 
lost time, a grand divan of the counsellors and bur- 
gomasters was convened, to talk over the critical 
state of the province, and devise measures for its 
safety. Two things were unanimously agreed upon 
in this venerable assembly : — first, that the city re- 
quired to be put in a state of defence ; and, secondly, 
that as the danger was imminent, there should be no 
time lost — which points being settled, thev imme- 
diately fell to making long speeches, and belabouring 
one another in endless and intemperate disputes. 
For about this time was this unhappy city first visited 
by that talking endemic, so universally prevalent in 
this country, and which so invariably evinces itself 



wherever a number of wise men .assemble together ; 
breaking out in long, windy speeches, caused, as phy- 
sicians suppose, by the foul air which is ever gener- 
ated in a crowd. Now it was, moreover, that they 
first introduced the ingenious method of measuring 
the merits of a harangue by the hour-glass ; he be- 
ing considered the ablest orator who spoke longest 
on a question. For which excellent invention, it is 
recorded, we are indebted to the same profound 
Dutch critic who judged of books by their size. 

This sudden passion for endless harangues, so little 
consonant with the customary gravity and taciturn- 
ity of our sage forefathers, was supposed, by certain 
learned philosophers, to have been imbibed, together 
with divers other barbarous propensities, from their 
savage neighbours ; who were peculiarly noted for 
their long talks and council fires — who would never 
undertake any affair of the least importance, without 
previous debates and harangues among their chiefs 
and old men. But the real cause was, that the peo- 
ple, in electing their representatives to the grand 
council, were particular in choosing them for their 
talents at talking, without inquiring whether they 
possessed the more rare, difficult, and ofttimes im- 
portant talent of holding their tongues. The conse- 
quence was, that this deliberative body was composed 
of the most loquacious men in the community. As 
they considered themselves placed there to talk, every 
man concluded that his duty to his constituents, and, 
what is more, his popularity with them, required 
that he should harangue on every subject, whether 
he understood it or not. There was an ancient mode 
of burying a chieftain, by every soldier throw'ing his 
shield full of earth on the corpse, until a mighty 
mound was formed ; so, whenever a question was 
brought forward in this assembly, every member 
pressing forward to throw on his quantum of wisdom, 
the subject was quickly buried under a huge mass of 
words. 

We are told, that when disciples were admitted 
into the school of Pythagoras, they were for two years 
enjoined silence, and were neither permitted to ask 
questions nor make remarks. Alter they had thus 
acquired the inestimable art of holding their tongues, 
they were gradually permitted to make inquiries, and 
finally to communicate their own opinions. 

What a pity is it, that, while superstitiously hoard- 
ing up the rubbish and rags of antiquity, we should 
suffer these precious gems to lie unnoticed ! What a 
beneficial effect would this wise regulation of Pytha- 
goras have, if introduced in legislative bodies — and 
how wonderfully would it have tended to expedite 
business in the grand council of the Manhattoes ! 

Thus, however, did dame Wisdom, (whom the 
wags of antiquity have humorously personified as a 
woman,) seem to take mischievous pleasure in jilting 
the venerable counsellors of New-Amsterdam. The 
old factions of Long Pipes and .Short Pipes, which 
had been almost strangled by the herculean grasp of 
Peter Stuyvesant, now sprung up with tenfold vio- 
lence. Not that the original cause of difference still 
existed, — but, it has ever been the fate of party 
names and party rancour to remain, long after the 
principles that gave rise to them have been forgotten. 
To complete the public confusion and bewilderment, 
the fatal word Economy, which one would have 
thought was dead and buried with William the Testy, 
was once more set afloat, like the apple of discord, 
in the grand council of Nieuw-Nederlandts — accord- 
ing to which sound principle of policy, it was deem- 
ed more expedient to throw away twenty thousand 
guilders upon an inefficacious plan of defence, than 
thirty thousand on a good and substantial one — the 
province thus making a clear saving of ten thousand 
guilders. 



632 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



But when they came to discuss the mode of de- 
fence, then began a war of words that baffles all 
description. The members being, as I observed, en- 
listed in opposite parties, were enabled to proceed 
with amazing system and regularity in the discussion 
of the questions before them. Whatever was pro- 
posed by a Long Pipe, was opposed by the whole 
tribe of Short Pipes, who, like true politicians, con- 
sidered it their first duty to effect the downfall of the 
Long Pipes — their second, to elevate themselves — 
and their third, to consult the welfare of the country. 
This at least was the creed of the most upright 
among the party ; for as to the great mass, they left 
the third consideration out of the question alto- 
gether. 

In this great collision of hard heads, it is aston- 
ishing the number of projects for defence that were 
struck out, not one of which had ever been heard of 
before, nor has been heard of since, unless it be in 
very modern days — projects that threw the windmill 
system of the ingenious Kieft completely in the back- 
ground. Still, however, nothing could be decided 
on ; for so soon as a formidable host of air castles 
were reared by one party, they were demolished by 
the other. The simple populace stood gazing in 
anxious expectation of the mighty egg that was to 
be hatched with all this cackling; but they gazed in 
vain, for it appeared that the grand council was de- 
termined to protect the province as did the noble 
and gigantic Pantagruel his army — by covering it 
with his tongue. 

Indeed, there was a portion of the members, con- 
sisting of fat, self-important old burghers, who smok- 
ed their pipes and said nothing, excepting to nega- 
tive every plan of defence that was offered. These 
were of that class of wealthy old citizens, who, hav- 
ing amassed a fortune, button up their pockets, shut 
their mouths, look rich, and are good for nothing all 
the rest of their li\es. Like some phlegmatic oyster, 
which, having swallowed a pearl, closes its shell, set- 
tles down in the mud, and parts with its life sooner 
than its treasure. Every plan of defence seemed to 
these worthy old gentlemen pregnant with ruin. An 
armed force was a legion of locusts, preying upon 
the public property — to fit out a naval armament, 
was to throw their money into the sea — to build for- 
tifications, was to bury it in the dirt. In short, they 
settled it as a sovereign maxim, so long as their 
pockets were full, no matter how much they were 
drubbed — A kick left no scar — a broken head cured 
itself —but an empty purse was of all maladies the 
slowest to heal, and one in which nature did nothing 
for the patient. 

Thus did this venerable assembly of sa^a lavish 
away that time which the urgency of affairs rendered 
invaluable, in empty brawls and long-winded speech- 
es, without ever agreeing, except on the point with 
which they started, namely, that there was no time 
to be lost, and delay was ruinous. At length St. 
Nicholas, taking conip.assion on tlieir distracted situ- 
ation, and anxious to preserve them from anarchy, 
so ordered, that in the midst of one of their most 
noisy debates on the subject of fortification and de- 
fence, when they had nearly fallen to loggerheads in 
consequence of not being able to convince each 
other, the question was happily settled by a messen- 
ger, who bounced into the chamber and informed 
them that the hostile fleet had arrived, and was 
actually advancing up the bay ! 

Thus was all farther necessity of either fortifying 
or disputing completely obviated, and thus was the 
grand council saved a world of words, and the prov- 
ince a world of expense — a most absolute and glori- 
ous triurapih of economy ! 



CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH THE TROUBLES OF NEW-AMSTERDAM 
APPEAR TO THICKEN — SHOWING THE BRAVERY, 
IN TIME OF PERIL, OF A PEOPLE WHO DEFEND 
THEMSELVES BY RESOLUTIONS. 

Like as an assemblage of politic cats, engaged in 
clamourous gibberings, and caterwaulings, eyeing 
one another with hideous grimaces, spitting in each 
other's faces, and on the point of breaking forth into 
a general clapper-clawing, are suddenly put to scam- 
pering rout and confusion by the startling appear- 
ance of a house-dog — so was the no less vociferous 
council of New-Amsterdam, amazed, astounded, and 
totally dispersed, by the sudden arrival of the enemy. 
Every member made the best of his way home, wad- 
dling along as fast as his short legs could fag under 
their heavy burden, and wheezing as he went with 
corpulency and terror. When he arrived at his 
castle, he barricadoed the street door, and buried 
himself in the cider cellar, without daring to peep 
out, lest he should have his head carried off by a 
cannon-ball. 

The sovereign people all crowded into the market- 
place, herding together with the instinct of sheep, 
who seek for safety in each other's company, when 
the shepherd and his dog are absent, and the wolf is 
prowling round the fold. Far from finding relief, 
however, they only increased each other's terrors. 
Each man looked ruefully in his neighbour's face, in 
search of encouragement, but only found in its woe- 
begone lineaments, a confirmation of his own dis- 
may. Not a word now was to be heard of conquer- 
ing Great Britain, not a whisper about the sovereign 
virtues of economy — while the old women heightened 
the general gloom by clamorously bewailing their 
fate, and incessantly calling for protection on Saint 
Nicholas and Peter Stuyvesant. 

Oh, how did they bewail the absence of the lion- 
hearted Peter ! — and how did they long for the com- 
forting presence of Antony Van Corlear ! Indeed, a 
gloomy uncertainty hung over the fate of these ad- 
venturous heroes. Day after day had elapsed since 
the alarming message from the governor, without 
bringing any farther tidings of his safety. Many a 
tearful conjecture was hazarded as to what had be- 
fallen him and his loyal 'squire. Had they not been 
devoured alive by the cannibals of Marblehead and 
Cape Cod .' — were they not put to the question by 
the great council of Amphyctions? — were they not 
smothered in onions by the terrible men of Piquag.' 
— In the midst of this consternation and perplexity, 
when horror, like a mighty nightmare, sat brooding 
upon the little, fat, plethoric city of New-Amsler- 
dam, the ears of the multitude were suddenly startled 
by a strange and distant sound — it approached — it 
grew louder and louder — and now it resounded at the 
city gate. The public could not be mistaken in the 
well-known sound — a shout of joy burst from their 
lips, as the gallant Peter, covered with dust, and fol- 
lowed by his faithful trumpeter, came galloping into 
the market-place. 

The first transports of the populace having sub- 
sided, they gathered round the honest Antony, as he 
dismounted from his horse, overwhelming him with 
greetings and congratulations. In hrealhless accents 
he related to them the marvellous adventures through 
which the old governor and himself had gone, in 
making their escape from the clutches of the terrible 
Amphyctions. But though the Stuyvesant manu- 
scri|)t, with its customary minuteness where any 
thing touching the great Peter is concerned, is very 
particular as to the incidents of this masterly retreat, 
yet the particular state of the public affairs will not 
allow me to indulge in a full recital thereof. Let it 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



633 



suffice to say, that while Peter Stuyvesant was anx- 
iously revolving in his mind how he could make 
good his escape with honour and dignity, certain of 
the ships sent out for the conquest of the Manhattoes 
touched at the eastern ports, to obtain needful sup- 
plies, and to call on the grand council of the league 
for its promised co-operation. Upon hearing of this, 
the vigilant Peter, perceiving that a moment's delay 
were fatal, made a secret and precipitate decamp- 
ment, though much did it grieve his lol'ty soui to be 
obliged to turn his back even upon a nation of foes. 
Many hair-breadth 'scapes and divers perilous mis- 
haps did they sustain, as they scoured, without sound 
of trumpet, through the fair regions of the east. Al- 
ready was the country in an uproar with hostile 
preparation, and they were obliged to take a large 
circuit in their flight, lurking along through the 
woody mountains of the Devil's Bacl<-bone ; from 
whence the valiant Peter sallied forth one day, like 
a lion, and put to rout a whole region of squatters, 
consisting of three generations of a prolific family, 
who were already on their way to take possession of 
some comer of the New-Netherlands. Nay, the 
faithful Antony had great difficulty at sundry times 
to prevent him, in the excess of his wrath, from 
descending down from the mountains, and fallmg, 
sword in hand, upon certain of the border towns, who 
were marshalling forth their draggletailed militia. 

The first movements of the governor, on reaching 
his dwelling, was to mount the roof, from whence he 
contemplated, with rueful aspect, the liostile squad- 
ron. This had already come to anchor in the bay, 
and consisted of two stout frigates, having on board, 
as John Josselvn, Gent., informs us. " three hundred 
valiant red-coats." Having taken this survey, he sat 
himself down, and wrote an epistle to the command- 
er, demanding the reason of his anchoring in the 
harbour without obtaining previous permission so to 
do. This letter was couched in the most dignified 
and courteous terms, though I have it from undoubt- 
ed authority, that his teeth were clinched, and he 
had a bitter sardonic grin upon his visage all the 
while he wrote. Having despatched his letter, the 
grim Peter stumped to and fro about the town, with 
a most war-betokening countenance, his hands thrust 
into his breeches pockets, and whistling a Low Dutch 
psalm tune, which bore no small resemblance to the 
music of a north-east wind, when a storm is brewing. 
The very dogs, as they eyed him, skulked away in 
dismay — while all the old and ugly women of New- 
Amsterdam ran howling at his heels, imploring him 
to save them from murder, robbery, and pitiless rav- 
ishment ! 

The reply of Col. Nichols, who commanded the 
invaders, was couched in terms of equal courtesy 
with the letter of the governor — declaring the right 
and title of his British I\1ajesty to the province, 
where he affirmed the Dutch to be mere interlopers ; 
and demanding that the town, forts, etc., should be 
forthwith rendered into his majesty's obedience and 
protection — promising at the same time, life, liberty, 
estate, and free trade, to every Dutch denizen who 
should readilv submit to his majesty's government. 

Peter Stuyvesant read over this friendly epistle 
with some such harmony of aspect as we may sup- 
pose a crusty farmer, who has long been fattening 
upon his neighbour's soil, reads the loving letter ot 
John Stiles, that warns him of an action of eject- 
ment. The old governor, however, was not to be 
taken by surprise, but thrusting the summons into his 
breeches pocket, he stalked three times across the 
room, took a pinch of snuff with great vehemence, 
and then loftily waving his hand, promised to send 
an answer the next morning In the meantime, he 
called a general council of war of his privy counsel- 



lors and burgomasters, not for the purpose of asking 
their advice, for that, as has already been shown, he 
valued not a rush ; but to make known unto them 
his sovereign determination, and require their prompt 
adherence. 

Before, however, he convened his council, he re- 
solved upon three important points ; firsi, never to 
give up the city without a little hard fighting, for he 
deemed it highly derogatory to the dignity of so re- 
nowned a city, to suffer itself to be captured and 
stripped, without receiving a few kicks into the bar- 
gain — secondly, that the majority of his grand council 
was composed of arrant poltroons, utterly destitute 
of true bottom — and, thirdly, that he would not 
therefore suffer them to see the summons of Col. 
Nichols, lest the easy terms it held out might induce 
them to clamour for a surrender. 

His orders being duly promulgated, it was a pit- 
eous sight to behold the late valiant burgomasters, 
who had demolished the whole British empire in their 
harangues, peeping ruefully out of their hiding-places, 
and then crawling cautiouslv forth ; dodging through 
narrow lanes and alleys ; starting at every little dog 
that barked, as though it had been a discharge of ar- 
tiller)- — mistaking lamp-posts for British grenadiers, 
and. in the excess of their panic, metamorphosing 
pumps into formidable soldiers, levelling blunder- 
busses at their bosoms ! Having, however, in despite 
of numerous perils and difficulties of the kind, ar- 
rived safe, without the loss of a single man, at the 
hall of assembly, they took their seats, and awaited 
in fearful silence the arrival of the governor. In a 
few moments the wooden leg of the intrepid Peter 
was heard in regular and stout-hearted thumps upon 
the staircase. He entered the chamber, arrayed in a 
full suit of regimentals, and carrying his trusty toledo, 
not girded on his thigh, but tucked under his arm. 
As the governor never equipped himself in this por- 
tentous manner, unless something of a martial nature 
were working within his fearless pericranium, his 
council regarded him ruefully, as if they saw tire and 
sword in his iron countenance, and forgot to light 
their pipes in breathless suspense. 

The great Peter was as eloquent as he was valor- 
ous — indeed, these two rare qualities seemed to go 
hand in hand in his composition ; and, unlike most 
great statesmen, whose \ictories are only confined to 
the bloodless field of argument, he was always ready 
to enforce his hardy words by no less hardy deeds. 
His speeches were generally marked by a simplicity 
approaching to bluntness, and by a truly categorical 
decision. Addressing tlie grand council, he touched 
briefly upon the perils and hardships he had sustain- 
ed in escaping from his crafty foes. He next re- 
proached the council for wasting, in idle debate and 
party feuds, that time which should have been de- 
voted to their country. He was particularly indig- 
nant at those brawlers, who, conscious of individual 
security, had disgraced the councils of the province 
by impotent hectorings and scurrilous invectives, 
against a noble and powerful enemy — those cowardly 
curs, who were incessant in their barkings and yelp- 
ings at the lion, while distant or asleep, but the mo- 
ment he approached, were the first to skulk away. 
He now called on those who had been so valiant in 
their threats against Great Britain, to stand forth and 
support their vauntings by their actions — for it was 
deeds, not words, that bespoke the spirit of a nation. 
He proceeded to recall the golden days of former 
prosperity, which were only to be regained by man- 
fully withstanding their enemies ; for the peace, he 
observed, which is effected by force of arms, is always 
more sure and durable than that which is patched 
up by temporary accommodations. He endeavoured, 
moreover, to arouse their martial tire, by reminding 



634 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



them of the time when, before the frowning walls of 
Fort Christina, he had led them on to victory. He 
strove likewise to awaken their conlidence, by assur- 
ing them of the protection of St. Nicholas, who had 
hitherto maintained them in safety, amid all the sav- 
ages of the wilderness, the witches and squatters of 
the east, and the giants of Merry-land. Finally, he 
informed them of the insolent summons he had re- 
ceived to surrender, but concluded by swearing to 
defend the province as long as Heaven was on his 
side, and he had a wooden leg to stand upon — which 
noble sentence he emphasized by a tremendous 
thwack with the broadside of his sword upon the 
table, that totally electrified his auditors. 

The privy counsellors, who had long been accus- 
tomed to the governor's way, and in fact had been 
brought into as perfect discipline as were ever the 
soldiers of the great Frederick, saw that there was 
no use in saying a word — so lighted their pipes and 
smoked away in silence, like fat and discreet coun- 
sellors. But the burgomasters, being less under the 
governor's control, considering themselves as repre- 
sentatives of the sovereign people, and being more- 
over inflated with considerable importance and self- 
sufficiency, which they had acquired at those notable 
schools of wisdom and morality, the popular meet- 
ings, were not so easily satisfied.' Mustering up fresh 
spirit, when they found there was some chance of 
escaping from their present jeopardy, without the 
disagreeable alternative of fighting, they requested a 
copy of the summons to surrender, that they might 
show it to a general meeting of the people. 

So insolent and mutinous a request would have 
been enough to have roused the gorge of the tranquil 
Van Twiller himself — what, then, must have been its 
effect upon the great Stuyvesant, who was not only 
a Dutchman, a governor, and a valiant wooden- 
legged soldier to boot, but withal a man of the most 
stomachful and gunpowder disposition } He burst 
forth into a blaze of noble indignation, — swore not a 
mother's son of them should see a syllable of it — 
that they deserved, every one of them, to be hanged, 
drawn and quartered, for traitorously daring to ques- 
tion the infallibility of government — that as to their 
advice or concurrence, he did not care a whiff of to- 
bacco for either — that he had long been harassed and 
thwarted by their cowardly counsels ; but that they 
might thenceforth go home, and go to bed like old 
women ; for he was determined to defend the colony 
himself, without the assistance of them or their adher- 
ents. So saying, he tucked his sword under his arm, 
cocked his hat upon his head, and girding up his 
loins, stumped indignantly out of the council cham- 
ber — every body making room for him as he passed. 

No sooner had he gone, than the busy burgomas- 
ters called a public meeting in front of the Stadt- 
house, where they appointed as chairman one Uofue 
Roerback, a mighty gingerbread-baker in the land 
and formerly of the cabinet of William the Testy. 
He was looked up to with great reverence by the 
populace, who considered him a man of dark knowl- 
edge, seeing he was the first that imprinted new-year 
cakes with the mysterious hieroglyphics of the Cock 
and Breeches, and such like magical devices. 

This great burgomaster, who still chewed the cud 
of ill-will against the valiant Stuyvesant, in conse- 
quence of having been ignominiously kicked out of 
his cabinet at the time of his taking the reins of gov- 
ernment — addressed the greasy multitude in what is 
called a patriotic speech, in which he informed them 
of the courteous summons to surrender — of the gov- 
ernor's refusal to comply therewith — of his denying 
the public a sight of the summons, which, he had no 
doubt, contained conditions highly to the honour 
and advantage of the province. 



He then proceeded to speak of his excellency in 
high-sounding terms, suitable to the dignity and 
grandeur of his station, comparing him to Nero, 
Caligula, and those other great men of yore, who are 
generally quoted by popular orators on similar occa- 
sions ; assuring the people, that the history of the 
world did not contain a despotic outrage to equal the 
present for atrocity, cruelty, tyranny, and blood- 
thirstiness — that it would be recorded in letters of 
fire, on the blood-stained tablet of history ! that ages 
would roll back with sudden horror when they came 
to view it ! that the womb of time — (by the way, 
your orators and writers take strange liberties with 
the womb of time, though some would fain have us 
believe that time is an old gentleman) — that the 
womb of time, pregnant as it was with direful hor- 
rors, would never produce a parallel enormity ! — ■ 
With a variety of other heart-rending, soul-stirring 
tropes and figures, which I cannot enumerate — 
neither, indeed, need I, for they were exactly the same 
that are used in all popular harangues and patriotic 
orations at the present day, and may be classed in' 
rhetoric under the general title of RIGMAROLE. 

The speech of this inspired burgomaster being 
finished, the meeting fell into a kind of popular fer- 
mentation, which produced not only a string of right 
wise resolutions, but likewise a most resolute memo- 
rial, addressed to the governor, remonstrating at his 
conduct — which was no sooner handed to him, than 
he handed it into the fire ; and thus deprived poster- 
ity of an invaluable document, that might have served 
as a precedent to the enlightened cobblers and tail- 
ors of the present day, in their sage intermeddlings 
with politics. 



CHAPTER Vn. 



CONTAINING A DOLEFUL DISASTER OF ANTONV 
THE TRUMPETER — AND HOW PETER STUVES- 
ANT, LIKE A SECOND CROMWELL, SUDDENL'V 
DISSOLVED A RUMP PARLIAMENT. 

Now did the high-minded Pieter de Groodt shower 
down a pannier-load of benedictions upon his burgo- 
masters, for a set of self-willed, obstinate, headstrong 
varlets, who would neither be convinced nor per- 
suaded ; and determined thenceforth to have nothing 
more to do with them, but to consult merely the 
opinion of his privy counsellors, which he knew 
from experience to be the best in the world — inas- 
much as it never differed from his own. Nor did he 
omit, now that his hand was in, to bestow some thou- 
sand left-handed compliments upon the sovereign 
people ; whom he railed at for a herd of poltroons, 
who had no relish for the glorious hardships and il- 
lustrious misadventures of battle — but would rather 
stay at home, and eat and sleep in ignoble ease, than 
gain immortality and a broken head by valiantly 
fighting in a ditch. 

Resolutely bent, however, upon defending his be- 
loved city, in despite even of itself, he called unto 
him his trusty Van Corlear, who was his right-hand 
man in all times of emergency. Him did he adjure 
to lake his war-denouncing trumpet, and mounting 
his horse, to beat up the country, night and day. 
Sounding the alarm along the pastoral borders of the 
Bronx — starting the wild solitudes of Croton — arous- 
ing the rugged yeomanry of Weehawk and Hoboeken 
— the mighty men of battle of Tappan Bay* — and 
the brave boys of Tarry Town and Sleepy Hollow — 



* A corruption of Top-paun ; so called from a tribe of Indians, 
which boasted a hundred and fifty fighting men. See Ogilby's 
History. 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



635 



ogether with all the other warriors of the country 
ound about ; charging them one and all to sling 
heir powder-horns, shoulder their fowling-pieces, 
uid march merrily down to the IVIanhattoes. 

Now there was nothing in all the world, the divine 
;ex excepted, that Antony Van Corlear loved better 
han errands of this i<ind. So, just stopping to tai<e 
I lusty dinner, and bracing to his side his junk bottle, 
,vell charged with heart-inspiring Hollands, he issued 
jollily from the city gate, that looked out upon what 
s at present called IBroadway ; sounding as usual a 
arewell strain, that rung in sprightly echoes through 
he winding streets of New-Amsterdam.— Alas! never 
nore were they to be gladdened by the melody of 
heir favourite trumpeter ! 

It was a dark and stormy night, when the good 
\ntony arrived at the famous creek (sagely denomi- 
lated Harlem river) which separates the island of 
Vlanna-hata from the main land. The wind was 
ligh, the elements were in an uproar, and no Charon 
:ould be found to ferry the adventurous sounder of 
)rass across the water. For a short time he vapour- 
d like an impatient ghost upon the brink, and then, 
)ethinking himself of the urgency of his errand, took 
hearty embrace of his stone bottle, swore most val- 
)rously that he would swim across, en spijt den Diiy- 
'el, (in suite of the devil !) and daringly plunged into 
he stream. — Luckless Antony ! scarce had lie buf- 
eted half-way over, when he was observed to strug- 
Je violently, as if battling with the spirit of the 
vaters — instinctively he put his trumpet to his 
nouth, and giving a vehement blast, sunk for ever 
o the bottom ! 

The potent clangour of his trumpet, like the ivory 
lorn of the renowned Paladin Orlando, when expir- 
ng in the glorious field of Roncesvalles, rung far and 
vide through the country, alarming the neighbours 
■Qund, who hurried in amazement to the spot. Here 
m old Dutch burgher, famed for his veracity, and 
vho had been a witness of the fact, related to them 
he melancholy affair ; with the fearful addition (to 
vhich I am slow of giving belief) that he saw the 
luyvel, in the shape of a huge moss-bonker, seize 
he sturdy Antony by the leg, and drag him beneath 
he waves. Certain it is, the place, with the adjoin- 
ng promontorv, which projects into the Hudson, has 
)een called Spijt den duyvcl, or Spiking Devil, ever 
since ;— the restless ghost of the unfortunate Antony 
still haunts the surrounding solitudes, and his trump- 
et has often been heard by the neighbours, of a stormy 
night, mingling with the howling of the blast. No- 
body ever attempts to swim over the creek, after 
dark ; on the contrary, a bridge has been built, to 
guard against such melancholy accidents in future — 
and as to moss-bonkers, they are held in such abhor- 
rence, that no true Dutchman will admit them to his 
table, who loves good tish and hates the devil. 

Such was the end of Antony Van Corlear— a man 
deserving of a better fate. He lived roundly and 
soundly, like a true and jolly bachelor, until the day 
of his death ; but though he was never married, yet 
did he leave behind some two or three dozen chil- 
dren, in different parts of the country— fine, chubby, 
brawling, flatulent little urchins, from whom, if le- 
gends speak true, (and they are not apt to lie,) did 
descend the innumerable race of editors who people 
and defend this country, and who are bountil'ully 
paid by the people for keeping up a constant alarm 
— and m.iking theai miserable. Would that they in- 
herited the worth, as they do the wind, of their re- 
nowned progenitor ! 

The tidings of this lamentable catastrophe impart- 
ed a severer pang to the bosom of Peter Stuyvesant, 
than did even the invasion of his beloved Amster- 
dam. It came ruthlessly home to those sweet af- 



fections that grow close around the heart, and are 
nourished by its warmest current. As some lorn 
pilgrim, while the tempest whistles through his 
locks, and dreary night is gathering around, sees 
stretched, cold and lifeless, his faithful dog — the sole 
companion of his journeying, who had shared his 
solitary meal, and so often licked his hand in humble 
gratitude — so did the generous-hearted hero of the 
Slanhattoes contemplate the untimely end of his 
faithful Antony. He had been the humble attendant 
of his footsteps — he had cheered him in many a 
heavy hour by his honest gayety, and had followed 
him in loyalty and affection through many a scene 
of direful peril and mishap ; he was gone for ever — 
and that, too, at a moment when every mongrel cur 
seemed skulking from his side. This— Peter Stuy- 
vesant— this was the moment to try thy fortitude ; 
and this was the moment when thou didst indeed 
shine forth — Peter the Headstrong ! 

The glare of day had long dispelled the horrors of 
the last stormy night ; still all was dull and gloomy. 
The late jovial Apollo hid his face behind lugubrious 
clouds, peeping out now and then, for an instant, as 
if anxious, yet fearful, to see what was going on in 
his favourite city. This was the eventful morning 
when the great Peter was to give his reply to the 
summons of the invaders. Already was he closeted 
with his privy council, sitting in grim state, brooding 
over the fate of his favourite trumpeter, and anon 
boiling with indignation as the insolence of his rec- 
reant burgomasters flashed upon his mind. While 
in this state of irritation, a courier arrived in all 
haste from Winthrop, the subtle governor of Con- 
necticut, counselling him in the most affectionate and 
disinterested manner to surrender the province, and 
magnifying the dangers and calamities to which a 
refusal would subject him. What a moment was 
this to intrude officious advice upon a man who 
never took advice in his whole life ! —The fiery old 
governor strode up and down the chamber, with a 
vehemence that made the bosoms of his counsellors 
to quake with awe — railmg at his unlucky fate, 
that thus made him the constant butt of facetious 
subjects and Jesuitical advisers. 

Just at this ill-chosen juncture, the officious burgo- 
masters, who were now completely on the watch, 
and had heard of the arrival of mysterious despatch- 
es, came marching in a resolute body into the room, 
with a legion of schepens and toad-caters at their 
heels, and abruptly demanded a perusal of the letter. 
Thus to be broken in upon by what he esteemed a 
"rascal rabble," and that, too, at the veiy moment 
he was grinding under an irritation from abroad, 
was too much for the spleen of the choleric Peter. 
He tore the letter in a thousand pieces* — threw it in 
the face of the nearest burgomaster — broke his pipe 
over the head of the next — hurled his spitting-box at 
an unlucky schepen, who was just making a master- 
ly retreat out at the door, and finally prorogued the 
whole meeting sine die, by kicking them down-stairs 
with his wooden leg. 

As soon as the burgomasters could recover from 
the confusion into which their sudden exit had 
throw^n them, and had taken a httle time to breathe, 
they protested against the conduct of the governor, 
which they did not hesitate to pronounce tyrannical, 
unconstitutional, highly indecent, and somewhat dis- 
respectful. They then called a public meeting, where 
they read the protest, and addressing the assembly 
in a set speech, related at full length, and with ap- 
propriate colouring and exaggeration, the despotic 
and vindictive deportment of the governor; declar- 
ing that, for their own parts, they did not value a 



* Smith's History of New-York. 



63G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



straw the being kicked, cuffed, and mauled by the 
timber toe of his excellency, but they felt for the 
dignity of the sovereign people, thus rudely insulted 
by the outrage committed on the seat of honour of 
their representatives. The latter part of the harangue 
had a violent effect upon the sensibility of the peo- 
ple, as it came home at once to that delicacy of feel- 
ing and jealous pride of character, vested in all true 
mobs ; who, though they may bear injuries without 
a murmur, yet are marvellously jealous of their sov- 
ereign dignity — and there is no knowing to what act 
of resentment they might have been provoked against 
the redoubtable Peter, had not the greasy rogues 
been somewhat more afraid of their sturdy old gov- 
ernor, than they were of St. Nicholas, the English 
— or the D 1 himself. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



HOW PETER STUYVESANT DEFENDED THE CITY 
OF NEW AMSTERDAM, FOR SEVERAL DAYS, BY 
DINT OF THE STRENGTH OF HIS HEAD. 

There is something exceedingly sublime and mel- 
ancholy in the spectacle which the present crisis of 
our history presents. An illustrious and venerable 
little city — the metropolis of an immense extent of 
uninhabited country — garrisoned by a doughty host 
of orators, chairmen, committee-men, burgomasters, 
schepens, and old women — governed by a deter- 
mined and strong-headed warrior, and Ibrtified by 
mud batteries, palisadoes, and resolutions — block- 
aded by sea, beleaguered by land, and threatened 
with direful desolation from without ; while its very 
vitals are torn with internal faction and commotion ! 
Never did liistoric pen record a page of more com- 
plicated distress, unless it be the strife that distract- 
ed the Israelites during the siege of Jerusalem — where 
discordant parties were cutting each other's throats, 
at the moment when the victorious legions of Titus 
had topijled down their bulwarks, and were carrying 
fire and sword into the very sanctum sanctorum of 
the temple. 

Governor Stuyvesant, having triumphantly, as has 
been recorded, put his grand council to the rout, and 
thus delivered himself from a multitude of imperti- 
nent advisers, despatched a categorical reply to the 
commanders of the invading squadron ; wherein he 
asserted the right and title ot their High Mightinesses 
the Lords States General to the province of New- 
Netherlands, and, trusting in the righteousness of his 
cause, set the whole British nation at defiance ! My 
anxiety to extricate my readers and myself from these 
disastrous scenes, prevents me from giving the whole 
of this gallant letter, which concluded in these manly 
and affectionate terms : 

"As touching the threats in your conclusion, we 
have nothing to answer, only that we fear nothing 
but what God (who is as just as merciful) shall lay 
upon us ; all things being in His gracious disposal, 
and we may as well be preserved by him with small 
forces, as by a great army ; which make? us to wish 
you all ha])piness and prosperity, and recommend 
you to his protection.— My lords, your thrice humble 
and affectionate servant and friend, 

" P. Stuyvesant." 

Thus having resolutely thrown his gauntlet, the 
brave Peter stuck a pair of horse-pistols in his belt, 
girded an immense powder-horn on his side — thrust 
his sound leg into a Hessian boot, and clapping his 
fierce little war hat on the top of his head — paraded 
up and down in front of his house, determined to de- 
fend his beloved city to the last. 



While all these woful struggles and dissensions 
were prevailing in the unhappy city of New-Amster- 
dam, and while its worthy, but ill-starred governor 
was framing the above-quoted letter, theEnglish 
commanders did not remain idle. They had agents 
secretly employed to foment the fears and clamours 
of the populace ; and moreover circulated far and 
wide, through the adjacent country, a proclamation, 
repeating the terms they had already held out in 
their summons to surrender, and beguiling the simple 
Nederlanders with the most crafty and conciliating 
professions. They promised that every man who 
voluntarily submitted to the authority of his British 
Majesty, should retain peaceable possession of his 
house, his vrouw, and his cabbage-garden. That he 
should be suffered to smoke his pipe, speak Dutch, 
wear as many breeches as he pleased, and import 
bricks, tiles, and stone jugs from Holland, instead of 
manufacturing them on the spot. That he should 
on no account be compelled to learn the English lan- 
guage, or keep accounts in any other way than by 
casting them up on his fingers, and chalking them 
down upon the crown of his hat ; as is still observed 
among the Dutch yeomanry at the present day. That 
every man should be allowed quietly to inherit his 
father's hat, coat, shoe-buckles, pipe, and every other 
personal appendage, and that no man should be 
obliged to conform to any improvements, inventions, 
or any other modern innovations ; but, on the con- 
trary, should be permitted to build his house, follow 
his trade, manage his farm, rear his hogs, and educate 
his children, precisely as his ancestorsdid before him 
since time immemorial. Finally, that he should have 
all the benefits of free trade, and should not be re- 
quired to acknowledge any other saint in the cal- 
endar than St. Nicholas, who should thenceforward, 
as before, be considered the tutelar saint of the city. 

These terms, as may be supposed, appeared very 
satisfiictory to the people, who had a great disposition 
to enjoy their property unmolested, and a most sin- 
gular aversion to engage in a contest where they 
could gain little more than honour and broken heads 
— the hrst of which they held in philosophic indif- 
ference, the latter in utter detestation. By these in- 
sidious means, therefore, did the English succeed in 
alienating the confidence and affections of the popu- 
lace from their gallant old governor, whom they con- 
sidered as obstinately bent upon running them into 
hideous misadventures ; and did not hesitate to speak 
their minds freely, and abuse him most heartily — be- 
hind his back. 

Like as a mighty grampus, who, though assailed 
and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling surges, 
still keeps on an undeviating course ; and though 
overwhelmed by boisterous billows, still emerges 
from the troubled deep, spouting and blowing with 
tenfold violence — so did the inflexible Peter pursue, 
unwavering, his determined career, and rise, con- 
temptuous, above the clamours of the rabble. 

But when the British warriors found, by the tenor 
of his reply, that he set their power at defiance, they 
forthwith despatched recruiting officers to Jamaica, 
and Jericho, and Nineveh, and Quag, and Patchog, 
and all those towns on Long Island which had been 
subdued of yore by the immortal StolTel Brinkcrhoff ; 
stirring up the valiant progeny of Preserved Fish, 
and Determined Cock, and those other illustrious 
squatters, to assail the city of New-Amsterdam by 
land. In the meanwhile, the hostile ships made aw- 
ful preparation to commence an assault by water. 

The streets of New-Amsterdam now presented a 
scene of wild dismay and consternation. In vain 
did the gallant Stuyvesant order the citizens to arm, 
and assemble in the public square or market-place. 
The whole party of Short Pipes in the course of a 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



637 



single nig-ht had changed into arrant old women — a 
metamorphosis only to be paralleled by the prodigies 
recorde':l by Livy as having happened at Rome on the 
approach ot Hannibal, when statues sweated in pure 
affright, goats were converted into sheep, and cocks 
turning into hens ran cackling about the streets. 

The harassed Peter, thus menaced from without, 
and tormented from within — baited by the burgo- 
masters, and hooted at by the rabble, chafed and 
growled and raged like a furious bear, tied to a stake 
and worried by a legion of scoundrel curs. Finding, 
however, that all further attempts to defend the city 
were vain, and hearing that an irruption of borderers 
and mosstroopers was ready to deluge liim from the 
east, he was at length compelled, in spite of his 
proud heart, which swelled in his throat until it had 
nearly choked him, to consent to a treaty of sur- 
render. 

Words cannot express the transports of the peo- 
ple, on receiving this agreeable intelligence; had 
they obtained a conquest over their enemies, they 
could not have indulged greater delight. The streets 
resounded with their congratulations — they e.\tolled 
their governor, as the father and deliverer of his 
country — they crowded to his house to testify their 
gratitude, and were ten times more noisy in their 
plaudits, than when he returned, with victory perched 
upon his beaver, from the glorious capture of Fort 
Christina. But the indignant Peter shut his doors 
and windows, and took refuge in the innermost re- 
cesses of his mansion, that he might not hear the ig- 
noble rejoicings of the rabble. 

In consequence of this consent of the governor, a 
parley was demanded of the besieging forces to treat 
of the terms of surrender. Accordingly, a deputa- 
tion of six commissioners was appointed on both 
sides; and on the 27th August, 1664, a capitulation 
highly favourable to the province, and honourable to 
Peter Sluyvesant, was agreed to by the enemy, who 
had conceived a high opinion of the valour of the 
Manhattoes, and the magnanimity and unbounded 
discretion of their governor. 

One thing alone remained, which was, that the ar- 
ticles of surrender should be ratified, and signed by 
the governor. When the commissioners respectfully 
waited upon him for this purpose, they were receiv- 
ed by the hardy old warrior with the most grim and 
bitter courtesy. His warlike accoutrements were 
laid aside — an old India night-gown was wrapped 
about his rugged limbs, a red night-cap overshadowed 
his frowning brow, and an iron gray bread, of three 
days' growth, gave additional grimness to his visage. 
Thrice did he seize a little worn-out stump of a pen, 
and essay to sign the loathsome paper — thrice did he 
clinch his teeth, and make a most horrible counte- 
nance, as though a pestiferous dose of rhubarb, senna, 
and ipecacuanha, had been offered to his lips ; at 
length, dashing it from him, he seized his brass-hiked 
sword, and jerking it from the scabbard, swore by St. 
Nicholas, he'd sooner die than yield to any povv'er 
under heaven. 

In vain was every attempt to shake this sturdy 
resolution — ^menaces, remonstrances, revilings, were 
exhausted to no purpose — for two whole days was 
the house of the valiant Peter besieged by the clam- 
orous rabble, and for two whole days did he partake 
himself to his arms, and persist in a magnanimous 
refusal to ratify the capitulation. 

At length the populace, finding that boisterous 
measures did but incense more determined opposi- 
tion, bethought themselves of an humble expedient, 
by which, happily, the governor's ire might be sooth- 
ed, and his resolution undermined. And now a 
solemn and mournful procession, headed by the bur- 
gomasters and schepens, and followed by the popu- 



lace, moves slowly to the governor's dwelling, bear- 
mg the capitulation. Here they found the stout old 
hero, drawn up like a giant in his castle, the doors 
strongly barricadoed, and himself in full regimentals, 
with his cocked hat on his head, firmly posted with 
a blunderbuss at the garret-window. 

There was something in this formidable position 
that struck even the ignoble vulgar with awe and ad- 
miration. The brawling multitude could not but 
reflect with self-abasement upon their own pusillani- 
mous conduct, when they beheld their hardy but de- 
serted old governor, thus faithful to his post, like a 
forlorn hope, and fully prepared to defend his un- 
grateful city to the last. These compunctions, how- 
ever, were soon overwhelmed by the recurring tide 
of public apprehension. The populace arranged 
themselves before the house, taking off their hats 
with most respectful humility. — Burgomaster Roer- 
back, who was of that popular class of orators de- 
scribed by Sallust as being " talkative rather than 
eloquent," stepped forth and addressed the governor 
in a speech of three hours' length ; detailing in the 
most pathetic terms the calamitous situation of the 
province, and urging him in a constant repetition of 
the same arguments and words to sign the capitula- 
tion. 

The mighty Peter eyed him from his little garret- 
window in grim silence — now and then his eye 
would glance over the surrounding rabble, and an 
indignant grin, like that of an angry mastiff, would 
mark his iron visage. But though he was a man of 
most undaunted mettle — though he had a heart as 
big as an ox, and a head that wo.ild have set adamant 
to scorn — yet after all he was a mere mortal : — 
wearied out by these repeated oppositions and this 
eternal haranguing, and perceiving that unless he 
complied, the inhabitants would follow their own in- 
clinations, or rather their fears, without waiting for 
his consent, he testily ordered them to hand up the 
paper. It was accordingly hoisted to him on the 
end of a pole, and having scrawled his name at the 
bottom of it, he anathematized them all for a set of 
cowardly, mutinous, degenerate poltroons — threw 
the capitulation at their heads, slammed down the 
window, and was heard stumping down stairs with 
the most vehement indignation. The rabble inconti- 
nently took to their heels ; even the burgomasters 
were not slow in evacuating the premises, fearing lest 
the sturdy Peter might issue from his den, and greet 
them with some unwelcome testimonial of his dis- 
pleasure. 

Within three hours after the surrender, a legion of 
British beef-fed warriors poured into New-Amster- 
dam, taking possession of the fort and batteries. 
And now might be heard from all quarters the sound 
of hammers, made by the old Dutch burghers, who 
were busily employed in nailing up their doors and 
windows, to protect their vrouws from these fierce 
barbarians, whom they contemplated in silent sul- 
Icnness from the garret-windows, as they paraded 
through the streets. 

Thus did Col. Richard Nichols, the commander 
of the British forces, enter into quiet possession of 
the conquered realm, as locion h-nens for the Duke 
of York. The victory was attended with no other 
outrage than that of changing, the name of the prov- 
ince and its metropolis, which thenceforth were de- 
nominated New-York, and so have continued to be 
called unto the present day. The inhabitants, ac- 
cording to treaty, were allowed to maintain quiet 
possession of their property ; but so inveterately did 
they retain their abhorrence of the British nation, 
that in a private meeting of the leading citizens, it 
was unanimously determined never to ask any of 
their conquerors to dinner. 



638 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER IX. 

CONTAINING THE DIGNIFIED RETIREMENT AND 
MORTAL SURRENDER OF PETER THE HEAD- 
STRONG. 

Thus, then, have I concluded this great historical 
enterprise ; but before 1 lay aside my weary pen, 
there yet remains to be performed one pious duty. 
If, among the variety of readers that may peruse this 
book, there should haply be found any of those souls 
of true nobility, which glow with celestial fire at the 
history of the generous and the brave, they will 
doubtless be anxious to know the fate of the gallant 
Peter Stuyvesant. To gratify one such sterling 
heart of gold, 1 would go more lengths than to in- 
struct the cold-blooded curiosity of a whole fraternity 
of philosophers. 

No sooner had that high-mettled cavalier signed 
the articles of capitulation, than, determined not to 
witness the humiliation of his favourite city, he 
turned his back on its walls, and made a growling 
retreat to his Bouiucry, or country-seat, which was 
situated about two miles off ; where he passed the 
remainder of his days in patriarchal retirement. 
There he enjoyed that tranquillity of mind which he 
had never known amid the distracting cares of gov- 
ernment ; and tasted the sweets of absolute and un- 
controlled authority, which his factious sulijects had 
so often dashed with the bitterness of opposition. 

No persuasions could ever induce him to revisit 
the city — on the contrary, he would always have his 
great arm-chair placed with its back to the windows 
which looked in that direction ; until a thick grove 
of trees, planted by his own hand, grew up and 
formed a screen that effectually excluded it from the 
prospect. He railed continually at the degenerate 
innovations and improvements introduced by the 
conquerors — forbade a word of their detested lan- 
guage to be spoken in his family — a prohibition read- 
ily obeyed, since none of the household could speak 
any thing but Dutch — and even ordered a fine ave- 
nue to be cut down in front of his house, because it 
consisted of English cherry-trees. 

The same incessant vigilance that blazed forth 
when he had a vast province under his care now 
showed itself with equal vigour, though in narrower 
limits. He patrolled with unceasing watchfulness 
around the boundaries of his little territory ; repelled 
every encroachment with intrepid promptness ; pun- 
ished every vagrant depredation upon his orchard or 
his farm-yard with inflexible severity — and conducted 
every stray hog or cow in triumph to the pound. 
But to the indigent neighbour, the friendless 
stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious doors 
were ever open, and his capacious fire-place, that 
emblem of his own warm and generous heart, had 
always a corner to receive and cherish them. There 
was an excejjtion to this, I must confess, in case the 
ill-starred applicant was an Englishman or a Yankee, 
to whom, though he might extend the hand of as- 
sistance, he never could be brought to yield the rites 
of hospitality. Nay, if peradventure some straggling 
merchant of the east should stop at his door, with 
his cart-load of tin-ware or wooden bowls, the fiery 
Peter would issue forth like a giant from his castle, 
and make such a furious clattering among his pots 
and kettles that the vender of "notions" was fain to 
betake himself to instant flight. 

His handsome suit of regimentals, worn thread- 
bare by the brush, was carefully hung up in the state 
bed-chamber, and regularly aired on the first fair 
day of every month —and his cocked hat and trusty 
sword were suspended in grim repose over the par- 
lour mantel-piece, forming supporters to a full-length 
portrait of the renowned Admiral Van Tromp. In 



his domestic empire he maintained strict discipline, 
and a well-organized, despotic government ; but, 
though his own will was the supreme law, yet the 
good of his subjects was his constant object. He 
watched over, not merely their immediate comforts, 
but their morals and their ultimate welfare ; for he 
gave them abundance of excellent admonition, nor 
could any of them complain, that, when occasion re- 
quired, he was by any means niggardly in bestowing 
wholesome correction. 

The good old Dutch festivals, those periodical 
demonstrations of an overflowing heart and a thank- 
ful spirit, which are falling into sad disuse among 
my fellow-citizens, were faithfully obsei'ved in the 
mansion of Governor Stuyvesant. New-year was 
truly a day of open-handed liberality, of jocund rev- 
elry, and warm-hearted congratulation — when the 
bosom seemed to swell with genial good-fellowship 
— and the plenteous table was attended with an un- 
ceremonious freedom, and honest, broad-mouthed 
merriment, unknown in these days of degeneracy and 
refinement. Pas and Pinxter were scrupulously ob- 
served throughout his dominions ; nor was the day 
of St. Nicholas suffered to pass by without making 
presents, hanging the stocking in the chimney, and 
complying with all its other ceremonies. 

Once a year, on the first day of April, he used to 
array himself in full regimentals, being the anniver- 
sary of his triumphal entry into New-Amsterdam, 
after the conquest of New-Sweden. This was al- 
ways a kind of saturnalia among the domestics, 
when they considered themselves at liberty, in some 
measure, to say and do what they pleased ; for on 
this day their master was always observed to un- 
bend, and become exceeding pleasant and jocose, 
sending the old gray-headed negroes on April fool's 
errands for pigeon's milk ; not one of whom but al- 
lowed himself to be taken in, and humoured his old 
master's jokes, as became a faithful and well-disci- 
plined dependant. Thus did he reign, happily and 
peacefully, on hisow'n land — injuring no man — envy- 
ing no man— molested by no outward strifes — per- 
plexed by no internal commotions ; and the mighty 
monarchs of the earth, who were vainly seeking to 
maintain peace, and promote the welfare of man- 
kind, by war and desolation, would have done well 
to have made a voyage to the little island of Manna- 
hata, and learned a lesson in government from the 
domestic economy of Peter Stuyvesant. 

In process of time, however, the old governor, like 
all other children of mortality, began to exhibit to- 
kens of decay. Like an aged oak, which, though it 
long has braved the fury of the elements, and still 
retains its gigantic proportions, yet begins to shake 
and groan with every blast — so was it with the gal- 
lant Peter; for, though he still bore the port and 
semblance of what he was in the days of his hardi- 
hood and chivalry, yet did age and infirmity begin to 
sap the vigour of his frame — but his heart, that most 
unconquerable citadel, still triumphed unsJbdued. 
With matchless avidity would he listen to every ar- 
ticle of intelligence concerning the battles between 
the English and Dutch — still would his pulse beat 
high, whenever he heard of the victories of De Ruy- 
ter — and his countenance lower, and his eyebrows 
knit, when fortune turned in favour of the English. 
At length, as on a certain day he had just smoked 
his fifth pipe, and was napping after dinner in his 
arm-chair, conquering the whole British nation in his 
dreams, he was suddenly aroused by a fearful ringing 
of bells, rattling of drums, and roaring of cannon, 
that put all his blood in a ferment. But when he 
learnt that these rejoicings were in honour of a 
great victory obtained by the combined English and 
French fleets over the brave De Ruyter and the 



A HISTORY OF NEW-YORK. 



G39 



younger Van Tromp, it went so much to his heart, 
that he took to his bed, and, in less than three days, 
was brought to death's door by a violent cliolera 
morbus ! But, even in this extremity, he still dis- 
played the unconquerable spirit of Peter the Head- 
strong : holding out, to the last gasp, with the most 
inflexible obstinacy, against a whole army of old 
women, who were bent upon driving the enemy out 
of his bowels, after a true Dutch mode of defence, 
by inundating the seat of war with catnip and pen- 
nyroyal. 

While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of dis- 
solution, news was brought him that the brave De 
Ruyter had suffered but little loss — had made good 
his retreat — and meant once more to meet the ene- 
my in battle. The closing eye of the old warrior 
kindled at the words — he partly raised himself in 
bed — a flash of martial fire beamed across his visage 
— he clenched his withered hand, as if he felt within 
his gripe that sword which waved in triumph before 
the walls of Fort Christina, and, giving a grim smile 
of exultation, sunk back upon his pillow and expired. 
Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier — a 
loyal subject — an upright governor, and an honest 
Dutchman — who wanted only a few empires to deso- 
late to have been immortalized as a hero. 

His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the ut- 
most grandeur and solemnity. The town was per- 
fectly emptied of its inhabitants, who crowded in 
ihrongs to pay the last sad honours to their good old 
jovernor. AU his sterling qualities rushed in full 
ude upon their recollections, while the memory of 
Us foibles and his faults had expired with him. The 
mcient burghers contended who should have the 
jrivilege of bearing the pall ; the populace strove 
Afho should walk nearest to the bier — and the mel- 
incholy procession was closed by a number of gray- 
leaded negroes, who had wintered and summered 
n the household of their departed master, for the 
jreater part of a century. 

With sad and gloomy countenances the multitude 
gathered around the grave. They dwelt with mourn- 
ul hearts on the sturdy virtues, the signal services, 
ind the gallant exploits of the brave old worthy. 
rhey recalled, with secret upbraidings, their own 
actious opposition to his government — and many an 
incient burgher, whose phlegmatic features had never 
jeen known to relax, nor his eyes to moisten, was 
low observed to puflf a pensive pipe, and the big 
irop to steal down his cheek — while he muttered, 
iVith affectionate accent, and melancholy shake of 
Jie head — " Well den ! — Hardkoppig Peter ben gone 
It last ! " 

His remains were deposited in the family vault, 
jnder a chapel, which he had piously erected on his 
estate, and dedicated to St. Nicholas — and which 
itood on the identical spot at present occupied by 
3t. Mark's church, where his tomb-stone is still to be 
>een. His estate, or Bouiuery, as it was called, has 
;ver continued in the possession of his descendants, 
who, by the uniform integrity of their conduct, and 
;heir strict adherence to the custoins and manners 
hat prevailed in the " good old times," have proved 
hemselves worthy of their illustrious ancestor. Many 
I time and oft has the farm been haunted, at night, 
3y enterprising money-diggers, in quest of pots of 
jold, said to have been buried by the old governor 
—though 1 cannot learn that any of them have ever 
aeen enriched liy their researches : and who is there, 
imong my native-born fellow-citizens, that does not 
emember, when, in the mischievous days of his boy- 
nood, he conceived it a great exploit to rob " Stuy- 
resant's orchard " on a holyday afternoon ? 

At this strong-hold of the family may still be seen 
certain memorials of the immortal Peter. His full- 



length portrait frowns in martial terrors from the 
parlour wall — his cocked hat and sword still hang 
up m the best bed-room — his bnmstone-coloured 
breeches were for a long while suspended in the hall, 
until some years since they occasioned a dispute be- 
tween a new married couple — and his silver-mounted 
wooden leg is still treasured up in the store-room 
as an invaluable relic. 



CHAPTER X. 



THE AUTHOR S REFLECTIONS UPON WHAT HAS 
BEEN SAID. 

Among the numerous events, which are each in 
their turn the most direful and melancholy of all pos- 
sible occurrences, in your interesting and authentic 
history, there is none that occasion such deep and 
heart-rending griet as the decline and fall of your re- 
nowned and mighty empires. Where is the reader 
who can contemplate, without emotion, the disastrous 
events by which the great dynasties of the world 
have been extinguished .' While wandering, in imagi- 
nation, among the gigantic ruins of states and em- 
pires, and marking the tremendous convulsions that 
wrought their overthrow, the bosom of the melan- 
choly inquirer swells with sympathy commensurate 
to the surrounding desolation. Kingdoms, principal- 
ities, and powers, have each had their rise, their pro- 
gress, and their downfall — each in its turn has sway- 
ed a potent sceptre — each has returned to its prime- 
val nothingness. And thus did it fare with the em- 
pire of their High Mightinesses, at the Manhattoes, 
under the peaceful reign of Walter the Doubter — 
the fretful reign of William the Testy — and the chiv- 
alric reign of Peter the Headstrong. 

Its history is fruitful instruction, and worthy of be- 
ing pondered over attentively ; for it is by thus rak- 
ing among the ashes of departed greatness, that the 
sparks of true knowledge are found, and the lamp 
of wisdom illumined. Let. then, the reign of Walter 
the Doubter warn against yielding to that sleek, con- 
tented security, that overweening fondness for com- 
fort and repose, that are produced by a state of pros- 
perity and peace. These tend to unnerve a nation ; 
to destroy its pride of character ; to render it patient 
of insult, deaf to the calls of honour and of justice ; 
and cause it to cling to peace, like the sluggard to 
his pillow, at the expense of every valuable duty and 
consideration. Such supineness insures the very evil 
from which it shrinks. One right, yielded up, pro- 
duces the usurpation of a second ; one encroach- 
ment, passively suffered, makes way for another ; and 
the nation that thus, through a doting love of peace, 
has sacrificed honour and interest, will at length have 
to fight for existence. 

Let the disastrous reign of William the Testy serve 
as a salutary warning against that fitful, feverish 
mode of legislation that acts without system ; de- 
pends on shifts and projects, and trusts to lucky con- 
tingencies ; that hesitates, and wavers, and at length 
decides with the rashness of ignorance and imbe- 
cility ; that stoops for popularity, by courting the 
prejudices and flattering the arrogance, rather than 
commanding the respect, of the rabble ; that seeks 
safety in a multitude of counsellors, and distracts 
itself by a variety of contradictory schemes and 
opinions ; that mistakes procrastination for deliber- 
ate wariness — hurry for decision — starveling parsi- 
mony for wholesome economy — bustle for business, 
and vapouring for valour ; that is violent in council, 
sanguine in expectation, precipitate in action, and 



640 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



feeble in execution ; that undertal<es enterprises 
without forethought, enters upon them without prep- 
aration, conducts them witliout energy, and ends 
them in confusion and defeat. 

Let the r^gn of the good Stuyvesant show the 
effects of vigour and decision, even when destitute 
of cool judgment, and surrounded by perplexities. 
Let it show how frankness, probity, and high-souled 
courage will command respect and secure honour, 
even where success is unattainable. But, at the same 
time, let it caution against a too ready reliance on 
the good faith of others, and a too honest confidence 
in the loving professions of powerful neighbours, 
who are most friendly when they most mean to be- 
tray. Let it teach a judicious attention to the opin- 
ions and wishes of the many, who, in times of peril, 
must be soothed and led, or apprehension will over- 
power the deference to authority. Let the empty 
wordiness of his factious subjects ; their intemperate 
harangues ; their violent " resolutions ;" their hector- 
ings against an absent enemy, and their pusillanimity 
on his approach, teach us to distrust and despise 
those clamorous patriots whose courage dwells but 
in the tongue. Let them serve as a lesson to repress 
that insolence of speech, destitute of real force, which 
too often breaks forth in popular bodies, and be- 
speaks the vanity rather than the spirit of a nation. 
Let them caution us against vaunting too much of 
our own power and prowess, and reviling a noble 
enemy. True gallantry of soul would always lead 
us to treat a foe with courtesy and proud punctilio ; 
a contrary conduct but takes from the merit of vic- 
tory, and renders defeat doubly disgraceful. 

But I cease to dwell on the stores of excellent ex- 
amples to be drawn from the ancient chronicles of 
the Manhattoes. He who reads attentively will dis- 
cover the tlireads of gold which run throughout the 
web of history, and are invisible to the dull eye of 
ignorance. But, before I conclude, let me point out 
a solemn warning, furnished in tlie subtle chain of 
events by which the capture of Fort Casimir has 
produced the present convulsions of our globe. 

Attend, then, gentle reader, to this plain deduction, 
which, if thou art a king, an emperor, or other pow- 
erful potentate, 1 advise thee to treasure up in thy 
heart — though little expectation have I that my 
work will fall into such hands, for well I know the 
care of crafty ministers, to keep all grave and edify- 
ing books of the kind out of the way of unhappy 
monarchs — lest peradventure they should read them 
and learn wisdom. 

By the treacherous surprisal of Fort Casimir, then, 
did the crafty Swedes enjoy a transient triumph ; 
but drew upon their heads the vengeance of Peter 
Stuyvesant, who wrested all New-Sweden from their 
hands. By the conquest of New-Sweden, Peter 
Stuyvesant aroused the claims of Lord Baltimore ; 
who appealed to the Cabinet of Great Britain ; who 
subdued the whole province of New-Netherlands. 
By this great achievement, the whole extent of North 
America, from Nova Scotia to the Floridas, was ren- 
dered one entire dependency upon the British crown 
— but mark the consequence : — The hitherto scat- 



tered colonies being thus consolidated, and having 
no rival colonies to check or keep them in awe, 
waxed great and powerful, and finally becoming too 
strong lor the mother country, were enabled to shake 
off its bonds, and by a glorious revolution became 
an independent empire. But the chain of efforts 
stopped not here ; the successful revolution in Amer- 
ica produced the sanguinary revolution in France, 
which produced the puissant Buonaparte, who pro- 
duced the French despotism, which has thrown the 
whole world in confusion ! — Thus have these great 
powers been successively punished for their ill-star- 
red conquests — and thus, as 1 asserted, have all the 
present convulsions, revolutions, and disasters that 
overwhelm mankind, originated in the capture of 
the little Fort Casimir, as recorded in this eventful 
history. 

And now, worthy reader, ere I take a sad farewell 
— which, alas ! must be for ever — willingly would I 
part in cordial fellowship, and bespeak thy kind- 
hearted remembrance. That I have not written a 
better 'history of the days of the patriarchs, is not 
my fault — had any other person written one as good, 
I should not have attempted it at all. That many 
will hereafter spring up and surpass me in excellence, 
I have very little doubt, and still less care ; well 
knowing, when the great Christovallo Colon (who is 
vulgarly called Columbus) had once stood his egg 
upon its end, every one at the table could stand his 
up a thousand times more dexterously. Should any 
reader find matter of offence in this history, I should 
heartily grieve, though I would on no account ques- 
tion his penetration by telling him he is mistaken — 
his good nature, by telling him he is captious — or 
his pure conscience, by telling him he is startled at 
a shadow. Surely if he is so ingenious in finding 
offence where none is intended, it were a thousand 
pities he should not be suffered to enjoy the benefit 
of his discovery. 

I have too high an opinion of the understanding 
of my fellow-citizens, to think of yielding them any 
instruction ; and I co.et too much then- good-will, 
to forfeit it by giving them good advice. I am none 
of those cynics who despise the world because it 
despises them — on the contrary, though but low in 
its regard, I look up to it with the most perfect 
good nature, and my only sorrow is, that it does not 
prove itself more worthy of the unbounded love I 
bear it. 

If, however, in this my historic production — the 
scanty fruit of a long and laborious life — 1 have failed 
to gratify the dainty palate of the age, I can only 
lament my misfortune — for it is too late in the sea- 
son for me even to hope to repair it. Already has 
withering age showered his sterile snows upon my 
brow ; in a little while, and this genial warmth, which 
still lingers around my heart, and throbs — -worthy 
reader — throbs kindly towards thyself, will be chilled 
for ever. Haply this frail compound ot dust, which 
while alive may have given birth to nought but un- 
profitable weeds, may form an humlile sod of the 
valley, from whence may spring many a sweet wild 
flower, to adorn by beloved island of Manna-hata 1 



SALMAGUNDI; 



OR, THE 
WHIM-WHAMS AND OPINIONS OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ., AND OTHERS.* 



In hoc est hoax, cum quiz et jokesez, 
Et smokem, toastem, roastem folksez, 

Fee, faw, fum. Psalmanazar. 

With baked, and broiled, and stewed, and toasted ; 
And fried, and boiled, and smoked, and roasted, 
We treat the town. 



VOLUME FIRST, 



No. I.— SATURDAY, JANUARY 24, 1807, 



As every body knows, or ought to know, what a 
Salmagundi is, we shall spare ourselves the trouble 
of an explanation — besides, we despise trouble as we 
do every thing that is low and mean ; and hold the 
man who would incur it unnecessarily, as an object 
worthy our highest pity and contempt. Neither will 
we puzzle our heads to give an account of ourselves, 
for two reasons; first, because it is nobody's busi- 
ness ; secondly, because if it were, we do not hold 
ourselves bound to attend to anybody's business but 
our own ; and even t/iat we take the liberty of neg- 
lecting when it suits our inclination. To these we 
might add a third, that very few men can give a tol- 
erable account of themselve^, let them try ever so 
hard ; but this reason, we candidly avow, would not 
hold good with ourselves. 

There are, however, two or three pieces of in- 
formation which we bestow gratis on the public, 
chiefly because it suits our own pleasure and con- 
venience that they should be known, and partly be- 
cause we do not wish that there should be any ill 
will between us at the commencement of our ac- 
quaintance. 

Our intention is simply to instruct the young, re- 
form the old, correct the town, and castigate the age ; 
this is an arduous task, and, therefore, we undertake 
it with confidence. We intend for this purpose to 
present a striking picture of the town ; and as every 
body is anxious to see his own phiz on canvas, how- 
ever stupid or ugly it may be, we have no doubt but 
the whole town will flock to our exhibition. Our 
jpicture will necessarily include a vast variety of fig- 
ures : and should any gentleman or lady be dis- 
pleased with the inveterate truth of their likenesses, 
jthey may ease their spleen by laughmg at those of 
their neighbours — this being what kv understand by 
POETICAL JUSTICE. 

Like all true and able editors, we consider our- 
selves infallible, and, therefore, with the customary 
diffidence of our brethren of the quill, we shall take 
the liberty of interfering in all matters either of a 
public or private nature. We are critics, amateurs, 
dillitanti, and cognoscenti ; and as we know " by the 
pricking of our thumbs," that every opinion which 
we may advance in either of those characters will be 
correct, we are determined, though it may be ques- 

* By William Irving, James Kirkc Paulding, and W.ishinglon 
rving. 

41 



tioned, contradicted, or even controverted, yet it 
shall never be revoked. 

We beg the public particularly to understand that 
we solicit no patronage. We are determined, on the 
contraiy, that the patronage shall be entirely on our 
side. We have nothing to do with the pecuniary 
concerns of the paper ; its success will yield us nei- 
ther pride nor profit — nor will its failure occasion to 
us either loss or mortification. We advise the pub- 
lic, therefore, to purchase our numbers merely for 
their own sakes : — if they do not, let them settle the 
affair with their consciences and posterity. 

To conclude, we invite all editors of newspapers 
and literary journals to praise us heartily in advance, 
as we assure them that we intend to deserve their 
praises. To our next-door neighbour " Town," we 
hold out a hand of amity, declaring to him that, af- 
ter ours, his paper will stand the best chance for im- 
mortality. We proffer an exchange of civilities ; he 
shall furnish us with notices of epic poems and to- 
bacco : — and we in return will enrich him with orig- 
inal speculations on all manner of subjects ; together 
with "the rummaging of my grandfather's mahog- 
any chest of drawers," "the life and amours of 
mine uncle John," "anecdotes of the Cockloft fam- 
ily," and learned quotations from that unheard-of 
writer of folios, Linkwn Fidehiis. 



PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 

This work will be published and sold by D. Long- 
worth. It will be printed on hot prest vellum paper, 
as that is held in highest estimation for buckling up 
young ladies' hair — a purpose to which similar works 
are usually appropriated ; it will be a small, neat 
duodecimo size, so that when enough numbers are 
written, it may form a volume sufficiently portable 
to be carried in old ladies' pockets and young ladies' 
work-bags. 

As the above work will not come out at stated pe- 
riods, notice will be given when another number will 
be fiuhlished. The price will depend on the size of 
the number, and must be paid on delivery. The 
publisher professes the same sublime contempt for 
money as his authors. The liberal patronage be- 
stowed by his discerning fellow-citizens on various 
works of taste which he has published, has left him 

iGtl) 



642 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



no inclination to ask for further favours at their 
hands ; and he publishes this work in the mere hope 
of requiting their bounty.* 



FROM THE ELBOW-CHAIR OF LAUNCE- 
LOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



We were a considerable time in deciding whether 
we should be at the pains of introducing ourselves 
to the public. As we care for nobody, and as we 
are not yet at the bar, we do not feel bound to hold 
up our hands and answer to our names. 

Willing, however, to gain at once that frank, con- 
fidential footing, which we are certain of ultimately 
possessing in this, doubtless, "best of all possible 
cities ; " and, anxious to spare its worthy inhabitants 
the trouble of making a thousand iiiise conjectures, 
not one of which would be worth a " tobacco-stop- 
per," we have thought it in some degree a necessary 
exertion of charitable condescension to furnish them 
with a slight clue to the truth. 

Before we proceed further, however, we advise ev- 
ery body, man, woman, and child, that can read, or 
get any friend to read for them, to purchase this pa- 
per : — not that we write for money ; — for, in common 
with all philosophical wiseacres, from Solomon down- 
wards, we hold it in supreme contempt. The public 
are welcome to buy this work, or not ; just as tliey 
choose. If it be purchased freely, so much the bet- 
ter for the public — and the publisher: — we gain not 
a stiver. If it be not purchased we give fair warn- 
ing — we shall burn all our essays, critiques, and epi- 
grams, in one promiscuous blaze ; and, like the books 
of the sybils, and the Alexandrian iibrar)', they will 
be lost for ever to posterity. For the sake, there- 
fore, of our publisher, for the sake of the public, and 
for the sake of the public's children, to the nine- 
teenth generation, we advise them to purchase our 
paper. We beg the respectable old matrons of this 
city, not to be alarmed at the appearance we make ; 
we are none of those outlandish geniuses who swarm 
in New-York, who live by their wits, or rather by the 
little wit of their neighbours ; and who spod the gen- 
uine honest American tastes of their daughters, with 
French slops and fricasseed sentiment. 

We have said we do not write for money ; — nei- 
ther do we write for fame : — we know too well the 
variable nature of public opinion to build our hopes 
upon it — we care not what the public think of us ; 
and we suspect, before we reach the tenth number, 
they will not know what to think of us. In two 
words —we write for no other earthly purpose but to 
please ourselves — and this we shall be sure of doing ; 
for we are all three of us determined beforehand to 
be pleased with what we write. If, in the course of 
this work, we edify and instruct and amuse the pub- 
lic, so much the better for the public : — but we 
frankly acknowledge that so soon as we get tired 
of reading our own works, we shall discontinue them 
without the least remorse ; whatever the public may 
think, of it. — While we continue to go on, we will go 
on merrily; if we moralize, it shall be but sel- 
dom ; and, on all occasions, we shall be more solicit- 
ous to make our readers laugh than cry ; for we are 
laughing philosophers, and clearly of opinion, that 
wisdom, true wisdom, is a plump, jolly dame, who 

* It was not originally the intention of the authors to insert the 
above address in the work ; but, unwilling that a tnorceau so pre- 
cious should be lost to posterity, they have been induced to alter 
their miads. This will account for any repetition of idea that may 
appear, in. the introductory essay. 



sits in her arm-chair, laughs right merrily at the 
farce of life— and takes the world as it goes. 

We intend particularly to notice the conduct of 
the fashionable world ; nor in this shall we be gov- 
erned by that carping spirit with which narrow- 
minded book-worm cynics squint at the little ex- 
travagancies of the ton ; but with that liberal tolera- 
tion which actuates every man of fashion. While 
we keep more than a Cerberus watch over the 
guardian rules of female delicacy and decorum — we 
shall not discourage any little sprightliness of de- 
meanour, or innocent vivacity of character. Before 
we advance one line further we must let it be under- 
stood, as our firm opinion, void of all prejudice or 
partiality, that the ladies of New- York are the fair- 
est, the finest, the most accomplished, the most be- 
witching, the most ineffable beings, that walk, creep, 
crawl, swim, fly, float, or vegetate in any or all of 
the four elements ; and that they only want to be 
cured of certain whims, eccentricities, and unseemly 
conceits, by our superintending cares, to render them 
absolutely perfect. They will, therefore, receive a 
large portion of those attentions directed to the fash- 
ionable world ; — nor will the gentlemen, who doze 
away their time in the circles of the haut-ton. escape 
our currying. We mean those stupid fellows who 
sit stock still upon their chairs, without saying a 
word, and then complain how damned stupid it was 

at Miss 's party. 

This department will be under the peculiar direc- 
tion and control of ANTHONY EVERGREEN, gent., 
to whom all communications on this subject are to 
be addressed. This gentleman, frorh his long expe- 
rience in the routine of balls, tea-parties, and assem- 
blies, is eminently qualified for the task he has under- 
taken. He is a kind of patriarch in the fashionable . 
world ; and has seen generation after generation 
pass away into the silent tomb of matrimony while 
he remains unchangeably the same. He can recount 
the amours and courtships of the fathers, mothers, 
uncles and aunts, and even the grandames, of all the 
belles of the present day ; provided their pedigrees 
extend so far back without being lost in obscurity. 
As, however, treating of pedigrees is rather an un- 
grateful task in this city, and as we mean to be per- 
fectly good-natured, he has promised to be cautious 
in this particular. He recollects perfectly the time 
when young ladies used to go sleigh-riding at night, 
without their mammas or grandmammas ; in short, 
without being matronized at all : and can relate a 
thousand pleasant stories about Kissing-bridge. He 
likewise remembers the time when ladies paid tea- 
visits at three in the afternoon, and returned before 
dark to see that the house was shut up and the serv- 
ants on duty. He has often played cricket in the 
orchard in the rear of old Vauxhall, and remembers 
when the BuU'.s-head was quite out of town. Though 
he was slowly and gradually given into modern fish- 
ions, and still flourishes in the bcau-mondc, yet he 
seems a little prejudiced in favour of the dress and 
manners of the old school ; and his chief commenda- 
tion of a new mode is " that it is the same good old 
fashion we had before the war." It has cost us 
much trouble to make him confess that a cotillion is 
superior to a minuet, or an unadorned crop to a pig- 
tail and powder. Custom and fashion h.ave, how- 
ever, had more effect on him than all our lectures; 
and he tempers, so happily, the grave and ceremo- 
nious gallantry of the old school with the " hail fel- 
low " familiarity of the new, that, we trust, on a 
little acquaintance, and making allowance for his 
old-fashioned prejudices, he will become a veiy con- 
siderable favourite with our readers ; — if not, the ■ 
worse for themselves ; as they will ha\'e to endure 
his company. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



643 



In the territory of criticism, William Wizard, 
Esq., lias undertaken to preside ; and thougii we 
ni.ay all dabble in it a little by turns, yet we have 
willingly ceded to him all discretionary powers in 
this respect, though Will has not had the advantage 
of an education at Oxford or Cambridge, or even at 
Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, and though he is but little 
versed in Hebrew, yet we have no doulit he will be 
found fully competent to the undertaking. He has 
improved his taste by a long residence abroad, par- 
ticularly at Canton, Calcutta, and the gay and pol- 
ished court of Hayti. He has also had an oppor- 
tunity of seeing the best singing-girls and tragedians 
of China, is a great connoisseur in mandarine 
dresses, and porcelain, and particularly values him- 
self on his intimate knowledge of the buffalo, and 
war dances of the northern Indians. He is likewise 
promised the assistance of a gentleman, lately from 
London, who was born and bred in that centre of 
science and bongouty the vicinity of Fleetmarket, 
where he has been edified, man and boy, these si.x- 
and-twenty years, with the harmonious jingle of 
Bow-bells. His taste, therefore, has attained to such 
an exquisite pitch of refinement that there are few 
exhibitions of any kind which do not put him in a 
fever. He has assured Will, that if Mr. Cooper em- 
phasises " and" instead of " biii" — or Mrs. Oldmixon 
pins her kerchief a hair's breadth awry — or Mrs. 
Darley offers to dare to look less than the " daughter 
of a senator of \'enice " — the standard of a senator's 
daughter being exactly six feet — they shall all hear 
of it in good time. We have, however, advised Will 
Wizard to keep his friend in check, lest by opening 
the eyes of the public to the wretchedness of the 
actors by whom they have hitherto been entertained, 
he might cut off one source of amusement from our 
fcllow-citiztns. We hereby give notice, that we have 
taken the whole corps, from the manager in his 
mantle of gorgeous copper-lace, to honest John in his 
green coat and black breeches, under our wing — and 
wo be unto him who injures a hair of their heads. As 
we have no design against the patience of our fellow- 
citizens, we shall not dose them with copious 
draughts of theatrical criticism ; we well know that 
they have already been well physicked with them of 
late ; our theatrics shall take up but a small part of 
our paper ; nor shall they be altogether confined to 
the stage, but extend from time to time, to those 
incorrigible offenders against the peace of society, 
the stage-critics, who not unfrequently create the 
fault they find, in order to yield an opening for their 
witticisms — censure an actor for a gesture he never 
made, or an emphasis he never gave ; and, in their 
attempt to show off ne^u readings, make the sweet 
swan of Avon cackle like a goose. If any one should 
feel himself offended by our remarks, let him attack 
us in return — we shall not wince from the combat. 
If his passes be successful; we will be the first to cry 
out, a hit I a hit ! and we doubt not we shall fre- 
quently lay ourselves open to the weapons of our as- 
sailants. But let them have a care how they run a 
tilting with us — they have to deal with stubborn foes, 
who can bear a world of pummeling; we will be re- 
lentless in our vengeance, and will fight " till from 
our bones the tlesh be hackt." 

What other subjects we shall include in the rangeof 
our observations, we have not determined, or rather 
we shall not trouble ourselves to detail. The public 
have already more information concerning us, than 
we intended to impart. We owe them no favours, 
neither do wc ask any. We again advise them, for 
their own sakes, to read our papers when they come 
out. We recommend to all mothers to purchase 
them for their daughters, who will be taught the 
true line of proprietj', and the most advisable method 



of managing their beaux. We advise all daughters 
to purchase them for the sake of their mothers, who 
shall be initiated into the arcana of the bon ton, and 
cured of all those rusty old notions which they ac- 
quired during the last century : parents shall be 
taught how to govern their children, girls how to 
get husbands, and old maids how to do without 
ihem. 

As w'e do not measure our wits by the yard or 
the bushel, and as they do not flow periodically nor 
constantly, we shall not restrict our paper as to size 
or the time of its appearance. It will be published 
whenever we have sufficient matter to constitute a 
number, and the size of the number shall depend on 
the stock in hand. This will best suit our negligent 
habits, and leave us that full liberty and independ- 
ence which is the joy and pride of our souls. As we 
have before hinted, that we do not concern ourselves 
about the pecuniary matters of our paper, we leave 
its price to be regulated by our publisher, only rec- 
ommending him for his own interest, and the 
honour of his authors, not to sell their invaluable 
productions too chea|). 

Is there any one who wishes to know more about 
us .' — let him read Salmagundi, and grow wise 
apace. Thus much we will say — there are three of 
us, "Bardolph, Peto, and 1," all townsmen good 
and true ; — many a time and oft have we three 
amused the town W'ithout its knowing to whom it 
was indebted ; and many a tmie have we seen the 
midnight lamp twinkle faintly on our studious phizes, 
and heard the morning salutation of " past three 
o'clock," before we sought our pillows. The result 
of these midnight studies is now offered to the pub- 
lic ; and little as we care for the opinion of this ex- 
ceedingly stupid world, we shall take care, as far as 
lies in our careless natures, to fulfil the promises 
made in this introduction ; if we do not, we shall 
have so many examples to justify us, that we feel 
little solicitude on that account. 



THEATRICS. 



containing the quintessence of modern 
criticism. by william wizard, esq. 



Macbeth was performed to a very crowded 
house, and much to our satisfaction. As, how- 
ever, our neighbour Town has been very volu- 
minous already in his criticisms on this play, we 
shall make but few remarks. Having never seen 
Kemble in this character, we are absolutely at a 
loss to say whether Mr. CoOPER performed it well 
or not. We think, however, there was an error in 
his costume, as the learned Linkum Fidelius is of 
opinion, that in the time of Macbeth the Scots did 
not wear sandals, but wooden shoes. Macbeth also 
was noted for wearing his jacket open, that he 
might play the Scotch fiddle more conveniently ; — 
that being an hereditary accomplishment in the 
Glamis lamily. 

We have seen this character performed in China 
by the celebrated Chow-Chow, the Roscius of that 
great empire, who in the dagger scene always elec- 
trified the audience by blowing his nose like a trump- 
et. Chow-Chow, in compliance with the opinion 
of the sage Linkum Fidelius, performed Macbeth in 
wooden shoes ; this gave him an opportunity of pro- 
ducing great effect, for on first seeing the " air-dr.awn 
dagger," he always cut a prodigious high caper, and 
kicked his shoes into the pit at the heads of the crit- 



644 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ics ; whereupon the audience were marvellously de- 
lighted, flourished their hands, and stroked their 
whiskers three times, and the matter was carefully 
recorded i'l the next number of a paper called the 
flim flatit. {English — town. ) 

We were much pleased with Mrs. ViLLIERS in 
Lady MACBETH : but we think she would have given 
a greater effect to the night-scene, if, instead of hold- 
ing the candle in her hand or setting it down on the 
table, which is sagaciously censured by neighbour 
Town, she had stuck it in her night-cap. This would 
have been extremely picturesque, and would have 
inarked more strongly the derangement of her mind. 

Mrs. ViUiers, however, is not by any means large 
enough for the character ; Lady Macbeth having 
been, in our opinion, a woman of extraordinary size, 
and of the race of the giants, notwithstanding what 
she says of her "little hand" — which being said in 
her sleep, passes for nothing. We should be happy to 
see this character in the hands of the lady who played 
Glumdalca, queen of the giants, in Tom Thumb ; 
she is exactly of imperial dimensions ; and, provided 
she is well shaved, of a most interesting physiogno- 
my : as she appears likewise to be a lady of some 
nerve, I dare engage she will read a letter about 
witches vanishing in air, and such common occur- 
rences, without being unnaturally surprised, to the 
annoyance of honest "Town." 

We are happy to observe that Mr. Cooper profits 
by the instructions of friend Town, and does not dip 
the daggers in blood so deep as formerly by a matter 
of an inch or two. This was a violent outrage upon 
our immortal bard. We differ with Mr. Town in his 
reading of the words " this is a sorry sight." We 
are of opinion the force of the sentence should be 
thrown on the word sight, because Macbeth, having 
been shorJy before most confoundedly humbugged 
with an aerial dagger, was in doubt whether the 
daggers actually in his hands were real, or whether 
they were not mere shadows, or as the old English 
may have termed it, syghtes ; (this, at any rate, will 
establish our skill in new readings.) Though we 
differ in this respect from our neighbour Town, yet 
we heartily agree with him in censuring Mr. Cooper 
for omitting that passage so remarkable for " beauty 
of imagery," &c., beginning with "and pity, like a 
naked, new-born babe," &c. It is one of those pas- 
sages of Shakspeare which should always be re- 
tained, for the purpose of showing how sometimes 
that great poet could talk like a buzzard ; or, to 
speak more plainly, like the famous mad poet Nat 
Lee. 

As it is the first duty of a friend to advise — and as 
we profess and do actually feel a friendship for hon- 
est "Town" — we warn him, never in his criticisms 
to meddle with a lady's " petticoats," or to quote 
Nic Bottom. In the first instance he may " catch a 
tartar ;" and in the second, the ass's head may rise 
up in judgment against him; and when it is once 
afloat there is no knowing where some unlucky hand 
may place it. We would not, lor all the money in our 
pockets, see Town flourishing his critical quill under 
the auspices of an ass's head, like the great Franklin 
in his Monterio Cap. 



NEW-YORK ASSEMBLY. 

BY -INTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

The assemblies this year have gained a great ac- 
cession of beauty. Several brilliant stars have arisen 
from the east and from the north to brighten the 



firmament of fashion ; among the number I have 
discovered another planet, which rivals even Venus 
in lustre, and 1 claim equal honour with Herschel for 
my discovery. I shall take some future opportunity 
to describe this planet, and the numerous satellites 
which revolve around it. 

At the last assembly the company began to make 
some show about eight, but the most fashionable 
delayed their appearance until about nine — nine be- 
ing the number of the muses, and therefore the best 
possible hour for beginning to exhibit the graces. 
(This is meant for a pretty play upon words, and I 
assure mv readers that I think it very tolerable.) 

Poor Will Honeycomb, whose memory I hold 
in special consideration, even with his half century 
ot experience, would have been puzzled to point out 
the humours of a lady by her prevailing colours ; 
for the " rival queens " of fashion, Mrs. Toole and 
Madame Bouchard, appeared to have exhausted 
their wonderful inventions in the different disposi- 
tion, variation, and combination of tints and shades. 
The philosopher who maintained that black was 
white, and that of course there was no such colour 
as white, might have given some colour to his theory 
on this occasion, by the absence of poor forsaken 
white muslin. I was, however, much pleased to see 
that red maintains its ground against all other col- 
ours, because red is the colour of Mr. Jefferson's 
******, Tom Paine's nose, and my slippers. 

Let the grumbling smcllfungi of this world, who 
cultivate taste among books, cobwebs, and spiders, 
rail at the extravagance of the age ; for my part, I 
was delighted with the magic of the scene, and as 
the ladies tripped through the mazes of the dance, 
sparkling and glowing and dazzling, I, like the hon- 
est Chinese, thanked them heartily for the jewels 
and finery with which they loaded themselves, merely 
for the entertainment of by-standers, and blessed 
my stars that I was a bachelor. 

The gentlemen were considerably numerous, and 
being as usual equipt in their appropriate black uni- 
forms, constituted a sable regiment which contrib- 
uted not a little to the brilliant gayety of the ball- 
room. I must confess I am indebted for this remark 
to our friend, the cockney, Mr. 'Sbidlikensflash. 
or ' Sbidlikens, as he is called for shortness. He is a 
fellow of infinite verbosity — stands in high favour — 
with himself — and, like Caleb Ouotem, is " up to 
evei7 thing-." I remember when a comfortable, 
plump-looking citizen led into the room a fair dam- 
sel, who looked for all the world like the personifica- 
tion of a rainbow : 'Sbidlikens observed that it re- 
minded him of a fable, which he had read some- 
where, of the marriage of an honest, painstaking 
snail ; who had once walked six feet in an hour for a 
wager, to a butterfly whom he used to gallant by the 
elbow, with the aid of much puffing and exertion. 
On being called upon to tell where he had come 
across this story, 'Sbidlikens absolutely refused to 
answer. 

It would but be repeating an old story to say, that 
the ladies of New-York dance well ; — and well may 
they, since they learn it scientifically, and begin their 
lessons before they have quit their swaddling clothes. 
The immortal DUPORT has usurped despotic sway 
overall the female heads and heels in this city; — 
hornbooks, primers, and pianoes are neglected to 
attend to his positions ; and poor CHILTON, with his 
pots and kettles and chymical crockery, finds him a 
more potent enemy than the whole collective force 
of the " North River Society." 'Sbidlikens insists 
that this dancing mania will inevitably continue as 
long as a dancing-master will charge the fashionable 
price of five-and-twenty dollars a quarter and all the 
other accomplishments are so vulgar as to be attain- 



SALMAGUNDI. 



645 



able at " half the money;" — but I put no faith in 
'SbidliUens' candour in tliis particular. Among' his 
infinitude of endowments lie is but a poor proficient 
in dancing; and though he often flounders through 
a cotillion, yet he never cut a pigeon-wing in his 
life. 

In my mind there's no position more positive and 
unexceptionable than that most Frenchmen, dead or 
alive, are born dancers. I came pounce upon this 
discovery at the assembly, and I immediately noted 
it down in my register of indisputable facts : — the 
public shall know all about it. As I never dance 
cotillions, holding them to be monstrous distorters 
of the human frame, and tantamount in their opera- 
tions to being broken and dislocated on the wheel, I 
generally take occasion, while they are going on, to 
make my remarks on the company. In the course 
of these observations I was struck with the energy 
and eloquence of sundry limbs, which seemed to be 
flourishing about without appertaining to any body. 
After much investigation and difficulty, I at length 
traced them to their respective owners, whom I 
tound to be all Frenchmen to a man. Art may have 
meddled somewhat in these affairs, but nature cer- 
tainly did more. I have since been considerably em- 
ployed in calculations on this subject ; and by the 
most accurate computation I have determined that 
a Frenchman passes at least three- fifths of his time 
between the heavens and the earth, and partakes 
eminently of the nature of a gossamer or soap-bubble. 
One of these jack-o'-lantern heroes, in taking a figure 
which neither Euclid or Pythagoras himself could 
demonstrate, unfortunately wound himself — I mean 
his feet, his better part — into a lady's cobweb mus- 
lin robe ; but perceiving it at the instant, he set 
himself a spinning the other way, like a top, unrav- 
velled his step without omitting one angle or curve, 
and extricated himself without breaking a thread of 
the lady's dress ! he then sprung up, like a sturgeon, 
crossed his feet four times, and finished this wonder- 
ful evolution by quivering his left leg, as a cat does 
her paw when she has accidentally dipped it in wa- 
ter. No man "of woman born," who was not a 
Frenchman or a mountebank, could have done the 
like. 

Among the new faces, I remarked a blooming 
nymph, who has brought a Iresh supply of roses 
from the country to adorn the wreath of beauty, 
where lilies too much predominate. As I wish well 
to every sweet face under heaven, I sincerely hope 
her roses may survive the frosts and dissipations of 
winter, and lose nothing by a comparison with the 
loveliest offerings of the spring. 'Sbidlikens, to 
whom I made similar remarks, assured me that they 
were very just, and very prettily e.xprest ; and that 
the lady in question was a prodigious fine piece of 
flesh and blood. Now could I find it in my heart to 
baste these cockneys like their own. roast-beef — they 
can make no distinction between a fine woman and 
a fine horse. 

1 would praise the sylph-like grace with which 
another young lady acquitted herself in the dance, 
but that she excels in far more valuable accomplish- 
ments. Who praises the rose for its beauty, even 
though it is beautiful. 

The company retired at the customary hour to the 
supper-room, where the tables were laid out with 
their usual splendour and profusion. My friend, 
'Sbidlikens, with the native forethought of a cockney, 
had carefully stowed his pocket with cheese and 
crackers, that he might not be tempted again to 
venture his limbs in the crowd of hungry fair ones 
who throng the supper-room door ; his precaution 
was unnecessary, for the company entered the room 
with surprising order and decorum. No gowns were 



torn — no ladies fainted — no noses bled — nor was 
there any need of the interference of either mana- 
gers or peace officers. 



No. II.— WEDNESDAY, FEB'Y 4, iSoy. 

FROM THE ELBOW-CH.AIR OF LAUNCELOT LANG- 
STAFF, ESQ. 



In the conduct of an epic poem, it has been the 
custom, from time immemorial, for the poet occa- 
sionally to introduce his reader to an intimate ac- 
quaintance with the heroes of his story, by conduct- 
ing him into their tents, and giving him an opportu- 
nity of observing them in their night-gown and slip- 
pers. However I despise the servile genius that 
would descend to follow a precedent, though fur- 
nished by Homer himself, and consider him as on a 
par with the cart that follows at the heels of the 
horse, without ever taking the lead, yet at the pres- 
ent moment my whim is opposed to my opinion ; 
and whenever this is the case, my opinion generally 
surrenders at discretion. I am determined, there- 
fore, to give the town a peep into our divan; and I 
shall repeat it as often as I please, to show that I 
intend to be sociable. 

The other night Will Wizard and Evergreen 
called upon me, to pass away a few hours in social 
chat and hold a kind of council of war. To give a 
zest to our evening I uncorked a bottle of London 
particular, which has grown old with myself, and 
which never fails to excite a smile in the counte- 
nances of my old cronies, to whom alone it is de- 
voted. After some little time the conversation 
turned on the effect produced by our first number; 
every one had his budget of information, and I as- 
sure my readers that we laughed most unceremo- 
niously at their expense ; they will excuse us for our 
merriment — 'tis a way we've got. Evergreen, who 
is equally a favourite and companion of young and 
old, was particularly satisfactory in his detads ; and 
it was highly amusing to hear how different charac- 
ters were tickled with different passages. Theoldtbiks . 
were delighted to find there was a bias in our junto 
towards the " good old times ;" and he particularly 
noticed a worthy old gentleman of his acquaintance, 
who had been somewhat a beau in his day, whose 
eyes brightened at the bare mention of Kissing- 
bridge. It recalled to his recollection several of his 
youthful exploits, at that celebrated pass, on which 
he seemed to dwell with great pleasure and selt- 
complacency ; — he hoped, he said, that the bridge 
might be preserved for the benefit of posterity, and 
as a monument of the gallantry of their grand- 
fathers ; and even hinted at the expediency of erect- 
ing a toll-gate there, to collect the forfeits of the 
ladies. But the most flattering testimony" of appro- 
bation, which our work has received, was from an 
old lady, who never laughed but once in her life, and 
that was at the conclusion of the last war. She was 
detected by friend Anthony in the very fact of laugh- 
ing most obstreperously at the description of the 
little dancing Frenchman. Now it glads my very 
heart to find our eftusions have such a pleasing ef- 
fect. I venerate the aged, and joy whenever it is in 
my power to scatter a few flowers in their path. 

The young people were particularly interested in 
the account of the assembly. There was some dif- 
ference of opinion respecting the new planet, and 
the blooming nymph from the country; but as to 



GIG 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the compliment paid to the fascinating little sylph 
who danced so gracefully — ^every lady modestly took 
that to herself 

Evergreen mentioned also that the young ladies 
were extremely anxious to learn the true mode of 
managing their beaux; and Miss Diana Wear- 
well, who is as chaste as an icicle, has seen a few 
superfluous winters pass over her head, and boasts 
of having slain her thousands, wished to know how 
old maids were to do without husbands; — not that 
she was very curious about the matter, she " only 
asked for information." Several ladies expressed 
their earnest desire that we would not spare those 
wooden gentlemen who perform the parts of mutes, 
or stalking horses, in their drawing-rooms ; and 
their mothers were equally anxious that he would 
show no quarter to those lads of spirit, who now 
and then cut their bottles to enliven a tea-party with 
the humours of the dinner-table. 

Will Wizard was not a little chagrined at having 
been mistaken for a gentleman, " who is no more 
like me," said Will, "than I like Hercules." — "1 
was well assured," continued Will, "that as our 
characters were drawn from nature, the originals 
would be found in every society. And so it has hap- 
pened — every little circle has its 'Sbidlikens ; and the 
cockney, intended merely as the representative of 
his species, has dwindled into an insignificant indi- 
vidual, who having recognised his own likeness, has 
foolishly appropriated to himself a picture for which 
he never sat. Such, too, has been the case with 
Ding-dong, who has kindly undertaken to be my 
representative ; — not that I care much about the 
matter, for it must be acknowledged that the animal 
is a good animal enough ; — and what is more, a 
fashionable animal — and this is saying more than to 
call him a conjurer. But, I am much mistaken it 

he can claim any affinity to the IVizard family. 

Surely every body knows Ding-dong, the gentle 
Ding-dong, who pervades all space, who is here and 
there and every where ; no tea-party can be com- 
plete without Ding-dong — and his appearance is 
sure to occasion a smile. Ding-dong has been the 
occasion of much wit in his day ; I have even seen 
many whipsters attempt to be dull at his expense, 
who were as much inferior to him as the gad-fly is 
to the ox that he buzzes about. Does any witling 
want to distress the company with a miserable pun .'' 
nobody's name presents sooner than Ding-dong's ; 
and it has been played upon with equal skill and 
equal entertainment to the by-standers as Trinity- 
bells. Ding-dong is profoundly devoted to the ladies, 
and highly entitled to their regard ; for I know no man 
who makes a better bow, or talks less to the purpose 
than Ding-dong. Ding-dong has acquired a pro- 
digious fund of knowledge by reading Dilworth when 
a boy ; and the other day, on being asked who was 
the author of Macbeth, answered, without the least 
hesitation — Shakspeare ! Ding-dong has a quota- 
tion for every day of the year, and every hour of the 
day, and every minute of the hour ; but he often 
commits petty larcenies on the poets — plucks the 
gray hairs of old Chaucer's head, and claps them on 
the chin of Pope; and filches Johnson's wig, to 
cover the bald pate of Homer;— but his blunders pass 
undetected by one-half of his hearers. Ding-dong, 
it is true, though he has long wrangled at our bar, 
cannot boast much of his legal knowledge, nor does 
his forensic eloquence entitle him to rank with a 
Cicero or a Demosthenes ; but bating his profes- 
sional deficiencies, he is a man of most delectable 
discourse, and can hold forth lor an hour upon the 
colour of a riband or the construction of a work-bag. 
Ding-dong is now in his fortieth year, or perhaps a 
little more — rivals all the little beaux in the town, in 



his attentions to the ladies — is in a state of rapid 
improvement ; and there is no doubt but that by the 
time he arrives at years of discretion, he will be a 
very accomplished, agreeable young fellow." — I ad- 
vise all clever, good-for-nothing, " learned and au- 
thentic gentlemen," to take care how they wear this 
cap, however well it fits ; and to bear in mind, that 
our characters are not individuals, but species : if, 
after this warning, any person chooses to represent 
Mr. Ding-dong, the sin is at his own door ; — we 
wash our hands of it. 

We all sympathized with Wizard, that he should 
be mistaken for a person so very different ; and I 
hereby assure my readers, that William Wizard is no 
other person in the whole world but William Wizard ; 
so I beg I may hear no more conjectures on the sub- 
ject. Will is, in fact, a wiseacre by inheritance. 
The Wizard family has long been celebrated for 
knowing more than their neighbours, particularly 
concerning their neighbours' affairs. They were 
anciently called Josselin ; but Will's great uncle, 
by the father's side, having been accidentally burnt 
for a witch in Connecticut, in consequence of blow- 
ing up his ov/n house in a philosophical experiment, 
the family, in order to perpetuate the recollection of 
this memorable circumstance, assumed the name and 
arms of Wizard ; and have borne them ever since. 

In the course of my customary morning's walk, I 
stopped in a book-store, which is noted for being the 
favourite haunt of a number of literati, some of whom 
rank high in the opinion of the world, and others 
rank equally high in their own. Here I found a knot 
of queer fellows listening to one of their company, 
who was reading our paper ; I particularly noticed 
Mr. ICHABOD Fungus among the number. 

Fungus is one of those fidgeting, meddling quid- 
nuncs, with which this unhappy city is pestered : one 
of your " Q in a corner fellows," who speaks volumes 
with a wink ; — conveys most portentous information, 
by laying his finger beside his nose, — and is always 
smelling a rat in the most trifling occurrence. He 
listened to our work with the most frigid gravity — 
every now and then gave a mysterious shrug — a 
humph — or a screw of the mouth ; and on being 
asked his opinion at the conclusion, said, he did not 
know what to think of it ; — he hoped it did not mean 
any thing against the government — that no lurking 
treason was couched in all this talk. These were 
dangerous times — times of plot and conspiracy ; he 
did not at all like those stars after Mr. Jefferson's 
name, they had an air of concealment. DiCK. PAD- 
DLE, who was one of the group, undertook our cause. 
Dick is known to the world, as being a most know- 
ing genius, who can see as far as any body — into a 
millstone ; maintains, in the teeth of all arginnent, 
that a spade is a spade ; and will labour a good half 
hour by St. Paul's clock, to establish a self-evident 
fact. Dick assured old Fungus, that those stars 
merely stood for Mr. Jefferson's red what-tl've-ccill- 
'eins ; and that so far from a conspiracy against their 
peace and prosperity, the authors, whom he knew 
very well, were only expressing their high respect for 
them. The old man shook his head, shrugged his 
shoulders, gave a mysterious Lord Burleigh nod, said 
he hoped it might be so ; but he was by no means 
satisfied with this attack upon the President's breech- 
es, as " thereby hangs a tale." 



MR. WILSON'S CONCERT. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 



In my register of indisputable facts I have noted 
it conspicuously that all modern music is but the 



SALMAGUNDI. 



647 



mere dregs and draining of the ancient, and that all 
the spirit and vigour of harmony has entirely evapo- 
rated in the lapse of ages. Oh ! for the chant of the 
Naiades, and Dryades, the shell of the Tritons, and 
the sweet warblings of the Mermaids of ancient days ! 
where now shall we seek the Amphion, who built 
walls with a turn of his hurdy-gurdy, the Orpheus 
who made stones to whistle about his ears, and trees 
hop in a country dance, by the mere quavering of his 
fiddle-stick ! ah ! had 1 the power of the former how 
soon would I build up the new City-Hall, and save 
the cash and credit of the Corporation ; and how 
much sooner would I build myself a snug house in 
Broadway : — nor would it be the first time a house 
has been obtained there for a song. In my opinion, 
the Scotch bag-pipe is the only instrument that rivals 
the ancient lyre ; and 1 am surprised it should be 
almost the only one entirely excluded from our con- 
certs. 

Talking of concerts reminds me of that given a few 
nights since by Mr. WiLSON ; at which I had the 
misfortune of being present. It was attended by a 
numerous company, and gave great satisfaction, if I 
may be allowed to judge from the frequent gapings 
of the audience ; though I will not risk my credit as 
a connoisseur, by saying whether they proceeded 
from wonder or a violent inclination to doze. I was 
delighted to find in the mazes of the crowd, my par- 
ticular friend Snivers, who had put on his cognos- 
centi phiz — he being, according to his own account, 
a profound adept in the science of music. He can 
tell a crochet at first sight ; and, like a true English- 
man, is delighted with the plum-pudding rotundity 
of a semibref; and, in short, boasts of having incon- 
tinently climbed up Faff 's musical tree, which hangs 
every day upon the poplar, from the fundamental 
concord, to tlie fundamental major discord; and so 
on from branch to branch, until he reached the very 
top, where he sung " Rule Britannia," clapped his 
wnigs, and then — came down again. Like all true 
traiis-atlantic judges, he suffers most horribly at our 
musical entertainments, and assures me, that what 
with the confounded scraping, and scratching, and 
grating of our fiddlers, he thinks the sitting out one 
of our concerts tantamount to the punishment of that 
unfortunate saint, who was frittered in two with a 
hand-saw. 

The concert was given in the tea-room, at the 
City-Hotel ; an apartment admirably calculated, by 
its dingy walls, beautifully marbled with smoke, to 
show off the dresses and complexions of the ladies ; 
and by the flatness of its ceiling to repress those im- 
pertinent reverberations of the music, which, what- 
ever others may foolishly assert, are, as Snivers says, 
" no better than repetitions of old stories." 

Mr. Wilson gave me infinite satisfaction by the 
gentility of his demeanour, and the roguish looks he 
now and then cast at the ladies, but we fear his ex- 
cessive modesty threw him into some little confusion, 
for he absolutely forgot himself, and in the whole 
course of his entrances, and exits, never once made 
his bow to the audience. On the whole, however, I 
think he has a fine voice, sings with great taste, and 
is a very modest, good-looking little man ; but I beg 
leave to repeat the advice so often given by the il- 
lustrious tenants of the theatrical sky-parlour, to the 
gentlemen who are charged with the " nice conduct " 
of chairs and tables — " make a bow, Johnny — Johnny, 
make a bow ! " 

I cannot, on this occasion, but express my surprise 
that certain amateurs should be so frequently at con- 
certs, considering what agonies they suffer while a 
piece of music is playing. I defy any man of com- 
mon humanity, and wdio has not the heart of a Choc- 
taw, to contemplate the countenance of one of these 



unhappy victims of a fiddle-stick without feeling a 
sentiment of compassion. His whole visage is dis- 
torted ; he rolls up his eyes, as M'Sycophant says, 
" like a duck in thunder," and the music seems to 
operate upon him like a fit of the cholic : his very 
bowels seem to sympathize at every twang of the 
cat-gut, as if he heard at that moment the wailings 
of the helpless animal that had been sacrificed to 
harmony. Nor does the hero of the orchestra seem 
less affected : as soon as the signal is given, he seizes 
his fiddle-stick, makes a most horrible grimace, 
scowls fiercely upon his music-book, as though he 
would grin every crotchet and quaver out of counte- 
nance. I have sometimes particularly noticed a 
hungry-looking Gaul, who torments a huge bass-viol, 
and who is, doubtless, the original of the famous 
" Raw-head-and-bloody-bones," so potent in fright- 
ening naughty children. 

The person who played the French-horn was very 
excellent in his way, but Snivers could not relish his 
performance, having sometime since heard a gentle- 
man amateur in Gotham play a solo on \\\s proboscis, 
in a style infinitely superior ; — Snout, the bellows- 
mender, never turned his wind instrument more mu- 
sically ; nor did the celebrated " knight of the burning 
lamp," ever yield more exquisite entertainment with 
his nose ; this gentleman had latterly ceased to ex- 
hibit this prodigious accomplishment, having, it was 
whispered, hired out his snout to a ferryman, who 
had lost his conch-shell ; — the consequence was that 
he did not show his nose in company so frequently 
as before. 

■ ( 

Sitting late the other evening in my elbow-chair, 
indulging in that kind of indolent meditation, which 
I consider the perfection of human bliss, I was roused 
from my reverie by the entrance of an old servant in 
the Cockloft livery, who handed me a letter, con- 
taining the following atldress from my cousin and 
old college chum, PiNDAR COCKLOFT. 

Honest ANDREW, as he delivered it, informed me 
that his master, who resides a little way from town, 
on reading a small pamphlet in a neat yellow cover, 
rubbed his hands with symptoms of great satisfac- 
tion, called for his favourite Chinese inkstand, with 
two sprawling Mandarines for its supporters, and 
wrote the letter which he had the honour to present 
me. 

As I foresee my cousin will one day become a 
great favourite with the public, and as 1 know him 
to be somewhat punctilious as it respects etiquette, 
I shall take this opportunity to gratify the old gen- 
tleman by giving him a proper introduction to the 
fashionable world. The Cockloft family, to which I 
have the comfort of being related, has been fruitful 
in old bachelors and humourists, as will be perceived 
when I come to treat more of its history. My cousin 
Pindar is one of its most conspicuous member.s — he 
is now in his fifty-eighth year — is a bachelor, partly 
through choice, and partly through chance, and an 
oddity of the first water. Half his life has been em- 
ployed in writing odes, sonnets, epigrams, and elegies, 
wdiich he seldom shows to any body but myself after 
they are written ; and all the old chests, drawers, and 
chair-bottoms in the house, teem with his productions. 

In his younger days he figured as a dashing blade 
in the great world ; and no young fellow of the town 
wore a longer pig-tail, or carried more buckram in 
his skirts. From sixteen to thirty he was continually 
in love, and during that period, to use his own words, 
he be-scribbled more paper than would serve the 
theatre for snow-storms a whole season. The even- 
ing of his thirtieth birthday, as he sat by the fire- 
side, as much in love as ever was man in this world, 



648 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and writing the name of his mistress in the ashes, 
with an old tongs that had lost one of its legs, he 
was seized with a whim-wham that he was an old 
fool to be in love at his time of life. It was ever one 
of the Cockloft characteristics to strike to whim ; 
and had Pindar stood out on this occasion he would 
have brought the reputation of his mother in ques- 
tion. From that time he gave up all particular at- 
tentions to the ladies ; and though he still loves their 
company, he has never been known to exceetl the 
bounds of common courtesy in his intercourse with 
them. He was the life and ornament of our family 
circle in town, until the epoch of the French revolu- 
tion, which sent so many unfortunate dancing-mas- 
ters from their countrj' to polish and enlighten our 
hemisphere. This was a sad time for Pindar, who 
had taken a genuine Cockloft prejudice against every 
thing French, ever since he was brought to death's 
door by a ragout : he groaned at Ca Ira, and the 
Marseilles Hymn had much the same effect upon 
him that sharpening a knife on a dry whetstone has 
upon some people ; — it set his teeth chattering. He 
might in time have been reconciled to these rubs, 
had not the introduction of French cockades on the 
hats of our citizens absolutely thrown him into a 
fever. The first time he saw an instance of this 
kind, he came home with great precipitation, packed 
up his trunk, his old-fashioned writing-desk, and his 
Chinese ink-stand, and made a kind of growling re- 
treat to Cockloft-Hall, where he has resided ever 
since. 

My cousin Pindar is of a mercurial disposition, — ^a 
humourist without ill-nature — he is of the true gun- 
powder temper ; — one flash and all is over. It is 
true when the wind is easterly, or the gout gives him 
a gentle twinge, or he hears of any new successes of 
the French, he will become a little splenetic ; and 
heaven help the man, and more particularly the 
woman that crosses his humour at that moment ; — 
she is sure to receive no quarter. These are the 
most sublime moments of Pmdar. I swear to you, 
dear ladies and gentlemen, I would not lose one of 
these splenetic bursts for the best wig in my ward- 
robe ; even though it were proved to be the identical 
wig worn by the sage Linkuni Fidelius, when he 
demonstrated before the whole university of Leyden, 
that it was possible to make bricks without straw. 
I have seen the old gentleman blaze forth such a 
volcanic explosion of wit, ridicule, and satire, that 1 
was almost tempted to believe him inspired. But 
these sallies only lasted for a moment, and passed 
like summer clouds over the benevolent sunshine 
which ever warmed his heart and lighted up his 
countenance. 

Time, though it has dealt roughly with his person, 
has passed liglitly over the graces of his mind, and 
left him in full possession of all the sensibilities of 
youth. His eye kindles at the relation of a noble and 
generous action, his heart melts at the story of dis- 
tress, and he is still a warm admirer of the fair. 
Like all old bachelors, however, he looks back with 
a fond and lingering eye on the period of his boy- 
hood ; and would sooner suffer the pangs of matri- 
mony than acknowledge that the world, or any thing 
in it, is half so clever as it was in those good old 
times that are "gone by." 

I believe I have already mentioned, that with all 
his good qualities he is a humourist, and a humour- 
ist of the highest order. He has some of the most 
mtolerable whim-whams I ever met with in my life, 
and his oddities are sufficient to eke out a hundred 
tolerable originals. But I will not enlarge on them — 
enough has been told to excite a desire to know 
more ; and I am much mistaken, if in the course of 
half a dozen of our numbers, he don't tickle, plague, 



please, and perplex the whole town, and completely 
establish his claim to the laureateship he has solicit- 
ed, and with which we hereby invest him., recom- 
mending him and his effusions to public reverence 
and respect. 

Launcelot Langstaff. 



TO LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



Dear Launce, 

As I find you have taken the quill, 
To put our gay town, and its fair under drill, 
I offer my hopes for success to your cause, 
And send you unvarnish'd my mite of applause. 

Ah, Launce, this poor town has been wofuUy fash'd; 
Has long been be- Frenchman 'd, be- cockney 'd, be- 

trash'd; 
And our ladies be-devil'd, bewilder'd astray, 
From the rules of their grandames have wander'd away. 
No longer that modest demeanour we meet, 
Which whilom the eyes of our fathers did greet; — 
No longer be-mobbled, be-ruffled, be-quill'd, 
Be-powder'd, be -hooded, be-patch'd, and be-frill'd, — 
No longer our fair ones their grograms display. 
And stiff in brocade, strut " like castles " away. 

Oh, how fondly my soul forms departed have traced. 
When our ladies in stays, and in boddice well laced. 
When bishop'd, and cushion'd, and hoop'd to the chin. 
Well callash'd without, and well bolster'd within; 
All cased in their buckrams, from crown down to tail, 
Like O'Brallagan's mistress, were shaped like a pail. 

Well — peace to those fashions — the joy of our eyes — 
Tempora mutantur, — new follies will rise; 
Yet, " like joys that are past," they still crowd on the 

mind. 
In moments of thought, as the soul looks behind. 

Sweet days of our boyhood, gone by, my dear Launce, 
Like the shadows of night, or the forms in a trance; 
Yet oft we retrace those bright visions again, 
Nos mutamur, 'tis true — but those visions remain. 
I recall with delight, how my bosom would creep. 
When some delicate foot from its chamber would peep; 
And when I a neat stocking'd ankle could spy, 
— By the sages of old, I was rapt to the sky! 
All then was retiring — was modest — discreet; 
The beauties, all shrouded, were left to conceit; 
To the visions which fancy would form in her eye. 
Of graces that snug in soft ambush would lie; 
And the heart, like the poets, in thought would pursue 
The elysium of bliss, which was veil'd from its view. 

We are old-fashion'd fellows, our nieces will say: 
Old-fashion'd, indeed, coz — and swear it they may — 
For I freely confess that it yields me no pride. 
To see them all blaze what their mothers would hide: 
To see them, all shivering, some cold winter's day. 
So lavish their beauties and graces display. 
And give to each fopling that offers his hand. 
Like Moses from Pisgah — a peep at the land. 

But a truce with complaining — the object in view 
Is to offer my help in the work you pursue; 
And as your effusions and labours sublime, 
May need, now and then, a few touches of rhyme, 
I humbly solicit, as cousin and friend, 
A quiddity, quirk, or remonstrance to send: 
Or should you a laureate want in your plan. 
By the muff of my grandmother, I am your man! 
You must know I have got a poetical mill. 
Which with odd lines, and couplets, and triplets I fill; 
And a poem I grind, as from rags white and blue 
The paper-mill yields you a sheet fair and new. 
I can grind down an ode, or an epic that's long. 
Into sonnet, acrostic, conundrum, or song: 
As to dull hudibrastic, so boasted of late. 
The doggerel discharge of some muddled brain'd pate, 
I can grind it by wholesale — and give it its point. 
With billingsgate dish'd up in rhymes out of joint. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



649 



I have read all the poets — and got them by heart, 
Can slit them, and twist them, and take them apart; 
Can cook up an ode out of patches and shreds. 
To muddle my readers, and bother their heads. 
Old Homer, and Virgil, and Ovid I scan, 
Anacreon, and Sappho, who changed to a swan; — 
Iambics and sapphics I grind at my will. 
And with ditties of love every noddle can fill. 

Oh, 'twould do your heart good, Launce, to see my 
mill grind 
Old stuff into verses, and poems refin'd; — 
Dan Spencer, Dan Chaucer, those poets of old. 
Though cover'd with dust, are yet true sterling gold; 
I can grind off their tarnish, and bring them to view. 
New modell'd, new mill'd, and improved in their hue. 

But I promise no more — only give me the place. 
And I'll warrant I'll fill it with credit and grace; 
By the living! I'll figure and cut you a dash 
— As bold as Will Wizard, or 'Sbidlikens-flash! 

PiND.'VR Cockloft. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



Perhaps the most fruitful source of mortification to 
a merry writer who, for the amusement of himself and 
the public, employs his leisure in sketching odd char- 
acters from imagination, is, that he cannot flourish 
his pen, but every Jack-pudding imagines it is pointed 
directly at himsell : — he cannot, in his gambols, throw 
a fool's cap among the crowd, but ever)' queer fellow 
insists upon putting it on his own head ; or chalk an 
outlandish figure, but every outlandish genius is 
eager to write his own name under it. However we 
may be mortified, that these men should each indi- 
vidually think himself of sufficient consequence to en- 
gage our attention, we should not care a rush about 
it, if they did not get into a passion and complain of 
having been ill-used. 

It is not in our hearts to hurt the feelings of one 
single mortal, by holding him up to public ridicule ; 
and if it were, we lay it down as one of our indispu- 
table facts, that no man can be made ridiculous but by 
his own folly. As, however, we are aware that when 
a man by chance gets a thwack in the crowd, he is 
apt to suppose the blow was intended exclusively for 
himself, and so fall into unreasonable anger, we 
have determined to let these crusty gentry know 
what kind of satisfaction they are to expect from us. 
We are resolved not to fight, for three special rea- 
sons ; first, because fighting is at all events extreme- 
ly troublesome and inconvenient, particularly at this 
season of the year ; second, because if either of us 
should happen to be killed, it would be a great loss 
to the public, and rob them of many a good laugh 
we have in store for their amusement ; and third, be- 
cause if we should chance to kill our adversary, 
as is most likely, for we can every one of us split 
balls upon razors and snuff candles, it would be a 
loss to our publisher, by depriving him of a good 
lustomer. If any gentleman casuist will give three 
IS good reasons lor fighting, we promise him a com- 
ilete set of Salmagundi for nothing. 

But though we do not fight in our own proper 
[jersons, let it not be supposed that we will not give 
mple satisfaction to all those who may choose to 
demand it — for this would be a mistake of the first 
magnitude, and lead very valiant gentlemen perhaps 
into what is called a quandary. It would be a thou- 
sand and one pities, that any honest man, after tak- 
ing to himself the cap and bells which we merely 
jffered to his acceptance, should not have the privi- 
ege of being cudgeled into the bargain. We pride 
>uiselvps upon giving satisfaction in every deoart- 



ment of our paper ; and to fill that of fighting have 
engaged two of those strapping heroes of the theatre, 
who figure in the retinues of our ginger-bread kings 
and queens; now hurry an old stuff petticoat on 
their backs, and strut senators of Rome, or aldermen 
of London ; — and now be-whisker their muffin faces 
with burnt cork, and swagger right valiant warriors, 
armed cap-a-pie, in buckram. Should, therefore, any 
great little man about town, take offence at our good- 
natured villainy, though we intend to offend nobody 
under heaven, he will please to apply at any hour 
after twelve o'clock, as our champions will then be 
off duty at the theatre and ready for any thing. They 
have promised to fight "with or without balls," — to 
give two tweaks of the nose for one — to submit to be 
kicked, and to cudgel their applicant most heartily in 
return ; this being what we understand by " the sat- 
isfaction of a gentleman." 



No. IIL— FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1807. 



FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



As I delight in every thing novel and eccentric, 
and would at any time give an old coat for a new 
idea, I am particularly attentive to the manners 
and conversation of strangers, and scarcely ever a 
traveller enters this city, whose appearance prom- 
ises any thing original, but by some ineans or an- 
other I form an acquaintance with him. I must con- 
fess I often suffer manifold afflictions from the inti- 
macies thus contracted : my curiosity is frequently 
punished by the stupid details of a blockhead, or the 
shallow verbosity of a coxcomt). Now I would pre- 
fer at any time to travel with an ox-team through a 
Carolina sand-flat rather than plod through a heavy 
unmeaning conversation with the former; and as to 
the latter, 1 would sooner hold sweet converse with 
the wheel of a knife grinder than endure his monot- 
onous chattering. In fact, the strangers who flock 
to this most pleasant of all earthly cities, are gener- 
ally mere birds of passage whose plumage is often 
gay enough, I own, but their notes, " heaven save 
the mark," are as unmusical as those of that classic 
night bird, which the ancients humourously selected 
as the emblem of wisdom. Those from the south, it 
is true, entertain me with their horses, equipages, 
and puns : and it is excessively pleasant to hear a 
couple of ihese /o!/r in hand gentlemen detail their 
exploits over a bottle. Those from the east have 
often induced me to doubt the existence of the wise 
men of vore, who are said to have flourished in that 
quarter ; and as for those from parts beyond seas — 
oh ! my masters, ye shall hear more from me anon. 
Heaven help this unhappy town ! — hath it not gos- 
lings enow of its own hatching and rearing, that it 
must be overwhelmed by such an inundation of gan- 
ders from other climes? I would not have any of my 
courteous and gentle readers suppose that I am run- 
ning a muck, full tilt, cut and slash upon all foreign- 
ers indiscriminately. I have no national antipa- 
thies, though related to the Cockloft family. As 
to honest John Bull, I shake him heaitily by the 
hand, assuring him th.at I love his jolly countenance, 
and moreover am lineally descended from him ; in 
proof of which I allege my invincible predilection 
for roast beef and pudding. I therefore look upon 
all his children as my kinsmen; and I beg when I 
tickle a cockney I may not be understood as trim- 
ming an Englishman ; they being very distinct ani- 
mals, as I shall clearly demonstrate in a future num- 



650 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ber. If any one wishes to know mv opinion of the 
Irish and Scotch, he may find it in the characters of 
those two nations, drawn by the first advocate of the 
age. But the French, I must confess, are my fa- 
vourites ; and I have taken more pains to argue my 
cousin Pindar out of his antipathy to them, than I 
ever did about any other thing. When, therefore, 
I choose to hunt a Monsieur for my own particular 
amusement, I beg it may not be asserted that 1 in- 
tend him as a representative of his countrymen at 
large. Far from this — I love the nation, as being 
a nation of right merry fellows, possessing the true 
secret of being happy ; which is nothing more than 
thinking of nothing, talking about any thing, and 
laughing at every thing. I mean only to tune up 
those little thing-o-mys, who represent nobody but 
themselves ; who have no national trait about them 
but their language, and who hop about our town in 
swarms like little toads after a shower. 

Among the few strangers whose acquaintance 
has entertained me, I particularly rank the mag- 
nanimous MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB KELI KHAN, 
a most illustrious captain of a ketch, who figured 
some time since, in our fashionable circles, at the 
head of a ragged regiment of Tripolitan prisoners. 
His conversation was to me a perpetual feast ; — I 
chuckled with inward pleasure at his whimsical mis- 
takes and unaffected obsers'ations on men and man- 
ners ; and I rolled each odd conceit " like a sweet 
morsel under my tongue." 

Whether Mustapha was captivated by my iron- 
bound physiognomy, or fiattercd by the attentions 
which I paid him, I won't determine ; but I so far 
gained his confidence, that, at his departure, he pre- 
sented me with a bundle of papers, containing, 
among other articles, several copies of letters, 
which he had written to his friends at Tripoli. — The 
following is a translation of one of them. — The orig- 
inal is in Arabic-Greek ; but by the assistance of 
Will Wizard, who understands all languages, not 
excepting that manufactured by Psalmanazar, I 
have been enabled to accomplish a tolerable transla- 
tion. We should have found little difficulty in ren- 
dering it into English, had it not been for Mustapha's 
confounded pot-hooks and trammels. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRIN- 
CIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS HIGHNESS THE 
BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 



Thou wilt learn from this letter, most illustrious 
disciple of Mahomet, that I have for some time re- 
sided in New-York ; the most polished, vast, and 
magnificent city of the United States of America. 
But what to me are its delights ! I wander a captive 
through its splendid streets, I turn a heavy eye on 
every rising day that beholds me banished from my 
country. The Christian husbands here lament 
most bitterly any short absence from home, though 
they leave but one wife behind to lament their de- 
parture ; — what then must be the feelings of thy 
unhappy kinsman, while thus lingering at an im- 
measurable distance from three-and-twenty of the 
most lovely and obedient wives in all Tripoli ! Oh, 
Allah ! shall thy servant never again return to his 
native land, nor behold his beloved wives, who beam 
on his memory beautiful as the rosy morn of the east, 
and graceful as Mahomet's camel ! 



Yet beautiful, oh, most puissant slave-driver, as 
are my wives, they are far exceeded by the women 
of this country. Even those who run about the 
streets with bare arms and necks, (et cch'ra) whose 
habiliments are too scanty to protect them either 
from the inclemency of the season, or the scrutiniz- 
ing glances of the curious, and who it would seem 
belong to nobody, are lovely as the houris that people 
the elysium of true believers. If, then, such as run 
wild in the highways, and whom no one cares to ap- 
propriate, are thus beauteous ; what must be the 
charms of those who are shut up in the seraglios, 
and never permitted to go abroad ! surely the region 
of beauty, the valley of the graces, can contain noth ■ 
ing so inimitably fair ! 

But, notwithstanding the charms of these infidel 
women, they are apt to have one fault, which is 
extremely troublesome and inconvenient. Wouldst 
thou believe it, Asem, I have been positively as- 
sured by a famous dervise, or doctor as he is here 
called, that at least one-fifth part of them — have 
souls ! incredible as it may seem to thee, I am the 
more inclined to believe them in possession of this 
monstrous superfluity, from my own little experi- 
ence, and from the information which I have de- 
rived from others. In walking the streets I have 
actually seen an exceeding good-looking woman 
with soul enough to box her husband's ears to his 
heart's content, and my very whiskers trembled 
with indignation at the abject state of these wretch- 
ed infidels. I am told, moreover, that some of the 
women have soul enough to usurp the breeches of 
the men, but these I suppose are married and kept 
close ; for I have not, in my rambles, met with any 
so extravagantly accoutred ; others, 1 am informed, 
have soul enough to swear ! — yea ! by the beard 
of the great Omar, who prayed three times to each 
of the one hundred and twenty-four thousand proph- 
ets of our most boly faith, and who never swore 
but once in his life — they actually swear ! 

Get thee to the mosque, good Asem ! relurn thanks 
to our most holy prophet that he has been thus mind- 
ful of the comfort of all true Mussulmen, and has 
given them wives with no more souls than cats and 
dogs and other necessary animals of the household. 

Thou wilt doubtless be anxious to learn our recep- 
tion in this country, and how we were treated by a 
people whom we have been accustomed to consider 
as unenlightened barbarians. 

On landing, we were waited upon to our lodgings, 
I suppose according to the directions of tiie muni- 
cipality, by a vast and respectable escort of boys and 
negroes ; who shouted and threw up their hats, 
doubtless to do honour to the magnanimous Mus- 
tapha, captain of a ketch ; they were somewhat rag- 
ged and dirty in their equipments, but this we at- 
tributed to their republican simplicity. One of them, 
in the zeal of admiration, threw an old shoe, which 
gave thy friend rather an ungentle salutation on one 
side of the head, whereat 1 was not a little otTended, 
until the interpreter informed us that this was the 
customary manner in which great men were hon- 
oured in this country ; and that the more distin- 
guished they were, the more they were subjected to 
the attacks and peltings of the mob. Upon this I 
bowed my head three times, with my hands to my 
turban, and made a speech in Arabic-Greek, which 
gave great satisfaction and occasioned a shower of 
old shoes, hats, and so forth, that was exceedingly 
refreshing to us all. 

Thou wilt not as yet expect that I should give thee 
an account of the laws and politics of this country. 
1 will reserve them lor some future letter, when I 
shall be more experienced in their complicated and 
seemingly contradictory nature. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



651 



This empire is governed by a grand and most pu- 
issant bashaw, whom they dignify with the title of 
president. He is chosen by persons who are chosen 
by an assembly elected by the people— hence the 
mob is called the sovereign people ; and the country, 
free : the body politic doubtless resembling a vessel, 
which is best governed by its tail. The present ba- 
shaw is a very plain old gentleman — something, they 
say, of a humourist, as he amuses himself with im- 
paling butterflies and pickling tadpoles ; he is rather 
declining in popularity, having given great offence 
by wearing red breeches, and tying his horse to a 
post. The people of the United States have assured 
me that they themselves are the most enlightened 
nation under the sun ; but thou knowest that the 
barbarians of the desert, who assemble at the sum- 
mer solstice to shoot their arrows at that glorious 
luminary, in order to extinguish his burning rays, 
make precisely the same boast ; — which ot them 
have the superior claim, I shall not attempt to 
decide. 

I have observed, with some degree of surprise, 
that the men of this country do not seem in haste 
to accommodate themselves even with the single 
wile which alone the laws permit them to marry ; 
this backwardness is probably owing to the misfor- 
tune of their absolutely having no female mutes 
among them. Thou knowest how invaluable are 
these silent companions ; — what a price is given for 
them in the east, and what entertaining wives they 
make. What delightful entertainment arises from 
beholding the silent eloquence of their signs and 
gestures ; but a wife possessed both of a tongue and 
a soul — monstrous ! monstrous ! is it astonishing 
that these unhappy infidels should shrink from a 
union with a woman so preposterously endowed. 

Thou hast doubtless read in the works of Abul 
Faraj, the Arabian historian, the tradition which 
mentions that the muses were once upon the point 
of falling together by the ears about the admission 
of a tenth among their number, until she assured 
them by signs that she was dumb ; whereupon they 
received her with great rejoicing. I should, perhaps, 
inform thee that there are but nine Christian muses, 
who were formerly pagans, but have since been con- 
I'erted, and that in this country we never hear of a 
tenth, unless some crazy poet wishes to pay a hyper- 
bolical compliment to his mistress; on which occa- 
sion it goes haril, but she figures as a tenth muse, or 
fourth grace, even though she should be more illit- 
srate than a Hottentot, and more ungraceful than a 
dancing-bear! Since my arrival in this country I 
liave met with not less than a hundred of these su- 
pernumerary muses and graces— and may Allah pre- 
serve me from ever meeting with any more I 

When I have studied this people more profoundly, 
[ will write thee again ; in the mean time, watch over 
ny household, and do not beat my beloved wives 
jnless you catch them with their noses out at the win- 
low. Though far distant and a slave, let me live in 
;hy heart as thou livest in mine : — think not, O friend 
)f my soul, that the splendours of this luxurious capi- 
.al, its gorgeous palaces, its stupendous mosques, 
md the beautiful females who run wild in herds 
ibout its streets, can obliterate thee from my remem- 
srance. Thy name shall still be mentioned in the 
ive-and-twenty prayers which I offer up daily; and 
nay our great prophet, after bestowing on thee all 
he blessings of this life, at length, in good old age, 
ead thee gently by the hand to enjoy the dignity of 
sashaw of three tails in the blissful bowers of Eden. 

MUSTAPHA. 



FASHIONS. 
By Anthony Evergreen, Gent. 

the following article is furnished me by 
a young lady of unquestionable taste, 
and who is the oracle of fashion and 
frippery. being deeply initiated into 
all the mysteries of the toilet, she has 
promised me from time to time a similar 

DETAIL. 



Mrs. Toole has for some time reigned unrivalled 
in the fashionable world, and had the supreme direc- 
tion of caps, bonnets, feathers, flowers, and tinsel. 
She has dressed and undressed our ladies just as she 
pleased ; now loading them with velvet and wadding, 
now turning them adrift upon the world to run shiv- 
ering through the streets with scarcely a covering 

to their backs ; and now obliging them to drag 

a long train at their heels, like the tail of a paper kite. 
Her despotic sway, however, threatens to be limited. 
A dangerous rival has sprung up in the person of 
Madame BouCH.'^rd, an intrepid little woman, 
fresh from the head-quarters of fashion and folly, 
and who has burst, like a second Bonaparte, upon 
the fashionable world. — Mrs. Toole, notwitlistanding, 
seems determined to dispute her ground bravely for 
the honour of old England. The ladies have begun 
to arrange themselves under the banner of one or 
other of these heroines of the needle, and every 
thing portends open war. Madame Bouchard 
marches gallantly to the field, flourishing a flaming 
red robe for a standard, " flouting the skies ;" and 
Mrs. Toole, no ways dismayed, sallies out under 
cover of a forest of artificial flowers, like Malcolm's 
host. Both parties possess great merit, and both 
deserve the victory. Mrs. Toole charges the highest 
— but Madame Bouchard makes the lowest courtesy. 
Madame Bouchard is a little short lady — nor is there 
any hope of her growing larger ; but then she is per- 
fectly genteel, and so is Mrs. Toole. Mrs. Toole 
lives in Broadway, and Madame Bouchard in Court- 
landt-street ; but Madame atones for the inferiority 
of her stand by making two courtesies to Mrs. 
Toole's one, and talking French like an angel. 
Mrs. Toole is the best looking — but Madame Bou- 
chard wears a most bewitching little scrubby wig. — 
Mrs. Toole is the tallest — but Madame Bouchard 
has the longest nose. — Mrs. Toole is fond of roast 
beef — but Madame is loyal in her adherence to 
onions : in short, so equally are the merits of the two 
ladies balanced, that there is no judging which will 
" kick the beam." It, however, seems to be the 
prevailing opinion that Madame Bouchard will carry 
the day, because she wears a wig, has a long nose, 
talks French, loves onions, and does not charge 
above ten times as much for a thing as it is worth. 



UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THESE HIGH PRIEST- 
ECSES OF THE BEAU-MONDE, THE FOLLOWING 
IS THE FASHIONABLE MORNING DRESS FOR 
WALKING. 

If the weather be very cold, a thin muslin gown, 
or frock is most adviseable ; because it agrees with 
the season, being perfectly cool. The neck, arms, 
and particularly the elbows bare, in order that they 
may be agreeably painted and mottled by Mr. John 
Frost, nose-painter-general, of the colour of Cas- 
tile soap. Shoes of kid, the thinnest that can pos- 
sibly be procured — as they tend to promote colds, 
and make a lady look interesting — {t. c, grizzly.) 



652 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Picnic silk stockings, witli lace clocks, flesh-coloured 
are most fashionable, as they have the appearance 
of bare leg's — Jtuiiity being all the rage. The 
stockings carelessly bespattered with mud, to 
agree with the gown, which should be bordered 
about three inches deep with the most fashionable 
coloured mud that can be found: the ladies per- 
mitted to hold up their trains, after they have swept 

two or three streets, in order to show the 

clocks of their stockings. The shawl, scarlet, crim- 
son, flame, orange, salmon, or any other combus- 
tible or brimstone colour, thrown over one shoul- 
der ; like an Indian blanket, with one end dragging 
on the ground. 

N. B. If the ladies have not a red shawl at hand, 
a red petticoat turned topsy-turvy, over the shoul- 
ders, would do just as well. This is called being 
dressed a la drabble. 

When the ladies do not go aboad of a morning, 
the usual chimney-corner dress is a dotted, spotted, 
striped, or cross-barred gown ; — a yellowish, whit- 
ish, smokish, dirty-coloured shawl, and the hair 
curiously ornamented with little bits of newspapers, 
or pieces of a letter from a dear friend. This is 
called the "Cinderella-dress." 

The recipe tor a full dress is as follows : take of 
spider-net, crape, satin, gymp, cat-gut, gauze, 
whalebone, lace, bobbin, ribands, and artificial flow- 
ers, as much as will rig out the congregation of a 
village church ; to these, add as many spangles, 
beads, and gew-gaws, as would l)e sufficient to turn 
the heads of all the fashionable fair ones of Nootka- 
sound. Let Mrs. Toole or Madame Bouchard 
patch all these articles together, one upon another, 
dash them plentifully over with stars, bugles, and 
tinsel, and they will altogether form a dress, which 
hung upon a lady's back, cannot fail of supplying 
the place of beauty, youth, and grace, and of re- 
minding the spectator of that celebrated region of 
finery, called Rag Fair. 



One of the greatest sources of amusement inci- 
dent to our humourous knight errantry, is to ramble 
about and hear the various conjectures of the town 
respecting our worships, whom every body pre- 
tends to know as well as Falstaff did prince Hal at 
Gads-hill. We have sometimes seen a sapient, 
sleepy fellow, on being tickled with a straw, make a 
furious effort and fancy he had fairly caught a gnat 
in his grasp ; so, that many-headed monster, the 
public, who, with all its heads, is, we fear, sadly off 
for brains, has, after long hovering, come souse 
down, like a king-fisher, on the authors of Salma- 
gundi, and caught them as certainly as the afore- 
said honest fellow caught the gnat. 

Would that we were rich enough to give every 
one of our numerous readers a cent, as a reward for 
their ingenuity ! not that they have really conjec- 
tured within a thousand leagues of the truth, but 
that we consider it a great stretch of ingenuity 
even to have guessed wrong ; and that we hold 
ourselves much obliged to them tor having taken 
the trouble to guess at all. 

One of the most tickling, dear, mischievous pleas- 
ures of this life is to laugh in one's sleeve — to sit 
snug in the corner, unnoticed and unknown, and 
hear the wise men of Gotham, who are profound 
judges of horse-flesh, pronounce, from the style of 
our work, who are the authors. This listening in- 
cog, and receiving a hearty praising over another 
man's back, is a situation so celestially whimsical, 
that we have done little else than laugh in our 
sleeve ever since our first number was published. 



The town has at length allayed the titilations of 
curiosity, by fixing on two young gentlemen of liter- 
ary talents — that is to say, they are equal to the 
composition of a newspaper squib, a hodge podge 
criticism, or some such trifle, and may occasionally 
raise a smile by their effusions ; but pardon us, sweet 
sirs, if we modestly doubt your capability of support- 
ing the burthen of Salmagundi, or of keeping up a 
laugh for a whole fortnight, as we have done, and in- 
tend to do, until the whole town becomes a commu- 
nity of laughing philosophers like ourselves. We 
have no intention, however, of undervaluing the 
abilities of these two young men, whom we verily 
believe, according to common acceptation, young 
men of promise. 

Were we ill-natured, we might publish something 
that would get our representatives into difficulties ; 
but far be it from us to do any thing to the injury 
of persons to whom we are under such obligations. 

While they stand before us, we, like little Teu- 
cer, behind the sevenfold shield of Ajax, can launch 
unseen our sportive arrows, which we trust will 
never inflict a wound, unless like his they fly 
" heaven directed," to some conscious-struck bo- 
som. 

Another marvellous great source of pleasure to 
us, is the abuse our work has received from several 
wooden gentlemen, whose censures we covet more 
than ever we did any thing in our lives. The mo- 
ment we declared open war against folly and stupid- 
ity, we expected to receive no quarter ; and to pro- 
voke a confederacy of all the blockheads in town. 
For it is one of our indisputable facts that so sure 
as you catch a gander by the tail, the whole flock, 
geese, goslings, one and all, have a fellow-feeling on 
the occasion, and begin to cackle and hiss like so 
many devils bewitched. As we have a profound 
respect for these ancient and respectable birds, on 
the score of their once saving the capitol, we hereby 
declare that we mean no offence whatever by com- 
paring them to the aforesaid confederacy. We 
have heard in our walks such criticisms on Salma- 
gundi, as almost induced a belief that folly had here, 
as in the eajt, her moments of inspired idiotism. 
Every silly royster has, as if by an instinctive sense 
of anticipated danger, joined in the cry ; and con- 
demned us without mercy. All is thus as it should 
be. It would have mortified us very sensibly, had 
wc been disappointed in this particular, as we 
should then have been apprehensive that our shafts 
had fallen to the ground, innocent of the " blood or 
brains " of a single numskull. Our efforts have been 
crowned with wonderful success. All the queer 
fish, the grubs, the flats, the noddies, and the live 
oak and timber gentlemen, are pointing their empty 
guns at us ; and we are threatened with a most 
puissant confederacy of the " pigmies and cranes," 
and other "light militia," backed by the heavy 
armed artillery of dullness and stupidity. The veri- 
est dreams of our most sanguine moments are thus 
realized. We have no fear of the censures of the 
wise, the good, or the fair ; for they will ever be 
sacred from our attacks. We reverence the wise, 
love the good, and adore the fair ; we declare our- 
selves champions in their cause ; — in the cause of 
morality ; — and we throw our gauntlet to all the 
world besides. 

While we profess and feel the same indifference 
to public applause as at first, we most earnestly in- 
vite the attacks and censures of all the wooden war- 
riors of this sensible city ; and especially of that dis- 
tinguished and learned body, heretofore celebrated 
under the appellation of " the North-river society." 
The thrice valiant and renowned Don Quixote 
never made such work amongst the wool-clad war- 



SALMAGUNDI. 



653 



riors of Trapoban, or the puppets of the itinerant 
showman, as we promise to make among these fine 
fellows ; and we pledge ourselves to the public in 
general, and the Albany skippers in particular, that 
the North river shall not be set on fire this winter 
at least, for we shall give the authors of that nefari- 
ous sclieme, ample employment for some time to 
come. 



PROCLAMATION, 

FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 



To all the young belles who enliven our scene, 
From ripe five-and-forty, to blooming fifteen; 
Who racket at routs, and who rattle at plays. 
Who visit, and fidget, and dance out their days: 
Who conquer all hearts, with a shot from the eye. 
Who freeze with a frown, and who thaw with a sigh: — 
To all those bright youths who embellish the age. 
Whether young boys, or old boys, or numskull or sage: 
Whether dull dogs, who cringe at their mistress' feet, 
Who sigh and who whine, and who try to look sweet; 
Whether tough dogs, who squat do%vn stock still in a 

row 
And play wooden gentlemen stuck up for a show; 
Or SAD DOGS, who glory in running their rigs. 
Now dash in their sleighs, and now whirl in their gigs; 
Who riot at Dyde's on imperial champaign, 
And then scour our city — the peace to maintain: 

To whoe'er it concerns or may happen to meet, 
By these presents their worships I lovingly greet. 
Now KNOW YE, that I, Pindar Cockloft, esquire. 
Am laureate, appointed at special desire; — 
A censor, self-dubb'd, to admonish the fair. 
And tenderly take the town under my care. 

I'm a ci-devant beau, cousin Launcelot has said — 
A remnant of habits long vanish'd and dead: 
But still, though my heart dwells with rapture sublime, 
On the fashions and customs which reign'd in my prime, 
I yet can perceive — and still candidly praise, 
Some maxims and manners of these " latter days; " 
Still own that some wisdom and beauty appears. 
Though almost entomb'd in the rubbish of years. 

No fierce nor tyrannical cynic am I, 
Who frown on each foible I chance to espy; 
Who pounce on a novelty, just like a kite. 
And tear up a victim through malice or spite: 
Who expose to the scoffs of an ill-natured crew, 
A trembler for starting a whim that is new. 
No, no — I shall cautiously hold up my glass, 
To the sweet little blossoms who heedlessly pass ; 
My remarks not too pointed to wound or offend, 
Nor so vague as to miss their benevolent end : 
Each innocent fashion shall have its full sway ; 
New modes shall arise to astonish Broadway : 
Red hats and red shawls still illumine the town. 
And each belle, like a bon-fire, blaze up and down. 

Fair spirits, who brighten the gloom of our days. 
Who cheer this dull scene with your heavenly rays. 
No mortal can love you more firmly and true, 
From the crown of the head, to the sole of your shoe. 
I'm old fashion'd, 'tis true, — but still runs in my heart 
That affectionate stream, to which youth gave the start, 
More calm in its current — yet potent in force ; 
Less ruflled by gales — but still stedfast in course. 
Though the lover, enraptur'd, no longer appears, — 
'Tis the guide and the guardian enlighten'd by years. 
All ripen'd, and mellow'd, and soften'd by time. 
The asperities polish'd which chafed in my prime ; 
I am fully prepared for that delicate end. 
The fair one's instructor, companion and friend. 
— And should I perceive you in fashion's gay dance. 
Allured by the frippery mongers of France, 
Expose your freak frames to a chill wintry sky. 
To be nipp'd by its frosts, to be torn from the eye ; 



My soft admonitions shall fall on your ear — 
Shall whisper those parents to whom you are dear — 
Shall warn you of hazards you heedlessly run, 
And sing of those fair ones whom frost has undone ; 
Bright suns that would scarce on our horizon dawn, 
Ere shrouded from sight, they were early withdrawn : 
Gay sylphs, who have floated in circles below. 
As pure in their souls, and as transient as snovr ; 
Sweet roses, that bloom'd and decay 'd to my eye, 
And of forms that have flitted and pass'd to the sky. 
But as to those brainless pert bloods of our town. 
Those sprigs of the ton who run decency down ; 
Who lounge and who lout, and who booby about, 
No knowledge within, and no manners without ; 
Who stare at each beauty with insolent eyes ; 
Who rail at those morals their fathers would prize ; 
Who are loud at the play — and who impiously dare 
To come in their cups to the routs of the fair ; 
I shall hold up my mirror, to let them survey 
The figures they cut as they dash it away : 
Should my good-humoured verse no amendment pro- 
duce. 
Like scare-crows, at least, they shall still be of use ; 
I shall stitch them, in effigy, up in my rhyme, ^ 
And hold them aloft through the progress of time, 
As figures of fun to make the folks laugh, 

Like that b h of an angel erected by Paff, 

" What shtops," as he says," all de people what come; 
What smiles on dem all, and what peats on de trum." 



No. IV.— TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1807. 

FROM MY ELEOW-CHAIR. 



Perhaps there is no class of men to which the 
curious and literary are more indebted than travel- 
lers ; — I mean travel-mongers, who write whole vol- 
umes about themselves, their horses and their serv- 
ants, interspersed w'ith anecdotes of inn-keepers, — • 
droll sayings of stage-drivers, and interesting memoirs 
of— the Lord knows who. They will give ycu a full 
account of a city, its manners, customs, and manu- 
factures ; though, perhaps, all their knowledge of it 
was obtained by a peep from their inn-windows, and 
an interesting conversation with the landlord or the 
waiter. America has had its share of these buzzards ; 
and in the name of my countrymen I return them 
profound thanks for the compliments they have 
lavished upon us, and the variety of particulars con- 
cerning our own country, which we should never 
have discovered without their assistance. 

Influenced by such sentiments, 1 am delighted to 
find that the Cockloft family, among its other whim- 
sical and monstrous productions, is about to be en- 
riched with a genuine travel-writer. This is no less 
a personage than Mr. JEREMV COCKLOFT, the only 
son and darling pride of my cousin, Mr. CHRIS- 
TOPHER Cockloft. I should have said Jeremy 
Cockloft, the yeicnger, as he so styles himself, by way 
of distinguishing him from II Signore Jeremy 
COCKLOFTICO, a gouty old gentleman, who flourished 
about the time that Pliny the elder was smoked to 
death with the fire and briinstone of Vesuvius ; and 
whose travels, if he ever wrote any, are now lost for 
ever to the world. Jeremy is at present in his one- 
and-twentieth year, and a young fellow of wonderful 
quick parts, if you will trust to the word of his father, 
.who, having begotten him, should be the best judge 
of the matter. He is the oracle of the family, dic- 
tates to his sisters on every occasion, though they 
are some dozen or more years older than himself;-- 
and never did son give mother better advice than 
Jeremy. 



634 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



As old Cockloft was determined his son should be 
both a scholar and a gentleman, he took great pains 
with his education, which was completed at our uni- 
versity, where he became exceedingly expert in quiz- 
zing his teachers and playing billiards. No student 
made better squibs and crackers to blow up the 
chymical professor ; no one chalked more ludicrous 
caricatures on the walls of the college ; and none 
were more adroit in shaving pigs and climbing light- 
ning-rods. He moreover learned all the letters of the 
Greek alphabet ; could demonstrate that water never 
" of its own accord " rose above the level of its 
source, and that air was certainly the principle of 
life ; for he had been entertained with the humane 
experiment of a cat worried to death in an air-pump. 
He once shook down the ash-house, by an artificial 
earthquake ; and nearly blew his sister Barbara, and 
her cat, out of the window with thundering powder. 
He likewise boasts exceedingly of being thoroughly 
acquainted with the composition of Lacedemonian 
black broth ; and once made a pot of it, which had 
well-nigh poisoned the whole family, and actually 
threw the cook-maid into convulsions. But above 
all, he values himself upon his logic, has the old col- 
lege conundrum of the cat with three tails at his 
finger's ends, and often hampers his father with his 
syllogisms, to the great delight of the old gentleman ; 
who considers the major, minor, and conclusions, as 
almost equal in argument to the pulley, the wedge, 
and the lever, in mechanics. In fact, my cousin 
Cockloft was once nearly annihilated with astonish- 
ment, on hearing Jeremv trace the derivation of 
Mango from Jeremiah King ; — as Jeremiah King, 
Jerry King ! Jerking Girkin ! cucumber, Mango ! in 
short, had Jeremy been a student at Oxford or Cam- 
bridge, he would, in all probability, have been pro- 
moted to the dignity of a senior ivranglcr. By this 
sketch, I mean no disparagement to the abilities of 
other students of our college, for I have no doubt 
that every commencement ushers into society lumi- 
naries full as brilliant as Jeremy Cockloft the yoimger. 

Having made a very pretty speech on graduating, 
to a numerous assemblage of old folks and young 
ladies, who all declared that he was a very fine young 
man, and made very handsome gestures, Jeremy was 
seized with a great desire to see, or rather to be seen 
by the world ; and as his father was anxious to give 
him every possible advantage, it was determined 
Jeremy should visit foreign parts. In consequence 
of this resolution, he has spent a matter of three or 
four months in visiting strange places ; and in the 
course of his travels has tarried some fev/ days at the 
splendid metropolis' of Albany and Philadelphia. 

Jeremy has travelled as every modern man of sense 
should do ; that is, he judges of things by the sample 
next at hand ; if he has ever any doubt on a subject, 
always decides against the city where he happens to 
sojourn ; and invariably takes home, as the standard 
by which to direct his judgment. 

Going into his room the other day, when he hap- 
pened to be absent, I found a manuscript volume 
laying on his table ; and was overjoyed to find it con- 
tained notes and hints for a book of travels which he 
intends publishing. He seems to have taken a late 
fashionable travel-monger for his model, and I have 
no doubt his work will be equally instructive and 
amusing with that of his prototype. The following 
are some extracts, which may not prove uninterest- 
ing to my readers. 



MEMORANDUMS FOR A TOUR, TO BE EN- 
TITLED "THE STRANGER IN NEW JER- 
SEY; OR, COCKNEY TRAVELLING." 

BY JEREMY COCKLOFT, THE YOUNGER. 



CHAPTER I. 

The man in the moon* — preparations for depart- 
ure — hints to travellers about packing their trunksf 
— straps, buckles, and bed-cords — case of pistols, a 
la cockney — five trunks — three bandboxes — a cocked 
hat — and a medicine chest, a la Francaise — parting 
advice of my two sisters — quere, why old maids are 
so particular in their cautions against naughty women 
— description of Powles-Hook ferry-boats — might be 
converted into gun-boats, and defend our port equally 
well w-ith Albany sloops — Brom, the black ferryman 
— Charon — river Styx — ghosts ; — m.ajor Hunt — good 
story — ferryage nine-pence ; — city of Harsimus — built 
on the spot where the folk once danced on their 
stumps, while the devil fiddled ; — quere, why do the 
Harsimites talk Dutch ? — stor)- of the tower of Babel, 
and confusion of tongues — get into the stage — driver 
a wag — famous fellow for running stage races — killed 
three passengers and crippled nine in the course of 
his practice — phdosophical reasons why stage drivers 
love grog — causeway — ditch on each side for folk to 
tumble into — famous place for skilly-pots ; Philadel- 
phians call 'em tarapins — roast them under the ashes 
as we do potatoes — quere, may not this he the reason 
that the Philadelphians are all turtle-heads? — Hack- 
ensack bridge — good painting of a blue horse jump- 
ing over a mountain — wonder who it was painted by ; 
— mem. to ask the Baron de Gusto about it on my 
return; — Rattle-snake hill, so called from abounding 
with butterflies ; — salt marsh, surmoitnted here and 
there by a solitary hay-stack ; — more tarapins — won- 
der why the Philadelphians don't establish a fishery 
here, and get a patent for it ; — bridge over the Pas- 
saic — rate of toll — description of toll-boards — toll 
man had but one eye — story how it is possible he may 
have lost the other — pence-table, etcj 



CHAPTER II. 



Newark — noted for its fine breed of fat musqui- 
toes — sting through the thickest boot§ — story about 
Gailvnipers — Archer Gifford and his man Caliban — 
jolly fat fellows ; — a knowing traveller always judges 
of every thing by the inn-keepers and waiters ]| ; set 
down Newark people all fat as butter — learned dis- 
sertation on Archer Gifford's green coat, with phi- 
losophical reasons why the Newarkites wear red 
worsted night-caps, and turn their noses to the south 
when the wind blows— Newark academy full of win- 
dows — sunshine excellent to make little boys grow — 
Elizabeth-town— fine girls — vile musquitoes — plenty 
of oysters — quere, have oysters any feeling .' — good 
story about the fox catching them by his tail — ergo, 
foxes might be of great use in the pearl-fishery ; — 
landlord member of the legislature — treats every 
body who has a vote— mem., all the inn-keepers 
members of legislature in New-Jersey ; Bridge-town, 
vulgarly called Spatik-iown, from a story of a quon- 



* vide Carr's Stranger in Ireland. 

t vide Weld. X vide Carr. § vide Weld. 

II vide Carr. vide Moore, vide Weld, vide Parkinson, vide 
Priest, vide Linkum Eidelius, and vide Messrs. Tag, Rag, and 
Bobtail. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



655 



dam parson and his wife — real name, according to 
Linkum Fidelias, Bridge-town, from bridge, a con- 
trivance to get dry shod over a river or brook ; and 
town, an appellation given in America to the acci- 
dental assemblage of a church, a tavern, and a 
blacksmith's shop — Linkum as right as my left leg; 
— Rah way-river — good place for gun-boats — wonder 
why Mr. Jefferson don't send a river fleet there to 
protect the hay-vessels? — Woodbridge — landlady 
mending her husband's breeches — sublime apostro- 
phe to conjugal affection and the fair sex* ; — Wood- 
bridge famous for its crab-fishery — sentimental cor- 
respondence between a crab and a lobster — digres- 
sion to Abelard and Eloisa ; — mem., when the moon 
is in Pisces, she plays the devil with the crabs. 



CHAPTER in. 



Brunswick — oldest town in the state — division- 
line between two counties in the middle of the street ; 
— posed a lawyer with the case of a man standing 
with one foot in each county — wanted to know in 
which he was domicil — lawyer couldn't tell for the 
soul of him — mem., all the New-Jersey lawyers 
nuiits.; — Miss Hay's boarding-school — young ladies 
not allowed to eat mustard — and why ? — fat story 
of a mustard-pot, with a good saying of Ding- 
Dong's; — Vernon's tavern — tine place to sleep, if 
the noise would let you — another Caliban ! — Vernon 
slew-&y&A — people of Brunswick, of course, all 
squint: — Drake's tavern — fine old blade — wears 
square buckles in his shoes — tells bloody long stories 
about last war — people, of course, all do the same ; 
Hook'em .Snivy, the famous fortune-teller, born here 
— cotemporary with mother Shoulders — particulars 
of his histoiy — died one day — lines to his memory, 
ivliich fpiiiid their may into my pocket-book ,•+ — mel- 
ancholy reflections on the death of great men — 
beautiful epitaph on myself. 



CHAPTER IV. 



Princeton — college — professors wear boots ! — 
students famous for their love of a jest — set the col- 
lege on fire, and burnt out the professors ; an excel- 
lent joke, but not worth repeating — mem., American 
students very much addicted to burning down col- 
leges — reminds me of a good story, nothing at all to 
the purpose — two societies in the college — good no- 
tion — encourages emulation, and makes little boys 
fight ; — students famous for their eating and erudi- 
tion — saw two at the tavern, who had just got their 
allowance of spending-money — laid it all out in a 

supper— got fuddled, and d d the professors for 

nincoms. N.B. Southern gentlemen. — Church-yard 
— apostrophe to grim death — saw a cow feeding on 
a grave — metempsychosis — who knows but the cow 
may have been eating up the soul of one of my an- 
cestors — made me melancholy and pensive for fifteen 
minutes ; — man planting cabbages); — wondered how 
he could plant them so straight — method of mole- 
catching — and all that — quere, whether it would not 
be a good notion to ring their noses as we do pigs — 
mem., to propose it to the American Agricultural 
Society — get a premium, perhaps; — commencement 
— students give a ball and supper — company from 
New-York, Philadelphia, and Albany — great contest 
which spoke the best English — Albanians vociferous 



in their demand for sturgeon — Philadelphians gave 
the preference to racoon* and splacnuncs — gave 
them a long dissertation on the phlegmatic nature 
of a goose's gizzard — students can't dance — always 
set off with the wrong foot foremost — Duport's opin- 
ion on that subject — Sir Christopher Hatton the first 
man who ever turned out his toes in dancing — great 
favourite with Queen Bess on that account — Sir 
Walter Raleigh — good story about his smoking — his 
descent into New Spain — El Dorado — Candid — Dr. 
Pangloss — Miss Cunegunde — earthquake at Lisbon 
— Baron of Thundertentronck — Jesuits — Monks — • 
— Cardinal Woolsey — Pope Joan — Tom Jefferson — 
Tom Paine, and Tom the whew ! N. B. — Stu- 
dents got drunk as usual. 



CHAPTER V. 



Left Princeton — country finely diversified with 
sheep and hay-stacksf — saw a man riding alone in 
a wagon ! why the deuce didn't the blockhead ride 
in a chair.' fellow must be a fool — particular account 
of the construction of wagons — carts, wheelbarrows 
and quail-traps — saw a large flock of crows — con- 
cluded there must be a dead horse in the neighbour- 
hood — mem. country remarkable for crows — won't 
let the horses die in peace — anecdoteofa jury of crows 
— stopped to give the horses water — good-looking 
man came up, and asked me if I had seen his wife .' 
heavens ! thought I, how strange it is that this vir- 
tuous man should ask me about his wife — story of 
Cain and Abel — stage- driver took a swig — mem. set 
down all the people as drunkards— old house had 
moss on the top — swallows built in the roof — better 
place than old men's beards — story about that — der- 
ivation of words kippy, kippy, kippy and shoo-pigX — 
negro driver could not write his own name — languish- 
ing state of literature in this country ;§ — philosophi- 
cal inquiry of 'Sbidlikens, why the Americans are so 
much inferior to the nobility of Chcapside and Shore- 
ditch, and why they do not eat plum-pudding on 
Sundays ; — superfine reflections about any thing. 



CHAPTER VI. 



* vide The Sentimental Kotzebue. 
+ vide Carr and Blind Bet ! 



X vide Carr. 



Trenton — ^built above the head of navigation to 
encourage commerce — capital of the State || — only 
wants a castle, a bay, a mountain, a sea, and a vol- 
cano, to bear a strong resemblance to the Bay of 
Naples— supreme court sitting — fat chief justice — 
used to get asleep on the bench after dinner — gave 
judgment, I suppose, like Pilate's wife, from his 
dreams — reminded me of Justice Bridlegoose decid- 
ing by a throw of a die, and of the oracle of the holy 
bottle — attempted to kiss the chambermaid — boxed 
my ears till they rung like our theatre-bell — girl had 
lost one tooth — mem. all the American ladies prudes, 
and have bad teeth ; — Anacreon Moore's opinion on 
the matter. — State-house — fine place to see the stur- 
geons jump up — quere, whether sturgeons jump up by 
an impulse of the tail, or whether they bounce up Irom 
the bottom by the elasticity of their noses — Linkum 
Fidelius of the latter opinion — I too — sturgeons' nose 
capital for tennis-balls — learnt that at school — went to 
a ball — negro wench principal musician ! — N. B. Peo- 
ple of America have no fiddlers but females ! — origin 
of the phrase, " fiddle of your heart " — reasons why 



* vide Priest. + vide Carr. 

X vide Can's learned derivation o{ gee and ivhoa^ 
§ Moore. \ Carr. 



65G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



men fiddle better than women ;— expedient of the 
Amazons who were expert at the bow : — waiter at 
the city-tavern — good story of his — nothing to the 
purpose — never mind — -fill up my book litce Carr — 
mal<e it sell. Saw a democrat get into the stage fol- 
lowed by his dog.* N. B. This town remarkable for 
dogs and democrats — superfine sentimentf — good 
stoiy from Joe Miller— ode to a piggin of butter — 
pensive meditations on a mouse-hole — make a book 
as clear as a whistle ! 



No. v.— SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1807. 

FROM MV ELBOW-CHAIR. 



The following letter of my friend Mustapha 
appears to have been written some time subsequent 
to the one already published. Were I to judge from 
its contents, I should suppose it was suggested by 
the splendid review of the twenty-fifth of last No- 
vember ; when a pair of colours was presented at the 
City-Hall, to the regiments of artillery ; and when a 
huge dinner was devoured, by our corporation, in the 
honourable remembrance of the evacuation of this 
city. I am happy to find that the laudable spirit of 
military emulation which prevails in our city has at- 
tracted the attention of a stranger of Mustapha's 
sagacity ; by military emulation I mean that spirited 
rivalry in the size of a hat, the length of a feather, 
and the gingerbread finery of a sword belt. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

TO ABDALLAH EB'N AL RAHAB, SURNAMED THE 
SNORER, MILITARY SENTINEL AT THE GATE 
OF HIS highness' PALACE. 



Thou hast heard, oh Abdallah, of the great ma- 
gician, MULEY Fuz, who could change a blooming 
land, blessed with all the elysian charms of hill and 
dale, of glade and grove, of fruit and flower, into a 
desert, frightful, solitary, and forlorn ; — who with the 
wave of his wand could transform even the disciples 
of Mahomet into grinning apes and chattering mon- 
keys. Surely, thought I to myself this morning, the 
dreadful Muley has been exercising his infernal en- 
chantments on these unhappy infidels. Listen, oh 
Abdallah, and wonder ! Last night I committed 
myself to tranquil slumber, encompassed with all the 
monotonous tokens of peace, and this morning I 
awoke enveloped in the noise, the bustle, the clangor, 
and the shouts of war. Every thing was changed as 
if by magic. An immense army had sprung up, like 
mushrooms, in a night ; and all the cobblers, tailors, 
and tinkers of the city had mounted the nodding 
plume ; had become, in the twinkling of an eye, hel- 
metted heroes and war-worn veterans. 

Alarmed at the beating of drums, the braying of 
trumpets, and the shouting of the multitude, 1 dressed 
myself in haste, sallied forth, and followed a prodig- 
ious crowd of people to a place called the battery. 
This is so denominated, I am told, from having once 
been defended with formidable wooden bulwarks, 
which in the course of a hard winter were thriftily 
pulled to pieces by an economic corporation, to be 
distributed for fire-wood among the poor ; this was 



* Moore. 



t Carr, 



done at the hint of a cunning old engineer, who as- 
sured them it was the only way in which their forti- 
fications would ever be able to keep up a warm fire. 
Economy, my friend, is the watch-word of this 
nation ; I have been studying for a month past 
to divine its meaning, but truly am as much per- 
plexed as ever. It is a kind of national starvation ; 
an experiment how many comforts and necessaries 
the body politic can be deprived of before it perishes. 
It has already arrived to a lamentable degree of de- 
bility, and promises to share the fate of the Arabian 
philosopher, who proved that he could live without 
food, but unfortunately died just as he had brought 
his experiment to perfection. 

On arriving at the battery, I found an immense 
army of SIX HUNDRED MEN, drawn up in a true 
Mussulman crescent. At first I supposed this was in 
compliment to myself, but my interpreter informed 
me that it was done merely for want of room ; the 
corporation not being able to afford them sufficient 
to display in a straight line. As I expected a dis- 
play of some grand evolutions, and military manoeu- 
vres, I determined to remain a tranquil spectator, in 
hopes that I might possibly collect some hints which 
might be of service to his highness. 

This great body of men I perceived was under the 
command of a small bashaw, in yellow and gold, 
with white nodding plumes, and most formidable 
whiskers ; which, contrary to the Tripolitan fashion, 
were in the neighbourhood of his ears instead of his 
nose. He had two attendants called aid-de-camps, 
(or tails) being similar to a bashaw with two tails. 
The bashaw, though commander-in-chief, seemed to 
have little more to do than myself; he was a specta- 
tor within the lines and I without : he was clear of 
the rabble and I was encompassed by them ; this was 
the only difference between us, except that he had 
the best opportunity of showing his clothes. I waited 
an hour or two with exemplary patience, expecting to 
see some grand military evolutions or a sham battle 
exhibited ; but no such thing took place ; the men 
stood stock still, supporting their arms, groaning un- 
der the fatigues of war, and now and then sending 
out a foraging party to levy contributions of beer and 
a favourite beverage which they denominate grog. 
As I perceived the crowd very active in examining 
the line, from one extreme to the other, and .as I 
could see no other purpose for which these sunshine 
warriors should be exposed so long to the merciless 
attacks of wind and weather, I of course concluded 
that this must be the rei'ieu.'. 

In about two hours the army was put in motion, 
and marched through some narrow streets, where 
the economic corporation had carefully provided a 
soft carpet of mud, to a magnificent castle of paint- 
ed brick, decorated with grand pillars of pine 
boards. By the ardor which brightened in each 
countenance, I soon perceived that this castle was 
to undergo a vigorous attack. As the ordnance of 
the castle was perfectly silent, and as they had 
nothing but a straight street to advance through, 
they made their approaches with great courage and 
admirable regularity, until within about a hundred 
feet of the castle a pump opposed a formidable ob- 
stacle in their way, and put the whole army to a 
nonplus. The circumstance was sudden and un- 
locked for ; the commanding officer ran over all 
the military tactics with which his head was cram- 
med, but none offered any expedient for the present 
awful emergency. The pump maintained its post, 
and so did the commander ; there was no knowing 
which was most at a stand. The commanding 
officer ordered his men to wheel and take it in 
flank ; — the army accordingly wheeled and came 
full butt against it in the rear, exactly as .they weru 



SALMAGUNDI. 



657 



before : — " wheel to the left ! " cried the officer ; 
they did so, and again as before the inveterate 
pump intercepted their progress. " Right about 
face!" cried the officer; the men obeyed, but 
bungled; — \\\e.^ faced back to back. Upon this the 
bashaw with two tails, with great coolness, un- 
dauntedly ordered his men to push right forward, 
pell-mell, pump or no pump ; they gallantly obeyed ; 
after unheard-of acts of bravery the pump was car- 
ried, without the loss of a man, and the army 
firmly entrenched itself under the very walls of the 
castle. The bashaw had then a council of war with 
his officers ; the most vigorous measures were 
resolved on. An advance guard of musicians were 
ordered lo attack the castle without mercy. Then 
the whole band opened a most tremendous battery 
of drums, fifes, tambourines, and trumpets, and 
kept up a thundering assault, as if the castle, like 
the walls of Jericho, spoken of in the Jewish chron- 
icles, would tumble down at the blowing of rams' 
horns. After some time a parley ensued. The 
grand bashaw of the city appeared on the battle- 
ments of the castle, and as far as I could under- 
stand from circumstances, dared the little bashaw 
of two tails to single combat ; — this thou knowest 

was in the style of ancient chivalry : the little 

bashaw dismounted with great intrepidity, and as- 
cended the battlements of the castle, where the 
great bashaw waited to receive him, attended by 
numerous dignitaries and worthies of his court, one 
of whom bore the splendid banners of the castle. 
The battle was carried on entirely by words, ac- 
cording to the universal custom of this country, of 
which I shall speak to thee more fully hereafter. 
The grand bashaw made a furious attack in a 
speech of considerable length ; the little bashaw, by 
no means appalled, retorted with great s])irit. The 
grand bashaw attempted to rip him up with an 
argument, or stun him with a solid fact ; but the 
little bashaw parried them both with admirable 
adroitness, and run him clean through and through 
with a syllogism. The grand bashaw was over- 
thrown, the banners of the castle yielded up to the 
little bashaw, and the castle surrendered after a \ig- 
orous defence of three hours, — during which the 
besiegers suffered great extremity from muddy 
streets and a drizzling atmosphere. 

On returning to dinner I soon discovered that as 
usual I had been indulging in a great mistake. The 
matter was all clearly explained to me by a fellow 
lodger, who on ordinary occasions moves in the 
humble character of a tailor, but in the present in- 
stance figured in a high military station, denomi- 
nated corporal. He informed me that what I had 
mistaken for a castle was the splendid palace of 
the municipality, and that the supposed attack was 
nothing more than the delivery of a flag given by 
the authorities, to the army, for its magnanimous 
defence of the town for upwards of twenty years 
past, that is, ever since the last war ! Oh, my friend, 
surely every thing in this country is on a great 

scale ! the conversation insensibly turned upon 

the military establishment of the nation ; and 1 do 
assure thee that my friend, the tailor, though being, 
according to a national proverb, but the ninth part 
of a man, yet acquitted himself on military con- 
cerns as ably as the grand bashaw of the empire 
himself He observed that their rulers had decided 
that wars were very useless and expensive, and ill 
befitting an economic, philosophic nation ; they 
had therefore made up their minds never to have 
any wars, and consequently there was no need of 
soldiers or military discipline. As, however, it was 
thought highly ornamental to a city to have a num- 
ber of men drest in fine clothes and/eat/urs, strut- 
4-2 



ting about the streets on a holiday — and as the 
women and children were particularly fond of 
such rarec shows, it was ordered that the tailors of 
the different cities throughout the empire should, 
forthwith, go to work, and cut out and manufacture 
soldiers as fast as their shears and needles would 
permit. 

These soldiers have no pecuniary pay ; and their 
only recompense for the immense services which 
they render the country, in their voluntary parades, 
is the plunder of smiles, and winks, and nods w'hich 
they extort from the ladies. As they have no op- 
portunity, like the vagrant Arabs, of making in- 
roads on their neighbours ; and as it is necessary 
to keep up their military spirit, the town is there- 
fore now and then, but particularly on two days of 
the year, given up to their ravages. The arrange- 
ments are contrived with admirable address, so that 
every officer, from the bashaw down to the drum- 
major, the chief of the eunuchs, or musicians, shall 
have his share of that invaluable booty, the admi- 
ration of the fair. As to the soldiers, poor ani- 
mals, they, like the privates in all great armies, 
have to bear the brunt of danger and fatigue, while 
their officers receive all the glory and reward. The 
narrative of a parade day will exemplify this more 
clearly. 

The chief bashaw, in the plenitude of his author- 
ity, orders a grand review of the whole army at two 
o'clock. The bashaw with two tails, that he may 
have an opportunity of vapouring about as greatest 
man on the field, orders the army to assemble at 
twelve. The kiaya, or colonel, as he is called, that 
is, commander of one hundred and twenty men, or- 
ders his regiment or tribe to collect one mile at least 
from the place of parade at eleven. Each captain, 
or fag-rag as we term them, commands his squad 
to meet at ten at least a half mile from the regi- 
mental parade ; and to close all, the chief of the 
eunuchs orders his infernal concert of fifes, trumpets, 
cymbals, and kettle-drums to assemble at ten ! from 
that moment the city receives no quarter. All is 
noise, hooting, hubbub, and combustion. Every 
window, door, crack, and loop-hole, from the garret 
to the cellar, is crowded with the fascinating fair of 
all ages and of all complexions. The mistress 
smiles through the windows of the drawing-room ; 
the chubby chambermaid lolls out of the attic case- 
ment, and a host of sooty wenches roll their white 
eyes and grin and chatter from the cellar door. — 
Every nymph seems anxious to yield voluntarily 
that tribute which the heroes of their country de- 
mand. First struts the chief eunuch, or drum-major, 
at the head of his sable band, magnificently ar- 
rayed in tarnished scarlet. Alexander himself 
could not have spurned the earth more superbly. 
A host of ragged boys shout in his train, and inflate 
the bosom of the warrior with tenfold self-compla- 
cency. After he has rattled his kettle-drums 
through the town, and swelled and swaggered like a 
turkey-cock before all the dingy Floras, and Dianas, 
and Junoes, and Didoes of his acquaintance, he re- 
pairs to his place of destination loaded with a rich 
booty of smiles and approbation. Next comes the 
Fag-rag, or captain, at the head of his mighty 
band, consisting of one lieutenant, one ensign, or 
mute, four sergeants, four corporals, one drummer, 
one filer, and if he has any privates, so much the 
better for himself In marching to the regimental 
parade he is sure to paddle through the street or 
lane which is honoured with the residence of his 
mistress or intended, whom he resolutely lays under 
a heavy contribution. Truly it is delectable to be- 
hold these heroes, as they march along, cast side 
glances at the upper windows ; to collect the smiles. 



r)58 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the nods, and the winks, which the enraptured fair 
ones lavish profusely on the magnanimous defenders 
of their country. 

The Fag-rags having conducted their squads to 
their respective regiments, then comes the turn of 
the colonel, a bashaw with no tails, for all eyes are 
now directed to him ; and the fag-rags, and the 
eunuchs, and the kettle-drummers, having had their 
hour of notoriety, are confounded and lost in the 
military crowd. The colonel sets his whole regi- 
ment in motion; and, mounted on a mettlesome 
charger, frisks and fidgets, and capers, and plunges 
in front, to the great entertainment of the multi- 
tude and the great hazard of himself and his neigh- 
bours. Having displayed himself, his trappings, 
his horse, and his horsemanship, he at length ar- 
rives at the place of general rendezvous ; blessed 
with the universal admiration of his country-women. 
I should perhaps mention a squadron of hardy vet- 
erans, most of whom have seen a deal of service 
during the nineteen or twenty years of their exist- 
ence, and who, most gorgeously equipped in tight 
green jackets and breeches, trot and amble, and 
gallop and scamper like little devils through every 
street and nook and corner and poke-hole of the 
city, to the great dread of all old people and sage 
matrons with young children. This is truly sub- 
lime ! this is what I call making a mountain out of 
a mole-hill. Oh, my friend, on what a great scale 
is every thing in this country. It is in the style of 
the wandering Arabs of the desert El-tih. Is a vil- 
lage to be attacked, or a hamlet to be plundered, 
the whole desert, for weeks beforehand, is in a buzz ; 
— such marching and countermarching, ere they can 
concentrate their ragged forces ! and the conse- 
quence is, that before they can bring their troops 
into action, the whole enterprise is blown. 

The army being all happily collected on the bat- 
tery, though, perhaps, two hours after the time ap- 
ponited, it is now the turn of the bashaw, with two 
tails, to distinguish himself Ambition, my friend, 
is implanted alike in every heart ; it pervades each 
bosom, from the bashaw to the drum-major. This 
is a sage truism, and I trust, therefore, it will not be 
disputed. The bashaw, fired with that thirst for 
glory, inseparable from the noble mind, is anxious 
to reap a full share of the laurels of the day and bear 
off his portion of female plunder. The drums beat, 
the fifes whistle, the standards wave proudly in the 
air. The signal is given ! thunder roars the cannon ! 
away goes the bashaw, and away go the tails ! 
The review finished, evolutions and military ma- 
noeuvres are generally dispensed with for three ex- 
cellent reasons ; first, because the army knows very 
little about them ; second, because as the country 
has determined to remain always at peace, there is 
no necessity for them to know any thing about them ; 
and third, as it is growing late, the bashaw must 
despatch, or it will be too dark for him to get his 
quota of the plunder. He of course orders the 
whole array to march ; and now, my friend, now 
comes the tug of war, now is the city completely 
sacked. Open fly the battery-gates, forth sallies the 
bashaw with his two tails, surrounded by a shouting 
body-guard of boys and negroes ! then pour forth 
his legionSi, potent as the pismires of the desert ! the 
customary salutations of the country commence — 
those tokens of joy and admiration which so much 
annoyed me on first landing: the air is darkened 
with old hats, shoes, and dead cats ; they fly in show- 
ers like the arrows of the Parthians. The soldiers, 
no ways disheartened, like the intrepid followers of 
Leonidas, march gallantly under their shade. On 
they pusli, splash dash, mud or no mud. Down one 
lane, up another ; — the martial music resounds 



through every street ; the fair ones throng to their 
windows, — the soldiers look every way but straight 
forward. "Carry arms," cries the bashaw — " tan- 
ta ra-ra," brays the trumpet — " rub-a-dub," roars 
the drum—" hurraw," shout the ragamuffins. The 
bashaw smiles with exultation — every fag-rag feels 
himself a hero — " none but the brave deserve the 
fair ! " head of the immortal Amrou, on what a 
great scale is every thing in this country. 

Ay, but you'll say, is not this unfair that the offi- 
cers should share all the sports while the privates 
undergo all the fatigue ? truly, my friend, I indulged 
the same idea, and pitied from my heart the poor 
fellows who had to drabble through the mud and 
the mire, toiling under ponderous cocked hats, which 
seemed as unwieldy and cumbrous as the shell 
which the snail lumbers along on his back. I soon 
found out, however, that they have their quantum 
of notoriety. As soon as the army is dismissed, the 
city swai-ms with little scouting parties, who fire off 
their guns at every corner, to the great delight of 
all the women and children in their vicinity ; and wo 
unto any dog, or pig, or hog, that falls in the way 
of these magnanimous warriors ; they are shown no 
quarter. Every gentle swain repairs to pass the 
evening at the feet of his dulcinea, to play " the sol- 
dier tired of war's alarms," and to captivate her with 
the glare of his regimentals ; excepting some am- 
bitious heroes who strut to the theatre, flame away 
in the front boxes, and hector every old apple-woman 
in the lobbies. 

Such, my friend, is the gigantic genius of this na- 
tion, and its faculty of swelling up nothings into im- 
portance. Our bashaw of Tripoli will review his 
troops, of some thousands, by an early hour in the 
morning. Here a review of six hundred men is 
made the mighty work of a day ! with us a bashaw 
of two tails is never appointed to a command of less 
than ten thousand men ; but here we behold every 
grade, from the bashaw down to the drum-major, 
in a force of less than one-tenth of the number. By 
the beard of Mahomet, but every thing here is in- 
deed on a great scale ! 



BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 



I WAS not a little surprised the other morning at 
a request from Will Wizard that I would accom- 
pany him that evening to Mrs. 's ball. The re- 
quest was simple enough in itself, it was only singu- 
lar as coming from Will ;— of all my acquaintance 
Wizard is the least calculated and disposed for the 
society of ladies— not that he dislikes their company ; 
on the contrary, like every man of pith and marrow, 
he is a professed admirer of the sex ; and had he 
been born a poet, would undoubtedly have bespat- 
tered and be-rhymed some hard-named goddess, 
until she became as famous as Petrarch's Laura, or 
Waller's Sacharissa ; but Will is such a confounded 
bungler at a bow, has so many odd bachelor habits, 
and finds it so troublesome to be gallant, that he 
generally prefers smoking his segar and telling his 
story among cronies of his own gender ; — and thun- 
dering long stories they are, let me tell you ;— set 
Will once a going about China or Crim Tartarj', or 
the Hottentots, and heaven help the poor victim who 
has to endure his prolixity ; he might better be tied 
to the tail of a jack-o'-lantern. In one word— Will 
talks like a traveller. Being well acquainted with 
his character, I was the more alarmed at his inclina- 
tion to visit a party ; since he has often assured me, 
that he considered it as equivalent to being stuck up 
for three hours in a steam-engine. I even wondered 



SALMAGUNDI. 



659 



how he had received an invitation ; — this he soon [ 
accounted for. It seems Will, on his last arrival 
from Canton, had made a present of a case of tea, 
to a lady for whom he had once entertained a sneak- 
ing kindness when at grammar school ; and she in 
return had invited him to come and drink some of 
it ; a cheap way enough of paying off little obliga- 
tions. I readily acceded to Will's proposition, ex- 
pecting much entertainment from his eccentric re- 
marks ; and as he has been absent some few years, 
I anticipated his surprise at the splendour and ele- 
gance of a modern rout. 

On calling for Will in the evening, I found him 
full dressed, waiting for me. I contemplated him 
with absolute dismay. As he still retained a spark 
of regard for the lady who once reigned in his affec- 
tions, he had been at unusual pains in decorating 
his person and broke upon my sight arrayed in the 
true style that prevailed among our beaux some 
years ago. His hair was turned up and tufted at the 
top, frizzled out at the ears, a profusion of powder 
puffed over the whole, and a long plaited club swung 
gracefully from shoulder to shoulder, describing a 
pleasing semicircle of powder and pomatum. His 
claret-coloured coat was decorated with a profusion 
of gilt buttons, and reached to his calves. His white 
casimere small-clothes were so tight that he seemed 
to have grown up in them ; and his ponderous legs, 
which are the thickest part of his body, were beau- 
tifully clothed in sky-blue silk stockings, once con- 
sidered so becoming. But above all, he prided him- 
self upon his waistcoat of China silk, which might 
almost have served a good housewife for a short- 
gown ; and he boasted that the roses and tulips upon 
it were the work of Naiig- Fou, daughter of the great 
Chin-Chin-Foii, who had fallen in love With the 
graces of his person, and sent it to him as a parting 
present ; he assured me she was a remarkable beauty, 
with sweet obliquity of eyes, and a foot no larger 
than the thumb of an alderman ; — he then dilated 
most copiously on his silver-sprigged dicky, which 
he assured me was quite the rage among the dash- 
ing young mandarins of Canton. 

I hoM it an ill-natured office to put any man out 
of conceit with himself; so, though I would will- 
ingly have made a little alteration in mv friend 
Wizard's picturesque costume, yet I politely com- 
plimented him on his rakish appearance. 

On entering the room I kept a good look-out on 
Will, expecting to see him exhibit signs of sur- 
prise ; but he is one of those knowing fellows who 
are never surprised at any thing, or at least will 
never acknowledge it. He took his stand in the 
middle of the floor, playing with his great steel 
watch-chain ; and looking round on the company, 
the furniture, and the pictures, with the air of a 

man " who had seen d d finer things in his 

time ;" and to my utter confusion and dismay, I 
saw him coolly pull out his villainous old japanned 
tobacco-box, ornamented with a bottle, a pipe, and 
a scun'y motto, and help himself to a quid in face of 
all the company. 

I knew it was all in vain to find fault with a fel- 
low of Will's socratic turn, who is never to be put 
out of humour with himself; so, after he had given 
his box its prescriptive rap and returned it to his 
pocket, I drew him into a corner where he might 
observe the company without being prominent ob- 
jects ourselves. 

" And pray who is that stylish figure," said Will, 
" who blazes away in red, like a volcano, and who 
seems wrapped in flames like a fiery dragon?" — 
That, cried I, is Miss Laurelia Das'haway ; — she 
is the highest flash of the ton — has much whim and 
more eccentricity, and has reduced many an un- 



happy gentleman to stupidity by her charms ; you 
see she holds out the red flag in token of " no quar- 
ter." " Then keep me safe out of the sphere of her 
attractions," cried Will. " I would not e'en come in 
contact with her train, lest it should scorch me 

like the tail of a comet. But who, I beg of you, 

is that amiable youth who is handing ^tlong a young 
lady, and at the same time contemplating his sweet 
person in a mirror, as he passes ? " His name, said 
I, is Billy Dimple; — he is a universal smiler, and 
would travel from Dan to Beersheba and smile on 
every body as he passed. Dimple is a slave to the 
ladies — a hero at tea-parties, and is famous at the 
piroiict and the pigeon-wing ; a fiddle-stick is his 
idol, and a dance his elysium. " A very pretty 
young gentleman, truly," cried Wizard; "he re- 
minds me of a cotemporary beau at Hayti. You 
must know that the magnanimous Dessalines gave 
a great ball to his court one fine sultry summer's 
evening ; Dessy and me were great cronies ; — hand 
and glove : — one of the most condescending great 
men I ever knew. Such a display of black and 
yellow beauties ! such a show of Madras handker- 
chiefs, red beads, cock's-tails and peacock's fea- 
thers ! — it was, as here, who should wear the highest 
top-knot, drag the longest tails, or exhibit the 
greatest variety of combs, colours and gew-gaws. 
In the middle of the rout, when all was buzz, slip- 
slop, clack, and perfume, who should enter but 
TUCKY Squash ! The yellow beauties blushed blue, 
and the black ones blushed as red as they could, 
with pleasure; and there was a universal agitation 
of fans ; every eye brightened and whitened to see 
Tucky ; for he was the pride of the court, the pink 
of courtesy, the mirror of fashion, the adoration of 
all the sable fair ones of Hayti. Such breadth of 
nose, such exuberance of lip ! his shins had the 
true cucumber curve ; his i^ce in dancing shone 
like a kettle; and, provided you kept to windward 
of him in summer, I do not know a sweeter youth 
in all Hayti than Tucky Squash. When he laughed, 
there appeared from ear to ear a chevaux-de-frize 
of teeth, that rivalled the shark's in whiteness ; 
he could whistle like a north-wester; play on a 
three-stringed fiddle like Apollo ; and as to danc- 
ing, no Long - Island negro could shuttle you 
" double-trouble," or " hoe corn and dig potatoes" 
more scientifically : — in short, he was a second Lo- 
thario. And the dusky nymphs of Hayti, one and 
all, declared him a perpetual Adonis. 'Tucky walk- 
ed about, whistling to himself, without regarding 
any body ; and his nonchalance was irresistible." 

I found Will had got neck and heels into one of 
his travellers' stories ; and there is no knowing how 
far he would have run his parallel between Billy 
Dimple and Tucky Squash, had not the music 
struck up, from an adjoining apartment, and sum- 
moned the company to the dance. The sound 
seemed to have an inspiring effect on honest Will, 
and he procured the hand of an old acquaintance 
for a country dance. It happened to be the fash- 
ionable one of "the Devil among the tailors," 
which is so vociferously demanded at every ball 
and assembly: and many a torn gown, and many 
an unfortunate toe did rue the dancing of that night; 
for Will, thundering down the dance like a coach 
and six, sometimes right, sometimes wrong ; now 
running over half a score of little Frenchmen, and 
now making sad inroads into ladies' cobweb muslins 
and spangled tails. As every part of Will's body 
cartook of the exertion, he shook from his capacious 
head such volumes of powder, that like pious Eneas 
on the first interview with Queen Dido, he might 
be said to have been enveloped in a cloud. Nor was 
Will's partner an insignificant figure in the scene ; 



660 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



she was a young lady of most voluminous propor- 
tions, that quivered at every skip ; and being braced 
up in the fashionable style with whalebone, stay- 
tape, and buckram, looked like an apple pudding 
tied in the middle; or, taking her flaming dress into 
consideration, like a bed and bolsters rolled up in a 
suit of red curtains. The dance finished. — I would 
gladly have taken Will off, but no ; — he was now in 
one of his happy moods, and there was no doing 
any thing with him. He insisted on my intro- 
ducing him to Miss SoPHY SPARKLE, a young lady 
unrivalled for playful w-it and innocent vivacity, and 
who, like a brilliant, adds lustre to the front of 
fashion. I accordingly presented him to her, and 
began a conversation in which, 1 thought, he might 
take a share ; but no such thing. Will took his 
stand before her, straddling like a Colossus, with his 
hands in his pockets, and an air of the most pro- 
found attention ; nor did he pretend to open his lips 
for soine lime, until, upon some lively sally ot 
hers, he electrified the whole company with a most 
intolerable burst of laughter. What was to be done 
with such an incorrigible fellow.'' — to add to my 
distress, the first word he spoke was to tell Miss 
Sparkle that something she said reminded him of 
a circumstance that happened to him in China ; — 
and at it he went, in the true traveller style — de- 
scribed the Chinese mode of eating rice with chop- 
sticks ; — entered into a long eulogium on the suc- 
culent qualities of boiled bird's nests ; and 1 made 
my escape at the very moment when he was on the 
l)oint of squatting down on the floor, to show how 
the little Chinese Joshes sit cross-legged. 



TO THE LADIES. 

FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 



Though jogging down the hill of life, 
Without the comfort of a wife; 
And though I ne'er a helpmate chose. 
To stock my house and mend my hose; 
With care my person to adorn, 
And spruce me up on Sunday morn; — 
Still do I love the gentle se.x, 
And still with cares my brain perplex 
To keep the fair ones of the age 
Unsullied as the spotless page; 
All pure, all simple, all refined, 
The sweetest solace of mankind. 

I hate the loose, insidious jest 
To beauty's modest ear addrest, 
And hold that frowns should never fail 
To check each smooth, but fulsome tale; 
But he whose impious pen should dare 
Invade the morals of the fair; 
To taint that purity divine 
Which should each female heart enshrine; 
Though soft his vitious strains should swell. 
As those which erst from Gabriel fell, 
Should yet be held aloft to shame. 
And foul dishonour shade his name. 
Judge, then, my friends, of my surprise, 
The ire that kindled in my eyes, 
When I relate, that t'other day 
I went a morning-call to pay. 
On two young nieces; just come down 
To take the polish of the town. 
By which I mean no more or less 
Than a la Francaise to undress; 
To whirl the modest waltz' rounds, 
Taught by Duport for snug ten pounds. 
To thump and thunder through a song, 
Play /orA'j soft and dolcc's strong; 
E.\hibit loud piano feats. 
Caught from that crotchet-hero, Meetz: 



To drive the rose-bloom from the face. 
And fix the lily in its place; 
To doff the white, and in its stead 
To bounce about in brazen red. 

While in the parlour I delay'd. 
Till they their persons had array'd, 
A dapper volume caught my eye, 
That on the window chanced to lie: 
A book's a friend — I always choose 
To turn its pages and peruse: — 
It proved those poems known to fame 
For praising every cyprian dame; — 
The bantlings of a dapper youth, 
Renown'd for gratitude and truth: 
A little pest, hight Tommy Moore, 
Who hopp'd and skipp'd our countrj' o'er; 
Who sipp'd our tea and lived on sops, 
Revell'd on syllabubs and slops. 
And when his brain, of cobweb fine. 
Was fuddled with five drops of wine, 
Would all his puny loves rehearse, 
And many a maid debauch — in verse. 
Surprised to meet in open view, 
A book of such lascivious hue, 
I chid my nieces — but they say, 
'Tis all the passion of the day; — 
That many a fashionable belle 
Will with enraptured accents dwell 
On the sweet nwrccait she has found 
In this delicious, curst, compound ! 

Soft do the tinkling numbers roll. 
And lure to vice the unthinking soul; 
They tempt by softest sounds away, 
They lead entranced the heart astray; 
And Satan's doctrine sweetly sing. 
As with a seraph's heavenly string. 
Such sounds, so good, old Homer sung. 
Once warbled from the Syren's tongue; — 
Sweet melting tones were heard to pour 
Along Ausonia's sun-gilt shore; 
Seductive strains in aether float. 
And every wild deceitful note 
That could the yielding heart assail. 
Were wafted on the breathing gale; — 
And every gentle accent bland 
To tempt Ulysses to their strand. 

.'\nd can it be this book so base. 
Is laid on every window-case? 
Oh! fair ones, if you will profane 
Those breasts where heaven itself should reign; 
And throw those pure recesses wide, 
Where peace and virtue should reside 
To let the holy pile admit 
A guest unhallowed and unfit; 
Pray, like the frail ones of the night. 
Who hide their wanderings from the light, 
So let your errors secret be. 
And hide, at least, your fault from me: 
Seek some by-corner to explore 
The smooth, polluted pages o'er: 
There drink the insidious poison in. 
There slyly nurse your souls for sin: 
And while that purity you blight 
Which stamps you messengers of light. 
And sap those mounds the gods bestow. 
To keep you spotless here below; 
Still in compassion to our race, 
Who joy, not only in the face. 
But in that more exalted part, 
The sacred temple of the heart; 
Oh! hide for ever from our view. 
The fatal mischief you pursue: — 
Let MEN your praises still exalt, 
And none but angels mourn your fault. 



No. VI.— FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1807 

FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

The Cockloft family, of which I have made such 
frequent mention, is of great antiquity, if there be 
any truth in the genealogical tree which hangs up 



SALMAGUNDI. 



661 



in my cousin's library. They trace their descent 
from a celeljrated Roman knight, cousin to the pro- 
genitor of his majesty of Britain, who left his native 
country on occasion of some disgust ; and coming 
into Wales became a great favourite of prince Ma- 
doc, and accompanied that famous argonaut in the 
voyage which ended in the discover)' of this conti- 
nent. Though a member of the family, I have some- 
times ventured to doubt the authenticity of this por- 
tion of their annals, to the great vexation of cousin 
Christopher: who is looked up to as the head of our 
house ; and who, though as orthodox as a bishop, 
would sooner give up the whole decalogue than lop 
off a single limb of the family tree. From time im- 
memorial, it has been the rule for the Cocklofts to 
marry one of their own name ; and as they always 
bred like rabbits, the family has increased and mul- 
tiplied like that of Adam and Eve. In truth, their 
number is almost incredible ; and you can hardly 
go into anv part of the country without starting a 
warren of genuine Cocklofts. Every person of the 
least observation or experience must have observed, 
that where this practice of marr\'ing cousins and 
second cousins prevails in a family, every member in 
the course of a few generations becomes queer, hu- 
mourous, and original ; as much distinguished from 
the common race of mongrels as if he was of a dif- 
ferent species. This has happened in our family, 
and particularly in that branch of it which Mr. Chris- 
topher Cockloft, or, to do him justice, Mr. Christo- 
pher Cockloft, Esq., is the head. Christopher is, in 
fact, the only married man of the name who resides 
in town ; his family is small, having lost most of his 
children when young, by the excessive care he took 
to bring them up like vegetables. This was one of 
his first whim-whams, and a confounded one it was, 
as his children might have told, had they not fallen 
victims to this experiment before they could talk. 
He had got from some quack philosopher or other a 
notion that there was a complete analogy between 
children and plants, and that they ought to be both 
reared alike. Accordingly, he sprinkled them every 
morning with water, laid them out in the sun, as he 
did his geraniums ; and if the season was remarka- 
bly dry, repeated this wise experiment three or four 
times of a morning. The consequence was, the 
poor little souls died one after the other, except Jer- 
emy and his two sisters, who, to be sure, are a trio 
of as odd, runty, mummy-looking originals as ever 
Hogarth fancied in his most happy moments. Mrs. 
Cockloft, the larger if not the better half of my 
cousin, often remonstrated against this vegetable 
theoi7 ; and even brought the parson of the parish 
in which my cousin's countrv house is situated to 
her aid, but in vain : Christopher persisted, and 
attributed the failure of his plan to its not having 
been exactly conformed to. As I have mentioned 
Mrs. Cockloft, 1 may as well say a little more about 
her while 1 am in the humour. She is a lady of 
wonderful notability, a vvarm admirer of shining ma- 
hogany, clean hearths, and her husband ; who she 
considers the wisest man in the world, bating Will 
Wizard and the parson of our parish ; the last of 
whom is her oracle on all occasions. She goes con- 
stantly to church every Sunday and Saints-day ; and 
insists upon it that no man is entitled to ascend a 
pulpit unless he has been ordained by a bishop ; nay, 
so far does she carry her orthodoxy, that all the ar- 
gument in the world will never persuade her that a 
Presbyterian or Baptist, or even a Calvinisl, has any 
possible chance of going to heaven. Above every 
thing else, however, she abhors paganism. Can 
scarcely refrain from laying violent hands on a pan- 
theon when she meets with it ; and was very nigh 
going into hysterics when my cousin insisted one of 



his boys should be christened after our laureate ; 
because the parson of the parish had told her that 
Pindar was the name of a pagan writer, famous for 
his love of boxing-matches, wrestling, and horse- 
racing. To sum up all her qualifications in the 
shortest possible way, Mrs. Cockloft is, in the true 
sense of the phrase, a good sort of woman ; and I 
often congratulate my cousin on possessing her. 
The rest of the family consists of Jeremy Cockloft 
the younger, who has already been mentioned, and 
the two Miss Cocklofts, or rather the young ladies, 
as they have been called by the servants, time out 
of mind ; not that they are really young, the younger 
being somewhat on the shady side of thirty, but it 
has ever been the custom to call every member of 
the family young under fifty. In the south-east cor- 
ner of the house, I hold quiet possession of an old- 
fashioned apartment, where myself and my elbow- 
chair are suffered to amuse ourselves undisturbed, 
save at meal times. This apartment old Cockloft 
has facetiously denominated cousin Launce's para- 
dise ; and the good old gentleman has two or three 
favourite jokes about it, which are served up as reg- 
ularly as the standing family dish of beef-steaks and 
onions, which ever)' day maintains its station at the 
foot of the table, in defiance of mutton, poultry, or 
even venison itself. 

Though the family is apparently small, yet, like 
most old establishments of the kind, it does not want 
for honorary members. It is the city rendezvous of 
the Cocklofts; and we are continually enlivened by 
the company of half a score of uncles, aunts, and 
cousins, in the fortieth remove, from all parts of the 
country, who profess a wonderful regard for cousin 
Christopher, and overwhelm every member of his 
household, down to the cook in the kitchen, with 
their attentions. We have for three weeks past been 
greeted with the company of two worthy old spin- 
sters, who came down from the country to settle a 
law-suit. They have done little else but retail stories 
of their village neighbours, knit stockings, and take 
snuff all the time they have been here ; the whole 
family are bewildered with church-yard tales of 
sheeted ghosts, white horses without heads and with 
large goggle eyes in their buttocks ; and not one of 
the old servants dare budge an inch after dark with- 
out a numerous company at his heels. My cousin's 
visitors, however, always return his hospitality with 
due gratitude, and now and then remind him of 
their fraternal regard by a present of a pot of apple- 
sweetmeats or a barrel of sour cider at Christmas. 
Jeremy displays himself to great advantage among 
his country relations, who all think him a prodigy ; 
and often stand astounded, in " gaping wonder- 
ment," at his natural philosophy. He lately fright- 
ened a simple old uncle almost out of his wits, by 
giving it as his opinion that the earth would one day 
be scorched to ashes by the eccentric gambols of the 
famous comet, so much talked of; and positively as- 
serted that this world revolved round the sun, and 
that the moon was certainly inhabited. 

The family mansion bears equal marks of antiq- 
uity with its inhabitants. As the Cocklofts are re- 
markable for their attachment to every thing that 
has remained long in the family, they are bigoted to- 
wards their old edifice, and I dare say would sooner 
have it crumble about their ears than abandon it. 
The consequence is, it has been so patched up and 
repaired, that it has become as full of whims and 
oddities as its tenants ; requires to be nursed and 
humoured like a gouty old codger of an alderman ; 
and reminds one of the famous ship in which a cer- 
tain admiral circumnavigated the globe, which was 
so patched and timbered, in order to presen'e so 
I great a curiosity, that at length not a particle of the 



662 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



original remained. Whenever the wind blows, the 
old mansion maizes a most perilous groaning ; and 
every storm is sure to make a day's work for the car- 
penter, who attends upon it as regularly as the fam- 
ily physician. This predilection for every thing that 
has been long in the family shows itself in every par- 
ticular. The domestics are all grown gray in the 
service of our house. We have a little, old, crusty, 
gray-headed negro, who has lived through two or 
three generations of the Cocklol'ts ; and, of course, 
has become a personage of no little importance in 
the household. He calls all the family by their chris- 
tian names ; tells long stories about how he dandled 
them on his knee when they were children ; and is a 
complete Cockloft chronicle for the last seventy years. 
The family carriage was made in the last French war, 
and the old horses were most indubitably foaled in 
Noah's ark ; resembling marvellously, in gravity of 
demeanour, those sober animals which may be seen 
any day of the year in the streets of Philadelphia, 
walking their snail's pace, a dozen in a row, and har- 
moniously jingling their bells. Whim-whams are 
the inheritance of the Cocklofts, and every member 
of the household is a humourist sui generis, from 
the master down to the footman. The very cats and 
dogs are humourists ; and we have a little, runty 
scoundrel of a cur, who, whenever the church-bells 
ring, will run to the street-door, turn up his nose in 
the wind, and howl most piteously. Jeremy insists 
that this is owing to a peculiar delicacy in the or- 
ganization of his ears, and supports his position by 
many learned arguments which nobody can under- 
stand ; but I am of opinion that it is a mere Cock- 
loft whim-wham, which the little cur indulges, being 
descended from a race of dogs which has flourished 
in the family ever since the time of my grandfather. 
A propensity to save every thing that bears the 
stamp of family antiquity, has accumulated an abun- 
dance of trumpery and rubbish with which the house 
is encumbered from the cellar to the garret ; and ev- 
ery room, and closet, and corner is crammed with 
three-legged chairs, clocks without hands, swords 
without scabbards, cocked hats, broken candlesticks, 
and looking-glasses with frames carved into fantastic 
shapes of feathered sheep, woolly birds, and other 
animals that have no name except in books of her- 
aldry. The ponderous mahogany chairs in the par- 
lour are of such unwieldy proportions that it is quite 
a serious undertaking to gallant one of them across 
the room ; and sometimes make a most equivocal 
noise when you set down in a hurry ; the mantel- 
piece is decorated with little lacquered earthen shep- 
herdesses ; some of which are without toes, and 
others without noses ; and the fire-place is gar- 
nished out with Dutch tiles, exhibiting a great vari- 
ety of scripture pieces, which my goocl old soul of a 
cousin takes infinite delight in explaining. — Poor 
Jeremy hates them as he does poison ; for while a 
yonker, he was obliged by his mother to learn the 
history of a tile every Sunday morning before she 
would permit him to join his playmates ; this was a 
terrible affair for Jeremy, who, by the time he had 
learned the last had lorgotten the first, and was 
obliged to begin again. He assured me the other 
day, with a round college oath, that if the old house 
stood out till he inherited it, he would have these 
tiles taken out and ground into powder, for the per- 
fect hatred he bore them. 

My cousin Christopher enjoys unlimited authority 
in the mansion of his forefathers ; he is truly what 
may be termed a hearty old blade, has a florid, sun- 
shine countenance ; and if you will only praise his 
wine, and laugh at his long stories, himself and his 
house are heartily at your service. — The first condi- 
tion is indeed easily complied with, for, to tell the 



truth, his wine is excellent ; but his stories, being 
not of the best, and often repeated, are apt to create 
a disposition to yawn ; being, in addition to their 
other qualities, most unreasonably long. His prolix- 
ity is the more afflicting to me, since I have all his 
stories by heart ; and when he enters upon one, it 
reminds me of Newark causeway, where the travel- 
ler sees the end at the distance of several miles. To 
the great misfortune of all his acquaintance, cousin 
Cockloft is blest with a most provoking retentive 
memory ; and can give day and date, and name and 
age and circumstance, with the most unfeeling pre- 
cision. These, however, are but trivial foibles, for- 
gotten, or remembered, only with a kind of tender, 
respectful pity, by those who know with what a rich 
redundant harvest of kindness and generosity his 
heart is stored. It would delight you to see with 
what social gladness he welcomes a visitor into his 
house ; and the poorest man that enters his door 
never leaves it without a cordial invitation to sit 
down and drink a glass of wine. By the honest 
farmers round his country-seat, he is looked up to 
with love and reverence ; they never pass him by 
without his inquiring after the welfare of their fam- 
ilies, and receiving a cordial shake of his liberal 
hand. There are but two classes of people who are 
thrown out of the reach of his hospitality, and these 
are Frenchmen and democrats. The old gentleman 
considers it treason against the m.ajesty of good 
breeding to speak to any visitor with his hat on ; but, 
the momenta democrat enters his door, he forthwith 
bids his man Pompey bring his hat, puts it on his 
head, and salutes him with an appalling " well, sir, 
what do you want with me ? " 

He has a profound contempt for Frenchmen, and 
firmly believes, that they eat nothing but frogs and 
soup-maigre in their own country. This unlucky 
prejudice is partly owing to my great aunt, P.\.MELA, 
having been many years ago, run away with by a 
French Count, who turned out to be the son of a 
generation of barbers ; — and partly to a little vivid 
spark of toryism, which burns in a secret corner of 
his heart. He was a loyal subject of the crown, has 
hardly yet recovered the shock of independence ; and, 
though he does not care to own it, always does hon- 
our to his majesty's birth-day, by inviting a few cava- 
liers, like himself, to dinner; and gracing his table 
with more than ordinary festivity. If by chance the 
revolution is mentioned before him, my cousin shakes 
his head ; and you may see, if you take good note, a 
lurking smile of contempt in the corner of his e-ye, 
which marks a decided disapprobation of the sound. 
He once, in the fulness of his heart, observed to me 
that green peas were a month later than they were 
under the old government. But the most eccentric 
manifestation of loyalty he ever gave, was making a 
voyage to Halifax for no other reason under heaven 
but to hear his Majesty prayed for m church, as he 
used to be here formerly. This he never could be 
brought fairly to acknowledge ; but it is a certain 
fact, I assure you. It is not a little singular that a 
person, so much given to long story-telling as my 
cousin, should take a liking to another of the same 
character ; but so it is with the old gentleman : — 
his prime favourite and companion is Will Wizard, 
who is almost a member of the family ; and will sit 
before the fire, with his feet on the massy andirons, 
and smoke his segar, and screw his phiz, an. I spin 
away tremendous long stories of his travels, for a 
whole evening, to the great delight of the old gentle- 
man and lady ; and especially of the young ladies, 
who, like Desdemona, do "seriously incline," and 
listen to him with innumerable " O dears," " is it 
possibles," " goody graciouses," and look upon him 
as a second Sinbad the sailor. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



6G3 



The Miss Cocklofts, whose pardon I crave for not 
having particularly introduced them Ijefore, are a 
pair of delectable damsels ; who, having purloined 
and locked up the family-Bible, pass for just what age 
they please to be guilty to. Barbara, the eldest, 
has long since resigned the character of a belle, and 
adopted that staid, sober, demure, snuff-taking air 
becoming her years and discretion. She is a good- 
natured soul, whom I never saw in a passion but 
once ; and that was occasioned by seeing an old 
favorite beau of hers, kiss the hand of a pretty 
blooming girl ; and, in truth, she only got angry be- 
cause, as she very properly said, it was spoiling the 
child. Her sister MARGERY, or Maggie, as she is 
familiarly termed, seemed dispos<;d to maintain her 
post as a belle, until a few months since ; when acci- 
dently liearing a gentleman observe that she broke 
very fast, she suddenly left off going to the assembly, 
took a cat into high favour, and began to rail at the 
forward pertness of young misses. From that mo- 
ment I set her down for an old maid ; and so she is, 
" by the hand of my body." The young ladies are 
still visited by some half dozen of veteran beaux, who 
grew and flourished in the haul ton, when the Miss 
Cocklofts were quite children ; but have been brush- 
ed rather rudely by the hand of time, who, to say the 
truth, can do almost any thing but make people 
young. They are, notwithstanding, still warm can- 
didates for female fiwour ; look venerably tender, and 
repeat over and over the same honeyed speeches and 
sugared sentiments to the little belles that they pour- 
ed so profusely into the ears of their mothers. I beg 
leave here to give notice, that by this sketch, I mean 
no reflection on old bachelors ; on the contrary, 1 
hold that ne.xt to a fine lady, the nc plus ultra, an old 
bachelor to be the most charming being upon earth ; 
in as much as by living in " single blessedness," he 
of course does just as he pleases ; and if he has any 
genius, must acquire a plentiful stock of whims, and 
oddities, and whalebone habits; without which I es- 
teem a man to be mere beef without mustard ; good 
for nothing at all, but to run on errands for ladies, 
take boxes at the theatre, and act the part of a 
screen at tea-parties, or a walking-stick in the 
streets. I merely speak of these old boys who infest 
public walks, pounce upon ladies froin every corner 
of the street, and worry and frisk and amble, and 
caper before, behind, and round about the fashion- 
able belles, like old ponies in a pasture, striving to 
supply the absence of youthful whim and hilarity, by 
grimaces and grins, and artificial vivacity. I have 
sometimes seen one of these "reverend youths" en- 
deavouring to elevate his wintry passions into some- 
thing like love, by basking in the sunshine of beauty ; 
and it did remind me of an old moth attempting to 
fly through a pane of glass towards a light, without 
ever approaching near enough to warm itself, or 
scorch its wings. 

Never, 1 firmly believe, did there exist a family that 
went more by tangents than the Cocklofts. Every 
thing is governed by whim ; and if one member starts 
a new freak, away all the rest follow on like wild geese 
in a string. As the family, the servants, the horses, 
cats, and do^s, have all grown old together, they 
have accommodated themselves to each otiier's hab- 
its completely; and though every body of them is 
full of odd points, angles, rhomboids, and ins and 
outs, yet, some how or other, they harmonize to- 
gether like so many straight lines ; and it is truly a 
grateful and refreshing sight to see them agree so 
well. Should one, however, get out of tune, it is like 
a cracked fiddle : the whole concert is ajar ; you per- 
ceive a cloud over evei-y brow in the house, and even 
the old chairs seem to creak affetuosso. If my cousin, 
as he is rather apt to do, betray any symptoms of vex- 



ation or uneasiness, no matter about what, he is wor- 
ried to death with inquiries, which answer no other end 
but to demonstrate the good-will of the inquirer, and 
put him in a passion ; for every body knows how pro- 
voking it is to be cut short in a fit of the blues, by an 
impertinent question about "what is the matter? " 
when a man can't tell himself. I remember a few 
months ago the old gentleman came home in quite a 
squall ; kicked poor Cffisar, the mastiff, out of his 
way, as he came through the hall ; threw his hat on 
the table with most violent emphasis, and pulling out 
his box, took three huge pinches of snuff, and threw 
a fourth into the cat's eyes as he sat purring his as- 
tonishment by the fire-side. This was enough to set 
the body politic going ; Mrs. Cockloft began " my 
dearing " it as fast as tongue could move ; the young 
ladies took each a stand at an elbow of his chair ; — 
Jeremy marshalled in rear; — the servants came 
tumbling in ; the mastiff put up an inquiring nose ; — 
and even grimalkin, after he had cleaned his whiskers 
and finished sneezing, discovered indubitable signs 
of sympathy. After the most affectionate inquiries 
on all sides, it turned out that my cousin, in crossing 
the street, had got his silk stockings bespattered with 
mud by a coach, which it seems belonged to a dash- 
ing gentleman who had formerly supplied the tamily 
with hot rolls and muffins ! Mrs. Cockloft thereupon 
turned up her eyes, and the young ladies their noses ; 
and it would have edified a whole congregation to 
hear the conversation which took place concerning 
the insolence of upstarts, and the vulgarity of would- 
be gentlemen and ladies, who strive to emerge from 
low life by dashing about in carriages to pay a visit 
two doors of; giving parties to people who laugh at 
them, and cutting all their old friends. 



THEATRICS. 
BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 



I WENT a few evenings since to the theatre ac- 
companied by my friend Snivers, the cockney, who is 
a man deeply read in the history of Cinderella, Valen- 
tine and Orson, Blue Beard, and all those recondite 
works so necessary to enable a man to understand 
the modern drama. Snivers is one of those intoler- 
able fellows who will never be pleased with any 
thing until he has turned and twisted it divers ways, 
to see if it corresponds with his notions of congruity ; 
and as he is none of the quickest in his ratiocina- 
tions, he will sometimes come out with his approba- 
tion, when every body else have forgotten the cause 
which excited it. Snivers is, moreover, a great critic, 
for he finds fault with every thing ; this being what I 
understand by modern criticism. He, however, is 
pleased to acknowledge that our theatre is not so 
despicable, all things considered ; and really thinks 
Cooper one of our best actors. The play was 
Othello, and to speak my mind freely, I think I 
have seen it performed much worse in my time. 
The actors, I firmly believe, did their best ; and 
whenever this is the case no man has a right to find 
fault with them, in my opinion. Little RUTHERFORD, 
the Roscius of the Philadelphia theatre, looked as 
big as possible ; and what he wanted in size he made 
up in frowning. I like frowning in tragedy ; and if 
a man but keeps his forehead in proper wrinkle, 
talks big, and takes long strides on the stage, I al- 
ways set him down as a great tragedian ; and so 
does my friend Snivers. 

Before the first act was over, Snivers began to 
flourish his critical wooden sword like a harlequin. 



664 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



He first found fault with Cooper for not having 
made himself as black as a negro; "for," said he, 
" that Othello was an arrant black, appears from 
several expressions of the play ; as, for instance, 
'thick lips,' 'sooty bosom,' and a variety of others. 
I am inclined to think," continued he, "that Othello 
was an Egyptian by birth, from the circumstance of 
the handkerchief given to his mother by a native of 
that country ; and, if so, he certainly was as black as 
my hat : for Herodotus has told us, that the Egyp- 
tians had flat noses and frizzled hair ; a clear proof 
that they were all negroes." He did not confine his 
strictures to this single error of the actor, but went 
on to run him down in toto. In this he was second- 
ed by a red hot Philadelphian, who proved, by a 
string of most eloquent logical puns, that Fennel 
was unquestionably in every respect a better actor 
than Cooper. I knew it was vain to contend with 
them, since I recollected a most obstinate trial of 
skill these two great Roscii had last spring in Phila- 
delphia. Cooper brandished his blood-stained dag- 
ger at the theatre — Fennel flourished his snuff-box 
and shook his wig at the Lyceum, and the unfortu- 
nate Philadelphians were a long time at a loss to de- 
cide which deserved the palm. The literati were 
inclined to give it to Cooper, because his name was 
the most fruitful in puns ; but then, on the other 
side, it was contended that Fennel was the best 
Greek scholar. Scarcely was the town of Strasburgh 
in a greater hul)-bub about the courteous stranger's 
nose ; and it was well that the doctors of the univer- 
sity did not get into the dispute, else it might have 
become a battle of folios. At length, after much 
excellent argument had been expended on both 
sides, recourse was had to Cocker's arithmetic and 
a carpenter's rule ; the rival candidates were both 
measured by one of their most steady-handed critics, 
and by the most exact measurement it was proved 
that Mr. Fennel was the greater actor by three 
inches and a quarter. Since this demonstration of 
his inferiority. Cooper has never been able to hold 
up his head in Philadelphia. 

In order to change a conversation in which my 
favourite suffered so much, I made some inquiries 
of the Philadelphian, concerning the two heroes of 
his theatre. Wood and Cain ; but I h.ad scarcely 
mentioned their names, when, whack ! he threw a 
whole handful of puns in my face ; 'twas like a bowl 
of cold water. I turned on my heel, had recourse to 
my tobacco-box, and said no more about Wood and 
Cain ; nor will I ever more, if I can help it, mention 
their names in the presence of a Philadelphian. 
Would that they could leave off punning I for I love 
every soul of them, with a cordial affection, warm 
as their own generous hearts, and boundless as their 
hospitality. 

During the performance, I kept an eye on the 
countenance of my friend, the cockney ; because 
having come all the way from England, and having 
seen Kemble once, on a visit which he made from 
the button manufactory to Liinniiti, I thought his 
phiz might serve as a kind of thermometer to direct 
my manifestations of applause or disapprobation. 
I might as well have looked at the back-side of his 
head ; for I could not, with all my peering, perceive 
by his features that he was pleased with any thing — 
except himself. His hat was twitched a little on one 
side, as much as to say, " demme, I'm your sorts ! " 
He was sucking the end of a little stick ; he was 
"gemman" from head to foot; but as to his face, 
there was no more expression in it than in the face 
of a Chinese lady on a teacup. On Cooper's giving 
one of his gunpowder explosions of passion, I ex- 
claimed, "fine, very fine ! " " Pardon me," said my 
friend Snivers, " this is damnable ! — the gesture, my 



dear sir, only look at the gesture ! how horrible ! do 
you not observe that the actor slaps his forehead, 
whereas, the passion not having arrived at the proper 
height, he should only have slapped his — pocket-flap ? 
— this figure of rhetoric is a most important stage 
trick, and the proper management of it is what 
peculiarly distinguishes the great actor from the 
mere plodding mechanical buffoon. Different de- 
grees of passion require different slajis, which we 
critics have reduced to a perfect manual, improving 
upon the principle adopted by Frederic of Prussia, 
by deciding that an actor, like a soldier, is a mere 
machine ; as thus — the actor, for a minor burst of 
passion merely slaps his pocket-hole ; good ! — for a 
major burst, he slaps his breast ; — very good ! — but 
for a burst maximus, he whacks away at his fore- 
head, like a brave fellow ; — this is excellent ! — noth- 
ing can be finer than an exit slapping the forehead 
from one end of the stage to the other." " Except," 
replied I, " one of those slaps on the breast, which I 
have sometimes admired in some of our fat heroes 
and heroines, which make their whole body shake 
and quiver like a pyramid of jelly." 

The Philadelphian had listened to this conversation 
with profound attention, and appeared delighted with 
Snivers' mechanical strictures ; 'twas natural enough 
in a man who chose an actor as he would a grenadier. 
He took the opportunity of a pause, to enter into a 
long conversation with my friend ; and was receiving 
a prodigious fund of information concerning the true 
mode of emphasising conjunctions, shifting scenes, 
snuffing candles, and making thunder and lightning, 
better than you can get every day from the sky, as 
practised at the royal theatres ; when, as ill luck 
would have it, they happened to run their heads 
full butt against a new reading. Now this was " a 
stumper," as our old friend Paddle would say ; for 
the Philadelphians are as inveterate new-reading 
hunters as the cocknies ; and, for aught I know, as 
well skilled in finding them out. The Philadelphian 
thereupon met the cockney on his own ground ; 
and at it they went, like two inveterate curs at a 
bone. Snivers quoted Theobald, Hanmer, and a 
host of learned commentators, who have pinned 
themselves on the sleeve of Shakspeare's immor- 
tality, and made the old bard, like general Washing- 
ton, in general Washington's life, a most diminutive 
figure in his own book ; — his opponent chose Johnson 
for his bottle-holder, and thundered him forward like 
an elephant to bear down the ranks of the enemy. 
I was not long in discovering that these two precious 
judges had got hold of that unlucky passage of 
Shakspeare which, like a straw, has tickled, and 
puzzled, and confounded manv a somniferous buzzard 
of past and present time. It was the celebrated wish 
of Dcsdemona, that heaven had made her such a 
man as Othello. — Snivers insisted, that "the gentle 
Desdemona " merely wished for such a man for a 
husband, which in all conscience was a modest wish 
enough, and very natural in a young lady who might 
possibly have had a predilection for flat noses ; like 
a certain philosophical great man of our day. The 
Philadelphian contended with all the vehemence of 
a member of congress, moving the house to have 
"whereas," or "also," or " nevertheless," struck out 
of a bill, that the young lady wished heaven had 
made her a man instead of a woman, in order that 
she might have an opportunity of seeing the "an- 
thropophagi, and the men whose heads do grow be- 
neath their shoulders;" which was a very natural 
wish, considering the curiosity of the sex. On being 
referred to, I incontinently decided in favour of the 
honourable member who spoke last ; inasmuch as 1 
think it was a very foolish, and therefore very natural, 
wish for a young lady to make before a man she 



SALMAGUNDI. 



065 



wished to marry. It was, moreover, an indication of 
the violent inclination she felt to wear the breeches, 
which was afterwards, in all probability, gratified, 
if we may judge from the title of "onr captain's 
captain," given her by Cassio, a phrase which, in 
my opinion, indicates that Othello was, at that time, 
most ignominiously hen-pecked. 1 believe my argu- 
ments staggered Snivers himself, for he looked con- 
foundedly queer, and said not another word on the 
subject. 

A little while after, at it he went again on another 
tack ; and began to find fault with Cooper's manner 
of dying: — "it was not natural," he said, for it had 
lately been demonstrated, by a learned doctor of 
physic, that when a man is mortally stabbed, he 
ought to take a flying leap of at least five feet, and 
drop down " dead as a salmon in a fishmonger's 
basket." — Whenever a man, in the predicament 
above mentioned, departed from this fundamental 
rule, by falling flat down, like a log, and rolling 
about for two or three minutes, making speeches all 
the time, the said learned doctor maintained that it 
was owing to the waywardness of the human mind, 
which delighted in flying in the face of nature, and 
dying in defiance of all her established rules. — I re- 
plied, "for my part, I held that every man had a 
right of dying in whatever position he pleased ; and 
that the mode of doing it depended altogether on the 
peculiar character of the person going to die. A 
Persian could not die in peace unless he had his face 
turned to the east ; — a Mahometan would always 
choose to have his towards Mecca; a Frenchman 
might prefer this mode of throwing a somerset ; but 
Mynheer Van Brumblebottom, the Roscius of Rotter- 
dam, always chose to thumler down on his seat of 
honour whenever he received a mortal wound. — Be- 
ing a man of ponderous dimensions, this had a most 
electrifying effect, for the whole theatre " shook like 
Olympus at the nod of Jove." The Philadelphian 
was immediately inspired with a pun, and swore 
that Mynheer must be great in a dying scene, since 
he knew how to make the most of his latter end. 

It is the inveterate cry of stage critics, that an 
actor does not perform the character naturally, if, by 
chance, he happens not to die exactly as they would 
have him. 1 think the exhibition of a play at Pekin 
would suit them exactly ; and I wish, with all my 
heart, they would go there and see one : nature is 
there imitated with the most scrupulous exactness in 
every trifling particular. Here an unhappy lady or 
gentleman, who happens unluckily to be poisoned or 
stabbed, is left on the stage to writhe and groan, 
and make faces at the audience, until the poet 
pleases they should die ; while the honest folks of 
the iframtrt/s pc'rso/ia, bless their hearts! all crowd 
round and yield most potent assistance, by crying 
and lamenting most vociferously ! the audience, ten- 
der souls, pull out their white pocket handkerchiefs, 
wipe their eyes, blow their noses, and swear it is 
natural as life, while the poor actor is left to die 
without common Christian comfort. In China, on 
the contrary, the first thing they do is to run for the 
doctor and tcliooitc, or notary. The audience are 
entertained throughout the fifth act with a learned 
consultation of physicians, and if the patient must 
die, he does it secu7idum artem, and always is al- 
lowed time to make his will. The celebrated Chow- 
Chow was the completest hand I ever saw at killing 
himself; he always carried under his robe a bladder 
of bull's blood, which, when he gave the mortal stab, 
spirted out, to the infinite delight of the audience. 
Not that the ladies of China are more fond of the 
sight of blood than those of our own country; on the 
contrary, they are remarkably sensitive in this par- 
ticular ; and we are told by the great Linkum Fideli- 



us, that the beautiful Ninny Consequa, one of the 
ladies of the emperor's seraglio, once fainted away 
on seeing a favourite slave's nose bleed ; since which 
time refinement has lieen earned to such a pitch, 
that a buskined hero is not allowed to run himself 
through the body in the face of the audience. — The 
immortal Chow-Chow, in conformity to this absurd 
prejudice, whenever he plays the part of Othello, 
which is reckoned his master-piece, always keeps a 
bold front, stabs himself slily 'oehind, and is dead 
before any body suspects that he has given the mor- 
tal blow. 

P. S. Just as this was going to press, I was in- 
formed by Evergreen that Othello had not been per- 
formed here the Lord knows when ; no matter, I am 
not the first that has criticised a play without seeing 
it, and this critique will answer for the last perform- 
ance, if that was a dozen years ago. 



No. VII.— SATURDAY, APRIL 4, 1807. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 

I PROMISED in a former letter, good Asem, that I 
would furnish thee with a few hints respecting the 
nature of the government by which I am held in 
durance. — Though my inquiries for that purpose 
have been industrious, yet I am not perfectly satis- 
fied with their results ; for thou mayest easily imagine 
that the vision of a captive is overshadowed by the 
mists of illusion and prejudice, and the horizon of 
his speculations must be limited indeed. I find that 
the people of this country are strangely at a loss to 
determine the nature and proper character of their 
government. Even their dervises are extremely in 
the dark as to this particular, and are continually in- 
dulging in the most preposterous disquisitions on the 
subject : some have insisted that it savours of an 
aristocracy ; others maintain that it is a pure democ- 
racy ; and a third set of theorists declare absolutely 
that it is nothing more nor less than a mobocracy. 
The latter, I must confess, though still wide in error, 
have come nearest to the truth. You of course must 
understand the meaning of these different words, as 
they are derived from the ancient Greek language, 
and bespeak loudly the verbal poverty of these poor 
infidels, who cannot utter a learned phrase without 
laying the dead languages under contribution. A 
man, my dear Asem, who talks good sense in his 
native tongue, is held in tolerable estimation in this 
country ; but a fool, who clothes his feeble ideas in a 
foreign or antique garb, is bowed down to as a liter- 
ary prodigy. While I conversed with these people 
in plain English, I was but little attended to ; but 
the moment I prosed away in Greek, every one 
looked up to me with veneration as an oracle. 

Although the dervises differ widely in the par- 
ticulars above mentioned, yet they all agree in term- 
ing their government one of the most pacific in the 
known world. I cannot help pitying their ignorance, 
and smiling, at times, to see into what ridiculous er- 
rors those nations will wander who are unenlight- 
ened by the precepts of Mahomet, our divine prophet, 
and uninstructed by the five hundred and forty-nine 
books of wisdom of the immortal Ibrahim Hassan al 
Fusti. To call this nation pacific ! most preposter- 
ous ! it reminds me of the title assumed by the sheck 



666 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of that murderous tribe of wild Arabs, that desolate 
the valleys of Belsaden, who styles himself STAR OF 
COURTESY — BEAM OF THE MERCY-SEAT ! 

The simple truth of the matter is, that these peo- 
ple are totally ignorant of their own true character ; 
for, according to the best of my observation, they 
are the most warlike, and, I must say, the most sav- 
age nation that I have as yet discovered among all 
the barbarians. They are not only at war, in their 
own way, with almost every nation on earth, but 
they are at the same time engaged in the most com- 
plicated knot of civil wars that ever infested any 
poor unhappy country on which Alla has de- 
nounced his malediction ! 

To let thee at once into a secret, which is un- 
known to these people themselves, their government 
is a pure unadulterated logocraCY, or government 
of words. The whole nation does every thing viva 
voce, or by word of mouth ; and in this manner is 
one of the most military nations in existence. Every 
man who has what is here called the gift of the gab, 
that is, a plentiful stock of verbosity, becomes a sol- 
dier outright ; and is for ever in a militant state. 
The country is entirely defended vi et lingua ; that 
is to say, by force of tongues. The account which I 
lately wrote to our friend, the snorer, respecting the 
immense army of six hundred men, makes nothing 
against this observation ; that formidable body being 
kept up, as I have already observed, onlv to amuse 
their fair country-women by their splendid appear- 
ance and nodding plumes ; and are, by way of dis- 
tinction, denominated the "defenders of the fair." 

In a logocracy thou well knowest there is little or 
no occasion for fire-arms, or any such destructive 
weapons. Every offensive or defensive measure is 
enforced by wordy battle, and paper war; he who 
has the longest tongue or readiest quill, is sure 
to gain the victory, — will carry horror, abuse, and 
ink-shed into the very trenches of the enemy ; and, 
without mercy or remorse, put men, women, and 
children to the point of the — pen ! 

There is still preserved in this country some re- 
mains of that gothic spirit of knight-errantry, which 
so much annoyed the faithful in the middle ages of 
the hegira. As, notwithstanding their martial dis- 
position, they are a people much given to commerce 
and agriculture, and must, necessarily, at certain 
seasons be engaged in these employments, they have 
accommodated themselves by appointing knights, or 
constant warriors, incessant brawlers, similar to 
those who, in former ages, swore eternal enmity to 
the followers of our divine prophet. — These knights, 
denominated editors or slang-whangers, are ap- 
pointed in every town, village, and district, to carry 
on both foreign and internal warfare, and may be 
said to keep up a constant firing " in words." Oh, 
my friend, could you but witness the enormities 
sometimes committed by these tremendous slang- 
whangers, your very turban would rise with horror 
and astonishment. I have seen them extend their 
ravages even into the kitchens of their opponents, 
and annihilate the very cook with a blast ; and I do 
assure thee, I beheld one of these warriors attack a 
most venerable bashaw, and at one stroke of his pen 
lay him open from the waistband of his breeches to 
his chin ! 

There has been a civil war carrying on with great 
violence for some time past, in consequence of a 
conspiracy, among the higher classes, to dethrone 
his highness the present bashaw, and place another 
in his stead. I was mistaken when I formerly as- 
serted to thee that this dissatisfaction arose from his 
wearing red breeches. It is true the nation have 
long held that colour in great detestation, in conse- 
quence of a dispute they had some twenty years 



since with the barbarians of the British islands. The 
colour, however, is again rising into favour, as the 
ladies have transferred it to their heads from the 

bashaw's body. The true reason, I am told, is, 

that the bashaw absolutely refuses to believe in the 
deluge, and in the story of Balaam's ass ; — main- 
taining that this animal was never yet permitted to 
talk except in a genuine logocracy; where, it is true, 
his voice may often be heard, and is listened to with 
reverence, as " the voice of the sovereign people." 
Nay, so far did he carry his obstinacy, that he abso- 
lutely invited a professed antediluvian from the Gallic 
empire, who illuminated the whole country with his 

principles and his nose. This was enough to set 

the nation in a blaze ; — every slang-whanger resorted 
to his tongue or his pen ; and for seven years have 
they carried on a most inhuman war, in which vol- 
umes of words have been expended, oceans of ink 
have been shed ; nor has any mercy been shown to 
age, sex, or condition. Every day have these slang- 
whangers made furious attacks on each other, and 
upon their respective adherents : discharging their 
heavy artillery, consisting of large sheets, loaded 
with scoundrel ! villain ! liar ! rascal ! numskull ! nin- 
compoop ! dunderhead ! wiseacre ! blockhead ! jack- 
ass ! and I do swear, by my beard, though I know 
thou wilt scarcely credit me, that in some of these 
skirmishes the grand bashaw himself has been wo- 
fully pelted ! yea, most ignominiously pelted ! — and 
yet have these talking desperadoes escaped without 
the bastinado I 

Every now and then a slang-whanger, who has a 
longer head, or rather a longer tongue than the rest, 
will elevate his piece and discharge a shot quite 
across the ocean, levelled at the head of the em- 
peror of France, the king of England, or, wouldst 
though believe it, oh ! Asem, even at his sublime 
highness the bashaw of Tripoli ! these long pieces 
are loaded with single ball, or langrage, as tyrant ! 
usurper ! robber ! tyger ! monster ! and thou may- 
est well suppose they occasion great distress and 
dismay in the camps of the enemy, and are marvel- 
lously annoying to the crowned heads at which they 
are directed. The slang-whanger, though perhaps 
the mere champion of a village, having fired off his 
shot, struts about with great self-congratulation, 
chuckling at the prodigious bustle he must have oc- 
casioned, and seems to ask of every stranger, " well, 
sir, what do they think of me in Europe .'" * This is 
sufficient to show you the manner in which these 
bloody, or rather windy fellows fight ; it is the only 
mode allowable in a logocracy or government of 
words. I would also observe that their civil wars 
have a thousand ramifications. 

While the fury of the battle rages in the metrop- 
olis, every little town and village has a distinct 
broil, growing like excrescences out of the grand 
national altercation, or rather agitating within it, like 
those complicated pieces of mechanism where there 
is a "wheel within a wheel." 

But in nothing is the verbose nature of this gov- 



NOTE, BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

* The sage Mustapha. when he wrote the above paragraph, had 
probally in his eye the foUowing anecdote; related either by 
Linkum Fidelliis, or Josephus Millerius, vulgarly called Joe Miller, 
of facetious memory : 

The captain of a slave-vessel, on his first landing on the coast 
of Guinea, observed, under a palm-tree, a negro chief, sitting 
most majestically on a stump; while two women, with wooden 
spoons, were administering his favourite pottage of boiled rice; 
which, as his imperial m.ajesty was a little greedy, would part of it 
escape the place of destination and run down his chin. The watch- 
ful attendants were particularly careful to intercept these scape- 
grace particles, and return them to their proper port of entry. _ As 
the captain approached, in order to admire this curious e.'thibitioii 
of royalty, the great chief clapped his hands to his sides, and 
saluted his visitor with the following pompous question, " well, 
sir! what do they say of me in England ?" 



SALMAGUNDI. 



667 



ernment more evident, than in its grand national 
divan, or congress, wliere tlie laws are framed : this 
is a blustering, windy assembly, where eveiy thing 
is carried by noise, tumult and debate ; lor thou must 
know, that the members of this assembly do not 
meet together to find wisdom in the multitude of 
counsellors, but to wrangle, call each other hard 
names, and hear themseh'es talk. When the con- 
gress opens, the bashaw first sends them a long 
message, /. e., a huge mass of words — -jox et preterea 
Hihil, all meaning nothing ; because it only tells them 
what they perfectly know already. Then the whole 
assembly are thrown into a ferment, and have a long 
talk about the quantity of words that are to be re- 
turned in answer to this message ; and here arises 
many disputes about the correction and alteration 
of "if so he's," and "how so ever's." A month, 
perhaps, is spent in thus determining the precise 
number of words the answer shall contain ; and then 
another, most probably, in concluding whether it 
shall be carried to the bashaw on foot, on horseback, 
or in coaches. Having settled this weighty matter, 
they next fall to work upon the message itself, and 
hold as much chattering over it as so many magpies 
over an addled ^^%. This done they divide the mes- 
sage into small portions, and deliver them into the 
hands of little juntoes of talkers, called committees : 
these juntoes have each a world of talking about their 
respective paragraphs, and return the results to the 
grand divan, which forthwith falls to and retalks the 
matter over more earnestly than ever. Now, after 
all, it is an even chance that the subject of this pro- 
digious arguing, quarrelling, and talking, is an affair 
of no importance, and ends entirely in smoke. May 
it not then be said, the whole nation have been talk- 
ing to no purpose .' The people, in fact, seem to be 
somewhat conscious of this propensity to talk, by 
which they are characterized, and have a favourite 
proverb on the subject, viz. : " all talk and no cider ;" 
this is particularly applied when their congress, or 
assembly of all the sage chatterers of the nation, have 
chattered through a whole session, in a time of great 
peril and momentous event, and have done nothing 
but exhibit the length of their tongues and the emp- 
tiness of their heads. This has been the case more 
than once, my friend ; and to let thee into a secret, 
I have been told in confidence, that there have been 
absolutely several old women smuggled into con- 
gress from different parts of the empire ; who, hav- 
ing once got on the breeches, as thou mayest well 
imagine, have taken the lead in debate, and over- 
whelmed the whole assembly with their garrulity ; 
for my part, as times go, I do not see why old 
women should not be as eligible to public councils 
as old men who possess their dispositions ; — they 
certainly are eminently possessed of the qualifica- 
tions requisite to govern in a logocracy. 

Nothing, as I have repeatedly insisted, can be done 
in this country without talking; but they take so 
long to talk over a measure, that by the time they , 
have determined upon adopting it, the period has 
elapsed which was proper for canying it into effect. 
Unhappy nation ! — thus torn to pieces by intestine 
talks ! never, I fear, will it be restored to tranquil- 
lity and silence. Words are but breath ; breath is 
but air; and air put into motion is nothing but wind. 
This vast empire, therefore, may be compared to 
nothing more nor less than a mighty windmill, and 
the orators, and the chatterers, and the slang-whang- 
ers, are the breezes that put it in motion ; unluck- 
ily, however, they are apt to blow different ways, 
and their blasts counteracting each other — the mill 
is perplexed, the wheels stand still, the grist is un- 
ground, and the miller and his family starved. 

Every thing partakes of the windy nature of the 



government. In case of any domestic grievance, 
or an insult from a foreign foe, the people are all 
in a buzz ; — town-meetings are immediately held 
where the quidnuncs of the city repair, each like 
an atlas, with the cares of the whole nation upon 
his shoulders, each resolutely bent upon saving his 
country, and each swelling and strutting like a 
turkey-cock; puffed up with words, and wind, and 
nonsense. After bustling, and buzzing, and bawl- 
ing for some time ; and after each man has shown 
himself to be indubitably the greatest personage 
in the meeting, they pass a string of resolutions, 
i. e. words, which were previously prepared for the 
purpose ; these resolutions are whimsically denomi- 
nated the sense of the meeting, and are sent off 
for the instruction of the reigning bashaw, who re- 
ceives them graciously, puts them into his red 
breeches pocket, forgets to read them — and so the 
matter ends. 

As to his highness, the present bashaw, who is 
at the very top of the logocracy, never was a dig- 
nitary better qualified for his station. He is a man 
of superlative ventosity, and comparable, to nothing 
but a huge bladder of wind. He talks of van- 
quishing all opposition by the force of reason and 
philosophy : throws his gauntlet at all the nations 
of the earth, and defies them to meet him — on the 
field of argument ! — is the national dignity insulted, 
a case in which his highness of Tripoli would im- 
mediately call forth his forces; the bashaw of 

America — utters a speech. Does a foreign inva- 
der molest the commerce in the very mouth of the 
harbours ; an insult which would induce his high- 
ness of Tripoli to order out his fleets ; — his high- 
ness of America — utters a speech. Are the free 
citizens of America dragged from on board the ves- 
sels of their country, and forcibly detained in the 
war ships of another power his highness — ut- 
ters a speech. Is a peaceable citizen killed by the 
marauders of a foreign power, on the very shores 

of his country his highness utters a speech. — 

Does an alarming insurrection break out in a dis- 
tant part of the empire his highness utters a 

speech ! — nay, more, for here he shows his " ener- 
gies ; " — he most intrepidly despatches a courier on 
horseback and orders him to ride one hundred and 
twenty miles a day, with a most formidable army 
of proclamations, i. e. a. collection of words, packed 
up in his saddle bags. He is instructed to show 
no favour nor affection ; but to charge the thickest 
ranks of the enemy; and to speechify and batter 
by words the conspiracy and the conspirators out 
of existence. Heavens, my friend, what a deal of 
blustering is here I it reminds me of a dunghill 
cock in a farm-yard, who, having accidentally in 
his scratchings found a worm, immediately begins 
a most vociferous cackling; — calls around him his 
hen-hearted companions, who run chattering from 
all quarters to gobble up the poor little worm that 
happened to turn under his eye. Oh, Asem ! Asem ! 
on what a prodigious great scale is every thing in 
this country ! 

Thus, then, I conclude my observations. The 
infidel nations have each a separate characteristic 
trait, by which they may be distinguished from 
each other: — the Spaniards, for instance, may be 
said to sleep upon every aftair of importance ; — the 
Italians to fiddle upon every thing ; — the French to 
dance upon every thing; — the Germans to smoke 
upon every thing ; — the British islanders to eat upon 
every thing ; — and the windy subjects of the Ameri- 
can logocracy to talk upon every thing. 

For ever thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 



6G8 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, 
ESQ. 



How oft in musing mood my lieart recalls, 
From grey-beard father Time's oblivious halls. 
The mode's and maxims of my early day, 
Long in those dark recesses stow'd away : 
Drags once more to the cheerful realms of light 
Those buckram fashions, long since lost in night, 
And makes, like Endor's witch, once more to rise 
My grogram grandames to my raptured eyes ! 

Shades of my fathers ! in your pasteboard skirts. 
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts, 
Your formal bag-wigs— wide-extended cuffs. 
Your five-inch chitterlings and nine-inch ruffs ! 
Gods ! how ye strut, at times, in all your state, 
Amid the visions of my thoughtful pate ! 
I see ye move the solemn minuet o'er, 
The modest foot scarce rising from the floor ; 
No thundering rigadoon with boisterous prance. 
No pigeon-wing disturb your conlre-danse. 
But silent as the gentle Lethe's tide, 
Adown the festive maze ye peaceful glide ! 

Still in my mental eye each dame appears — 
Each modest beauty of departed years ; 
Close by mamma I see her stately march 
Or sit, in all the majesty of starch ; — 
When for the dance a stranger seeks her hand, 
I see her doubting, hesitating, stand ; 
Yield to his claim with most fastidious grace. 
And sigh for her intended in his place ! 

Ah ! golden days ! when every gentle fair 
On sacred Sabbath conn'd with pious care 
Her holy Bible, or her prayer-book o'er. 
Or studied honest Bunyan's drowsy lore ; 
Travell'd with him the Pilgrim's Progress through. 
And storm'd the famous town of Man-soul too : 
Beat Eye and Ear-gate up with thundering jar, 
And fought triumphant through the Holy War ; 
Or if, perchance, to lighter works inclined. 
They sought with novels to relax the mind, 
'Twas Grandison's politely formal page 
Or Clelia or Pamela were the rage. 

No plays were then — theatrics were unknown — 
A learned pig — a dancing monkey shown — 
The feats of Punch — a cunning juggler's slight. 
Were sure to fill each bosom with delight. 
An honest, simple, humdrum race we were, 
Undazzled yet by fashion's wildering glare 
Our manners unreserved, devoid of guile. 
We knew not then the modern monster style : 
Style, that with pride each empty bosom swells, 
Puffs boys to manhood, little girls to belles. 

Scarce from the nursery freed, our gentle fair 
Are yielded to the dancing-master's care ; 
And e'er the head one mite of sense can gain, 
Are introduced 'mid folly's frippery train. 
A stranger's grasp no longer gives alarms. 
Our fair surrender to their very arms. 
And in the insidious waltz (i) will swim and twine 
And whirl and languish tenderly divine ! 
Oh, how I hale this loving, hugging, dance ; 
This imp of Germany — brought up in France : 
Nor can I see a niece its windings trace, 
But all the honest blood glows in my face. 
"Sad, sad refinement this," I often say, 
" 'Tis modesty indeed refined away ! 
"Let France its whim, its sparkling wit supply, 
" The easy grace that captivates the eye ; 
" But curselheir waltz — their loose lascivious arts, 
"That smooth our manners, to corrupt our hearts !" (: 
Where now those books, from which in days of yore 
Our mothers gain'd their literary store? 
Alas ! stiff-skirted Grandison gives place 
To novels of a new and rakish race ; 
And honest Bunyan's pious dreaming lore. 
To the lascivious rhapsodies of Moore. 

And, last of all, behold the mimic stage, 
Its morals lend to polish off the age, 



With flimsv farce, a comedy miscall'd, 
Garnish'd with vulgar cant, and proverbs bald. 
With puns most puny, and a plenteous store 
Of smutty jokes, to catch a gallery roar. 
Or see, more fatal, graced with every art 
To charm and captivate the female heart. 
The false, "the gallant, gay Lothario," smiles, (3) 
And loudly boasts his base seductive wiles ;— 
In glowing colours paints Calista's wrongs. 
And with voluptuous scenes the tale prolongs. 
When Cooper lends his fascinating powers. 
Decks vice itself in bright alluring flowers, 
Pleased with his manly grace, his youthful fire, 
Our fair are lured the villain to admire ; 
While humbler virtue, like a stalking horse. 
Struts clumsily and croaks in honest Morse. 

Ah, hapless days ! when trials thus combined, 
In pleasing garb assail the female mind ; 
When every smooth insidious snare is spread 
To sap the morals and delude the head ! 
Not Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego, 
To prove their faith and virtue here below. 
Could more an angel's helping hand require 
To guide their steps uninjured through the fire. 
Where had but heaven its guardian aid denied, 
The holy trio in the proof had died. 
If, then, their manly vigour sought supplies 
From the bright stranger in celestial guise, 
Alas ! can we from feebler nature's claim. 
To brave seduction's ordeal, free from blame ; 
To pass through fire unhurt like golden ore. 
Through angel missions bless the earth no more ! 



NOTES, BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

I. [Waltz]. As many of the retired 7>iatrons of 
this citv, unskilled in •' gestic lore," are doubtless 
ignorant of the vnn'emenis and figures of this mod- 
est exhibition, I will endeavour to give some account 
of it, in order that they may learn what odd capers 
their daughters sometimes cut when from under 
their guardian wings. 

On a signal being given by the mi/sie, the 'gentle- 
man seizes the la'dv round her waist ; the lady, 
scornim; to he oictdcm in courtesy, very politely takes 
the e:entleman round the neck, with one arm resting 
against his shoulder to prevent encroachments. 

Away then they t;-o, about, and about, and about 

" about what. Sir ? " about the room, Mad.im,^ to 

be sure. The whole economy of this dance consists 
in turnim;- round and round the room in a certain 
measured step : and it is truly astonishing that this 
continued rc-oolution does not set all their heads 
swimming like a top ; but 1 have been positively as- 
sured tliat it only occasions a gentle sensation which 
is manh'llously agreeable. In the course of this cir- 
cumnavigation, the dancers, in order to give the 
charm of variety, are continually changing their 

relative 'situations ; -now the gentleman, meaning 

no harm in the world, J assure you, Madam, care- 
lessly flinss his arm about the lady's neck, with an 
air of celestial impudence; and anon, the lady, 
meanins: as little harm as the gentleman, takes him 
round the waist with most ingenuous modest lan- 
guishment, to the great delight of numerous specta- 
tors and amateurs, who generally form a ring, as 
the mob do about a pair of amazons pulling caps, or 
a couple of fighting mastiffs. 

After continuimr this divine interchange oj 
hands, arms, et cetera, for half an hour or so, the 
lady begins to tire, and with " eyes upraised, ' tn 
most bewitching languor petitions Iter partner for a 
little more support. This is always given without 
hesitation. The lady leans gently on his shoulder, 
th-ir arms entwine in a thousand seducing, mis- 

chiciious curves don't be alarmed. Madam 

closer and closer they approach each other, and in 



SALMAGUNDI. 



669 



conchtsion, the parties being overcome Zi'ith extatic 
fatigue, the lady seems almost sitikiin; into the 'Gen- 
tleman's arms, and then " Well,'' Sir, and what 

then f " lord. Madam, how should I know! 

. 2]. My friend Pindar, and, in fact, our whole 
junto, has been ace used of an unreasonable hostility 
to the French nation : and I am informed by a 
Parisian correspondent, that our first number 
played the very dei.nl in the court of St. Cloud. 
His imperial majesty got into a most outrageous 
passion, and being withal a waspish little irenile- 
man, had nearly kicked his bosom friend, Talley- 
rand, out of the cabinet, in the paroxysms of his 
ivrath. He insisted upon it that the nation was as- 
sailed in Its most vital part ; being, like Achilles 
extremely sensitive to any attacks upon the heel 
IP hen my correspondent sent off his despatches, it 
was still in doubt what measures would be adopted ■ 
but It was strongly suspected that vehement rehre 



sentations would be made to our goT.iernment. Will- 
ing, therefore, to save our executive from any etn- 
_ barrassment on the subject, and above all from the 
disagreeable alternative of sending an apohny bv 
the Hornet, we do assure Mr. Jefferson, that'^there 
IS nothing jurtherfrom our thoughts than the sub- 
version of the Gallic empire, or any attack on the 
interests, tranquillity, or reputation of the nation 
at large, which we seriously declare possesses the 
hig/iest rank in our estimation. Nothing less than 
the national welfare could have induced us to 
\ trouble ourselves with this explanation ; and in the 
name oj the junto, I once more declare, that when 
we toast a Frenchman, we merely mean one of these 
inconnus, who swarmed to this country, from the 
kitchens and barbers shops of Nantz, Bordeaux, 
and Marseilles ; played game of leap-frot; at all 
our balls and assemblies ;—set this unhappy toiun 
/topping mad ;— and passed themselves off on our 
tender-hearted damsels for unfortunate noblemen- 
ruined in the revolution / such only can wince at the 
lash, and accuse us of severity ; and we should be 
mortified in the extreme if they did not feel our 
well-intended cast igat ion . 

_ 3. [Fair Penitent]. The story of this play, if told 
in its native language, would exhibit a scene of 
guilt and shame, which no modest ear could listen 
to without shrinking with disgust ; but, arrayed as 
it is in all the splendour of harmonious, rich, and 
polished verse, it steals into the heart like some 
gay, luxurious, smooth-faced villain, and betrays it 
insensibly to i'r.morality and vice ; our very sympa- 
thy is enlisted on the side of guilt ; and the piety 
of Altamont, and the gentleness of Lavinia, are lest 
in tlie splendid debaucheries of the "gallant, gay 
Lothario," and the blustering, hollow r.pentance of 
the fair^ Calisto, whose sorrow reminds us of that 
of I'ope's Heloise—" I mourn the lover, not lament 
the fault." Nothing is more easy than to banish 
such plays from our stage. Were our ladies, 
instead of crowding to see thon again and again 
repeated, to discourage t/teir exhibition by absence, 
the stage would soon be indeed the school of moral- 
ity, ami the number of "Fair Penitents." in all 
probability, diminished. 



No. VIII.-SATURDAY, APRIL 18, 1807. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 



'J^P^l'^'liy humours, whether grave or mellow, 
Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow • 
Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen .ibout thee 
Ihere is ao living with thee— nor without thee." 

" Never, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, 
has there been known a more backward spring." 



This IS the universal remark among the almanac 
quidnuncs and weather-wiseacres of the day ; and I 
have heard it at least fifty-five times from old Mrs. 
Cockloft, who, poor woman, is one of those walking 
almanacs that foretell ever)- snow, rain, or frost, by 
the shooting of corns, a pain in the bones, or an 
" ugly stitch in the side." I do not recollect, in the 
whole course of m.y life, to have seen the month of 
March indulge in such untoward capers, caprices, 
and coquetries, as it has done this year : I micrht 
have forgiven these vagaries, had thev not co°m- 
pletely knocked up my friend Langstaff, 'whose feel- 
ings are ever at the mercy of a weathercock, whose 
spirits sink and rise with the mercury of a barome- 
ter, and to whom an east wind is as obnoxious as a 
Sicilian sirocco. He was tempted some time since, 
by the fineness of the weather, to dress himself with 
more than ordinary care and take his mornino stroll- 
but before he had half finished his peregrinalion, he 
was utterly discomfited, and driven home by a tre- 
mendous squall of wind, hail, rain, and snow ; or, as 
he testily termed it, "a most villainous congreo-ation 
of vapors." ° 

This was too much for the patience of friend 
Launcelot; he declared he would humour the 
weather no longer in its whim-whams ; and, accord- 
ing to his immemorial custom on these occasions, 
retreated in high dudgeon to his elbow-chair to lie 
m of the spleen and rail at nature for being so fan- 
tastical :—" confound the jade," he frequently e.x- 
claims, " what a pity nature had not been of the 
masculine instead of the feminine gender; the al- 
manac makers might then have calculated with some 
degree of certainty." 

When Langstaff invests himself with the spleen, 
and gives audience to the blue devils from his elbow- 
chair, I would not advise any of his friends to come 
within gunshot of his citadel with the benevolent 
purpose of administering consolation or amusement : 
tor he isthen as crusty and crabbed as that famous 
coiner ot talse money, Diogenes himself. Indeed, 
his room is at such times inaccessible ; and old Pom- 
pey IS the only soul that can gain admission, or ask 
a question with impunity ; the truth is. that on these 
occasions, there is not a straw's difference between 
them, tor Pompey is as grum and grim and cynical 
as his master. 

Launcelot has now been above three weeks in this 
desolate situation, and has therefore had but little to 
do in our last number. As he could not be prevailed 
on to give any account of himself in our introduction, 
I will take the opportunity of his confinement, while 
his back is turned, to give a slight sketch of his char- 
acter ;— fertile in whim-whams and bachelorisms, but 
rich in many of the steriing qualities of our nature 
Annexed to this article, our readers will perceive a 
striking likeness of my friend, which was taken by 
that cunning rogue Will Wizard, who peeped throuo-h 
the key-hole and sketched it off as honest Launcelot 
sat by the fire, wrapped up in his flannel robe de 
chambre, and indulging in a mortal fit of the hyp 
Now take my word for it, gentle reader, this is the 
most auspicious moment in which to touch off the 
phiz of a genuine humorist. 

Of the antiquity of the Langstaff family I can say 
but little ; except that I have no doubt it is equal to 
that of most families who have the privilege of mak- 
ing their own pedigree, without the impertinent in- 
terposition of a college of heralds. My friend Laun- 
celot IS not a man to blazon any thing ; but 1 have 
heard him talk with great complacency of his ances- 
tor. Sir Rowland, who was a dashing buck in the 
days of Hardiknute, and broke the head of a gigantic 
Dane, at a game of quarter-staff, in presence of the 
whole court. In memory of this gallant exploit. Sir 



670 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Rowland was permitted to take the name of Lang-- 
stoffe, and to assume, as a crest to his arms, a hand 
grasping a cudgel. It is, however, a foible so ridicu- 
lously common in this country for people to claim 
consanguinity with all the great personages of their 
owii name in Europe, that I should put but little 
faith in this family boast of friend Langstaff, did I 
not know him to be a man of most unquestionable 
veracity. 

The whole world knows already that my friend is 
a bachelor ; for he is, or pretends to be, exceedingly 
proud of his personal independence, and takes care 
to make it known in all companies where strangers 
are present. He is forever vaunting the precious 
state of " single blessedness ;" and was not long ago 
considerably startled at a proposition of one of his 
great favourites, Miss Sophy Sparkle, " that old bach- 
elors should be taxed as lu.xuries." Launcelot im- 
mediately hied him home and wrote a tremendous 
long representation in their behalf, which I am re- 
solved to publish if it is ever attempted to carry the 
measure into operation. Whether he is sincere in 
these professions, or whether his present situation is 
owing to choice or disappointment, he only can tell ; 
but if he ever does tell, I will suffer myself to be shot 
by the first lady's eye that can twang an arrow. In 
his youth he was for ever in love ; but it was his 
misfortune to be continually crossed and rivalled by 
his bosom friend and contemporary beau, Pindar 
Cockloft, Esq., for as Langstaff never made a con- 
fidant on these occasions, his friend never knew 
which way his affections pointed ; and so, between 
them both, the lady generally slipped through their 
lingers. 

It has ever been the misfortune of Launcelot that 
he could not for the sou! of him restrain a good 
thing ; and this fatality has drawn upon him the ill 
will of many wdiom he would not have offended for 
the world. With the kindest heart under heaven, 
and the most benevolent disposition towards every 
being around him, he has. been continually betrayed 
by the mischievous vivacity of his fancy, and the 
good-humoured waggeiy of his feelings, into satiri- 
cal sallies which have been treasured up by the in- 
vidious, and retailed out with the bitter sneer of 
malevolence, instead of the playful hilarity of coun- 
tenance which originally sweetened and tempered 
and disarmed them of their sting. — These misrepre- 
sentations have gained him many reproaches and 
lost him many a friend. 

This unlucky characteristic played the mischief 
with him in one of his love affairs. He was, as I 
have before observed, often opposed in his gallantries 
by that formidable rival, Pindar Cockloft, Esq., and 
a most formidable rival he was ; for he had Apollo, 
the nine muses, together with all the joint tenants 
of Olympus to back him ; and every body knows 
what important confederates they are to a lover. 
Poor Launcelot stood no chance ; — the lady was 
cooped up in the poet's corner of every weekly pa- 
per; and at length Pindar attacked her with a son- 
net that took up a whole column, in which he enu- 
merated at least a dozen cardinal virtues, together 
with innumerable others of inferior consideration. 
Launcelot saw his case was desperate, and that un- 
less he sat down forthwith, be-cherubimed and be- 
angeled her to the skies, and put every virtue under 
the sun in requisition, he might as well go hang 
hunself and so make an end of the business. At it, 
therefore, he went ; and was going on very swim- 
mingly, for, in the space of a dozen lines he had en- 
listed under her command at least three score and 
ten substantial housekeeping virtues, when, unluckily 
for Launcelot's reputation as a poet and the lady's 
as a saint, one of those confounded good thoughts 



struck his laughter-loving brain ; — it was irresistible; 
away he went full sweep before the wind, cutting 
and slashing and tickled to death with his own fun : 
the consequence was, that by the time he had fin- 
ished, never was poor lady so most ludicrously lam- 
pooned since lampooning came into fashion. But 
this was not half; — so hugely was Launcelot pleased 
with this frolic of his wits, that nothing would do 
but he must show it to the lady, who, as well she 
might, was mortally offended, and forbid him her 
presence. My friend was in despair ; but through 
the interference of his generous rival, was permitted 
to make his apology, which, however, most unluckily 
happened to be rather worse than the original of- 
fence ; for though he had studied an eloquent com- 
pliment, yet, as ill-luck would have it, a most pre- 
posterous whim-wham knocked at his pericranium, 
and inspired him to say some consummate good 
things, which all put together amounted to a down- 
right hoax, and provoked the lady's wrath to such 
a degree that sentence of eternal banishment was 
awarded against him. 

Launcelot was inconsolable, and detemiined, in 
the true style of novel heroics, to make the tour of 
Europe, and endeavour to lose the recollection of 
this misfortune amongst the gayeties of France and 
the classic charms of Italy ; he accordingly took pas- 
sage in a vessel and pursued his voyage prosperously 
as far as Sandy Hook, where he was seized with a 
violent tit of sea-sickness : at which he was so af- 
fronted that he put his portmanteau into the first 
pilot-boat and returned to town completely cured of 
his love and his rage for travelling. 

1 pass o\'er the subsequent amours of my friend 
Langstaff, being but little acquainted with them ; for, 
as I have already mentioned, he never was known to 
make a confidant of any body. He always affirmed 
a man must be a fool to fall in love, but an idiot to 
boast of it ; — ever denominated it the villainous pas- 
sion ; — lamented that it could not be cudgelled out 
of the human heart ; — and yet could no more live 
without being in love with somebody or other than 
he could without whim-whams. 

My friend Launcelot is a man of excessive irrita- 
bility of nerve, and I am acquainted with no one so 
susceptible of the petty "miseries of human life;" 
yet its keener evils and misfortunes he bears without 
shrinking, and however they may prey in secret on 
his happiness, he never complains. This was strik- 
ingly evinced in an affair where his heart was deeply 
and irrevocably concerned, and in which his success 
was ruined by one for whom he had long cherished 
a warm friendship. The circumstance cut poor 
Langstaff to the very soul ; he was not seen in com- 
pany for months afterwards, and for a long time he 
seemed to retire within himself, and battle with the 
poignancy of his feelings ; but not a murmur or a 
reproach was heard to fall from his lips, though, at 
the mention of his friend's name, a shade of melan- 
choly might be observed stealing across his face, and 
his voice assumed a touching tone, that seemed to 
say, he remembered his treachery " more in sorrow 
than in anger." — This affair has given a slight tinge 
of sadness to his disposition, which, however, does 
not prevent his entering into the amusements of the 
world ; the only effect it occasions, is, that you may 
occasionally observe him, at the end of a lively con- 
versation, sink for a few minutes into an apparent 
forgetfulness of surrounding objects, during which 
time he seems to be indulging in some melancholy 
retrospection. 

Langstaff inherited from his father a love of liter- 
ature, a disposition for castle-building, a mortal en- 
mity to noise, a sovereign antipathy to cold weather 
and brooms, and a plentiful stock of whim-whams. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



671 



From the delicacy of his nerves he is peculiarly sen- 
sible to discordant sounds ; the rattling- of a wheel- 
barrow is "horrible ; " the noise of children "dri\'es 
him distracted ;" and he once left excellent lodgings 
merely because the lady of the house wore high-heel- 
ed shoes, in which she clattered up and down stairs, 
till, to use his own emphatic expression, " they made 
life loathsome " to him. He suffers annual martyr- 
dom from the razor-edged zephyrs of our " balmy 
spring," and solemnly declares that the hoasted 
month of May has become a perfect "vagabond." 
As some people have a great antipathy to cats, and 
can tell when one is locked up in a closet, so Launce- 
lot declares his feelings always announce to him the 
neighbourhood of a broom ; a household implement 
which he abominates above all others. Nor is there 
any living animal in the world that he holds in more 
utter abhorrence than what is usually termed a not- 
able house-wife ; a pestilent being, who, he protests, 
is the bane of good fellowship, and has a heavy 
charge to answer for the many offences committed 
against the ease, comfort, and social enjoyments of 
sovereign man. He told me, not long ago, " that he 
had rather see one of the weird sisters flourish through 
his key-hole on a broomstick, than one of the servant 
maids enter the door with a besom." 

My friend Launcelot is ardent and sincere in his 
attachments, which are confined to a chosen few, 
in vyhose society he loves to give free scope to his 
whimsical imagination ; he, however, mingles freely 
with the world, though more as a spectator than an 
actor; and without an anxiety, or hardly a care to 
please, is generally received with welcome and lis- 
tened to with complacency. When he extends his 
hand it is in a free, open, liberal style ; and when 
you shake it, you feel his honest heart throb in its 
pulsations. Though rather fond of gay exhibitions, 
he does not appear so frequently at ball's and assem- 
blies since the introduction of the drum, trumpet, 
and tamborin : all of which he abhors on account of 
the rude attacks they make on his organs of hear- 
ing:— in short, such is his antipathy to noise, that 
though exceedmgly patriotic, vet he retreats every 
fourth of July to Cockloft Hall', in order to yet out 
of the way of the hub-bub and confusion which make 
so considerable a part of the pleasure of that splendid 
anniversary. 

I intend this article as a mere sketch of Lang- 
staff's multifarious character ; his innumerable whim- 
whams will be exhibited by himself, in the course of 
this work, in all their strange varieties ; and the 
machinery of his mind, more intricate than the most 
subtle piece of clock-work, be fully explained. And 
trust me, gentlefolk, his are the whim-whams of a 
courteous gentleman full of most excellent qualities ; 
honourable in his disposition, independent in his 
sentiments, and of unbounded good nature, as may 
be seen through all his works. 



ON STYLE. 

BY WILLIAM WIZ.^RD, ESQ. 

Style, a manner of writing ; title ; pin of a dial ; the 
pistil of plants. — Johnso.n. 

Style, is style. — Linku.m Fidelius. 



Now I would not give a straw for either of the 
above definitions, though I think the latter is by far 
the most satisfactory: and I do wish sincerely every 
modern numskull, who takes hold of a subject he 
knows nothing about, would adopt honest Linkum's 



mode of explanation. Blair's Lectures on this article 
have not thrown a whit more light on the subject of 
my inquiries ; they puzzled me just as much as did 
the learned and laborious expositions and illustrations 
of the worthy professor of our college, in the middle 
of which I generally had the ill luck to fall asleep. 

This same word style, though but a diminutive 
word, assumes to itself more contradictions, and sig- 
nifications, and eccentricities, than any monosyllable 
in the language is legitimately entitled to. It is an 
arrant little humorist of a word, and full of whim- 
whams, which occasions me to like it hugely ; but it 
puzzled me most wickedly on my first return from a 
long residence abroad, having crept into fashionable 
use during- my absence ; and had it not been for 
friend Evergreen, and that thrifty sprig of knowledge, 
Jeremy Cockloft the younger, I should have remain- 
ed to this day ignorant of its meaning. 

Though it would seem that the people of all coun- 
tries are equally vehement in the pursuit of this 
phantom, style, yet in almost all of them there is a 
strange diversity in opinion as to what constitutes 
its essence ; and every different class, like the pagan 
nations, adore it under a different form. In England, 
for instance, an honest cit packs up himself his fam- 
ily, and his style, in a buggy or tim-whisky, and 
rattles away on Sunday with his fair partner bloom- 
ing beside him, like an eastern bride, and two chubby 
children, squatting like Chinese images at his feet. 
A Baronet requires a chariot and pair ; — a Lord 
must needs have a barouche and four;— but a Duke 
— oh ! a Duke cannot possibly lumber his style along 
under a coach and six, and half a score of footmen 
into the bargain. In China a puissant Mandarin 
loads at least three elephants with style ; and an 
overgrown sheep at the Cape of Good-Hope, trails 
along his tail and his style on a wheelbarro->v. In 
Egii^pt, or at Constantinople, style consists in the 
quantity of fur and fine clothes a lady can put on 
without danger of suffocation ; here it is otherwise, 
and consists in the quantity she can put off without 
the risk of freezing. A Chinese lady is thought 
prodigal of her charms if she expose the tip of her 
nose, or the ends of her fingers, to the ardent gaze 
of bystanders: and I recollect that all Canton was 
in a buzz in consequence of the great belle. Miss 
Nangfous, peeping out of the window with her face 
uncovered ! Here the style is to show not only the 
face, but the neck, shoulders, &c. ; and a lady never 
presumes to hide them except when she is not at 
home, and not sufficiently undressed to see com- 
pany. 

This style has ruined the peace and harmony of 
many a worthy household ; for no sooner do they set 
up for style, but instantly all the honest old comfort- 
able sans ccrcmonie- furniture is discarded ; and )-ou 
stalk, cautiously about, amongst the uncomfortable 
splendour of Grecian chairs, Egyptian tables, Turkey 
carpets, and Etruscan vases. — This vast improve- 
ment in furniture demands an increase in the do- 
mestic establishment ; and a family that once re- 
quired two or three servants for convenience, now 
employs half a dozen for style. 

Bell-brazen, late favourite of my unfortunate 
friend Dessalines, was one of these patterns of style ; 
and whatever freak she was seized with, however 
preposterous, was implicitly followed by all who 
would be considered as admitted in the stylish ar- 
cana. She was once seized with a whim-wham that 
tickled the whole court. She could not lay down to 
take an afternoon's loll, but she must have one serv- 
ant to scratch her head, two to tickle her feet, and 
a fourth to fan her delectable person while she slum- 
bered. The thing took ; — it become the rage, and 
not a sable belle in all Hayti but what insisted upon 



G72 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



being fanned, and scratched, and tickled in the true 
imperial style. Sneer not at this picture, my most 
excellent tovvnswomen, for who among you but are 
daily following fashions equally absurd ! 

Style, according to Evergreen's account, consists 
in certain fashions, or certain eccentricities, or cer- 
tain manners of certain people, in certain situations, 
and possessed of a certain share of fashion or im- 
portance. A red cloak, for instance, on the shoul- 
ders of an old market-woman is regarded with con- 
tempt ; it is vulgar, it is odious :— fling, however, its 
usurping rival, a red shawl, over the fine figure of a 
fashionable belle, and let her flame away with it in 
Broadway, or in a ball-room, and it is immediately 
declared to be the style. 

The modes of attaining this certain situation, 
which entitle its holder to style, are various and op- 
posite ; the most ostensible is the attainment of 
wealth ; the possession of which changes, at once, 
the pert airs of vulgar ignorance into fashionable 
ease and elegant vivacity. It is highly amusing to 
observe the gradation of a family aspiring to style, 
and the devious windings ihey pursue in order to 
attain it. While beating up against wind and tide 
they are the most complaisant beings in the world ; 
— they keep " booing and booing," as M'Sycophant 
says, until you would suppose them incapable of 
standing upright; they kiss their hands to every 
body who has the least claim to style ; their tamil- 
iarity is intolerable, and they absolutely overwhelm 
you with their friendship and loving-kindness. But 
having once gained the envied pre-eminence, never 
were beings in the world more changed. They as- 
sume the most intolerable caprices ; at one time, ad- 
dress you with importunate sociability ; at another, 
pass you by with silent indifierence ; sometimes sit 
up in their chairs in all the majesty of dignified si- 
lence ; and at another time bounce about with all 
the obstreperous ill-bred noise of a litle hoyden just 
broke loose from a boarding-school. 

Another feature which distinguishes these new- 
made fashionables, is the inveteracy with which they 
look down upon the honest people who are strug- 
gling to climb up to the same envied height. They 
never fail to salute them with the most sarcastic re- 
flections ; and like so many worthy hodmen, clam- 
bering a ladder, each one looks down upon his next 
neighbour below and makes no scruple of shaking 
the dust off' his shoes into his eyes. Thus by dint 
of perseverance, merely, they come to be considered 
as established denizens of the great world ; as in 
some barbarous nations an oyster-shell is ol sterling 
value, and a copper-washed counter will pass current 
for genuine gold. 

In no instance have I seen this grasping after style 
more whimsically exhibited, than in the family ol 
my old acquaintance, TIMOTHY GiBLET.— I recol- 
lect old Giblet when I was a hoy, and he was the 
most surly curmudgeon I ever knew. He was a per- 
fect scare-crow to the small-fry of the day, and in- 
herited the hatred of all these unlucky little shavers ; 
for never could we assemble about his door of an 
evening to plav, and make a little hub-bub, but out he 
sallied from his nest like a spider, flourished his formid- 
able horse-whip, and dispersed the whole crew in the 
twinkling of a lamp. 1 perfectly remember a bill he 
sent in to my father for a pane of glass I had acci- 
dentally broken, which came well-nigh getting me a 
sound flogging ; and I remember, as perfectly, that 
the next night I revenged myself by breaking half a 
dozen. Giblet was as arrant a grubworm as ever 
crawled ; and the only rules of riglit and wrong he 
cared a button for, were the rules of multiplication 
and addition ; which he practiced much more suc- 
cessfully than he did any of the rules of religion or 



morality. He used to declare they were the true 
golden rules ; and he took special care to put Cock- 
er's arithmetic in the hands of his children, before 
they had read ten pages in the Bible or the prayer- 
book. The practice of these favourite maxims was 
at length crowned with the harvest of success ; and 
after a life of incessant self-denial, and starvation, 
and after enduring all the pounds, shillings, and 
pence miseries of a miser, he had the satisfaction of 
seeing himself worth a plum and of dying just as he 
had determined to enjoy the remainder of his days 
in contemplating his great wealth and accumulating 
mortgages. . 

His children inherited his money ; but they buried 
the disposition, and every other memorial of their 
father, in his grave. Fired with a noble thirst for 
style, they instantly emerged from the retired lane 
in which themselves and their accomplishments had 
hitherto been buried ; and they blazed, and they 
whizzed, and they cracked about town, like a nest 
of squibs and devils in a firework. 1 can liken their 
sudden eclat to nothing but that of the locust, which 
is hatched in the dust, where it increases and swells 
up to maturity, and after feeling for a moment the 
vivifying rays of the sun, bursts forth a mighty in- 
sect, and flutters, and rattles, and buzzes from every 
tree. The little warblers who have long cheered the 
woodlands with their dulcet notes, are stunned by 
the discordant racket of these upstart intruders, and 
contemplate, in contemptuous silence, their tinsel 
and their noise. 

Having once started, the Giblets were determined 
that nothing should stop them in their career, until 
they had run their full course and arrived at the very 
tip-top of style. Every tailor, every shoe-maker, 
every coach-maker, every milliner, every mantua- 
maker, every paper-hanger, every piano teacher, and 
everv dancing master in the city, were enlisted in 
their ser\ice; and the willing wights most courte- 
ously answered their call ; and fell to work to build 
up the fame of the Giblets, as they had done that ot 
many an aspiring family before them. In a little 
time the young ladies could dance the waltz, thunder 
Lodoiska', murder French, kill time, and commit vio- 
lence on the face of nature in a landscape in water- 
colours, equal to the best lady in the land ; and the 
young gentlemen were seen lounging at corners ot 
streets, and driving tandem ; heard talking loud at 
the theatre, and laughing in church ; with as much 
ease, and grace, and modesty, as if they had been 
<i-entlemen all the days of their lives. 
° And the Giblets arrayed themselves in scarlet, and 
in fine linen, and seated themselves in high places ; 
but nobody noticed them except to honour them 
with a little contempt. The Giblets made a prodig- 
ious splash in their own opinion ; but nobody ex- 
tolled them except the tailors, and the milliners, 
who had been employed in manufacturing their para- 
phernalia. The Giblets thereupon being, .like Caleb 
Ouotem, determined to have " a place at the review,' 
fell to work more fiercely than ever;— they gave 
dinners, and they gave balls, they hired cooks they 
hired fiddlers, they hired confectioners; and they 
would have kept a newspaper in pay, had they not 
been all bought up at that time tor the election, 
rhey invited the dancing-men and the dancing- 
women, and the gormandizers, and the epicures of 
the city, to come and make merry at their expense ; 
and the dancing-men, and the dancing-women, 
and the epicures, and the gormandizers, did come ; 
and they did make merry at their expense; and 
they eat, and they drank, and they capered, and 
they danced, and they— laughed at their entertainers 
Then commenced the hurry and the bustle, and 
the mighty nothingness of fa.shionable lite ; -such 



SALMAGUNDI. 



rattling in coaches ! such flaunting in the streets ' 
such slammmg of" box doors at the theatre ! such a 
tempest of bustle and unmeaning noise wherever 
they appeared ! the Giblets were seen here and there 
and e\ erywhere ;-they visited every body they knew 
and every body-^they did not know .-'and there was no 
getting along for the Giblets.-Their plan at length 
succeeded. By dmt of dinners, of feeding and frol- 
icking the town, the Giblet family worked them- 
selves into notice, and enjoyed the ineffable pleasure 
of being tor ever pestered by visitors, who cared 
nothing about them ; of being squeezed, and smoth- 
ered, and parboiled at nightly balls, and evening tea- 
parties ;— they were allowed the privilege of ionret- 
ting the very tew old friends they once possessed"- 
they turned their noses up in the wind at every thino- 
that was not genteel; and their superb manners 
and sublime aftectation at length left it no longer a 
matter ol doubt that the Giblets were perfectly in 



673 



:„r~T^^'''"S'^?.''""^'^™=''l contentmente in a never pont^nf 

nari'e sorrSw of de" ght^.'' ° -J"y""g. '" -" ex.raord,: 

li' Link. Fidelius. 

We have been considerably edified of late bv sev- 
' eral letters of advice from a number of sL? cor- 

ou™-r'th''''° ''fy '''"" '° know more about 

. our woik than we do ourselves. One warns us 
against saying any thing more about Snjvers who 

( IS a very particular friend of the writer, and who 
has a singular disinclination to be laughed at -This 

. correspondent in particular inveighl against per- 
sonalities, and accuses us of ill liature^n br ng- 

. mg forward old Fungus and Billy Dimple, as figures 
of fun to amuse the public. Another gentleman 

., who states that he is a near relation of^the Cock: 

nrie;v''r7'"|-''T-' "°'' s°P°'-ifically on the impro- 
pnety ol ridicuhng a respectable old family ; and 

vham-'th'"' ,"• ''\"''''' •^'-■"^ ^"d their\Vhim- 
nnnT'tK '"■"'" °' ?"y "'"''' "^^y^. he shall be 
chamninn' "^'^'=^^"7 ^^ .^PPlyng to our theatrical 
chanipions for satisfaction. A third, who by the 
, ctabbedness of the hand-writing, and a few carl- 
ess inaccuracies in the spelling, appears to be n 
My, assures us that the ll^liss Cocklllfts and Miss 

W-I^w'"'"',.^"'^ ^^'"' Dashaway,'and Mrs! 
— Will Wizards quondam flame, are so much 
obuged to us for our notice, that they intend i 
future to take no notice of us at all, but leave us ou 
of all their tea-parties ; for which we make them 
one of our best bows, and say, •■ thank you, ladies " 
tend'^.r',: ■'° ''^''Ir" -^^^^^ S"""^ P^°Ple ^^0"^ at- 
to am 1 °7" ^*^^';''' " '^'y have any to attend 

to, and let us alone. It is one of the most nrovok- 
mg things in the world that we cannot tick e the 
public a httle, merely for our own private amuse- 
ment but we must be crossed and jostled bvThese 

to vi Z,,;"""''"""' ^",'' '" '"^«' '^^^-^ the whole 
town about our ears. We are much in the same 
situation with an unlucky blade of a cockney; who 
having mounted his bit of blood to enjoy a li tie in^ 
nocent recreation, and display his horsemanship along 
Broadway, ,s worried by all those little yelpincr curl 
that infest our city ; and who never fail to sally out 

ance^of°7h' "rr" ^-''^l ""^ ^"^^'' '" '^e great Jnoy- 
ance of the Birmingham equestrian. ^ 

"hSr"^' '' '^'^ ^y 'he ^'->ge Linkum Fidelius. 
howbeit, moreover, nevertheless, this thrice wicked 

of Iirn'-fn'i"''^'","P 'l 'he -"-^'e with all manner 
ot ill-natures and uncharitablenesses, and is more- 
o er e.xceedinghenaughte.'' ^This passage o7 the 
erudite Linkum was applied to the city of Gotham! 
43 



of which he was once Lord Ma\-or, as appears by 
his picture hung up in the hall of that ancient city ■- 
but his observation fits this best of all possible cities 
to a hair. It is a melancholy truth that this 
same New- York, though the most charming, pleasant, 
polished, and praise-worthy citv under the sun and 
m a wora, the io/mc- bottche of the universe, is most 
shockingly ill-natured and sarcastic, and wickedly 
given to all manner of backslidings ;— for which we 
are very sorry indeed. In truth, for it must come out 
like murder one time or other, the inhabitants are 
not only ill-natured, but manifestly unjust : no sooner 
Uo they get one of our random sketches in their 
hands, but instantly they apply it most unjustifiably 
to some "dear friend," and then accuse us vocifer- 
ously of the personality which originated in their 
own ofhcious friendship ! Truly it is an ill-natured 
town, and most earnestly do we hope it may not 
meet with the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah of old 
As, however, it may be thought incumbent upon 
us to make some apology for these mistakes of the 
town ; and as our good-nature is truly exemplary 
we would certainly answer this expectation were 'it 
not that we have an invincible antipathy to makin"- 
apologies. We have a most profound contempt [ox 
any man vvho cannot give three good reasons for an 
unreasonable thing ; and will therefore condescend 
as usual, to give the public three special reasons for 
never apologizing :-first, an apology implies that 
we are accountable to some body or another for our 
conduct ;--now as we do not care a fiddle-stick, as 
authors for either public opinion or private ill-will. 
It would be implying a falsehood to apologize --sec- 
ond, an apology would indicate that we had been 
doing vyhat we ought not to have done. Now as we 
never did nor ever intend to do any thing wrong 
It woiild be ridiculous to make an apology -third 
we labour under the same incapacity in the art of 
apologizing that lost Langstafi' his mistress ;-we 
never yet undertook to make apology without com- 
miting a new offence, and making matters ten times 
worse than they were before ; and we are. there- 
lore, determined to avoid such predicaments in fu- 

But though we have resolved never to apolo- 
gize, yet we have no particular objection to ex- 
plain ; and if this is all that's wanted, we will sjo 

about It directly : aliens, gentlemen ! before 

however, we enter upon this serious affair, we 
take this opportunity to express our surprise and 
mdignation at the incredulity of some people - 
Have we not over and over, assured the town 
that we are three of the best-natured fellows liv- 
rngj- And IS It not astonishing, that havin<^ al- 
ready given seven convincing proofs of the truth ' 
of this assurance they should stiil have any doubts 

°h;, 'h V'^Jf" • ,h"' ^? 't is one of the inipossible 
things to make a knave believe in honesty, so perhaps 
It may be another to make this most sarcastic, satiri- 
cal, and tea-drinking city believe in the existence 

of good-nature. But to our explanation. Gentle 

reader ! for we are convinced that none but gentle 
or genteel readers can relish our excellent produc- 
S 1 I '^u' '" expectation of being perfectly 
satisfied with what we are about to say, thou mayest 
whnrf ,1 ''"'r'' hllebullero" and skip quite over 
e! Ith/ r' '' ^^''^'''^' ^^ight was more disappoint- 
ed than thou wilt be most assuredly.— But to the ex- 
planation : We care just as much about the public 
and Its wise conjectures, as we do about the inan in 
he moon and his whim-whams, or the criticisms of 
the lady who sits majestically in her elbow-chair 
in the lobster; and who, belying her sex. as we are 
credibly informed, never says any thing worth 



listening to. 



We have launched our bark^and we 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING 



674 

will steer to our destined port with undevi;iting per- 
severance, fearless of being shipwrecked by the 
way. Good-nature is our steersman, reason our 
ballast, whim the breeze that wafts us along, and 
MORALITY our leading star. 



No. IX.— SATURDAY, APRIL 25, 1807. 

FROM MV ELBOW-CHAIR. 

It in some measure jumps with my humour to 
be "melancholy and gentleman-like this stormy 
nfght and I see^o reaton why I should not mdulge 
myself for once.-Away, then, with lo^e, w.th lun 
and laughter, for a while ; let my sou look back m 
mournful retrospect, and sadden vyith the triemojT 
7my good aunt CHARITY-who died ol a French- 



man 



Stare not, oh, most dubious reader, at the men- 
tion of a complaint so uncommon; gn^youfy 
hath it afflicted the ancient famdy of the Locklotts. 
who carry their absurd antipathy to the French so 
iar that they will not suffer a clove of garhc in 
the house -. and my good old friend Chr.stopher 
was once on the point of abandoning h,s paternal 
country mansion of Cockloft-hall, merely because 
a colony of frogs had settled n. a ne.ghbourmg 
swamp. I verily believe he would have earned h,s 
w^Mm-wham into effect, had not a fo/tu^^^-ld^.f ^ 
oblieed the enemy to strike their tents and. like a 
troop of wandering Arabs, to march off towards a 
moister part of the country. 

Mv aunt Charity departed this life in the hft>- 
ninth year of her age. though she never grew 
older after twenty-five. In her teens she was, 
according to her own account, a celebrated beau- 
ty -though I never could meet with any body 
that remembered when she was handsome ; on 
the contrary. Evergreen's lather, who used to 
gallant her in his youth, says she was as kno ty a 
little piece of humanity as he ever saw ; and that, 
f she had been possessed of the least sensibihtv, 
she would, like poor old Acco, have most certamly 
run mad at her own figure and face the hi^st time 
she contemplated herself m a lo°king-glass In 
the good old times that saw my aunt in the he> 
day of youth, a fine lady was a most formidable 
animal, and required to be approached with he 
same awe and devotion that a Tartar feels in the 
presence of his Grand Lama. If a gentleman of- 
fered to take her hand, except to help her into a 
■ carriage, or lead her into a drawing-room, such 
frowns' such a rustling ol brocade and taffeta ! 
her very paste shoe-buckles sparkled with indigna- 
tion and for a moment assumed the brilliancy ol 
dTar^onds: in those days the person o a belle was 
sacml ; it was unprofaned by the sacrilegious grasp 
ofastranger:— ^simple souls !-they had not the 

waltz amonsf them yet ! . , . 

My Cd aunt prided herself on keeping up his 
buckram delicacy! and if she happened to be pay 
ing at the old-fashioned game ol forte.ts, and was 
fined a kiss, it was always more trouble to get . 
than it was worth ; for she made a most gallant 
defence, and never surrendered until she saw her 
adversary inclined to give over his attack Evei- 
green's father says he rememoers once to have 
leen on a sleighing party with 'jer. and when they 
nrae to -Kissing-bridge. it fell to his lot to levy 
contributions on" Miss^Charity Cockloft ; who after 
suualling at a hideous rate, at length jumped out o 
thelleigh plump into a snow-bank ; where she stuck 



fast like an icicle, until he came to her rescue. This 
latonian feat cost her a rheumatism, which she never 
thoroughly recovered. 

It is rather singular that my aunt, though a great 
beauty, and an heiress withal, never got married 
The reason she alleged was, that she never met 
with a lover who resembled Sir Charles Grandison, 
the hero of her nightly dreams and waking lancy ; 
but I am privately of opinion that it was owing to 
her never having had an ofler. This much is cer- 
tain, that for many years previous to her decease, 
she declined all attentions from the gentlemen, 
and contented herself with watching over the wel- 
fare of her fellow-creatures. She was, -ndeed ob- 
served to take a considerable lean towards Method- 
ism, was frequent in her attendance at love feasts, 
read Whitfield and Wesley, and even went so far 
as once to travel the distance of hve and twenty 
miles to be present at a camp-meeting. This gave 
o-reat offence to my cousin Christopher and his 
good lady, who, as I have already mentioned, are 
rigidly orthodox; and had not my aunt Charity 
been of a most pacific disposition, her religious 
whim-wham would have occasioned many .a lamily 
altercation. She was, indeed, as good a soul as he 
Cockloft family ever boasted ; a lady of unbounded 
loving-kindness, which extended to man, wotrian 
and child ; many of whom she almost kil ed with 
good-nature. Was any acquaintance sick ? inxain 
did the wind whistle and the storm beat ; my aunt 
would waddle through mud and mire, °^'e^„ t^^ ^^;h°'e 
town, but what she would visit them She would 
sit by them for hours together with the mf* P"; " 
severing patience ; and tell a thousand melancho y 
stories of human misery, to keep up their spirits. The 
whole catalogue oi y.-rb teas was at her tingers ends, 
from formidable worm-wood down to geritle ba m 
and she would descant by the hour on the healing 
qualities of hoar-hound, catnip, and Penny-roy-al.- , 
Wo be to the patient that came under the benev- 
olent hand of mv aunt Charitv ; he was sure w.lly 
niUv, to be drenched with a deluge of decoctions 
and full many a time has my cousin Christopher 
borne a twinge of pain in silence through fear ol 
being condemned to suffer the martyrdom of her 
materia-medica. My good aunt had moreover, 
considerable skill in astronomy, for she «uld tell 
when the sun rose and set every day in he year, 
and no woman in the whole worid was able to pro- 
nounce, with more certainty, at what precise min- 
ute the moon changed. She held the story of the 
moon's being made of green cheese, as an abomina- 
ble slander on her favourite planet ; and she had 
made several valuable discoveries in solar eclipses 
by means of a bit of burnt glass, «'hic entitled 
her at least to an honorai7 admission in the Amer- 
ican-philosophical-society. Hutching's >mp™ved 
was her favourite book ; and I shrewdly suspect hat 
it was from this valuable work she drew most of 
her sovereign remedies for colds, coughs, corns, and 

^Turr?ri;th must be told with all her good 
qualities mv aunt Chanty was afflicted with orie fau . 
extremely rare among her gentle sex;-i ^^as curi- 
os tv How she came by it, I am at a bss to im- 
aoin^ but it played the very vengeance with her and 
desroved the comfort of her life. Having an m- 

1, cble desire to know every body's character, busi- 
ness, and mode of living, she was for ever prying 
into the affairs of her neighbours ; and got a grea 
deal of ill will from people towards whom she had 

he kindest disposition possible.-H any lamily on 
the opposite side of the street gave a dmner . my 
aunt would mount her spectac es and sit ^^^^JZ 

dow until the company were all housed , merely that 



SALMAGUNDI. 



G75 



. she might know who they were. If she heard a story 

' about any of her acquaintance, she would, forthwith, 

set off full sail and never rest until, to use her usual 

expression, she had got " to the bottom of it ; " which 

. meant nothing more than telling it to every body 

she knew. 

I remember one night my aunt Charity happened 

1 to hear a most precious story about one of her good 

friends, but unfortunately too late to give it inimedi- 

■ ate circulation. It made her absolutely miserable ; 

and she hardly slept a wink all night, for fear her 

bosom-friend, Mrs. SiPKIN.s, should' get the start of 

her in the morning and blow the whole affair. You 

must know there was always a contest between these 

two ladies, who should hrst give currency to the 

good-natured things said about every body; and 

this tmfortunatc rivalship at length proved fatal to 

their long and ardent friendship. ]\Iy aunt got up 

full two hours that morning before her usual time ; 

put on her pompadour tafeta gown, and sallied Ibrth 

to lament the misfortune of her dear friend. Would 

you believe it ! — wherever she went Mrs. Sipkins had 

anticipated her; and, instead of being listened to 

with uplifted hands and open-mouthed wonder, my 

unhappy aunt was obliged to sit down quietly and 

listen to the whole affair, with numerous additions, 

alterations, and amendments I — now this was too 

bad ; it would almost have provoked Patient Grizzle 

or a saint : — it was too much for my aunt, who kept 

her bed for three days afterwards, with a cold, as 

she pretended ; but I have no doubt it was owing to 

this affair of Mrs. Sipkins, to whom she never would 

be reconciled. 

But 1 pass over the rest of my aunt Charity's life, 
checquered with the various calamities and misfor- 
tunes and mortifications incident to those worthy old 
gentlewomen who have the domestic cares of the 
whole community upon their minds ; and I hasten 
to relate the melancholy incident that hurried her 
out of existence in the full bloom of antiquated vir- 
ginity. 

In their frolicksome malice the fates had ordered 
that a French boarding-house, ox Pension Francaise, 
as it was called, should be established directly oppo- 
site my aunt's residence. Cruel event ! unhappy 
aunt Charity ! — it threw her into that alarming dis- 
order denominated the fidgets ; she did nothing but 
watch at the window day after day, but without be- 
coming one whit the wiser at the end of a fortnight 
than she was at the beginning ; she thought that 
neighbour Pension had a monstrous large family, 
and somehow or other they were all men ! she could 
not imagine what business neighbour Pension fol- 
lowed to support so numerous a household ; and 
wondered why there was always such a scraping of 
fiddles in the parlour, and such a smell of onions 
from neighbour Pension's kitchen; in short, neigh- 
bour Pension v/as continually uppermost in her 
thoughts, and incessantly on the outer edge of her 
tongue. This was, I believe, the very first time she 
had ever failed " to get at the bottom of a thing ; " 
and the disappointment cost her many a sleepless 
night I warrant you. I have little doubt, however, 
that my aunt would have ferretted neighbour Pension 
out, could she have spoken or understood French ; 
but in those times people in general could make 
themselves understood in plain English ; and it was 
always a standing rule in the Cockloft family, which 
exists to this day, that not one of the females should 
learn French. 

My aunt Charity had lived, at her window, for 
some time in vain ; when one day, as she was keep- 
ing her usual look-out, and suffering all the pangs of 
unsatisfied curiosity, she beheld a little, meagre, 
weazel-faced Frenchman, of the most forlorn, dimin- 



utive, and pitiful proportions, arrive at neighbour 
Pension's door. He was dressed in white, with a 
little pinched-up cocked hat ; he seemed to shake in 
the wind, and every blast that went over him whistled 
through his bones and threatened instant annihila- 
tion. This embodied spirit-of-famine was followed 
by three carts, lumbered with crazy trunks, chests, 
band-boxes, bidets, medicine-chest's, parrots, and 
monkeys ; and at his heels ran a yelping pack of lit- 
tle black-nosed pug dogs. This was the one thing 
wanting to fill up the measure of my aunt Charity's 
afflictions ; she could not conceive, for the soul of 
her, who this mysterious little apparition could be 
that made so great a display ; what he could possibly 
do with so much liaggage, and particularly with his 
parrots and monkeys ; or how so small a carcass 
could have occasion for so many trunks of clothes. 
Honest soul ! she had never had a peep into a 
Frenchman's wardrobe ; that depot of old coats, 
hats, and breeches, of the growth of eveiy fashion he 
has followed in his life. 

From the time of this fatal arrival, my poor aunt 
was in a quandary ;— all her inquiries were fruitless ; 
no one could expound the history of this mysterious 
stranger : she never held up her head afterwards, — 
drooped daily, took to her bed in a fortnight, and in 
" one little month " I saw her quietly deposited in 
the family vault : — being the seventh Cockloft that 
has died of a whim-wham ! 

Take warning, my fair counti-y-women ! and you, 
oh, ye excellent ladies, whether married or single, 
who pry into other people's affairs and neglect those 
of your own household ;— who are so busily employed 
in observing the faults of others that you have no 
time to correct your own ; — remember the fate of 
my dear aunt Charity, and eschew the evil spirit of 
curiositv. 



FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 

I FIND, by perusal of our last number, that Will 
Wizard and Evergreen, taking advantage of my 
confinement, have been playing some of their gam- 
bols. I suspected these rogues of some mal-prac- 
tices, in consequence of their queer looks and know- 
ing winks whenever I came down to dinner; and of 
their not showing their faces at old Cockloft's for 
several days after the appearance of their precious 
effusions. Whenever these two waggish fellows lay 
their heads together, there is always sure to be 
hatched some notable jiiece of mischief; which, if it 
tickles nobody else, is sure to make its authors merry. 
The public will take notice that, for the purpose of 
teaching these my associates better manners, and 
punishing them for their high misdemeanors, I have, 
by virtue of my authority, suspended them from all 
interference in .Salmagundi, until they show a proper 
degree of repentance; or I get tired of supportmg 
the burthen of the work myself. I am sorry for Will, 
who is already sufticiently mortified in not daring to 
come to the old house and tell his long stories and 
smoke his segar ; but Evergreen, being an old beau, 
may solacehimself in his disgrace by trimming up 
all his old finery and making love to the little girls. " 
At present my right-hand man is cousin Pindar, 
whom I have taken into high favour. He came home 
the other night all in a blaze like a sky-rocket — 
whisked up to his room in a paroxysm of poetic in- 
spiration, nor did we see any thing'of him until late 
the next morning, when he bounced upon us at 
breakfast, 

" Fire in each eye— and paper in e.ach hand." 

This is just the way with Pindar, he is like a vol- 
cano ; will remain for a long time silent without 



076 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



emitting a single spark, and then, all at once, burst 
out in a tremendous explosion of rhyme and rhap- 
sody. 

As the letters of my friend Mustapha seem to ex- 
cite considerable curiosity, I have subjoined another. 
I do not vouch for the justice of his remarks, or the 
correctness of his conclusions ; they are full of the 
blunders and errors into which strangers continually 
indulge, who pretend to give an account of this 
country before they well know the geography of the 
street in which they live. The copies of my friend's 
papers being confused and without date, I cannot 
pretend to give them in systematic order ; — in lact. 
they seem now and then to treat of matters which 
have occurred since his departure ; whether these are 
sly interpolations of that meddlesome wight Will 
W'izard, or whether honest Mustapha was gifted with 
the spirit of prophecy or second sight, I neither 
know— nor, in fact, do I care. The following seems 
to have been written when the Tripolitan prisoners 
were so much annoved by the ragged state of their 
wardrobe. Mustapha feelingly depicts the embar- 
rassments of his situation, traveller-like ; makes an 
easy transition from his breeches to the seat of gov- 
ernment, and incontinently abuses the w'hole admm- 
istration ; like a sapient traveller I once knew, who 
damned the French nation in toto— because they 
eat sugar with green peas. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA 
KELl KHAN, 



RUB-A-DUB 



ASEM HACCHEM, 
TO HIS HIGHNESS 



CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO 
PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER 
THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 

Sweet, oh, Asem ! is the memory of distant 
friends ! like the mellow ray of a departing sun it 
falls tenderly yet sadly on the heart. Every hour ot 
absence from my native land rolls heavily by, like the 
sandy wave of the desert ; and the fair shores of my 
country rise blooming to my imagination, clothed in 
the soft, illusive charms of distance. I sigh, yet no 
one listens to the sigh of the captive ; 1 shed the 
bitter tear of recollection, but no one sympathizes in 
the tear of the turbaned stranger ! Think not, how- 
ever, thou brother of my soul, that I complain of the 
horrors of my situation ;— think not that my captiv- 
ity is attended with the labours, the chains, the 
scourges, the insults, that render slavery, with us, 
mora dreadful than the pangs of hesitating, linger- 
ing death. Light, indeed, are the restraints on the 
pereonal freedom of thy kinsman ; but who can en- 
ter into the afflictions of the mind ?— who can 
describe the agonies of the heart ? they are muta- 
ble as the clouds of the air— they are countless as 
the waves that divide me from my native country. 

I have, of late, my dear Asem, laboured under an 
inconvenience singularly unfortunate, and am re- 
duced to a dilemma most ridiculously embarrassing. 
Why should I hide it from the companion of my 
thoughts, the partner of my sorrows and my joys ? 
Alas ! Asem, thy friend Mustapha, the invincible 
captain of a ketch, is sadly in want of a pair of 
breeches ! Thou wilt doubtless smile, oh, most 
grave Mussulman, to hear me indulge in such ar- 
dent lamentations about a circumstance so trivial, 
and a want apparently so easy to be satisfied : but 
little canst thou know of the mortifications attend- 
ing my necessities, and the astonishing difficulty of 
supplying them. Honoured by the smiles and atten- 
tions 'of the beautiful ladies of this city, who have 
fallen in love w:ith my whiskers and my turban ; 



courted by the bashaws and the great men, who de- 
light to have me at their feasts ; the honour of my 
company eageriy solicited by every fiddler who gives 
a concert ; think of my chagrin at being obliged to 
decline the host of invitations that daily overwhelm 
me, merely for want of a pair of breeches ! Oh, Al- 
lah ! Allah ! that thy disciples could come into the 
worid all be-feathered like a bantam, or with a pair 
of leather breeches like the wild deer of the forest ! 
Surely, iny friend, it is the destiny of man to be for 
ever subjected to petty evils; which, however 
trifling in appearance, prey in silence on his little 
pittance of enjoyment, and poison those moments of 
sunshine which might otherwise be consecrated to 
happiness. 

The want of a garment, thou wilt say, is easily 
supplied ; and thou mayest suppose need only be 
mentioned, to be remedied at once by any tailor of 
the land : little canst thou conceive the impediments 
which stand in the way of my comfort ; and still less 
art thou acquainted with the prodigious great scale 
on which eiery thing is transacted in this countr\'. 
The nation moves most majestically slow and clumsy 
in the most trivial affairs, like the unwieldy elephant 
which makes a i'ormidable difficulty of picking up a 
straw ! When I hinted my necessities to the officer 
who has charge of myself and my companions, I ex- 
pected to have them forthwith relieved ; but he made 
an amazing long face, told me that we were pris- 
oners of state, that we must, therefore, be clothed 
at the expense of government ; that as no provision 
had been made by congress for an emergency of the 
kind, it was impossible to furnish me with a pair ol 
breeches, until all the sages of the nation had been 
convened to talk over the matter and debate upon 
the expediency of granting my request. Sword of 
the immortal Khalid, thought I, but this is great !— 
this is truly sublime I All the sages of an immense 
logocracy assembled together to talk about my 
breeches! Vain mortal that I am !— I cannot but 
own I was somewhat reconciled to the delay, 
which must necessarily attend this method of cloth- 
ing me, by the consideration that if they made the 
affair a national act, my " name must, of course, be 
embodied in histcrj-." and myself and my breeches 
flourish to immortality in the annals of tnis mighty 



empire 



But, pray," said I, "how does it happen that a 
matter so insignificant should be erected into an ob- 
ject of such importance as to employ the represent- 
ative wisdom of the nation ; and what is the cause 
of their talking so much about a trifle ?"—" Oh," 
replied the officer, who acts as our slave-driver, "it 
all proceeds from economy. If the government did 
not spend ten times as 'much money in debating 
whether it was proper to supply you with breeches, 
as the breeches themselves would cost, the people 
who govern the bashaw and his divan would 
straightway begin to complain of their liberties be- 
ing infringed ; the national finances squandered ! not 
a hostile slang-whanger throughout the logocracy. 
but would burst forth like a barrel of combustion ; 
and ten chances to one but the bashaw and the sages 
of his divan would all be turned out of office to- 
gether. My good Mussulman," continued he, "the 
administration have the good of the people too much 
at heart to trifle with their pockets; and they would 
sooner assemble and talk away ten thousand dollars, 
than expend fifty silently out of the treasury ; such 
is the wonderful spirit of economy that pervades every 
branch of this government." "But," said \, "how 
is it possible they can spend money in talking ; 
surely words cannot be the current coin of this coun- 
try?" "Truly," cried he, smiling, "your question 
is pertinent enough, for words indeed often supply 



SALMAGUNDI. 



. the place of cash among us, and manv an honest 
Oebt IS paid in promises : but the fact is, the orand 
bashaw and the members of congress, or o-rand- 
talkers-ot-the-nation, either receive a yearly salary 
or are paid by the day." "By the nine hundred 
tongues of the great beast in Mahomet's vision, but 
the murder is out, --it is no wonder these honest 
men talk so much about nothing, when they are 
paid for talking, like day-labourers."^" " You are mis- 
taken said my driver, "it is nothing but econ- 
omy ! ^ 

1 remained silent for some minutes, for this inex- 
plicable word economy always discomfits me ; and 
when I flatter myself 1 have grasped it, it slips 
through my fingers like a jack-o'-lantern. I hal'e 
not nor perhaps ever shall acquire, sufficient of the 
philosophic policy of this government, to draw a 
proper distinction between an individual and a na- 
tion. II a man was to throw away a pound in order 
o sa\e a beggarly penny, and boast, at the same 
time, of his economy, I should think him on a par 
with the fool in the fable of Alfanji ; who, in skin- 
ning a flint worth a farthing, spoiled a knife worth 
hity times the sum, and thought he had acted wisely. 
The shrewd fellow would doubtless have valued 
umselt much more highly on his economy, could he 
have known that his example would one day be fol- 
owed by the bashaw of America, and the sages of 
his divan. ° 

This economic disposition, my friend, occasions 
much fighting of the spirit, and innumerable contests 
ol the tongue in this talking assembly.— Wouldst 
thou believe it ? they were actually employed for a 
whole week in a most strenuous and eloquent debate 
about patching up a hole in the wall of the room ap- 
propriated to their meetings ! A vast profusion of 
nervous argument and pompous declamation was 
expended on the occasion. Some of the orators I 
am to d, being rather waggishly inclined, were most 



G77 



stupidly jocular on the occasion ; but their wa'.-ery 
gave great offence, and was highly reprobated bTthe 
more weighty part of the assembly ; who hold all 
wit and humour in abomination, and thought the 
business in hand much too solemn and serious to be 
treated lightly. It is supposed by some that this 
attair would have occupied a whole winter, as it was 
a subject upon which several gentlemen spoke who 
had never been known to open their lips in that place 
except to say yes and no. These silent members are 
t)y way of distinction denominated orator mums, and 
are high y valued in this country on account of their 
great talents for silence ;— a qualification extremely 
rare in a logocracy. ^ 

Fortunately for the public tranquillity, in the hot- 
test part of the debate, when two rampant Virgin- 
ians, bnm-full of logic and philosophy, were measunncr 
tongues, and syllogistically cudgelling each other oul 
ot tfieir unreasonable notions, the president of the 
clivan, a knowing old gentleman, one night <;lylv sent 
a mason with a hod of mortar, who, in the course of 
a lew minutes, closed up the hole and put a final end 
to the argument. Thus did this wise old gentleman 
by hitting 01. a most simple expedient, in all proba- 
bility save his country as much money as would 
build a gun-boat, or pay a hireling slang-whanger 
for a whole volume of words. As it happened, only 
a few thousand dollars were expended in paying 
hese men, who are denominated, I suppose in de- 
iision, legislators. 

Another instance of their economy I relate with 
pleasure, lor I really begin to feel a regard for these 
poor barbarians. They talked away the best part of 
a whole winter before they could determine not to 
expend a few dollars in purchasing a sword to be- 
stow on an illustrious warrior : yes, Asem, on that 



very hero who frightened all our poor old women 
and young children at Derne, and fully proved him- 
sell a greater man than the mother thai boie him 
1 hus, my friend, is the whole collective wisdom of 
this mighty logocracy employed in somniferous de- 
bates about the most trivial aftairs ; like I have 
sonietimes seen a herculean mountebank exertino- 
all his energies in balancing a straw upon his nose 
their sages behold the minutest object with the 
microscopic eyes of a pismire ; mole-hills swell into 
mountains, and a grain of mustard-seed will set the 
whole ant-hill in a hub-bub. Whether this indicates 
a capacious vision, or a diminutive mind, I leave 
thee to decide; for my part, I consider it as another 
proof of the great scale on which every thino- is 
transacted in this country. " 

I have before told thee that nothing can be done 
without consulting the sages of the nation, who 
compose the assembly called the congress. This 
prolific body may not improperiy be termed the 
;' mother ol inventions ; " and a most fruitful mother 
It IS, let me tell thee, though its children are gener- 
ally abortions. It has lately laboured with what 
\yas deemed the conception of a mighty nayy.— All 
the old women and the good wives that assist the 
bashaw in his emergencies hurried to head-quarters 
to be busy, like midwives, at the delivery.— All was 
anxiety, fidgetting, and consultation ; when, after a 
deal of groaning and struggling, instead of formid- 
able hrst rates and gallant frigates, out crept a litter 
ol sorry little gun-boats ! These are most pitiful 
little vessels, partaking vastly of the character of the 
grand bashaw, who has the credit of begetting- them • 
being flat, shallow vessels that can only saif before 
the wind ;— must always keep in with the land ;— are 
continually foundering or running ashore; and in 
short, are only fit for smooth water. Thouo-h in- 
tended for the defence of the maritime cities yet the 
cities are obliged to defend them ; and they require 
as much niirsing as so many ricketty little bantlings 
They are, however, the darling pets of the grand 
bashaw, being the children of his dotage, and per- 
haps Irom their diminutive size and palpable weak- 
ness, are called the " infant navy of America " The 
act that brought them into existence was almost 
deified by the majority of the people as a grand 
stroke of economy.— By the beard of Mahomet but 
this word is truly inexplicable ! 

To this economic body, therefore, was I advised 
to address my petition, and humbly to pray that the 
august assembly of sages would, in the plenitude of 
their wisdom and the magnitude of their powers, 
munificently bestow on an unfortunate captive a pair 
ol cotton breeches ! " Head of the immortal Amrou " 
cried I, •• but this would be presumptuous to a de- 
gree ;— what ! after these worthies have thou<rht 
proper to leave their country naked and defenceless 
and exposed to all the political storms that rattle 
without, can I expect that they will lend a helpin- 
hand to comfort the extremities of a solitary cap"! 
tive.? My exclamation was only answered by a 
smile, and I was consoled by the assurance that, so 
far Irom being neglected, it was every way probable 
my breeches might occupy a whole session of the 
divan, and set several of the longest heads together 
by the ears. Flattering as was the idea of a whole 
nation being agitated about my breeches, yet I own 
1 was somewhat dismayed at the idea of remainino- 
ui querpo until all the national gray-beards should 
have made a speech on the occasion, and given 
their consent to the measure. The embarrassment 
and distress of mind which I experienced was visible 
ui my countenance, and my guard, who is a man of 
infinite good-nature, immediately suggested as a 
more expeditious plan of supplying my wants— a 



678 

benefit at the theatre. Though profoundly ignorant I 
of his meaning, I agreed to his proposition, the 
result of which I shall disclose to thee in another 
letter. 

Fare thee well, dear Aseni ; in thy pious prayers 
to our great prophet, never forget to solicit thy 
friend's return; and when thou nuniberest up the 
many blessings bestowed on thee by all-bountilul 
Allah, pour forth thy gratitude that he has cast thy 
nativity in a land where there is no assembly ot 
legislative chatterers :— no great bashaw, vvho be- 
strides a gun-boat for a hobby-horse :— where the 
word economy is unknown ;— and where an untortu- 
nate captive is not obliged to call upon the whole 
nation, to cut him out a pair of breeches. 
Ever thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



FROM THE MILL OF 

PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 



Though enter'd on that sober age. 
When men withdraw from fashion's stage, 
And leave the follies of the day, 
To shape their course a graver way ; 
Still those gay scenes I loiter round, 
In which my youth sweet transport found : 
And though I feel their joys decay, 
And languish every hour away, — 
Yet like an exile doom'd to part, 
From the dear country of his heart, 
From the fair spot in which he sprung. 
Where his first notes of love were sung. 
Will often turn to wave the hand, 
And sigh his blessings on the land ; 
Just so my lingering watch I keep, — 
Thus oft I take my farewell peep. 

And, like that pilgrim who retreats, 
Thus lagging from his parent seats. 
When the sad thought pervades his mind. 
That the fair land he leaves behind 
Is ravaged by a foreign foe. 
Its cities waste, its temples low. 
And ruined all those haunts of joy 
That gave him rapture wlien a boy ; 
Turns from it with averted eye. 
And while he heaves the anguish'd sigh. 
Scarce feels regret that the loved shore 
Shall beam upon his sight no more ;— 
Just so it grieves my soul to view. 
While breathing forth a fond adieu. 
The innovations pride has made, 
The fustian, frippery, and parade. 
That now usurp with mawkish grace 
Pure tranquil pleasure's wonted place ! 
'Twas joy we look'd for in my prime, 
That idol of the olden time ; 
When all our pastimes had the art 
To please, and not mislead, the heart. 
Style curs'd us not,— that modern flash, 
That love of racket and of trash ; 
Which scares at once all feeling joys, 
And drowns delight in empty noise ; 
Which barters friendship, mirth, and truth. 
The artless air, the bloom of youth, 
And all those gentle sweets that swarm 
Round nature in her simplest form. 
For cold display, for hollow state, 
The trappings of the would-be great. 
Oh ' once again those days recall. 
When heart met heart in fashion's hall ; 
When every honest guest would flock 
To add his pleasure to the stock. 
More fond his transports to express, 
"Than show the tinsel of his dress ! 



These were the times that clasp'd the soul 
In gentle friendship's soft control ; 
Our fair ones, unprofan'd by art. 
Content to gain one honest heart, 
No train of sighing swains desired. 
Sought to be loved and not admired. 
But' now 'tis form, not love, unites ; 
'Tis show, not pleasure, that invites. 
Each seeks the ball to play the queen. 
To flirt, to conquer, to be seen ; 
Each grasps at universal s%vay. 
And reigns the idol of the day ; 
Exults amid a thousand sighs. 
And triumphs when a lover dies. 
Each belle a rival belle surveys. 
Like deadly foe with hostile gaze ; 
Nor can her "dearest friend" caress, 
Till she has slyly scann'd her dress ; 
Ten conquests in one year will make. 
And six eternal friendships break ! 

How oft I breathe the inward sigh. 
And feel the dew-drop in my eye. 
When I behold some beauteous frame. 
Divine in every thing but name, 
lust venturing, in the tender age, 
On fashion's late new-fangled stage ! 
Where soon the guiltless heart shall cease 
To beat in artlessness and peace ; 
Where all the flowers of gay delight ^ 
With which vouth decks its prospects btigtit, 
Shall wither''mid the cares, the strife. 
The cold realities of life ! 

Thus latelv, in my careless rnood. 
As I the world of fashion view'd 
While celebrating great and small 
That grand solemnity, a ball, 
My roving vision chanced to light 
On two sweet forms, divinely bright ; 
Two sister nvmphs, alike in face. 
In mien, in loveliness, and grace ; 
Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom. 
In all their brilliance and perfume : 
Like those fair forms that often beam 
Upon the Eastern poet's dream I 
For Eden had each lovely maid 
In native innocence arrayed,— 
And heaven itself had almost shed 
Its sacred halo round each head ! 

They seem'd, just entering hand in hand. 
To cautious tread this fairy land ; 
To take a timid, hasty view, 
Enchanted with a scene so new. 
The modest blush, untaught by art. 
Bespoke their purity of heart ; 
And every timorous act unfurl d 
Two souls unspotted by the world. _ 

Oh, how these strangers ]oy d my sight. 
And thrill'd my bosom with delight . 
Thev brought the visions of my youth 
Back to my soul in all their truth ; 
Recall'd fair spirits into day. 
That time's rough hand had swept away ! 
Thus the bright natives from above. 
Who come on messages of love. 
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles, 
Our sinful dwelling by their smdes ! 
Oh ! my romance of youth is past, 
Dear airy dreams too bright to last ! 
Yet when such forms as these appear, 
I feel your soft remembrance here ; 
For ah ! the simple poet's heart, 
On which fond love once play d its part, 
Still feels the soft pulsations beat, 
As loth to quit their former seat, 
lust like the harp's melodious wire. 
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire. 
Though ceased the loudly swelling strain. 
Yet sweet vibrations long remain. 

Full soon I found the lovely pair 
Had sprung beneath a mother s care, 



,r 



w 



SALMAGUNDI. 



679 



Hard by a neighbouring streamlet's side. 
At once its ornament and pride. 
Tlie beauteous parent's tender heart 
Had well fulfiU'd its pious part ; 
And, like the holy man of old, 
As we're by sacred writings told, 
Who, when he from his pupil sped, 
Pour'd two-fold blessings on his head. — 
Su this fond mother had imprest 
Her early virtues in each breast. 
And as she found her stock enlarge, 
Had stampt new graces on her charge. 

The fair resign'd the calm retreat. 
Where first their souls in concert beat. 
And flew on expectation's wing. 
To sip the joys of life's gay spring ; 
To sport in fashion's splendid maze. 
Where friendship fades and love decays. 
So two sweet wild flowers, near the side 
Of some fair river's silver tide. 
Pure as the gentle stream that laves 
The green banks with its lucid waves. 
Bloom beauteous in their native ground. 
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round ; 
But should a venturous hand transfer 
These blossoms to the gay parterre. 
Where, spite of artificial aid, 
The fairest plants of nature fade, 
Though they may shine supreme awhile 
'Mid pale ones of the stranger soil. 
The tender beauties soon decay. 
And their sweet fragrance dies away. 

Blest spirits ! who, enthroned in air. 
Watch o'er the virtues of the fair. 
And with angelic ken survey 
Their windings through life's checquer'd way ; 
Who hover round them as they glide 
Down fashion's smooth, deceitful tide. 
And guard them o'er that stormy deep 
Where dissipation's tempest sweep ; 
Oh, make this inexperienced pair 
The objects of your tenderest care. 
Preserve them from the languid eye. 
The faded cheek, the long drawn sigh ; 
And let it be your constant aim 
To keep the fair ones still the same : 
Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright 
As the first beam of lucid light 
That sparkled from the youthful sun. 
When first his jocund race begun. 
So when these hearts shall burst their shrine. 
To wing their flight to realms divine. 
They may to radiant mansions rise 
Pure as when first they left the skies. 



No. X.— SATURDAY, MAY i6, 1807. 

FROM MY ELBOW CHAIR. 



The long interval which has elapsed since the 
publication of our last nuiiibjr, like many other re- 
markable events, has given rise to much conjecture 
and excited considerable solicitude. It is but a day 
or two since I heard a knowing young gentleman 
observe, that he suspected Salmagundi would be a 
nine days' wonder, and had even prophesied that the 
ninth would be our last effort. But the age of proph- 
ecy, as well as that of chivalry, is past ; and no 
reasonable man should now venture to foretell au"-ht 
but what he is determined to bring about himself: 
— he may then, if he please, monopolize predic- 
tion, and be honoured as a prophet even in his own 
country. 

Though I hold whether we write, or not write, to 
be none of the public's business, yet as I have just 
heard of the loss of three thousand votes at least to 
the Clintonians, I feel in a remarkable dulcet humour 



thereupon, and will give some account of the rea- 
sons which induced us to resume our useful labours ; 
— or rather our amusement ; for, if writing cost 
either of us a moment's labour, there is not a 
man but what would hang up his pen, to the great 
detriment of the world at large, and of our pub- 
lisher in particular; who has actually bought him- 
self a pair of trunk breeches, with the profits of our 
writings I ! 

He informs me that several persons having called 
last Saturday for No. X., took the disappointment 
so much to heart, that he really apprehended some 
terrible catastrophe ; and one good-looking man, 
in particular, declared his intention of quitting the 
country if the work was not continued. Add to 
this, the town has grown quite melancholy in the 
last fortnight ; and several young ladies have de- 
clared, in iny hearing, that if another number did 
not make its appearance soon, they would be obliged 
to amuse themselves with teasing their beaux and 
making them miserable. Now I assure my readers 
there was no flattery in this, for they no more sus- 
pected me of being Launcelot Langstaff, than they 
suspected me of being the emperor of China, or the 
man in the moon. 

I have also received several letters complaining of 
our indolent procrastination ; and one of my cor- 
respondents assures me, that a number of young 
gentlemen, who had not read a book through since 
they left school, but who have taken a wonderful 
liking to our paper, will certainly relapse into their 
old habits unless we go on. 

For the sake, therefore, of all these good people, 
and most especially fo'r the satistaction of the ladies, 
every one of whom we would love, if we possibly 
could, I have again wielded my pen with a most 
hearty determination to set the whole world to 
rights ; to make cherubims and seraphs of all the 
fair ones of this enchanting town, and raise the 
spirits of the poor federalists, who, in truth, seem to 
be in a sad taking, ever since the American-Ticket 
met with the accident of being so unhappily thrown 
out. 



TO LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



Sir : — I felt myself hurt and offended by Mr. Ever- 
green's terrible philippic against modern music, in 
No. II. of your work, and was under serious appre- 
hension that his strictures might bring the art, which 
I have the honor to profesr, into contempt. The 
opinion of yourself and fraternity appear indeed to 
have a wonderful effect upon the town. — I am told 
the ladies are all employed in reading Bunyan and 
Pamela, and the waltz has been entirely forsaken 
ever since the winter balls have closed. Under 
these apprehensions I should have addressed you 
before, had I not been sedulously emplo\ed, while 
the theatre continued open, in supporting the as- 
tonishing variety of the orchestra, and in composing 
a new chime or Bob-.Major for Trinity Church, to 
be rung during the summer, beginning with ding- 
dong di-do. instead of di-do ding-dong. The citi- 
zens, especially those who live in the neighbourhood 
of that harmonious quarter, will, no doubt, be in- 
finitely delighted with this novelty. 

But to the object of this communication. So far, 
sir, from agreeing with Mr. Evergreen in thinking 
that all modern music is but the mere dregs and 
drainings of the ancient, I trust, before this letter is 
concluded, I shall convince you and him that some 
of the late professors of this enchanting art have 
completely distanced the paltry efforts of the an- 



G80 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



cients; and that I, in particular, have at length 
broutjht it almost to absolute perfection. 

The Greeks, simple souls ! were astonished at the 
powers of Orpheus, who made the woods and rocks 
dance to his lyre ;— of Amphion, who converted 
crotchets into bricks, and quavers into mortar;— 
and of Arion, who won upon the compassion ot the 
fishes In the fen'ency of admiration, their poets 
fabled that Apollo had lent them his lyre, and in- 
spired them with his own spirit of harmony. VVhat 
then would they have said had they witnessed the 
wonderful effects of my skill ? had they heard me in 
the compass of a single piece, describe in glowing 
notes one of the most sublime operations ot nature ; 
and not only make inanimate objects dance, but 
even speak ; and not only speak, but speak in strains 
of exquisite harmony ? 

Let me not, however, be understood to say that 
I am the sole author of this extraordinary improye- 
ment in the art, for I confess I took the hint ol 
many of my discoveries from some of those meri- 
torious productions that have lately come abroad 
and made so much noise under the title of overtures 
From some of these, as, for instance, Lodoiska, and 
the battle of Marengo, a gentleman, or a captain in 
the city militia, or an amazonian young lady, may 
indeed acquire a tolerable idea of military tactics, 
and become very well experienced in the firing ot 
musketry, the roaring of cannon, the rattling ot 
drums, the whistling of fifes, braying ot trumpets, 
groans of the dying, and trampling ol cavalry, with- 
out ever going to the wars ; but it is more especially 
in the art of imitating inimitable things, and giving 
the language of every passion and sentiment ot the 
human^mind, so as entirely to do away the necessity 
of speech, that I particularly excel the most celebra- 
ted musicians of ancient and modern times. 

1 think, sir, I may venture to say there is not a 
sound in the whole compass of nature which I can- 
not imitate, and even improve upon ;— nay, what 1 
consider the perfection of my art, 1 have discovered 
a method of expressing, in the most striking manner, 
that undefinable, indescribable silence which accom- 
panies the falling of snow. 

In order to prove to you that I do not arrogate 
to myself what 1 am unable to perform, I will detail 
to you the different movements of a grand piece 
which I pride myself upon exceedingly, called the 
'• Breaking up of the ice in the North River." 

The piece opens with a gentle andante affduosso, 
which ushers you into the assembly-room in the 
State-house at Albany, where the speaker addresses 
his farewell speech, informing the members that 
the ice is about breaking up, and thanking them for 
their great services and good behaviour in a man- 
ner so pathetic as to bring tears into their eyes.— 
Flourish of Jacks-a-donkies.— Ice cracks; Albany 
in a hub-bub :— air, " Three children sliding on the 
ice, all on a summer's day."— Citizens quarrelling 

in Dutch ; chorus of a tin trumpet, a cracked 

fiddle and a hand-saw ! alkgro moderato — 

Hard frost :— this, if given with proper spirit, has a 
charming effect, and sets every body's teeth chat- 
tering.— Symptoms of snow— consultation of old 
women who complain of pains in the bones and 

rheumatics: air, "There was an old woman 

toised up in a blanket," cS:c. allegro staccato; 

wagon breaks into the ice ;— people all run to see 

what is the matter ; air, skiliano—" Can you 

row the boat ashore, Billy boy, Billy boy ; — ^«- 

^/aw/t' ;— frost fish Iroze up in the ice ; air,—" Ho, 

why dost thou shiver and shake. Gaffer Gray, and 

why does thy nose look so blue ? " F ourish of 

two-penny trumpets and rattles ;-consultation ot 
the North-river society ;— determine to set the North- 



' O, what 



river on fire, as soon as it will oum ;— air, 
a fine kettle of fish." . 

Part II.— Great Thaw.— This consists of the 
most melting strains, flowing so smoothly as to oc- 
casion a great overflowing of scientific rapture ; air 
" One misty moisty morning." The house of as- 
sembly breaks up-air-"The owls came out and 

flew about." Assembly-men embark on their 

way to New-York air " The ducks and the 

geese they all swim over, fal, de ral," &c. Vessel 

lets sail— chorus of mariners—" Steer her up, and 
let her gano-." After this a rapid movement con- 
ducts you to New-York ;— the North-river society 
hold a meeting at the corner of Wall-street, and de- 
termine to delay burning till all the assembly-men 
are safe home, for fear of consuming some ol their 
own members who belong to that respectable body. 
Return again to the capital.— Ice floats down the 
river; lamentation of skaiters ; air, affetuosso^'' I 
si'^h and lament me in vain," &c.— Albanians cut- 
ting up sturgeon ;— air, " O the roast beet of Al- 
bany "—Ice runs against Polopoy's island, with a 
terrible crash.— This is represented by a fierce fel- 
low travelling with his fiddle-stick over a huge bass 
viol at the rate of one hundred and filly bars a 
minute, and tearing the music to rags ;— this being 
what is called execution.— The great body of ice 
passes West-point, and is saluted by three or four dis- 
mounted cannon, from Fort Putnam.—" Jelierson _s 
march" by a full band ;— air, "Yankee doodle, 
with seventy-six variations, never before attempted, 
except by the celebrated eagle, which flutters his 
wings over the copper-bottomed angel at Messrs. 
Paff's in Broadway. Ice passes New-York ; conch- 
shell sounds at a distance— lerrymen calls o-v-e-r ; 
—people run down Courtlandt-street — ferry-boat 

sets sail air— accompanied by the conch-shell— 

" We'll all go over the ferr>-."— Rondeau— giving a 
particular account of Brom the Powles-hook admi- 
ral who is supposed to be closely connected with 
the North-river society.— The society make a grand 
attempt to fire the stream, but are utterly deleated 
by a remarkable high tide, which brings the plot to 
light ; drowns upwards of a thousand rats and oc- 
casions twenty robins to break their necks.*— So- 
cietv not being discouraged, apply to "Common 

Sense." for his lantern ; Air—" Nose, nose, jolly 

red nose." Flock of wild geese fiy over the city ;— 
old wives chatter in the fog ;— cocks crow at Com- 
munipaw— drums beat on Governor s island.— i he 
whole to conclude with the blowing up of Sand s 
powder-house. , r , i 

Thus sir. you perceive what wonderful powers ot 
expression have been hitherto locked up in this en- 
chanting art :-a whole history is here told without 
the aid of speech, or writing; and provided the 
hearer is in the least acquainted with music, he can- 
not mistake a single note. As to the blowing up of 
the powder-house, I look upon it as a chef d ouvre, 
which I am confident will delight all modern ama- 
teurs who very properly estimate music in propor- 
tion to the noise it makes, and delight in thundering 
cannon and earthquakes. 

I must confess, however, it is a difficult part to 
mana<^e, and I have already broken six pianoes in 
givini it the proper force and eff-ect. But I do not 
despair, and am quite certain that by the time I have 
broken eight or ten more, I shall have brought it to 
such perfection, as to be able to teach any young 
lady of tolerable ear, to thunder it away to the mh- 
nite delight of papa and mamma, and the great an- 
noyance of those Vandals, who are so barbarous as 
to prefer the simple melody of a Scots air, to the 
sublime eff'usions of modern musical doctors. 



• Vide— Solomon Lang. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



681 



In my warm anticipations of future improvement, { 
I have sometimes almost convinced myself that 
music will, in time, be brought to such a climax of 
perfection, as to supersede the necessity of speech 
and writing- ; and every kind of social intercourse 
be conducted by the flute and fiddle. — The immense 
benefits that will result from this improvement must 
be plain to every man of the least consideration. In 
the present unhappy situation of mortals, a man has 
but one way of making himself perfectly understood ; 
if he loses his speech, he must inevitably be dumb 
all the rest of his life ; but having once learned this 
new musical language, the loss of speech will be a 
mere trifle not worth a moment's uneasiness. Not 
only this, Mr. L., but it will add much to the har- 
mony of domestic intercourse ; for it is certainly much 
more agreeable to hear a lady give lectures on the 
piano than, v/va voce, in the usual discordant meas- 
ure. This manner of discoursing may also, I think, 
be introduced with great effect into our national as- 
semblies, where every man, instead of wagging his 
tongue, should be obliged to flourish a fiddle-stick, 
by which means, if he said nothing to the purpose, 
he would, at all events, "discourse most eloquent 
music," which is more than can be said of most of 
them at present. They might also sound their own 
trumpets without being obliged to a hireling scrib- 
bler, for an immortality of nine days, or subjected 
to the censure of egotism. 

But the most important result of this discovery is 
that it may be applied to the establishment of that 
great desideratum, in the learned world, a universal 
language. Wherever this science of music is culti- 
vated, nothing more will be necessary than a knowl- 
edge of its alphabet ; which being almost the same 
every where, will amount to a universal medium of 
communication. A man may thus, with his violin 
under his arm, a piece of rosin, and a few bundles 
of catgut, fiddle his way through the world, and 
never be at a loss to make himself understood. 



present day, must be oDvious to many ; and I think 
the following a strong example of one of its evils 



I am, &c. 



Demy Semiquiver. 



[END OF VOL. ONE.] 



NOTE BY THE PUBLISHER, 

Without the knowledge or permission of the authors, 
and which, if he dared, he would have placed near 
\ where their remarks are made on the great differ- 
ence of manners which exists between the se.xes 
now, from what it did in the days of our grandames. 
The danger of that cheek-by-jowl familiarity of the 



EXTRACTED FROM "THE MIRROR OF THE 
GRACES." 

" I REMEMBER the Count M , one of the most 

accomplished and handsomest young men in Vienna : 
when I was there, he was passionately in love with 
a girl of almost peerless beauty. She was the daugh- 
ter of a man of great rank, and great influence at 
court ; and on these considerations, as well as in re- 
gard to her charms, she was followed by a multitude 
of suitors. She was lively and amiable, and treated 
them all with an affability which still kept them in 
her train, although it was generally known she had 

avowed a partiality for Count M ; and that 

preparations were making for their nuptials. The 
Count was of a refined mind, and a delicate sensi- 
bility ; he loved her for herself alone : for the virtues 
which he believed dwelt in her beautiful form ; and, 
like a lover of such perfections, he never approached 
her without timidity ; and when he touched her, a 
fire shot through his veins, that warned him not to 
invade the vermilion sanctuary of her lips. Such 
were his feelings when, one evening, at his intended 
father-in-law's, a party of young people were met to 
celebrate a certain festival ; several of the young 
lady's rejected suitors were present. Forfeits were 
one of the pastimes, and all went on with the greatest 
merriment, till the Count was commanded, by some 
witty uiam'sellc, to redeem his glove by saluting the 
cheek of his intended bride. The Count blushed, 
trembled, advanced, retreated ; again advanced to 
his mistress; — and, — at last, — with a tremor that 
shook his whole soul, and every fibre of his frame, 
with a modest and diffident grace, he took the solt 
ringlet which played upon her cheek, pressed it to 
his lips, and retired to demand his redeemed pledge 
in the most evident confusion. His mistress gaily 
smiled, and the game went on. 

" One of her rejected suitors who was of a merry, 
unthinking disposition, was adjudged by the same 
indiscreet crier of the forfeits as " his last treat be- 
fore he hanged himself" to snatch a kiss from the 
object of his recent vows. A lively contest ensued 
between the gentleman and lady, which lasted for 
more than a minute ; but the lady yielded, though 
in the midst of a convulsive laugh. 

" The Count had the mortification — the agony — to 
see the lips, which his passionate and delicate love 
would not permit him to touch, kissed with rough- 
ness, and repetition, by another man : — even by one 
whom he really despised. Mournfully and silently, 
without a word, he rose from his chair — left the room 
and the house. By that good-natured kiss the fair 
boast of Vienna lost her lover — lost her husband. 
The Count never s.\w her more.' 



682 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



SALMAGUNDI; 



OR, THE 

WHIM-WHAMS AND OPINIONS OF LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ., AND OTHERS. 



In hoc est hoax, cum quiz et jokesez, 
Et smokem, toastem, roastein folksez. 

Fee, faw, fum. Psatmanazar. 

With bak'd, and broll'd, and stew'd, and toasted ; 
And fried, and boil'd, and smok'd, and roasted, 
We treat the town. 



VOLUME SECOND 



No. XL— TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1S07. 

LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELT KHAN, 

CAPTAIN OF A KETCH, TO ASEM HACCHEM, 
PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO HIS HIGHNESS 
THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 



The deep shadows of midnight gather around 
,ne ;— the footsteps of the passengers have ceased in 
the streets, and nothing disturbs the holy silence of 
the hour save the sound of distant drums, mingled 
with the shouts, the bawlings, and the discordant 
revelry of his m.tjesty, the sovereign mob. Let the 
hour be sacred to friendship, and consecrated to thee, 
oh, thou brother of my inmost soul ! 

Oh, Asem ! I almost shrink at the recollection of 
the scenes of confusion, of licentious disorganization, 
which I have witnessed during the last three days. 
I have beheld this whole city, nay, this whole state, 
o-iven up to the tongue, and the pen ; to the puffers, 
the bawlers, the babblers, and the slang-whangers. 
I have beheld the community convulsed with a civil 
war, or civil talk ; individuals verbally massacred, 
families annihilated by whole sheets full, and slang- 
whangers coolly bathing their pens in ink and noting 
in the slaughter of their thousands. I have seen, in 
short, that awful despot, the people, in the moment 
of unlimited power, wielding newspapers m one 
hand, and with the other scattering mud and filth 
about, like some desperate lunatic relieved from the 
restraints of his straight waistcoat. I have seen 
beggars on horseback, ragamuffins riding in coach- 
es,°and swine seated in places of honour ; I- have 
seen liberty; I have seen equality; I have seen 
fraternity !— I have seen that great political puppet- 
show -AN ELECTION. 

A few days ago the friend, whom I have mention- 
ed in some of my former letters, called upon me to 
accompany him to witness this grand ceremony ; | 
and we forthwith sallied out to the polls, as he called j 
them. Though for several weeks before this splen- j 
did exhibition, nothing else had been talked of, yet I 
do assure thee I was entirely ignorant ot its nature ; 
and when, on coming up to a church, my companion 
informed me we were at the poll, I supposed that an 
election was some great religious ceremony like the 



fast of Ramazan, or the great festival of Haraphat, 
so celebrated in the east. 

My friend, however, undeceived me at once, and 
entered into a long dissertation on the nature and 
object of an election, the substance of which was 
nearly to this effect: "You know," said he, "that 
this country is engaged in a violent internal warfare, 
and suffers a variety of evils from civil dissensions. 
An election is a grand trial of strength, the decisive 
battle, when the belligerents draw out their forces in 
martial array ; when every leader, burning with war- 
like ardour, and encouraged by the shouts and ac- 
clamations of tatterdmalions, buffoons, dependents, 
parasites, toad-eaters, scrubs, vagrants, mumpers, 
ragamuffins, bravoes, and beggars, in his rear ; and 
puffed up by his bellows-blowing slang-whangers, 
waves gallantly the banners of faction, and presses 
forward TO OFFICE and immortality ! " 

" For a month or two previous to the critical 
period which is to decide this important affair, the 
whole community is in a ferment. Eveo' man, of 
whatever rank or degree, such is the wonderful 
patriotism of the people, disinterestedly neglects his 
business, to devote himself to his country ;— and not 
an insignificant fellow, but feels himself inspired, on 
this occasion, with as much warmth in favour of the 
cause he has espoused, as if all the comfort ot his 
life, or even his life itself, was dependent on the issue. 
Grand councils of war are, in the first place, called 
by the different powers, which are dubbed general 
meetings, where all the head workmen of the party 
collect,' and arrange the order of battle ;— appoint 
the different commanders, and their subordinate in- 
struments, and furnish the funds indispensable for 
supplying the expenses of the war. Inferior councils 
are next called in the different classes or wards; 
consisting of young cadets, who are candidates lor 
offices ; idlers who come there for mere curiosity ; 
and orktors who appear for the purpose of detading 
all the crimes, the faults, or the weaknesses of their 
opponents, and speaking Ihe sense of the meeting, as 
it is called ; for as the meeting generally consists of 
men whose quota of sense, taken individually, would 
make but a poor figure, these orators are appointed 
to collect it all in a lump ; when I assure you it 
makes a very formidable appearance, and lurnishes 
sufficient matter to spin an oration ot two or three 

hours." 

•• The orators who declaim at these meetings are, 
with a few exceptions, men of most profound and 



SALMAGUNDI. 



G83 



perplexed eloquence ; who are the oracles of barber's 
shops, market-places, and porter-houses ; and who 
you may see every day at the corners of the streets, 
taking honest men prisoners by the button, and talk- 
ing their ribs quite bare without mercy and without 
end. These orators, in addressing an audience, 
generally mount a chair, a table, or an empty beer 
barrel, which last is supposed to afford considerable 
inspiration, and thunder away their combustible sen- 
timents at the heads of the audience, who are gener- 
alfy so busily employed in smoking, drinking, and 
hearing themselves talk, that they seldom hear a 
word of the matter. This, however, is of little mo- 
ment ; for as they come there to agree at all events 
to a certain set of resolutions, or articles of war, it 
is not at all necessary to hear the speech ; more 
especially as few Would understand it if they did. 
Do not suppose, however, that the minor persons of 
the meeting are entirely idle. — Besides smoking and 
drinking, which are generally practised, there are 
few who do not come with as great a desire to talk 
as the orator himself; each has his little circle of 
listeners, in the midst of whom he sets his hat on 
one side of his head, and deals out matter-of-fact in- 
formation ; and draws self-evident conclusions, with 
the pertinacity of a pedant, and to the great edifica- 
tion of his gaping auditors. Nay, the very urchins 
from the nursery, who are scarcely emancipated 
from the dominion of birch, on these occasions 
strut pigmy great men ; — bellow for the instruction 
of gray-bearded ignorance, and, like the frog in the 
fable, endeavour to puff themselves up to the size 
of the great object of their emulation — the principal 
orator." 

" But is it not preposterous to a degree," cried I, 
" for those puny whipsters to attempt to lecture age 
and experience? They should be sent to school to 
learn better." " Not at all," replied my friend ; " for 
as an election is nothing more than a war of words, 
the man that can wag his tongue with the greatest 
elasticity, whether he speaks to the purpose or not, 
is entitled to lecture at ward meetings and polls, and 
instruct all who are inclined to listen to him : you 
may have remarked a ward meeting of politic dogs, 
where although the great dog is, ostensibly, the 
leader, and makes the most noise, yet every little 
scoundrel of a cur has something to say ; and in 
proportion to his insignificance, fidgets, and worries, 
and pufts about mightily, in order to obtain the 
notice and approbation of his betters." Thus it is 
with these little, beardless, bread-and-butter poli- 
ticians who, on this occasion, escape from the juris- 
diction of their mammas to attend to the affairs of 
the nation. You will see them engaged in dreadful 
wordy contest with old cartmen, cobblers, and tailors, 
and plume themselves not a little if they should 
chance to gain a victory. — Aspiring spirits ! how in- 
teresting are the first dawnings of political greatness I 
an election, my friend, is a nursery or hot-bed of 
genius in a logocracy ; and I look with enthusiasm 
on a troop of these Lilliputian partizans, as so many 
chatterers, and orators, and puffers, and slang- 
whangers in embryo, who will one day take an im- 
portant part in the quarrels, and wordy wars of 
their country. 

" As the time for fighting the decisive battle ap- 
proaches, appearances become more and more alarm- 
mg ; committees are appointed, who hold little en- 
campments from whence they send out small detach- 
ments of tattlers, to reconnoitre, harass, and skirmish 
with the enemy, and if possible, ascertain their num- 
bers ; every body seems big with the mighty event 
that is impending; the orators they gradually swell 
up beyond their usual size ; the little orators they 
grow greater and greater ; the secretaries of the ward 



committees strut about looking like wooden oracles ; 
the puffers put on the airs of mighty consequence ; 
the slang-whangers deal out direful innuendoes, and 
threats of doughty import ; and all is buzz, murmur, 
suspense, and sublimity ! 

" At length the day arrives. The storm that has 
been so long gathering, and threatening in distant 
thunders, bursts forth in terrible explosion : all busi- 
ness is at an end ; the whole city is in a tumult ; the 
people are running helter-skelter, they know not 
whither, and they know not why ; the hackney 
coaches rattle through the streets with thundering 
vehemence, loaded with recruiting Serjeants who 
have been prowling in cellars and caves, to unearth 
some miserable minion of poverty and ignorance, 
who will barter his vote for a glass of beer, or a ride 
in a coach with such fine gentleDien ! — the buzzards 
of the party scamper from poll to poll, on foot or on 
horseback; and they worry from committee to com- 
mittee, and buzz, and fume, and talk big, and — do 
tiothing : like the vagabond drone, who wastes his 
time in the laborious idleness of sec-saw-song, and 
busy nothingness." 

I know not how long my friend would have con- 
tinued his detail, had he not been interrupted by a 
squabble which took place between two old conli- 
nentals. as they were called. It seems they had 
entered into an argument on the respective merits 
of their cause, and not being able to make each 
other clearly understood, resorted to what is called 
knock-down arguments, which form the superlative 
degree o{ argiiinentiiin ad hoinineni ; but are, in my 
opmion, extremely inconsistent with the true spirit 
of a genuine logocracy. After they had beaten each 
other soundly, and set the whole moli together by 
the ears, they came to a full explanation ; wdien it 
was discovered that they were both of the same 
way of thinking; — whereupon they shook each other 
heartily by the hand, and laughed with great glee at 
their humorous misunderstanding. 

I could not help being struck with the exceeding 
great number of ragged, dirty-looking persons that 
swaggered about the place and seemed to think 
themselves the bashaws of the land. I inquired of 
my friend, if these people were employed to drive 
away the hogs, dogs, and other intruders that might 
thrust themselves in and interrupt the ceremony ? 
" By no means," replied he; "these are the repre- 
sentatives of the sovereign people, who come here to 
make governors, senators, and members of assembly, 
and are the source of all power and authority in this 
nation." "Preposterous!" said 1, " how is it pos- 
sible that such men can be capable of distinguishing 
between an honest man and a knave ; or even if they 
were, will it not always happen that they are led by the 
nose by some intriguing demagogue, and made the 
mere tools of ambitious political jugglers.'' Surely 
it would be better to trust to providence, or even to 
chance, for governors, than resort to the discrimi- 
nating powers of an ignorant mob. — I plainly per- 
ceive the consequence. A man who possesses 
superior talents, and that honest pride which ever 
accompanies this possession, will always be sacri- 
ficed to some creeping insect who will prostitute 
himself to familiarity with the lowest of mankind ; 
and, like the idolatrous Egyptian, worship the wal- 
lowing tenants of filth and mire." 

" All this is true enough," replied my friend, " but 
after all, you cannot say but that this is a free coun- 
try, and that the people can get drunk cheaper here, 
particularly at elections, than in the despotic coun- 
tries of the east." I could not, with any degree of 
propriety or truth, deny this last assertion ; for just 
at that moment a patriotic brewer arrived with a load 
of beer, which, for a moment, occasioned a cessation 



684 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of argument. The great crowd of buzzards, pufi- 

ers, and " old continentals " of all parties, who 
throng to the polls, to persuade, to cheat, or to force 
the freeholders into the right way, and to maintain 
the freedom of suffrage, seemed for a moment to for- 
get their antipathies and joined, heartily, in a copious 
libation of this patriotic and argumentative beverage. 
These beer-barrels indeed seem to be most able 
logicians, well stored with that kind of sound argu- | 
ment, best suited to the comprehension, and most 
relished by the mob, or sovereign people ; who are 
never so tractable as when operated upon by this 
convincing liquor, which, in fact, seems to be imbued 
with the very spirit of a logocracy. No sooner does 
it begin its operation, than the tongue waxes exceed- 
ing valorous, and becomes impatient for some 
mighty conflict. The puffer puts himself at the 
head of his body-guard of buzzards, and his legion 
of ragamuffins, and wo then to every unhappy ad- 
versary who is uninspired by the deity of the beer- 
barrel — he is sure to be talked and argued into 
complete insignificance. 

While I was making these observations, I was sur- 
prised to observe a bashaw, high in office, shaking a 
fellow by the hand, that looked rather more ragged 
than a scare-crow, and inquiring with apparent solic- 
itude concerning the health of his family ; after which 
he slipped a little folded paper into his hand and 
turned away. I could not. help applauding his hu- 
mility in shaking the fellow's hand, and his benevo- 
lence in relieving his distresses, for I imagined the 
paper contained something for the poor man's neces- 
sities ; and truly he seemed verging towards the last 
stage of starvation. My friend, however, soon un- 
deceived me by saying that this was an elector, and 
that the bashaw had merely given him the list of 
candidates for whom he was to vote. " Ho ! ho ! " 
said I, "then he is a particular friend of the bashaw ? " 
" By no means," replied my friend, " the bashaw will 
pass him without notice, the day after the election, 
except, perhaps, just to drive over him with his 
coach." 

My friend then proceeded to inform me that for 
some time before, and during the continuance of an 
election, there was a most delectable courtship, or 
intrigue, carried on between the great bashaws and 
mother mob. That mother mob generally preferred 
the attentions of the rabble, or of fellows of her own 
stamp ; but would sometimes condescend to be 
treated to a feasting, or any thing of that kind, at 
the bashaw's expense ; nay, sometimes when she 
was in good humour, she would condescend to toy 
with them in her rough way ; — but wo be to the 
bashaw who attempted to be familiar with her, for 
she was the most pestilent, cross, crabbed, scolding, 
thieving, scratching, toping, wrongheaded, rebellious, 
and abominable termagant that ever was let loose 
in the world, to the confusion of honest gentlemen 
bashaws. 

Just then a fellow came round and distributed 
among the crowd a number of hand-bills, written 
by the ghost of Washington, the fame of whose 
illustrious actions, and still more illustrious virtues, 
has reached even the remotest regions of the east, 
and who is venerated by this people as the Father 
of his country. On reading this paltry paper, I 
could not restrain my indignation. " Insulted hero," 
cried I, " is it thus thy name is profaned, thy 
memory disgraced, thy spirit drawn down from 
heaven to administer to the brutal violence of party 
rage ! — It is thus the necromancers of the east, by 
their infernal incantations, sometimes call up the 
shades of the just, to g^ve their sanction to frauds, 
to lies, and to every species of enormity." My 
friend smiled at my warmth, and observed, that 



raising ghosts, and not only raising them, but mak- 
ing them speak, was one of the miracles of elec- 
tions. " And believe me," continued he, " there 
is good reason for the ashes of departed heroes 
being disturbed on tliese occasions, for such is the 
sandy foundation of our government, that there 
never happens an election ol an alderman, or a col- 
lector, or even a constable, but we are in imminent 
danger of losing our liberties, and becoming a prov- 
ince of France, or tributary to the British islands." 
" By the hump of Mahomet's camel," said I, "but 
this is only another striking example of the prodig- 
ious great scale on which every thing is transacted 
in this country ! " 

By this time I had become tired of the scene ; 
my head ached with the uproar of voices, mingling 
in all the discordant tones of triumphant exclama- 
tion, nonsensical argument, intemperate reproach, 
and drunken absurdity. — The confusion was such 
as no language can adequately describe, and it 
seemed as if all the restraints of decency, and all 
the bands of law, had been broken and given place 
to the wide ravages of licentious brutality. These, 
thought I, are the orgies of liberty ! these are the 
manifestations of the spirit of independence ! these 
are the symbols of man's sovereignty ! Head of 
Mahomet ! with what a fatal and inexorable des- 
potism do empty names and ideal phantoms exer- 
cise their dominion over the human mind ! _ The 
experience of ages has demonstrated, that in all 
nations, barbarous or enlightened, the mass of the 
people, the mob, must be slaves, or they will be 
tyrants ; but their tyranny will not be long : — some 
ambitious leader, having at first condescended to 
be their slave, will at length become their master ; 
and in proportion to the vileness of his former serv- 
itude, will be the severity of his subsequent tyr- 
anny. — Yet, with innumerable examples staring 
them in the face, the people still bawl out liberty ; 
by which they mean nothing but freedom from 
every species of legal restraint, and a warrant for 
all kinds of licentiousness : and the bashaws and 
leaders, in courting the mob, convince them of 
their power ; and by administering to their pas- 
sions, for the purposes of ambition, at length learn, 
by fatal experience, that he who worships the beast 
that carries him on its back, will sooner or later be 
thrown into the dust and trampled under foot by the 
animal who has learnt the secret of its power by 
this very adoration. 

Ever thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 



FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 
MINE UNCLE JOHN. 



To those whose habits of abstraction may have 
let them into some of the secrets of their own 
minds, and whose freedom from daily toil has left 
them at leisure to analyze their feelings, it will be 
nothing new to say that the present is peculiarly 
the season of remembrance. The flowers, the 
zephyrs, and the warblers of spring, returning after 
their tedious absence, bring naturally to our recollec- 
tion past times and buried feelings ; and the whispers 
of the fuU-foliaged grove, fall on the ear of contem- 
plation, like the sweet tones of far distant friends 
whom the rude jostles of the world have severed 
from us and cast far beyond our reach. It is at such 
times, that casting backward many a lingering look 
we recall, with a kind of sweet-souled melancholy, 



SALMAGUNDI. 



685 



the days of our youth, and the jocund companions 
who started with us the race of hfe, but parted mid- 
way in the journey to pursue some winding' path 
that allured them with a prospect more seducing — 
and never returned to us again. It is then, too, if 
we have been afflicted with any heavy sorrow, if we 
have even lost — and who has not ! — an old friend, or 
chosen companion, that his shade will hover around 
us ; the memory of his virtues press on the heart ; 
and a thousand endearing recollections, forgotten 
amidst the cold pleasures and midnight dissipations 
of winter, arise to our remembrance. 

These speculations bring to my mind MY UNCLE 
John, the history of whose loves, and disappoint- 
ments, I have promised to the world. Though 1 
must own myself much addicted to forgetting my 
promises, yet, as I have been so happily reminded 
of this. I believe I must pav it at once, " and there 
is an end." Lest my readers — good-natured souls 
that they are ! — should, in the ardour of peeping 
into millstones, take my uncle for an old acquaint- 
ance, I here inform them, that the old gentleman 
died a great many years ago, and it is impossible 
they should ever have known him : — I pity them 
— for they would have known a good-natured, be- 
nevolent man, whose example might have been of 
service. 

The last time I saw my uncle John was fifteen 
years ago, when 1 paid him a visit at his old man- 
sion. I found him reading a newspaper — for it 
was election time, and he was always a vvarm 
federalist, and had made several converts to the 
true pohtical faith in his time ; — particularly one 
old tenant, who always, just before the election, be- 
came a violent anti ; in order that he might be 

convinced of his errors by my uncle, W'ho never 
failed to reward his conviction by some substantial 
benefit. 

After we had settled the affairs of the nation, and 
I had paid my respects to the old family chroni- 
cles in the kitchen, — an indispensable ceremony, 
— the old gentleman exclaimed, with heart-felt 
glee, " Well, I suppose you are for a trout-fishing ; 
— I have got e\-ery thing prepared ; — but first you 
must take a walk with me to see my improve- 
ments." I was obliged to consent ; though I knew 
my uncle would lead me a most villainous dance, 
and in all probability treat me to a quagmire, or a 
tumble into a ditch. If my readers choose to ac- 
company me in this expedition, they are w'elcome ; 
if not, let them stay at home like lazy fellows — and 
sleep — or be hanged. 

Though I had been absent several years, yet 
there was very little alteration in the scenery, and 
every object retained the same features it bore 
when I was a school-boy : for it was in this spot 
that I grew up in the fear of ghosts, and in the 
creaking of many of the ten commandments. The 
brook, or river as they would call it in Europe, still 
murmured with its wonted sweetness through the 
meadow ; and its banks were still tufted with dwarf 
willows, that bent down to the surface. The same 
echo inhabited the valley, and the same tender air 
of repose pervaded the whole scene. Even my 
good uncle was but little altered, except that his 
hair was grown a little grayer, and his forehead 
had lost some of its former smoothness. He had, 
however, lost nothing of his former activity, and 
laughed heartily at the difficulty I found in keeping 
up with him as he stumped through bushes, and 
briers, and hedges ; talking all the time about his 
improvements, and telling what he would do with 
such a spot of ground and such a tree. At length, 
at'ter showing me his stone fences, his famous two- 
year-old bull, his new invented cart, which was to 



go before the horse, and his Eclipse colt, he was 
pleased to return home to dinner. 

After dinner and returning thanks, — which with 
him was not a ceremony merely, but an offering 
from the heart, — my uncle opened his trunk, took 
out his fishing-tackle, and, without saying a word, 
sallied forth with some of those truly alarming steps 
which Daddy Neptune once took when he was in a 
great hurry to attend to the affair of the siege of 
Troy. Trout-fishing was my uncle's favourite sport ; 
and, though I always caught two fish to his one, he 
never would acknowledge my superiority ; but puz- 
zled himself often and often to account for such a 
singular phenomenon. 

Following the current of the brook for a mile or 
two, we retraced many of our old haunts, and told a 
hundred adventures which had befallen us at differ- 
ent times. It was like snatching the hour-glass of 
time, inverting it, and rolling back again the sands 
that had marked the lapse of years. At length the 
shadows began to lengthen, the south-wind gradu- 
ally settled into a perfect calm, the sun threw his 
rays through the trees on the hill-tops in golden lus- 
tre, and a kind of Sabbath stillness pervaded the 
whole valley, indicating that the hour was fast ap- 
proaching which was to relieve for a while the far- 
mer from his rural labour, the ox from his toil, the 
school-urchin from his primer, and bring the loving 
ploughman home to the feet of his blooming dairy- 
maid. 

As we were watching in silence the last rays of 
the sun, beaming their farewell radiance on the high 
hills at a distance, my uncle exclaimed, in a kind of 
half-desponding tone, while he rested his arm over 
an old tree that had fallen — " I know not how it is, 
my dear Launce, but such an evening, and such a 
still quiet scene as this, always make me a little sad ; 
and it is, at such a time, I am most apt to look for- 
ward with regret to the period when this farm, on 
which ' I have been young, but now am old,' and 
every object around me that is endeared by long ac- 
quaintance, — when all these and 1 must shake hands 
and part. I have no fear of death, for my life has 
afforded but little temptation to wickedness ; and 
when I die, I hope to leave behind me more substan- 
tial proofs of virtue than will be found in my epitaph, 
and more lasting memorials than churches built or 
hospitals endowed ; with wealth wrung from the hard 
hand of poverty by an unfeeling landlord or unprin- 
cipled knave ; — but still, when i pass such a day as 
this and contemplate such a scene, I cannot help 
feeling a latent wish to linger yet a little longer in 
this peaceful asylum ; to enjoy a little more sunshine 
in this world, and to have a few more fishing- 
matches with my boy." As he ended he raised his 
hand a little from the fallen tree, and dropping it 
languidly by his side, turned himself towards home. 
The sentiment, the look, the action, all seemed to be 
prophetic. And so they were, for when I shook him 
by the hand and bade him farewell the next morning 
— it was for the last time ! 

He died a bachelor, at the age of sixty-three, 
though he had been all his life trying to get married ; 
and always thought himself on the point of accom- 
plishing his wishes. His disappointments were not 
owing either to the deformity of his mind or person ; 
for in his youth he was reckoned handsome, and I 
myself can witness for him that he had as kind a 
heart as ever was fashioned by heaven ; neither were 
they owing to his poverty, — which sometimes stands 
in an honest man's way; — for he was born to the in- 
heritance of a small estate which was sufficient to 
establish his claim to the title of "one well-to-do in 
the world." The truth is, my uncle had a prodig- 
ious antipathy to doing things in a hurry. — " A man 



686 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



should consider," said he to me once — "that he can 

always get a wife, but cannot always get rid of her. 
For my part," continued he, " I am a young fellow, 
with the world before me," — he was but about forty ! 
— " and am resolved to look sharp, weigh matters 
well, and know what's what, before 1 marry : — in 
short, Launce, / don t intend to do the thing in n 
hurry, depend upon it." On this whim-wham, he 
proceeded : he began with young girls, and ended 
with widows. The girls he courted until they grew 
old maids, or married out of pure apprehension of 
incurring certain penalties hereafter ; and the widows 
not having quite as much patience, generally, at the 
end of a year, while the good man thought himself 
in the high road to success, married some harum- 
scarnvi young fellow, who had not such an antipathy 
to doing tilings in a hiiriy. 

My uncle would have inevitably sunk under these 
repeated disappointments — for he did not want sen- 
sibility — had he not hit upon a discovery which set 
all to rights at once. He consoled his vanity, — for 
he was a little vain, and soothed his pride, which 
was his master-passion, — by telling his friends very 
significantly, while his eye would flash triumph, 
" tliat he might have had her." — Those who know- 
how much of the bitterness of disappointed affection 
arises from wounded vanity and exasperated pride, 
will give my uncle credit for this discovery. 

My uncle had been told by a prodigious number 
of married men, and had read in an innumerable 
quantity of books, that a man could not possibly be 
happy except in the married state; so he determined 
at an early age to marry, that he might not lose his 
only chance for happiness. He accordingly forth- 
with paid his addresses to the daughter of a neigh- 
bouring gentleman farmer, who was reckoned the 
beauty of the whole world ; a phrase by which the 
honest country people mean nothing more than the 
circle of their acquaintance, or that territory of land 
which is within sight of the smoke of their own 
hamlet. 

This young lady, in addition to her beauty, was 
highly accomplished, for she had spent five or six 
months at a boarding-school in town ; where she 
learned to work pictures in satin, and paint sheep 
that might be mistaken for wolves ; to hold up her 
head, set straight in her chair, and to tliink every 
species of. useful acquirement beneath her attention. 
When she returned home, so completely had she for- 
gotten every thing she knew before, that on seeing 
one of the maids milking a cow, she asked her fa- 
ther, with an air of most enchanting ignorance, 
" what tliat odd-looking thing was doing to that 
queer animal?" The old man shook his head at 
this ; but the mother was delighted at these symp- 
toms of gentility, and so enamoured of her daugh- 
ter's accomplishments that she actually got framed a 
picture worked in satin by the young lady. It repre- 
sented the Tomb Scene in Romeo and Juliet. Ro- 
meo was dressed in an orange-coloured cloak, fas- 
tened round his neck with a large golden clasp ; a 
white satin, tamboured waistcoat, leather breeches, 
blue silk stockings, and white topt boots. The ami- 
able Juliet shone in a flame-coloured gown, most 
gorgeously bespangled with silver stars, a high- 
crowned muslin cap that reached to the top of the 
tomb ; — on her feet she wore a pair of short-quar- 
tered, high-heeled shoes, and her waist was the ex- 
act fac-simile of an inverted sugarloaf. The head 
of the "noble county Paris" looked like a chimney- 
sweeper's brush that had lost its handle ; and the 
cloak of the good Friar hung about him as grace- 
fully as the armour of a rhinoceros. The good lady 
considered this picture as a splendid proof of her 
daughter's accomplishments, and hung it up in the 



best parlour, as an honest tradesman does his certifi- 
cate of admission into that enlightened body yclept 

the Mechanic Society. 

With this accomplished young lady then did my 
uncle John become deeply enamoured, and as it was 
his first love, he determined to bestir himself in an 
extraordinary manner. Once at least in a fortniglit, 
and generally on a .Sunday evening, he would put on 
his leather breeches, for he was a great beau, mount 
his gray horse Pepper, and ride over to see his Miss 
Pamela, though she lived upwards of a mile off, and 
he was obliged to pass close by a church-yard, which 
at least a hundred creditable persons would swear 
was haunted ! — Miss Pamela could not be insensible 
to such proofs of attachment, and accordingly re- 
ceived him with considerable kindness ; her mother 
always left the room when he came, and my uncle 
had as good as made a declaration by saying one 
evening, very significantly, " that he believed that he 
should soon change his condition ; " when, some how 
or other, he began to think he w'as doing things in 
too great a hicrry, and that it was high time to con- 
sider ; so he considered near a month about it, and 
there is no saying how much longer he might have 
spun the thread of his doubts had he not been roused 
from tliis state of indecision by the news that his 
mistress had married an attorney's apprentice who 
she had seen the Sunday before at church ; where he 
had excited the applause of the whole congregation 
by the invincible gravity with which he listened to a 
Dutch sermon. "The young people in the neighbour- 
hood laughed a good deal at my uncle on the occa- 
sion, but he only shrugged his shoulders, looked 
mysterious, and replied, "T21J, boys! I might have 
had her." 



NOTE BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

Our publisher, who is busily engaged in printing a 
celebrated work, which is perhaps more generally read 
in this city than any other book, not excepting the 
Bible ; — I mean the New-York Directory — has begged 
so hard that we will not overwhelm him with too much 
of a good thing, that we have, with Langstaff 's appro- 
bation, cut short the residue of uncle John's amours. 
In all probability it will be given in a future number, 
whenever Launcelot is in the humour for it — he is such 
an odd but, mum — for fear of another suspension. 



No. XII.— SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1807. 

FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



Some men delight in the study of plants, in the 
dissection of a leaf, or the contour and complexion 
of a tulip ; — others are charmed with the beauties of 
the feathered race, or the varied hues of the insect 
tribe. A naturalist will spend hours in the fatiguing 
pursuit of a butterfly, and a man of the ton will waste 
whole years in the chase of a fine lady. I feel a re- 
spect for their avocations, for my own are somew'hat 
similar. I love to open the great volume of human 
character: — to me the examination of a beau is 
more interesting than that of a Daffodil or Narcissus ; 
and I I'eel a thousand times more pleasure in catch- 
ing a new view of human nature, than in kidnapping 
the most gorgeous butterfly, — even an Emperor of 
Morocco himself! 

In my present situation I have ample room for the 
indulgence of this taste ; for, perhaps, there is not a 
house in this city more fertile in subjects for the 



SALMAGUNDI. 



C87 



anatomist of human character, than my cousin Coci<- 
loft's. Honest Christopher, as I have before men- 
tioned, is one of those hearty old cavaliers who pride 
themselves upon keeping' up the good, honest, un- 
ceremonious hospitality of old times. — He is never so 
happy as when he has drawn about him a knot of 
sterhng-hearted associates, and sits at the head of 
his table dispensing a warm, cheering welcome to 
all. His countenance expands at every glass and 
beams forth emanations of hilarity, benevolence, and 
good fellowship, that inspire and gladden every guest 
around him. It is no wonder, therefore, that such 
excellent social qualities should attract a host of 
friends and guests ; in fact, my cousin is almost over- 
whelmed with them; and they all, uniformly, pro- 
nounce old Cockloft to be one of the finest fellows in 
the world. His wine also always comes in for a 
good share of their approbation ; nor do they forget 
to do honour to Mrs. Cockloft's cookery, pronouncing 
it to be modelled after the most approved recipes of 
Heliogabulus and Mrs. Glasse. The variety of com- 
pany thus attracted is particularly pleasing to me : 
for, being considered a privileged person in the 
family, I can sit in a corner, indulge m my favour- 
ite amusement of observation, and retreat to my 
elbow-chair, like a bee to his hive, whenever I have 
collected sufficient food for meditation. 

Will Wizard is particularly efficient in adding to 
the stock of originals which frequent our house ; for 
he is one of the most inveterate hunters of oddities I 
ever knew ; and his first care, on making a new ac- 
quaintance, is to gallant him to old Cockloft's, where 
he never fails to receive the freedom of the house in 
a pinch from his gold box. Will has, without excep- 
tion, the queerest, most eccentric, and indescribable 
set of intimates that ever man possessed ; how he 
became acquainted with them I cannot conceive, ex- 
cept by supposing there is a secret attraction or un- 
intelligible sympathy that unconsciously draws to- 
gether oddities of every soil. 

Will's great crony for some time was TOM STRAD- 
DLE, to whom he really took a great liking. Strad- 
dle had just arrived in an importation of hardware, 
fresh from the city of Birmingham, or rather, as the 
most learned English would call it, BruDiinagem, so 
famous for its manufactories of gimblets, pen-knives, 
and pepper-boxes ; and where they make buttons and 
beaux enough to inundate our whole country. He 
was a young man of considerable standing in the 
manufactory at Birmingham, sometimes had the 
honour to hand his master's daughter into a tim- 
whiskey, was the oracle of the tavern he frequented 
on Sundays, and could beat all his associates, if you 
would take his word for it, in boxing, beer-drinking, 
jumping over chairs, and imitating cats in a gutter 
and opera singers. Straddle was, moreover, a mem- 
ber of a Catch-club, and was a great hand at ringing 
bob-majors ; he was, of course, a complete connois- 
seur of music, and entitled to assume that character 
at all performances in the art. He was likewise a 
member of a Spouting-club, had seen a company of 
strolling actors perform in a barn, and had even, like 
Abel Drugger, " enacted " the part of Major Stur- 
geon with considerable applause ; he was conse- 
quently a profound critic, and fully authorized to turn 
up his nose at any American performances. — He had 
twice partaken of annual dinners, given to the head 
manufacturers of Birmingham, where he had the 
good fortune to get a taste of turtle and turbot ; and 
a smack of Champaign and Burgundy ; and he had 
heard a vast deal of the roast beef of Old England ; 

he was therefore epicure sufficient to d n every 

dish, and every glass of wine, he tasted in America ; 
though at the same time he was as voracious an 
animal as ever crossed the Atlantic. Straddle had 



been splashed half a dozen times by the carriages 
of nobility, and had once the superlative felicity of 
being kicked out of doors by the footman of a 
noble Duke ; he could, therefore, talk of nobility and 
despise the untitled plebeians of America. In short. 
Straddle was one of those dapper, bustling, florid, 
round, self-important "geinmcn " who bounce upon 
us half beau, half button-maker ; undertake to give 
us the true polish of the bon-ton, and endeavour to 
inspire us with a proper and dignified contempt of 
our native country. 

Straddle was quite in raptures when his employers 
determined to send him to America as an agent. 
He considered himself as going among a nation of 
barbarians, where he would be received as a prodigy; 
he anticipated, with a proud satisfaction, the bustle 
and confusion his arrival would occasion ; the crowd 
that would throng to gaze at him as he passed 
through the streets ; and had little doubt but that he 
should occasion as much curiosity as an Indian- 
chief or a Turk in the streets of Birmingham. He 
had heard of the beauty of our women, and chuckled 
at the thought of how completely he should eclipse 
their unpolished beaux, and the number of despairing 
lovers that would mourn the hour of his arrival. I 
am even informed by Will Wizard that he put good 
store of beads, spike-nails, and looking-glasses in 
his trunk to win the affections of the fair ones as 
they paddled about in their bark canoes ; — the rea- 
son Will gave for this error of Straddle's, respecting 
our ladies, was, that he had read in Guthrie's 
Geography that the aborigines of America were all 
savages ; and not exactly understanding the word 
aborigines, he applied to one of his fellow apprentices, 
who assured him that it was the Latin word for in- 
habitants. 

Wizard used to tell another anecdote of Straddle, 
which always put him in a passion ; Will swore 
that the captain of the ship told him, that when 
Straddle heard they were off the banks of Newfound- 
land, he insisted upon going on shore there to gather 
some good cabbages, of which he was excessively 
fond; Straddle, however, denied all this, and de- 
clared it to be a mischievous quiz of Will Wizard : 
who indeed often made himself merry at his expense. 
However this may be, certain it is, he kept his tailor 
and shoe-maker constantly employed for a month 
before his departure ; equipped himself with a smart 
crooked stick about eighteen inches long, a pair of 
breeches of most unheard-of length, a little short 
pair of Hoby's white-topped boots, that seemed to 
stand on tip-toe to reach his breeches, and his hat 
had the true trans-atlantic declination towards his 
right ear. The fact was, nor did he make any secret 
of it — he was determined to " astonish the natives a 
few!" 

Straddle was not a little disappointed on his ar- 
rival, to find the Americans were rather more civil- 
ized than he had imagined ; — he was suffered to 
walk to his lodgings unmolested by a crowd, and 
even unnoticed by a single individual ; — no love- 
letters came pouring in upon him ; no rivals lay in 
wait to assassinate him ; his very dress excited no 
attention, for there were many fools dressed equally 
ridiculously with himself. This was mortifying in- 
deed to an aspiring youth, who had come out with 
the idea of astonishing and captivating. He was 
equally unfortunate in his pretensions to the char- 
acter of critic, connoisseur, and boxer; he con- 
demned our whole dramatic corps, and every thing 
appertaining to the theatre; but his critical abilities 
were ridiculed — he found fault with old Cockloft's 
dinner, not even sparing his wine, and was never in- 
vited to the house afterwards ; — he scoured the 
streets at night, and was cudgelled by a sturdy 



CSS 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



watchman ; — he hoaxed an honest mechanic, and 
was soundly kicked. Thus disappointed in all his 
attempts nt notoriety, Straddle hit on the expedient 
which was resorted to by the Giblets — he determined 
to take the town by storm. — He accordingly bought 
horses and equipages, and forthwith made a furious 
dash at style in a gig and tandem. 

As Straddle's finances were but limited, it may 
easily be sujiposed that his fashionable career in- 
fringed a little upon his consignment, which was in- 
deed the case, for, to use a true cockney phrase, 
Brummagem suffered. But this was a circum- 
stance that made little impression upon Straddle, 
who was now a lad of spirit, and lads of spirit al- 
ways despise the sordid cares of keeping another 
man's money. Suspecting this circumstance, I 
never could witness any of his exhibitions of style, 
without some whimsical association of ideas. Did 
he give an entertainment to a host of guzzling 
friends, I immediately fancied them gormandizing 
heartily at the expense of poor Birmingham, and 
swallowing a consignment of hand-saws and razors. 
Did I behold him dashing through Broadway in his 
gig, I saw him, " in my mind's eye," driving tan- 
dem on a nest of tea-boards ; nor could I ever con- 
template his cockney exhibitions of horsemanship, 
but my mischievous imagination would picture him 
spurring a cask of hardware, like rosy Bacchus be- 
striding a beer barrel, or the little gentleman who 
bestraddles the world in the front of Hutching's al- 
manac. 

Straddle was equally successful with the Giblets, 
as may well be supposed ; for though pedestrian 
merit may strive in vain to become fashionable in 
Gotham, yet a candidate in an equipage is always 
recognized, and like Philip's ass, laden with gold, 
will gain admittance every where. Mounted in his 
curricle or his gig, the candidate is like a statue ele- 
vated on a high pedestal: his merits are discernible 
from afar, and strike the dullest optics. Oh! Gotham, 
Gotham ! most enlightened of cities ! — how does my 
heart swell with delight when I behold your sapient 
inhabitants lavishing their attention with such won- 
derful discernment ! 

Thus .Straddle became quite a man of ton, and 
was caressed, and courted, and invited to dinners 
and balls. Whatever was absurd or ridiculous in 
him before, was now declared to be the style. He 
criticised our theatre, and was listened to with rev- 
erence. He pronounced our musical entertain- 
ments barbarous ; and the judgment of Apollo him- 
self would not have been more decisive. He abused 
our dinners ; and the god of eating, if there be any 
such deity, seemed to speak through his organs. 
He became at once a man of taste, tor he put his 
malediction on every thing ; and his arguments 
were conclusive, for he supported every assertion 
with a bet. He was likewise pronounced, by the 
learned in the fashionable world, a young man of 
great research and deep observation ; for he had 
sent home, as natural curiosities, an ear of Indian 
corn, a pair of moccasons, a belt of wampum, and 
a four-leaved clover. He had taken great pains to 
enrich this curious collection with an Indian, and a 
cataract, but without success. In fine, the people 
talked of Straddle, and his equipage, and Straddle 
talked to his horses, until it was impossible for the 
most critical observer to pronounce, whether Strad- 
dle or his horses were most admired, or whether 
Straddle admired himself or his horses most. 

Straddle was now in the zenith of his glory. He 
swaggered about parlours and drawing-rooms with 
the same unceremonious confidence he used to dis- 
play in the taverns at Birmingham. He accosted 
a lady as he would a bar-maid ; and this was pro- 



nounced a certain proof that he had been used to 
better company in Birmingham. He became the 
great man of all the taverns between New-YorU 
and Haerlem, and no one stood a chance of being 
accommodated, until Straddle and his horses were 

perfectly satisfied. He d d the landlords and 

waiters, with the best air in the world, and accosted 
them with the true gentlemanly familiarity. He 
staggered from the dinner table to the play, entered 
the box like a tempest, and staid long enough to be 
bored to death, and to bore all those who had the 
misfortune to be near him. From thence he dashed 
off to a ball, time enough to flounder through a 
cotillion, tear half a dozen gowns, commit a num- 
ber of other depredations, and make the whole 
company sensible of his infinite condescension in 
coming amongst them. The people of Gotham 
thought him a prodigious fine fellow ; the young 
bucks cultivated his acquaintance with the most 
persevering assiduity, and his retainers were some- 
tiines complimented with a seat in his curricle, or 
a ride on one of his fine horses. The belles were 
delighted with the attentions of such a fashionable 
gentleman, and struck with astonishment at his 
learned distinctions between wrought scissors and 
those of cast-steel ; together with his profound dis- 
sertations on buttons and horse flesh. The rich 
merchants courted his acquaintance because he was 
an Englishman, and their wives treated him with 
great deference, because he had come from beyond 
seas. I cannot help here observing, that your salt 
water is a marvellous great sharpener of men's wits, 
and I intend to recommend it to some of my ac- 
quaintance in a particular essay. 

Straddle continued his brilliant career for only a 
short time. His prosperous journey over the turn- 
pike of fashion was checked by some of those stum- 
bling-blocks in the way of aspiring youth, called 
creditors — or duns ; — a race of people who, as a cele- 
brated writer observes, " are hated by gods and men." 
Consignments slackened, whispers of distant sus- 
picion floated in the dark, and those pests of society, 
the tailors and shoe-makers, rose in rebellion against 
Straddle. In vain were all his remonstrances, in vain 
did he prove to them that though he had given them 
no money, yet he had given them more custom, and 
as many promises as any young man in the city. 
They were inflexible, and the signal of danger being 
given, a host of other prosecutors pounced upon his 
back. Straddle saw there was but one way for it ; 
he determined to do the thing genteelly, to go to 
smash like a hero, and dashed into the limits in high 
style, being tiie fifteenth gentleman I have known to 
drive tandem to the — ne plus jil/ra — the d 1. 

Unfortunate Straddle ! may thy fate be a warning 
to all young gentlemen who come out from Birming- 
ham to astonish the natives ! — I should never have 
taken the trouble to delineate his character, had he 
not been a genuine cockney, and worthy to be the 
representative of his numerous tribe. Perhaps my 
simple countrymen may hereafter be able to distin- 
guish between the real English gentleman, and indi- 
viduals of the cast I have heretofore spoken of, as 
mere mongrels, springing at one bound from con- 
temptible obscurity at home, to day-light and splen- 
dour in this good-natured land. The true-born and 
true-bred English gentleman is a character I hold in 
great respect ; and I love to look back to the period 
when our forefathers flourished in the same generous 
soil, and hailed each other as brothers. But the 
cockney !— when I contemplate him as springing too 
from the same source, I feel ashamed of the relation- 
ship, and am tempted to deny my origin. In the 
character of Straddle is traced the complete outline 
of a true cockney, of English growth, and a descend- 



SALMAGUNDI. 



689 



ant of that individual facetious character mentioned 
by Shalvspeare, " who, in pure kindness to his horse, 
buttered his hay." 



THE STRANGER AT HOME; or, A 
TOUR IN BROADWAY. 

BY JEREMY COCKLOFT, THE YOUNGER. 



PREFACE. 



Your learned traveller begins his travels at the 
commencement of his journey ; others begin theirs 
at the end ; and a third class begin any how and 
any where, winich I think is the true way. A late 
facetious writer begins what he calls " a Picture of 
New-York," with a particular description of Glen's 
Falls, from whence with admirable dexterity he 
makes a digression to the celebrated Mill Rock, on 
Long-Island ! Now this is what I like ; and I in- 
tend, in my present tour, to digress as often and as 
long as I please. If, therefore, I choose to make a 
hop, skip, and jump, to China, or New-Holland, or 
Terra Incognita, or Communipaw, I can produce a 
host of examples to justify me, even in books that 
have been praised by the English reviewers, whose 
fiat being all that is necessary to gfive books a cur- 
rency in tills country, I am determined, as soon as 
I finish my edition of travels in seventy-five volumes, 
to transmit it forthwith to them for judgment. If 
these trans-atlantic censors praise it, I have no fear 
of its success in this country, where their approba- 
tion gives, like the tower stamp, a fictitious value, 
and make tinsel and wampum pass current for classic 
gold. 



CHAPTER I. 



Battery — flag-staff kept by Louis Keaffee — 
Keaffee maintains tvvo spy-glasses by subscriptions — 
merchants pay two shillings a-year to look through 
them at the signal poles on Staten-lsland — a very 
pleasant prospect ; but not so pleasant as that from 
■"iiie hill of Ilowth — quere, ever been there? — Young 
.tniors go down to the flag-staff to buy peanuts and 
beer, after the fatigue of their morning studies, and 
sometimes to play at ball, or some other innocent 
amusement — digression to the Olympic, and Isth- 
mian games, with a description of the Isthmus of 
Corinth, and that of Darien : to conclude with a 
dissertation on the Indian custom of offering a whiff 
of tobacco smoke to their great spirit, Areskou. — 
Return to ihe batterj' — delightful place to indulge in 
the luxury of sentiment. — How various are tlie muta- 
tions of this world ! but a few days, a few hours — at 
least not above two hundred years ago, and this 
spot was inhabited by a race of aborigines, who 
dwelt in bark huts, lived upon oysters and Indian 
corn, danced buffalo dances, and were lords " of the 
fowl and the brute " — but the spirit of time and the 
spirit of brandy have swept them from their ancient 
inheritance : and as the white wave of the ocean, by 
its ever toiling assiduity, gains on the brown land, 
so the white man, by slow and sure degrees, has 
gained on the brown savage, and dispossessed him 
of the land of his forefathers. — Conjectures on the 
first peopling of America — different opinions on that 
subject, to the amount of near one hundred — opinion 
44 



of Augustine Torniel — that they are the descendants 
of Shem and Japheth, who came by the way of Japan 
to America — Juffridius Petri says they came from 
Friezeland, mem. cold journey. — jNIons. Charron says 
they are descended from the Gauls — bitter enough. 
— A. Milius, from the Celtse — Kircher, from the 
Egyptians — L'Compte, from the Phenicians — Les- 
carbot, from the Cannaanites, alias the Anthropo- 
phagi — Brerewood, from the Tartars — Grolius, from 
the Norwegians — and Linkum Fidelius has written 
two folio volumes to prove that America was first of 
all peopled either by the Antipodeans or the Cornish 
miners, who, he maintains, might easily have made 
a subterraneous passage to this country, particularly 
the antipodeans, who, he asserts, can get along un- 
der-ground as fast as moles — quere, which of these 
is in the right, or are they all wrong? — For my 
part, 1 don't see why America had not as good a 
right to be peopled at first, as any little contemptible 
country in Europe, or Asia ; and I am determined to 
write a book at my first leisure, to prove that Noah 
was born here — and that so far is America from 
being indebted to any other country for inhabitants, 
that they were every one of them peopled by colonies 
from her ! — mem. battery a very pleasant place to 
walk on a Sunday evening — not quite genteel though 
— every body walks there, and a pleasure, however 
genuine, is spoiled by general participation — the 
fashionable ladies of New-York turn up their noses 
if you ask them to walk on the battery on Sunday 
— quere, have they scruples of conscience, or scruples 
of delicacy } — neither — they have only scruples of 
gentility, which are quite different things. 



CHAPTER II. 



Custom-house — origin of duties on merchandise 
— this place much frequented by merchants — and 
why ? — different classes of merchants — importers — 
a kind of nobility — wholesale merchants^have the 
privilege of going to the city assembly ! — Retail 
traders cannot go to the assembly. — Some curious 
speculations on the vast distinction betwixt selling 
tape by the piece or by the yard. — Wholesale mer- 
chants look down upon the retailers, who in return 
look down upon the green-grocers, who look down 
upon the market women, who don't care a straw 
about any of them. — Origin of the distinction of 
rapks — Dr. Johnson once horribly puzzled to settle 
the point of precedence between a louse and a flea — 
good hint enough to humble purse-proud arrogance. 
— Custom-house partly used as a lodging house for 
the pictures belonging to the academy of arts — 
— couldn't afford the statues house-room, most of 
them in the cellar of the City-hall — poor place for 
the gods and goddesses — after Olympus. — Pensive 
reflections on the tips and downs of life — Apollo, and 
the rest of the set, used to cut a great figure in days 
of yore, — Mem. — every dog has his day — sorry for 
Venus though, poor wench, to be cooped up in a 
cellar with not a single grace to wait on her ! — 
Eulogy on the gentlemen of the academy of arts, 
for the great spirit with which they began the under- 
taking, and the perseverance with which they have 
pursued it. — It is a pity, however, they began at the 
wrong end — maxim — If you want a bird and a cage, 
always buy the cage first^hem I a word to the wise ! 



CHAPTER in. 



Bowling-Green — fine place for pasturing cows 
— a perquisite of the late corporation — formerly orna- 
mented with a statue of George the 3d — people 



690 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



pulled it down in the war to make bullets— great 
pity, as it might have been given to the academy- 
it would have become a cellar as well as any other. 

Broadway — great difference in the gentility of 

streets— a man who resides in Pearl-street, or Chat- 
ham-row, derives no kind of dignity from his domicil ; 
but place him in a certain part of Broadway, any 
where between the battery and Wall-street, and he 
straightway becomes entitled to figure in the beau 
monde, and strut as a person of prodigious conse- 
quence ! — Quere, whether there is a degree ol purity 
in the air of that quarter which changes the gross 
particles of vulgarity into gems of refinement and 
polish ?— A question to be asked, but not to be an- 
swered— Wall-street-City-hall, famous place for 
catch-poles, deputy-sheriffs, and young lawyers ; 
which last attend the courts, not because they have 
business there, but because they have no business 
any where else. My blood always curdles when I 
see a catch-pole, they being a species of vermin, who 
feed and fatten on the common wretchedness of 
mankind, who trade in misery, and in becoming the 
executioners of the law, by their oppression and vil- 
lainy, almost counterbalance all the benefits which are 
derived from its salutary regulations— Story of Que- 
vedo about a catch-pole possessed by a devil, who, 
on being interrogated, declared that he did not come 
there voluntarily, but by compulsion ; and that a de- 
cent devil would never of his own free will enter into 
the body of a catch-pole ; instead, therefore, of doing 
him the injustice to say that here was a catch-pole 
be-deviled, they should say, it was a devil be-catch- 
poled ; that being in reality the truth— Wonder what 
has become of the old crier of the court, who used to 
make more noise in preserving silence than the au- 
dience did in breaking it— if a man happened to drop 
his cane, the old hero would sing out "silence ! " in 
a voice that emulated the "wide-mouthed thunder" 
—On inquiring, found he had retired from business 
to enjoy otiiim cum dignitaic, as many a great man 
had done before— Strange that wise men, as they are 
thought, should toil through a whole existence merely 
to enjoy a few moments of leisure at last ! why don't 
they begin to be easy at first, and not purchase a 
moment's pleasure with an age of pain? — mem. 
posed some of the jockeys — eh ! 



bad company, because they are a couple of fine fel- 
lows — mem. to recommend Michael's antique snuff- 
box to all amateurs in t/u- ,?/-»'.— Eagle singing Yan- 
kee-doodle— N. B.— Buffon, Penant, and the rest of 
the naturalists, all naturals not to know the eagle 
was a singing bird ; Linkum Fidelius knew better, 
and gives a long description of a bald eagle that sere- 
naded him once in Canada ;— digression ; particular 
account of the Canadian Indians ;— story about Ares- 
kou learning to make fishing nets of a spider — don't 
believe it though, because, according to Linkum, and 
many other learned authorities, Areskou is the same 
as Mars, being derived from his Greek names of 
Arcs ; and if so, he knew well enough what a net 
was without consulting a spider ;— story of Arachne 
being changed into a spider as a reward for having 
hanged herself ;— derivation of the word spinster 
from spider ; — Colophon, now Altobosco, the birth- 
place of Arachne, remarkable for a famous breed of 
spiders to this day ;— mem. — nothing like a little 
scholarship— make the ignoramus, viz., the majority 
of my readers, stare like wild pigeons ;— return to 
New-York a short cut— meet a dashing belle, in a 
little thick white veil— tried to get a peep at her face 
—saw she squinted a little— thought so at first ;— 
never saw a face covered with a veil that was worth 

looking at ; saw some ladies holding a conversation 

across" the street about going to church next Sunday 
—talked so loud they frightened a cartman's horse, 
who ran away, and overset a basket of gingerbread 
with a little boy under it ;— mem.— I don't much see 
the use of speaking-trumpets now-a-da)s. 



CHAPTER V. 



CHAPTER IV. 



Barber's pole ; three different orders of shavers 
in New-York— those who shave //'/•i- ,■ N. B.— fresh- 
men and sophomores,— those who cut beards, and 
those who shave notes of hand ; the last are the most 
respectable, because, in the course of a year, they 
make more money, and that honestly, than the whole 
corps of other shavers can do in half a century ; be- 
sides, it would puzzle a common barber to ruin any 
man, except bv cutting his throat: whereas your 
higher order of shavers, your true blood-suckers of 
the community, seated snugly behind the curtain, in 
watch for prey, live on the vitals of the unfortunate, 
and grow rich on the ruin of thousands.— Yet this 
last class of barbers are held in high respect in the 
world ; they never offend against the decencies of 
life, go often to church, look down on honest poverty 
walking on foot, and call themselves gentlemen ; yea, 
men of honour! — Lottery offices— another set ot 
capital shavers !— licensed gambling houses !— good 
things enough though, as they enable a few honest, 
industrious gentlcmex to humbug the people — ac- 
cording to law ;— besides, if the people will be such 
fools, whose fault is it but their own if they get bit? 
— Messrs. Paff— beg pardon for putting them in such 



Bought a pair of gloves ; dry-good stores the 
genuine schools of politeness— true Parisian man- 
ners there— got a pair of gloves and a pistareen's 
worth of bows for a dollar— dog cheap !— Court- 
landt-street corner — famous place to see the belles 
go by — quere, ever been shopping with a lady ?— 
some account of it— ladies go into all the shops in 
the city to buy a pair of gloves— good way of spend- 
ing time, if they have nothing else to do.— Oswego- 
market— looks very much like a triumphal arch — 
some account of the manner of erecting them in an- 
cient times ;— digression to the arch-Ay^tt Charles, 
and some account of the ancient Germans. — N. B. 
quote Tacitus on this subject.— Particular descriptin 
of market-baskets, butchers' blocks, and wheelba - ^ 
rows :— mem. queer things run upon one wheel ! — 
Saw a cartman driving full-tilt through Broadway- 
run over a child — good enough for it — what business 
had it to be in the way ?— Hint concerning the laws 
against pigs, goats, dogs, and cartmen— grand apos- 
trophe to the sublime science of jurisprudence ; 

comparison between legislators and tinkers; quere, 
whether it requires greater ability to mend a law 
than to mend a kettle?— inquiiy into the utility of 
making laws that are broken a hundred times in a 
day with impunity ;—mv lord Coke's opinion on the 
subject : my lord a very great man— so was lord 
Bacon : good story about a criminal named Hog 
claiming relationship with him. — Hogg's porter- 
house ;— great haunt of Will Wizard ; Will put down 
there one night by a sea captain, in an argument 
concerning the a?ra of the Chinese empire Whangpo ; 
—Hogg's a capital place for hearing the same stories, 
the salne jokes, and the same songs every night in 
the year— mem. except Sunday nights ; fine school 
for young politicians too— some of the longest and 
thickest heads in the citv come there to settle the 
nation.— Scheme of Ichdbod Fungus to restore the 



SALMAGUNDI. 



691 



balance of Europe ; — digression ; — some acrcunt of 
the balance of Europe ; comparison between it and 
a pair of scales, with the Emperor Alexander in one 
and the Emperor Napoleon in the other: fine fellows 
— both of a weight, can't tell which will kick the 
beam : — mem. don't care much either — nothing to 
me : — Icknbod very unhappy about it — thinks Na- 
poleon has an eye on this country — capital place to 
pasture his horses, and provide for the rest of his 
family : — Dey-street — ancient Dutch name of it, sig- 
nifying murderers'-valley, formerly the site of a great 
peach orchard ; my grandmother's history of the 
famous Peach war — arose from an Indian stealing 
peaches out of this orchard ; good cause as need be 
for a war ; just as good as the balance of power. 
Anecdote of a war between two Italian states about 
a bucket ; introduce some capital new truisms about 
the folly of mankind, the ambition of kings, poten- 
tates, and princes ; particularly Alexander, Cassar, 
Charles the XI 1th, Napoleon, little King Pepin, and 
the great Charlemagne. — Conclude with an exhorta- 
tion to the present race of sovereigns to keep the 
king's peace and abstain from all those deadly quar- 
rels which produce battle, murder, and sudden death : 
mem. ran my nose against a lamp-post — conclude in 
great dudgeon. 



FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



Our cousin Pindar, after having been confined for 
some time past with a fit of the gout, which is a kind 
of keepsake in our family, has again set his mill go- 
ing, as my readers will perceive. On reading his 
piece I could not help smiling at the high compli- 
ments which, contrary to his usual style, he has lav- 
ished on the dear sex. The old gentleman, unfortu- 
nately observing my merriment, stumped out of the 
room with great vociferation of crutch, and has not 
exchanged three words with me since. I expect 
every hour to hear that he has packed up his move- 
ables, and, as usual in all cases of disgust, retreated 
to his old country house. 

Pindar, like most of the old Cockloft heroes, is won- 
derfully susceptible to the genial influence of warm 
weather. In winter he is one of the most crusty old 
bachelors under heaven, and is wickedly addicted to 
sarcastic reflections of every kind ; particularly on 
the little enchanting foibles and whim-whams of 
women. But when the spring comes on, and the 
mild influence of the sun releases nature from her 
icy fetters, the ice of his bosom dissolves into a gen- 
tle current which reflects the bewitching qualities of 
the fair; as in some mild clear evening, when nature 
reposes in silence, the stream bears in its pure bo- 
som all the starry magnificence of heaven. It is un- 
der the control of this influence he has written his 
piece ; and I beg the ladies, in the plenitude of their 
harmless conceit, not to flatter themselves that be- 
cause the good Pindar has suffered them to escape 
his censures he had nothing more to censure. It 
is but sunshine and zephyrs which have wrought 
this wonderful change ; and I am much mistaken if 
the first north-easter don't convert all his good nat- 
ure into most exquisite spleen. 



FROM THE MILL OF 
PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 



How often I cast my reflections behind, 
And call up the days of past youth to my mind. 
When folly assails in habiliments new, 
When fashion obtrudes some fresh whim-wham to view: 
When the foplings of fashion bedazzle my sight. 
Bewilder my feelings — my senses benight ; 
I retreat in disgust from the world of to-day, 
To commune with the world that has moulder'd away; 
To converse with the shades of those friends of my 

love, 
Long gather'd in peace to the angels above. 

In my rambles through life should I meet with 
annoy, 
From the bold beardless stripling — the turbid pert boy, 
One rear'd in the mode lately reckon'd genteel. 
Which neglecting the head, aims to perfect the heel ; 
Which completes the sweet fopling while yet in his 

teens, 
And fits him for fashion's light changeable scenes ; 
Proclaims him a man to the near and the far. 
Can he dance a cotillion or smoke a scgar ; 
And though brainless and vapid as vapid can be, 
To routs and to parties pronounces him free : — 
Oh, I think on the beaux that existed of yore, 
On those rules of the Ion that exist now no more ! 

I recall with delight how each yonker at first 
In the cradle of science and virtue was nursed : 
— How the graces of person and graces of mind. 
The polish of learning and fashion combined. 
Till softened in manners and strengthened in head, 
By the classical lore of the living and dead, 
Matured in his person till manly in size. 
He then was presented a beau to our eyes ! 

My nieces of late have made frequent complaint 
That they suffer vexation and painful constraint. 
By having their circles too often distrest 
By some three or four goslings just fledged from the 

nest. 
Who, propp'd by the credit their fathers sustain. 
Alike tender in years and in person and brain. 
But plenteously stock'd with that substitute, brass, 
For true wits and critics would anxiously pass. 
They complain of that empty sarcastical slang. 
So common to all the coxcombical gang. 
Who the fair with their shallow experience vex. 
By thrumming for ever their weakness of sex ; 
And who boast of themselves, when they talk with 

proud air 
Of Man's mental ascendancy over the fair. 

'Twas thus the young owlet produced in the nest. 
Where the eagle of Jove her young eaglets had prest, 
Pretended to boast of his royal descent. 
And vaunted that force which to eagles is lent. 
Though fated to shun with his dim visual ray. 
The cheering delights and the brilliance of day ; 
To forsake the fair regions of aether and light. 
For dull moping caverns of darkness and night : 
Still talk'd of that eagle-like strength of the eye. 
Which approaches unwinking the pride of the sky. 
Of that wing which unwearied can hover and play 
In the noon-tide effulgence and torrent of day. 

Dear girls, the sad evils of which ye complain. 
Your sex must endure from the feeble and vain, 
'Tis the commonplace jest of the nursery scape-goat, 
'Tis the commonplace ballad that croaks from his 

throat ; 
He knows not that nature — that polish decrees. 
That women should always endeavour to please : 
That the law of their system has early imprest 
The importance of fitting themselves to each guest ; 
And, of course, that full oft when ye trifle and play, 
'Tis to gratify triflers who strut in your way. 
The child might as well of its mother complain. 
As wanting true wisdom and soundness of brain : 
Because that, at times, while it hangs on her breast, 
She with " luUa-by-baby " beguiles it to rest. 



C92 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



'Tis its weakness of mind that induces the strain, 
For wisdom to infants is prattled in vain. 

'Tis true at odd times, when in frolicksome fit. 
In the midst of his gambols, the mischievous wit 
May start some light foible that clings to the fair 
Like cobwebs that fasten to objects most rare. — 
In the play of his fancy will sportively say 
Some delicate censure that pops in his way. 
He may smile at your fashions, and frankly express 
His dislike of a dance, or a flaming red dress ; 
Yet he blames not your want of man's physical force, 
Nor complains though ye cannot in Latin discourse. 
He delights in the language of nature ye speak. 
Though not so refined as true classical Greek. 
He remembers that Providence never design'd 
Our females like suns to bewilder and blind ; 
But like the mild orb of pale ev'ning serene. 
Whose radiance illumines, yet softens the scene, 
To light us with cheering and welcoming ray. 
Along the rude path when the sun is away. 

I own in my scribblings I lately have nam'd 
Some faults of our fair which I gently have blam'd. 
But be it for ever by all understood 
My censures were only pronounc'd for their good. 
I delight in the sex, 'tis the pride of my mind 
To consider them gentle, endearing, refin'd ; 
As our solace below in the journey of life. 
To smooth its rough passes ; — to soften its strife : 
As objects intended our joys to supply. 
And to lead us in love to the temples on high. 
How oft have I felt, when two lucid blue eyes. 
As calm and as bright as the gems of the skies. 
Have beam'd their soft radiance into my soul, 
Impress'd with an awe like an angel's control ! 

Yes, fair ones, by this is for ever defin'd 
The fop from the man of refinement and mind ; 
The latter believes ye in bounty were given 
As a bond upon earth of our union with heaven : 
And if ye are weak, and are frail, in his view, 
'Tis to call forth fresh warmth and his fondness renew. 
'Tis his joy to support these defects of your frame. 
And his love at your weakness redoubles its flame : 
He rejoices the gem is so rich and so fair, 
And is proud that it claims his protection and care. 



No. XIII.— FRIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1807. 

FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



I WAS not a little perplexed, a short time since, 
by the eccentric conduct of my knowing coadju- 
tor, Will Wizard. For two or three days, he was 
completely in a quandary. He would come into 
old Cockloft's parlour ten times a day, swinging 
his ponderous legs along with his usual vast 
strides, clap his hands into his sides, contem- 
plate the little shepherdesses on the mantel-piece 
for a few minutes, whistling all the while, and 
then sally out full sweep, without uttering a word. 
To be sure, a pish or a pshaw occasionally escaped 
him ; and he was observed once to pull out liis 
enormous tobacco-box, drum for a moment upon 
its lid with his knuckles, and then return it into 
his pocket without taking a quid:— 'twas evident 
Will was full of some mighty idea : — not that his 
restlessness was any way uncommon ; for I have 
often seen Will throw himself almost into a fever 
of heat and fatigue — doing nothing. But his in- 
flexible taciturnity set the whole family, as usual, 
a wondering : as Will seldom enters the house 
without giving one of his " one thousand and one " 
stories. For my part, I began to think that the 
late fracas at Canton had alarmed Will for the 
safety of his friends Kinglun, Chinqua, and Con- 



sequa ; or, that something had gone wrong in the 
alterations of the theatre — or that some new out- 
rage at Norfolk had put him in a worry ; in short, 
I did not know what to think ; for Will is such 
an universal busy-body, and meddles so much in 
every thing going forward, that you might as well 
attempt to conjecture what is going on in the north , 
star, as in his precious pericranium. Even Mrs. 
Cockloft, who, like a worthy woman as she is, sel- 
dom troubles herself about any thing in this world 
— saving the affairs of her household, and the cor- 
rect deportment of her female friends — was struck 
with the mystery of Will's behaviour. She hap- 
pened, when he came in and went out the tenth 
time, to be busy darning the bottom of one of the 
old red damask chairs ; and notwithstanding this is ^ 
to her an affair of vast importance, yet she could 
not help turning round and exclaiming, " I wonder 
what can be the matter with Mr. Wizard .' " " Noth- 
ing," replied old Christopher, " only we shall 
have an eruption soon." The old lady did not un- 
derstand a word of this, neither did she care ; she 
had expressed her wonder ; and that, with her, is 
always sufficient. 

I am so well acquainted with Will's peculiarities 
that I can tell, even by his whistle, when he is 
about an essay for our paper as certainly as a wea- 
ther wiseacre knows that it is going to rain when 
he sees a pig run squeaking about with his nose in 
the wind. 1, therefore, laid my account with re- 
ceiving a communication from him before long ; 
and sure enough, the evening before last I distin- 
guished his free-mason knock at my door. I have 
seen many wise men in my time, philosophers, 
mathematicians, astronomers, politicians, editors, 
and almanac makers; but never did I see a man 
look half so wise as did my friend Wizard on enter- 
ing the room. Had Lavater beheld him at that 
moment he would have set him down, to a certain- 
ty, as a fellow who had just discovered the longitude 
or the philosopher's stone. 

Without saying a word, he handed me a roll of 
paper ; after which he lighted his segar, sat down, 
crossed his legs, folded his arms, and elevating his 
nose to an angle of about forty-five degrees, began 
to smoke like a steam engine ; — Will delights in 
the picturesque. On opening his budget, and per- 
ceiving the motto, it struck me that Will had 
brought me one of his confounded Chinese manu- 
scripts, and I was forthwith going to dismiss it 
with indignation ; but accidentally seeing the name 
of our oracle, the sage Linkum, of whose inesti- 
mable folioes we pride ourselves upon being the 
sole possessors, I began so think the better of it, 
and looked round to Will to express my approba- 
tion. I shall never forget the figure he cut at that 
moment ! He had watched my countenance, on 
opening his manuscript, with the argus eyes of an 
author : and perceiving some tokens of disappro- 
bation, btjean, according to custom, to puff away 
at his segar with such vigour that in a few minutes 
he had entirely involved himself in smoke : except 
his nose and one foot, which were just visible, the 
latter wagging with great velocity. I believe I 
have hinted before — at least I ought tn have done 
so — that Will's nose is a very goodly nose ; to 
which it may be as well to add, that in his voyages 
under the tropics, it has acquired a copper com- 
plexion, which renders it very brilliant and luminous. 
You may imagine what a sumptuous appearance it 
made, projecting boldly, like the celebrated promoit- 
tcrium nasidium at .Samos with a light-house upon 
it, and surrounded on all sides with smoke and 
vapour. Had my gravity been like the Chinese 
philosopher's " within one degree of absolute frigid- 



SALMAGUNDI. 



693 



ity," here would have been a trial for it. — I could 
not stand it, but burst into such a laugh as I do not 
indulge in abo\'e once in a hundred years ; — this was 
too much for Will ; he emerged from his cloud, threw 
his segar into the fire-place, and strode out of the 
room, pulling up his breeches, muttering something 
which, 1 verily believe, was nothing more than a 
horrible long Chinese malediction. 

He, however, left his manuscript behind him, 
which I now give to the world. Whether he is 
serious on the occasion, or only bantering, no one, 
I believe, can tell : for, whether in speaking or 
writing, there is such an invincible gravity in his 
demeanour and style, that even I, who have studied 
him as closely as an antiquarian studies an old 
manuscript or inscription, am frequently at a loss 
to know what the rogue would be at. I have seen 
him indulge in his favourite amusement of quizzing 
for hours together, without any one having the 
least suspicion of the matter, until he would sud- 
denly twist his phiz into an expression that baffles 
all description, thrust his tongue in his cheek and 
blow up in a laugh almost as loud as the shout of 
the Romans on a certain occasion ; which honest 
Plutarch avers frightened several crows to such a 
degree that they fell down stone dead into the 
Campus Martius. Jeremy Cockloft the younger, 
who Hke a true modern philosopher delights in ex- 
periments that are of no kind of use, took the trouble 
to measure one of Will's risible explosions, and de- 
clared to me that, according to accurate measure- 
ment, it contained thirty feet square of solid laugh- 
ter : — what will the professors say to this .'' 



PLANS FOR DEFENDING OUR HARBOUR. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 



Long-fons teko buzz tor-pe-do, 

Fudge 

We'll blow the villains all sky high ; 
But do it with econo my. 



— Con/ucius. 
— Link. Fid. 



SURELV never was a town more subject to mid- 
summer fancies and dog-day whim-whams, than 
this most excellent of cities ; — our notions, like 
our diseases, seem all epidemic ; and no sooner 
does a new disorder or a new freak seize one indi- 
vidual but it is sure to run through all the commu- 
nity. This is particularly the case when the sum- 
mer is at the hottest, and every body's head is in 
a vertigo and his brain in a ferment ; 'tis absolute- 
ly necessary then the poor souls should have some 
bubble to amuse themselves with, or they would 
certainly run mad. Last year the poplar worm 
made its appearance most fortunately for our citi- 
zens ; and every body was so much in horror of be- 
ing poisoned, and devoured ; and so busied in mak- 
ing humane experiments on cats and dogs, that we 
got through the summer quite comfortably ; — the 
cats had the worst of it; — every mouser of them 
was shaved, and there was not a whisker to be seen 
in the whole sisterhood. This summer every body 
has had full employment in planning fortifications 
for our harbour. Not a cobbler or tailor in the city 
but has left his awl and his thimble, became an en- 
gmcer outright, and aspired most magnanimously 
to the building of forts and destruction of navies ! — 
heavens ! as my friend Mustapha would say, on what 
a great scale is every thing in this country ! 

Among the various plans that have been offered, 



the most conspicuous is one devised and exhibited, 
as I am informed, by that notable confederacy, the 

NORTH RIVER SOCIETY. 

Anxious to redeem their reputation from the foul 
suspicions that have for a long time overclouded it, 
these aquatic incendiaries have come forward, at the 
present alarming juncture, and announced a most po- 
tent discovery which is to guarantee our port from 
the visits of any foreign marauders. The society 
have, it seems, invented a cunning machine, shrewdly 
yclep'd a Torpedo ; by which the stoutest line of bat- 
tle ship, even a SantisstJiia Trinid.ida, may be 
caught napping and decomposed in a twinkling; a 
kind of sub-marine powder-magazine to swim under 
water, like an aquatic mole, or water rat, and de- 
stroy the enemy in the moments of unsuspicious se- 
curity. 

This straw tickled the noses of all our dignitaries 
wonderfully ; for to do our government justice, it has 
no objection to injuring and exterminating its ene- 
mies in any manner — provided the thing can be done 
economically. 

It was determined the experiment should be tried, 
and an old brig was purchased, for not more than 
twice its value, and delivered over into the hands of 
its tormentors, the North River Society, to be tor- 
tured, and battered, and annihilated, scctitidum 
a>-tetn. A day was appointed for the occasion, when 
all the good citizens of the wonder-loving city of 
Gotham were invited to the blowing up ; like the fat 
inn-keeper in Rabelais, who requested all his cus- 
tomers to come on a certain day and see him burst. 

As I have almost as great a veneration as the good 
Mr. Walter Shandy for all kinds of experiments that 
are ingeniously ridiculous, I made very particular 
mention of the one in question, at the table of my 
friend Christopher Cockloft ; but it put the honest 
old gentleman in a violent passion. He condemned 
it in toto, as an attempt to introduce a dastardly and 
exterminating mode of warfare. " Already have we 
proceeded far enough," said he, " in the science of 
destruction ; war is already invested with sufficient 
horrors and calamities, let us not increase the cata- 
logue ; let us not by these deadly artifices provoke a 
system of insidious and indiscriminate hostility, that 
shall terminate in laying our cities desolate, and ex- 
posing our women, our children, and our infirm to 
the sword of pitiless recrimination." Honest old 
cavalier ! — it was evident he did not reason as a true 
politician, — but he felt as a christian and philanthro- 
pist ; and that was, perhaps, just as well. 

It may be readily supposed, that our citizens did 
not refuse the invitation of the society to the blow- 
up ; it was the first naval action ever exhibited in 
our port, and the good people all crowded to see the 
British navy blown up in effigy. The young ladies 
were delighted with the novelty of the show, and 
declared that if war could be conducted in this man- 
ner, it would become a fashionable amusement ; and 
the destruction of a fleet be as pleasant as a ball or 
a tea-party. The old folk were equally pleased with 
the spectacle, — because it cost them nothing. Dear 
souls, how hard was it they should l>e disappointed ! 
the brig most obstinately refused to be decomposed ; 
the dinners grew cold, and the puddings were over- 
boiled, throughout the renowned city of Gotham ; 
and its sapient inhabitants, like the honest Stras- 
burghers, from whom most of them are doubtless 
descended, w-ho went out to see the courteous 
stranger and his nose, all returned home after hav- 
ing threatened to pull down the flag-staff by way 
of taking satisfaction for their disappointment. By 
the way, there is not an animal in the world more 
discriminating in its vengeance than a free-born 
mob. 



694 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



In the evening I repaired to friend Hogg's to 
smoke a sociable segar, but had scarcely entered the 
room when I was taken prisoner by my friend, Mr. 
Ichabod Fungus ; who I soon saw was at his usual 
trade of prying into mill-stones. The old gentleman 
informed me, that the brig had actually blown up, 
after a world of manoeuvring, and had nearly blown 
up the society with it ; he seemed to entertain strong 
doubts as to the objects of the society in the inven- 
tion of these infernal machines; — hinted a suspicion 
of their wishing to set the river on fire, and that he 
should not be surprised on waking one of these 
mornings to find the Hudson in a blaze. " Not that 
I disapprove of the plan," said he, "provided it has 
the end in view which they profess ; no, no, an ex- 
cellent plan of defence ; — no need of batteries, forts, 
frig.ates, and gun-boats ; observe, sir, all that's neces- 
sary is that the ships must come to anchor in a con- 
venient place ; — watch must be asleep, or so com- 
placent as not to disturb any boats paddling about 
them — fair wind and tide — no moonlight — machines 
well-directed — musn't flash in the plan — bang's the 
word, and the vessel's blown up in a moment ! " 
" Good," said I, " you remind me of a lubberly Chi- 
nese who was flogged by an honest captain of my 
acquaintance, and who, on being advised to retali- 
ate, exclaimed — ' Hi yah ! s'pose two men hold fast 
him captain, den very mush me bamboo he ! ' " 

The old gentleman grew a little crusty, and in- 
sisted that 1 did not understand him ; — all that was 
requisite to render the effect certain was, that the 
enemy should enter into the project ; or, in other 
words, be agreeable to the measure ; so that if the 
machine did not come to the ship, the ship should 
go to the inachine ; by which means he thought the 
success of the machine would be inevitable — pro- 
vided it struck fire. "But do not you think," said 
], doubtingly, "that it would be rather difficult to 
persuade the enemy into such an agreement .' — 
Some people have an invincible antipathy to being 
blown up." " Not at all, not at all," replied he, tri- 
umphantly ; "got an excellent notion for that; — do 
with them as we have done with the brig ; buy all 
the vessels we mean to destroy, and blow 'em up as 
best suits our convenience. I have thought deeply 
on that subject and have calculated to a certainty, 
that if our funds hold out we may in this way de- 
stroy the whole British navy— by contract." 

By this time all the quidnuncs of the room had 
gathered around us, each pregnant with some mighty 
scheme for the salvation of his country. — One pa- 
thetically lamented that we had no such men among 
us as the famous Toujoursdort and Grossitout ; who, 
when the celebrated captain Tranchemont made war 
against the city of Kalacahabalaba, utterly discom- 
fited the great king Bigstaff, and blew up his whole 
army by sneezing. — Another imparted a sage idea, 
which seems to have occupied more heads than one ; 
that is, that the best way of fortifying the harbour 
was to ruin it at once : choke the channel with rocks 
and blocks ; strew it with c/nn/aiix-de-f rises and tor- 
pedoes : and make it like a nursery-garden, fuU of 
men-traps and spring-guns. No vessel would then 
have the temerity to enter our harbour ; we should 
not even dare to navigate it ourselves. Or if no 
cheaper way could be devised, let Governor's Island 
be raised by levers and pulleys — floated with empty 
casks, &c., towed down to the Narrows, and dropped 
plump in the very mouth of the harbour! — "But," 
said 1, " would not the prosecution of these whim- 
whams be rather expensive and dilatory.''" 

" Pshaw !" cried the other — "what's a million of 
money to an experiment ; the true spirit of our econ- 
omy requires that we should spare no expense in 
discovering the cheapest mode of defending our- 



selves ; and then if all these modes should fail, why, 
you know the worst we have to do is to return to 
the old-fashioned hum-drum mode of forts and bat- 
teries." " By which time," cried I, " the arrival of 
the enemy may have rendered their erection super- 
fluous." 

A shrewd old gentleman, who stood listening by, 
with a mischievously equivocal look, observed that 
the most effectual mode of repulsing a fleet from our 
ports would be to administer them a proclamation 
from time to time, till it operated. 

Unwilling to leave the company without demon- 
strating my patriotism and ingenuity, I communi- 
cated a plan of defence ; which, in truth, was sug- 
gested long since by that infallible oracle MuSTA- 
PHA, who had as clear a head for cobweb-weaving 
as ever dignified the shoulders of a projector. He 
thought the most effectual mode would be to assem- 
ble all the slang-wha)igcrs, great and small, from all 
parts of the state, and marshal them at the battery ; 
where they should be exposed, point blank, to the 
enemy, and form a tremendous body of scolding in- 
fantry ; similar to the poissards or doughty cham- 
pions of Billingsgate. They should be exhorted to 
fire away, without pity or remorse, in sheets, hall- 
sheets, columns, hand-bills, or squibs ; great canon, 
little canon, pica, german-text, stereotype, and to 
run their enemies through and through with sharp- 
pointed italics. They should have orders to show 
no quarter — to blaze away in their loudest epithets 

-" 7niscreants ! " " murderers ! " " barbarians .' " 

"pirates!" "robbers!" "BLACKGUARDS!" and 
to do away all fear of consequences, they should be 
guaranteed from all dangers of pillory, kicking, cuff- 
ing, nose-pulling, whipping-post, or prosecution for 
libels. If, continued Mustapha, you wish men to 
fight well and valiantly, they must be allowed those 
weapons they have been used to handle. Your coun- 
ti^men are notoriously adroit in the management of 
the tongue and the pen, and conduct all their battles 
by speeches or newspapers. Adopt, therelore, the 
plan I have pointed out , and rely upon it that let any 
fleet, however large, be but once assailed by this bat- 
tery of slang-whangers, and if they have not entirely 
lost the sense of hearing, or a regard for their own 
characters and feelings, they will, at the very first 
fire, slip their cables and retreat with as much pre- 
cipitation as if they had unwarily entered into the 
atmosphere of the Boliin tipas. In this manner 
may your wars be conducted with proper economy ; 
and it will cost no more to drive off a fleet than to 
write up a party, or write down a bashaw with three 
tails. 

The sly old gentleman. I have before mentioned, 
was highly delighted with this plan ; and proposed, 
as an improvement, that mortars should be placed 
on the battery, which, instead of throwing shells and 
such trifles, might be charged with newspapers, 
Tammany addresses, etc., by way of red-hot shot, 
which would undoubtedly be very potent in blowing 
up any powder-magazine they might chance to come 
in contact with. He concluded by informing the 
company, that in the course of a few evenings he 
would have the honour to present them with a 
scheme for loading certain vessels with news- 
papers, resolutions of " numerous and respectable 
meetings," and other combustibles, which vessels 
were to be blown directly in the midst of the enemy 
by the bellows of the slang-whangers ; and he was 
much mistaken if they would not be more fatal than 
fire-ships, bomb-ketches, gun-boats, or even torpe- 
does. 

These are but two or three specimens of the nat- 
ure and efficacy of the innumerable plans with which 
this city abounds. Everj- body seems charged to the 



SALMAGUNDI. 



695 



muzzle with gunpowder, — every- eye flashes fireworks 
and torpedoes, and every corner is occupied by knots 
of inflammatory projectors ; not one of whom but 
has some preposterous mode of destruction which 
he has proved to be infallible by a previous experi- 
ment in a tub of water ! 

Even Jeremy Cockloft has caught the infection, to 
the great annoyance of the inhabitants of Cockloft- 
hall, whither he retired to make his experiments un- 
disturbed. At one time all the mirrors in the house 
were unhung, — their collected rays thrown into the 
hot-house, to try Archimedes' plan of burning- 
glasses ; and the honest old gardener was almost 
knocked down by what he mistook for a stroke of 
the sun, but which turned out to be nothing more 
than a sudden attack of one of these tremendous 
jack-o'-lanterns. It became dangerous to walk 
through the court-yard for fear of an explosion : and 
the whole family was thrown into absolute distress 
and consternation by a letter from the old house- 
keeper to Mrs. Cockloft ; informing her of his hav- 
ing blov\n up a favourite Chinese gander, which 1 
had brought from Canton, as he was majestically 
sailing in the duck-pond. 

" In the multitude of counsellors there is safety ; " 
— if so, the defenceless city of Gotham has nothing 
to apprehend ; — but much do I fear that so many 
excellent and infallible projects will be presented, 
that we shall be at a loss which to adopt ; and the 
peaceable inhabitants fare like a famous projector of 
my acquaintance, whose house was unfortunately 
plundered while he was contriving a patent lock to 
secure his door. 



FROM MY ELBOW-CH.\IR. 
A RETROSPECT; or, "WHAT YOU WILL.' 



Lolling in my elbow-chair this fine summer 
noon, I feel myself insensibly yielding to that genial 
feeling of indolence the season is so well fitted to in- 
spire. Every one who is blessed with a little of the 
delicious languor of disposition that delights in re- 
pose, must often have sported among the faery 
scenes, the golden visions, the voluptuous reveries, 
that swim before the imagination at such moments, 
and which so much resemble those blissful sensa- 
tions a Mussulman enjoys after his favourite indul- 
gence of opium, which Will Wizard declares can be 
compared to nothing but "swimming in an ocean 
of peacocks' feathers." In such a mood, every body 
must be sensible it would be idle and unprofitable for 
a man to send his wits a-gadding on a voyage of 
discovery into futurity; or even to trouble himself 
with a laborious investigation of what is actually 
passing under his eye. We are at such times more 
disposed to resort to the pleasures of memory than 
to those of the imagination ; and, like the wayfaring 
traveller, reclining for a moment on his staff, had 
rather contemplate the ground we have travelled, 
than the region which is yet before us. 

I could here amuse myself and stultify my read- 
ers with a most elaborate and ingenious parallel be- 
tween authors and travellers ; but in this balmy 
season which makes men stupid and dogs mad, and 
when doubtless many of our inost strenuous ad- 
mirers have great difficulty in keeping awake 
through the day, it would be cruel to saddle them 
with the formidable difficulty of putting two ideas 
together and drawing a conclusion ; or in the learn- 
ed phrase, forging sy./o^isms in Baroco :—a terrible 
undertaking for the dog days ! to say the truth, my 



observations were only intended to prove that this, 
of all others, is the most auspicious moment, and 
my present, the most favourable mood for indulging 
in a retrospect. Whether, like certain great person- 
ages of the day, in attempting to prove one thing, I 
have exposed another; or whether, like certain 
other great personages, in attempting to prove a 
great deal, I have proved nothing at all, I leave to 
my readers to decide ; provided they have the power 
and inclination so to do ; but a RETROSPECT will 1 
take notwithstanding. 

I am perfectly aware that in doing this I shall lay 
myself open to the charge of imitation, than which 
a man might be better accused of downright house- 
breaking ; for it has been a standing rule with many 
of my illustrious predecessors, occasionally, and par- 
ticularly at the conclusion of a volume, to look over 
their shoulder and chuckle at the miracles they had 
achieved. But as 1 before professed, I am deter- 
mined to hold myself entirely independent of all 
manner of opinions and criticisms as the only method 
of getting on in this world in any thing like a 
straight line. True it is, I may sometimes seem to 
angle a little for the good opinion of mankind by 
giving them some excellent reasons for doing unrea- 
sonable things ; but this is merely to show them, 
that although I may occasionally go wrong, it is not 
for want of knowing how to go right ; and here I 
will lay down a maxim, which will for ever entitle 
me to the gratitude of my inexperienced readers, 
namely, that a man always gets more credit in the 
eyes of this naughty world for sinning wilfully, than 
for sinning through sheer ignorance. 

It will doubtless be insisted by inany ingenious 
cavillers, who will be meddling with what does not 
at all concern them, that this retrospect should 
have been taken at the commencement of our sec- 
ond volume ; it is usual, I know : moreover, it ii 
natural. So soon as a writer has once accomplished 
a volume, he forthwith becomes wonderfully increas- 
ed in altitude ! he steps upon his book as upon a 
pedestal, and is elevated in proportion to its magni- 
tude. A duodecimo makes him one inch taller ; an 
octavo, three inches ; a quarto, six : — but he who has 
made out to swell a folio, looks down upon his fellow- 
creatures from such a fearful height that, ten to one, 
the poor man's head is turned for ever atterwards. 
From such a lofty situation, therefore, it is natural 
an author should cast his eves behind ; and having 
reached the first landing place on the stairs of im- 
mortality, may reasonably be allowed to plead his 
privilege to look back over the height he has ascend- 
ed. I have deviated a little from this venerable cus- 
tom, merely that our retrospect might fall in the dog 
days — of all days in the year most congenial to 
the indulgence of a little self-sufliciency ; inasmuch 
as people have then little to do but to retire within 
the sphere of self, and make the most of what they 
find there. 

Let it not be supposed, however, that we think 
ourselves a whit the wiser or better since we have 
finished our volume than we were before ; on the 
contrary, we seriously assure our readers that we 
were fully possessed of all the wisdom and morality 
it contains at the moment we commenced writing. 
It is the world which has grown wiser, — not us ; we 
have thrown our mite into the common stock of 
knowledge, we have shared our morsel with the ig- 
norant multitude ; and so far from elevating our- 
selves above the world, our sole endeavour has been 
to raise the world to our own level, and make it as 
wise as we, its disinterested benefactors. 

To a moral writer like myself, who, next to his 
own comfort and entertainment, has the good of his 
fellow-citizens at heart, a retrospect is but a sorry 



G96 



WORKS OF AVASHINGTON IRVING. 



amusement. Like the industrious husbandman, he 
often contemplates in silent disappointment his 
labours wasted on a barren soil, or the seed he has 
carefully sown, choked by a redundancy of worthless 
weeds. I expected long ere this to have seen a com- 
plete reformation in manners and morals, achieved 
by our united efforts. My fancy echoed to the ap- 
plauding voices of a retrieved generation ; I antici- 
pated, with proud satisfaction, the period, not far 
distant, when our work would be introduced into the 
academies with which every lane and alley of our 
cities abounds ; when our precepts would be gently 
inducted into every unlucky urchin by force of 
birch, and my iron-bound physiognomy, as taken by 
Will Wizard, be as notorious as that of Noah Web- 
ster, junr. Esq., or his no less renowned predecessor, 
the illustrious Dilworlh, of spelling-book immortality. 
But, well-a-day ! to let my readers into a profound 
secret — the expectations of man are like the varied 
hues that tinge the distant prospect ; never to be 
realized, never to be enjoyed but in perspective. 
Luckless Launcelot, that the humblest of the many 
air castles thou hast erected should prove a " base- 
less fabric ! " Much does it grieve me to confess, 
that after all our lectures, precepts, and excellent ad- 
monitions, the people of New-York are nearly as 
much given to backsliding and ill-nature as ever ; they 
are just as much abandoned to dancing, and tea- 
drinking ; and as to scandal, Will Wizard informs 
me that, by a rough computation, since the last 
cargo of gunpowder-tea from Canton, no less 
than eighteen characters have been blown up, be- 
sides a number of others that have been wofully 
shattered. 

The ladies still labour under the same scarcity of 
muslins, and delight in flesh-coloured silk stockings ; 
it is evident, however, that our advice has had very 
considerable effect on them, as they endeavour to 
act as opposite to it as possible ; this being what 
Evergreen calls female independence. As to the 
Straddles, they abound as much as ever in Broad- 
way, particularly on Sundays ; and Wizard roundly 
asserts that he supped in company with a knot of 
them a few evenings since, when they liquidated a 
whole Birmingham consignment, in a batch of im- 
perial champaign. I have, furthermore, in the course 
of a month past, detected no less than three Giblet 
families making their first onset towards style and 
gentility in the very manner we have heretofore 
reprobated. Nor have our utmost efforts been able 
to check the progress of that alarming epidemic, 
the rage for punning, which, though doubtless origi- 
nally intended merely to ornament and enliven con- 
versation by little sports of fancy, threatens to over- 
run and poison the whole, like the baneful ivy which 
destroys the useful plant it first embellished. Now 
I look upon an habitual punster as a depredator up- 
on conversation ; and I have remarked sometimes 
one of these offenders, sitting silent on the watch 
for an hour together, until some luckless wight, un- 
fortunately for the ease and quiet of the company, 
dropped a phrase susceptible of a double meaning ; 

— when pop, our punster would dart out like a 

veteran mouser from her covert, seize tlie unlucky 
word, and after worrying and mumbling at it 
until it was capable of no further marring, relapse 
again into silent watchfulness, and lie in wait for 
another opportunity. — Even this might be borne with, 
by the aid of a little philosophy ; but the worst of it 
is, they are not content to manufacture puns and 
laugh heartily at them themselves ; but they expect 
we should laugh with them ; — which I consider as 
an intolerable hardship, and a flagrant imposition on 
good-nature. Let those gentlemen fritter away con- 
versation with impunity, and deal out their wits in 



sixpenny bits if they please ; but I beg I may have 
the choice of refusing currency to their small change. 
I am seriously afraid, however, that our junto is not 
quite free from the infection ; nay, that it has even 
approached so near as to menace the tranquillity of 
my elbow-chair : for, Will Wizard, as we were in 
caucus the other night, absolutely electrified Pindar 
and myself with a most palpable and perplexing 
pun ; had it been a torpedo, it could not have more 
discomposed the fraternity. Sentence of banish- 
ment was unanimously decreed ; but on his confess- 
ing that, like many celebrated wits, he was merely 
retailing other men's wares on commission, he was 
for that once forgiven on condition of refraining from 
such diabolical practices in future. Pindar is par- 
ticularly outrageous against punsters ; and quite as- 
tonished and put me to a nonplus a day or two since, 
by asking abruptly " whether I thought a punster 
could be a good christian ? " He followed up his 
question triumphantly by offering to prove, by sound 
logic and historical fact, that the Roman empire 
owed its decline and fall to a pun ; and that nothing 
tended so much to demoralize the French nation, as 
their abominable rage (orjnt.v de mots. 

But what, above every thing else, has caused me 
much vexation of spirit, and displeased me most with 
this stiff-necked nation, is, that in spite of all the se- 
rious and profound censures of the sage Mustapha, 
in his various letters — ih^y will talk / — they will still 
wag their tongues, and chatter like very slang- 
whangers ! this is a degree of obstinacy incompre- 
hensible in the extreme ; and is another proof how 
alarming is the force of habit, and how difficult it is 
to reduce beings, accustomed to talk, to that state 
of silence which is the very acme of human wisdom. 

We can only account for these disappointments in 
our moderate and reasonable expectations, by sup- 
posing the world so deeply sunk in the mire of delin- 
quency, that not even Hercules, were he to put his 
shoulder to the axletree, would be able to extricate it. 
We comfort ourselves, however, by the reflection 
that there are at least three good men left in this de- 
generate age to benefit the world by example should 
precept ultimately fail. And borrowing, for once, an 
example from certain sleepy writers who, after the first 
emotions of surprise at finding their invaluable effu- 
sions neglected or despised, console themselves with 
the idea that 'tis a stupid age, and look forward to 
posterity for redress ; — we bequeath our first volume 
to future generations, — and much good may it do 
them. Heaven grant they may be able to read it ! 
for, if our fashionable mode of education continues 
to improve, as of late, I am under serious apprehen- 
sions that the period is not far distant when the dis- 
cipline of the dancing master will supersede that of 
the grammarian ; crotchets and quavers supplant the 
alphabet ; and the heels, by an antipodean manoeuvre, 
obtain entire pre-eminence over the head. How does 
my heart yearn for poor dear posterity, when this 
work shall become as unintelligible to our grand- 
children as it seems to be to their grandfathers and 
grandmothers. 

In fact, for I love to be candid, we begin to sus- 
pect that many people read our numbers, merely for 
their amusement, without paying any attention to 
the serious truths conveyed in every page. Unpar- 
donable want of penetration ! not that we wish to 
restrict our readers in the article of laughing, which 
we consider as one of the dearest prerogatives ot 
man, and the distinguishing characteristic which 
raises him above all other animals : let them laugh, 
therefore, if they will, provided they profit at the same 
time, and do not mistake our object. It is one of our 
indisputable facts that it is easier to laugh ten lollies 
out of countenance than to coax, reason, or flog a 



SALMAGUNDI. 



G97 



man out of one. In this odd, singular, and indescrib- 
able age, which is neither the age of gold, silver, iron, 
brass, chivalry, or fills, as Sir John Carr asserts, a 
grave writer who attempts to attack folly with the 
heavy artillery of moral reasoning, will fare like 
SmoUet's honest pedant, who clearly demonstrated 
by angles, &c., after the manner of Euclid, that it 
was wrong to do evil ; — and was laughed at for his 
pains. Take my word for it, a little well-applied 
ridicule, like Hannibal's application of vinegar to 
rocks, will do more with certain hard heads and ob- 
durate hearts, than all the logic or demonstrations 
in Longinus or Euclid. But the people of Gotham, 
wise souls ! are so much accustomed to see morality 
approach them clothed in formidable wigs and sable 
garbs, " with leaden eye that loves the ground," that 
they can never recognize her when, dre.st in gay at- 
tire, she comes trip])ing towards them with smiles 

and sunshine in her countenance. Well, let the 

rogues remain in happy ignorance, for " ignorance is 
bliss," as the poet says ;— and I put as implicit faith 

in poetry as I do in the almanac or the newspaper ; 

we will improve them, without their being the wiser 
for it, and they shall become better in spite of their 
teeth, and without their having the least suspicion 
of the reformation working within them. 

Among all our manifold grievances, however, still 
some small but vivid rays of sunshine occasionally 
brighten along our path ; cheering our steps, and in- 
viting us to persevere. 

The public have paid some little regard to a few 
articles of our advice ; — they have purchased our 
numbers freely ; — so much the better for our pub- 
lisher ; — they have read them attentively ; — so much 
the better for themselves. The melancholy fate of 
my dear aunt Charity has had a wonderful effect ; 
and I have now before me a letter from a gentleman 
who lives opposite to a couple of old ladies, remark- 
able for the interest they took in his affairs ; — his 
apartments were absolutely in a state of blockade, 
and he was on the point of changing his lodgings, or 
capitulating, until the appearance of our ninth num- 
ber, which he immediately sent over with his compli- 
ments ; — the good ladies took the hint, and have 
scarcely appeared at their window since. As to the 
wooden gentlemen, our friend Miss Sparkle assures 
me, they are wonderfully improved by our criticisms, 
and sometimes venture to make a remark, or attempt 
a pun in company, to the great edification of all who 
happen to understand them. As to red shawls, they 
are entirely discarded from the fair shoulders of our 
ladies — ever since the last importation of finery ; — 
nor has any lady, since the cold weather, ventured to 
expose her elbows to the admiring gaze of scrutiniz- 
ing passengers. But there is one victory we have 
achieved which has given us more pleasure than to 
have written down the whole administration : 1 am as- 
sured, from unquestionable authority, that our young 
ladies, doubtless in consequence of our weighty ad- 
monitions, have not once indulged in that intoxicat- 
ing, inflammatory," and whirligig dance, the waltz — 
ever since hot weather commenced. True it is, I 
understand, an attempt was made to exhibit it by 
some of the sable fair ones at the last African ball, 
but it was highly disapproved of by all the respecta- 
ble elderly ladies present. 

These are sweet sources of comfort to atone for 
the many wrongs and misrepresentations heaped 
upon us by the world ; — for even we have experi- 
enced its ill-nature. How often have we heard our- 
selves reproached for the insidious applications of 
the uncharitable ! — how often have we been accused 
of emotions wh\ch never found an entrance into our 
bosoms ! — how often have our sportive effusions been 
wrested to serve the purposes of particular enmity 



and bitterness ! Meddlesome spirits ! little do 

they know our disposition ; we " lack gall " to wound 
the feelings of a single innocent individual ; we can 
even forgive them, from the very bottom of our souls ; 
may they meet as ready a forgiveness from their own 
consciences ! like true and independent bachelors, 
having no domestic cares to interfere with our gen- 
eral benevolence, we consider it incumbent upon us 
to watch over the welfare of society ; and although 
we are indebted to the world for little else than left- 
handed favours, yet we feel a proud satisfaction in 
requiting evil with good, and the sneer of illiberality 
with the unfeigned smile of good humour. With 
these mingled motives of selfishness and philanthropy 
we commenced our work, and if we cannot solace 
ourselves with the consciousness of having done 
much good ! yet there is still one pleasing consola- 
tion left, which the world can neither give nor take 
away. There are moments, — lingering moments of 
listless indifference and heavy-hearted despondency, 
— when our best hopes and affections slipping, as 
they sometimes will, from their hold on those objects 
to which they usually cling for support, seem aban- 
doned on the wide waste of cheerless existence, with- 
out a place to cast anchor ; without a shore in view 
to excite a single wish, or to give a momentary inter- 
est to contemplation. We look back with delight 
upon many of these moments of mental gloom, whiled 
away by the cheerful exercise of our pen, and con- 
sider every such triumph over the spleen as retard- 
ing the furrowing hand of time in its insidious en- 
croachments on our brows. If, in addition to our 
own amusements, we have, as we jogged carelessly 
laughing along, brushed away one tear of dejection 
and called forth a smile in its place — if we have 
brightened the pale countenance of a single child of 
sorrow — we shall feel almost as much joy and re- 
joicing as a slang-whanger does when he bathes his 
pen in the heart's blood of a patron and benefactor ; 
or sacrifices one more illustrious victim on the altar 
of party animosity. 



TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 

It is our misfortune to be frequently pestered, in 
our peregrinations about this blessed city, by certain 
critical gad-flies ; who buzz around and merely attack 
the skin, without ever being able to penetrate the 
body. The reputation of our promising protege, 
Jeremy Cockloft the younger, has been assailed by 
these skin-deep critics ; they have questioned his 
claims to originality, and even hinted that the ideas 
for his New-Jersey Tour were borrowed from a late 
work entitled " My Pocket-book." As there is no 
literary offence more despicable in the eyes of the 
trio than borrowing, we immediately called Jeremy 
to an account : when he proved, by the dedication 
of the work in question, that it was first published in 
London in March, 1807 — and that his "Stranger in 
New-Jersey " had made its appearance on the 24th 
of the preceding February. 

We were on the point of acquitting Jeremy with 
honour on the ground that it was impossible, know- 
ing as he is, to borrow from a foreign work one 
month before it was in existence ; when Will Wizard 
suddenly took up the cudgels for the critics, and in- 
sisted that nothing was more probable ; for he recol- 
lected reading of an ingenious Dutch author who 
plainly convicted the ancients of stealing from his 
labours ! So much for criticism. 



We have received a host of friendly and admoni- 
tory letters from different quarters, and among the 



698 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



rest a very loving epistle from Ceorge-tovvii, Colum- 
bia, signed Teddy M'Gundy, who addresses us by 
the name of Saul M'Gundy, and insists that we are 
descended irom the same Irish progenitors, and 
nearly related. As friend Teddy seems to be an 
honest, merry rogue, we are sorry that we cannot 
admit his claims to ki'idred ; we thank him, how- 
ever, for his good-will, and should he ever lie inclined 
to favour us with another epistle, we will hint to him, 
and, at the same time, to our other numerous cor- 
respondents, that their communications will be in- 
finitely more acceptable, if they will just recollect Tom 
Shuffleton's advice, "pay the post-boy. Muggins." 



No. XIV.— SATURDAY, SEPT. 19, 1S07. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

TO ASEM HACCIIEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER TO 
HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 



Health and joy to the friend of my heart ! — May 
the angel of peace ever watch over thy dwelling, and 
the star of prosperity shed its benignant lustre on all 
thy undertakings. Far other is the lot of thy captive 
friend ; — his brightest hopes extend but to a length- 
ened period of weary captivity, and memory only 
adds to the measure of his griefs, by holding up a 
mirror which rellects with redoubled charms the 
hours of past felicity. In midnight slumbers my soul 
holds sweet converse with the tender objects of its 
affections ; — it is then the exile is restored to his 
country ; — it is then the wide waste of waters that 
rolls between us disappears, and I clasp to my bosom 
the companion of my youth; I awake and find it is 
but a vision of the night. The sigh will rise, — the 
tear of dejection will steal down my cheek : — I fly to 
my pen, and strive to forget myself, and my sorrows, 
in conversing with my friend. 

In such a situation, my good Asem, it cannot be 
expected that I should be able so wholly to abstract 
myself from my own feelings, as to give thee a full 
and systematic account of the singular people among 
whom my disastrous lot has been cast. I can only 
find leisure, from my own individual sorrows, to 
•entertain thee occasionally with some of the most 
prominent features of their character ; and now and 
then a solitary picture of their most preposterous ec- 
centricities. 

I have before observed, that among the distinguish- 
ing characteristics of the people of this logocracy, is 
their invincible love of talking ; and, that I could 
compare the nation to nothing but a mighty wind- 
mill. Thou art doubtless at a loss to conceive how 
this mill is supplied with grist ; or, in other words, 
how it is possible to furnish subjects to supply the 
perpetual motion of so many tongues. 

The genius of the nation appears in its highest 
lustre in this particular in the discovery, or rather 
the application, of a subject which seems to supply 
an inexhaustible mine of words. It is nothing more, 
my friend, than politics ; a word which, I declare 
to thee, has perplexed me almost as much as the re- 
doubtable one of economy. On consulting a diction- 
ary of this language, I found it denoted the science 
of government ; and the relations, situations, and 
dispositions of states and empires. — Good, thought I, 
for a people who boast of governing themselves 
there could not be a more important subject of in- 
v-estigation. I therefore listened attentively, ex- 



pecting to hear from " the most enlightened people 
under the sun," for so they modestly term them- 
selves, sublime disputations on the science of legisla- 
tion and precepts of political wisdom that would not 
have disgraced our great prophet and legislator him- 
self! — but, alas, Asem ! how continually are my ex- 
pectations disappointed ! how dignified a meaning 
does this word bear in the dictionary ; — how des- 
picable its common application ; I find it extending 
to every contetnptible discussion of local animosity, 
and every petty altercation of insignificant individu- 
als. It embraces, alike, all manner of concerns; 
from the organization of a divan, the election of a 
bashaw, or the levying of an army, to the appoint- 
ment of a constable, the personal disputes of two 
miserable slang-whangers, the cleaning of the streets, 
or the economy of a dirt-cart. A couple of politicians 
will quarrel, with the most vociferous pertinacity, 
about the character of a bum-bailiff whom nobody 
cares for; or the deportment of a little great man 
whom nobody knows ; — and this is called talking 
politics ; nay ! it is but a few days since that I was 
annoyed by a debate between two of my fellow- 
lodgers, who were magnanimously employed in con- 
demning a luckless wight to infamy, because he chose 
to wear a red coat, and to entertain certain erroneous 
opinions some thirty years ago. Shocked at their il- 
liberal and vindictive spirit, I rebuked them for thus 
indulging in slander and uncharitableness, about the 
colour of a coat ; which had doubtless for many years 
been worn out ; or the belief in errors, which, in all 
probability, had been long since atoned for and 
abandoned ; but they justified themselves by alleg- 
ing that they were only engaged in politics, and ex- 
erting that liberty of speech, and freedom of discus- 
sion, which was the glory and safeguard of their 
national independence. " Oh, Mahomet ! " thought 
I, " vvhat a country must that be, which builds its 
political safety on ruined characters and the perse- 
cution of individuals ! " 

Into what transports of surprise and incredulity 
am I continually betrayed, as the character of this 
eccentric people gradually developes itself to my ob- 
servations. Every new research increases the per- 
plexities in which I am involved, and I am more than 
ever at a loss where to place them in the scale of my 
estimation. It is thus the philosopher, in pursuing 
truth through the labyrinth of doubt, error, and mis- 
representation, frequently finds himself bewildered in 
the mazes of contradictory experience ; and almost 
wishes he could quietly retrace his wandering steps, 
steal back into the path of honest ignorance, and jog 
on once more in contented indifference. 

How fertile in these contradictions is this extensive 
logocracy ! Men of different nations, manners, and 
languages live in this country in the most perfect 
harmony ; and nothing is more common than to see 
individuals, whose respective governments are at va- 
riance, taking each other by the hand and exchang- 
ing the offices of friendship. Nay, even on the sub- 
ject of religion, which, as it affects our dearest inter- 
ests, our earliest opinions and prejudices, some 
warmth and heart-burnings might be excused, which, 
even in our enlightened country, is so fruitful in dif- 
ference between man and man ! — even religion occa- 
sions no dissension among these people ; and it has 
even been discovered by one of their sages that be- 
lieving in one God or twenty Gods " neither breaks 
a inan's leg nor picks his pocket." The idolatrous 
Persian may here bow down before his everlasting 
fire, and prostrate himself towards the g;lowing east. 
The Chinese may adore his Fo, or his Josh ; the 
Egyptian his stork ; and the Mussulman practise, 
unmolested, the divine precepts of our immortal 
prophet. Nay, even the forlorn, abandoned Atheist, 



SALMAGUNDI. 



699 



who lays down at night without committing himself 
to the protection of heaven, and rises in the morning 
without returning thanks for his safety ;— wlio hath 
no deity but his own will ; — whose soul, like the 
sandy desert, is barren of every flower of hope to 
throw a solitary bloom over the dead level of sterility 
and soften the wide extent of desolation ; — whose 
darkened views extend not beyond the horizon that 
bounds his cheerless existence ; — to whom no blissful 
perspective opens beyond the grave ; — even he is 
suffered to indulge in his desperate opinions, with- 
out exciting one other emotion than pity or contempt. 
But this mild and tolerating spirit reaches not be- 
yond the pale of religion : — once differ in politics, in 
mere theories, visions, and chimeras, the growtli of 
interest, of folly, or madness, and deadly warfare 
ensues ; every eye flashes fire, every tongue is loaded 
with reproach, and every heart is filled with gall and 
bitterness. 

At this period several unjustifiable and serious in- 
juries on the part of the barbarians of the British 
island, have given a new impulse to the tongue and 
the pen, and occasioned a terrible wordy fever. — Do 
not suppose, my friend, that 1 mean to condemn any 
proper and dignified expression of resentment for 
injuries. On the contrary, I love to see a word be- 
fore a blow ; for " in the fulness of the heart the 
tongue moveth." But my long experience has con- 
vinced me that people who talk the most about tak- 
ing satisfaction for affronts, generally content them- 
selves with talking instead of revenging the insult : 
like the street women of this country, who, after a 
prodigious scolding, quietly sit down and fan them- 
selves cool as fast as possible. But to return : — the 
rage for talking has now, in consequence of the ag- 
gressions I alluded to, increased to a degree far be- 
yond what I have observed heretofore. In the gar- 
dens of his highness of Tripoli are fifteen thousand 
bee-hives, three hundred peacocks, and a prodigious 
number of parrots and baboons ; — and yet I declare 
to thee, Asem, that their buzzing, and squalling, and 
chattering is nothing compared to the v.ild uproar 
and war of words now raging within the bosom of 
this mighty and distracted logocracy. Politics per- 
vade every city, every village, every temple, every 
porter-house ; — the universal question is, " what is 
the news ? " — This is a kind of challenge to political 
debate ; and as no two men think exactly alike, 'tis 
ten to one but before they finish all the polite phrases 
in the language are exhausted by way of giving fire 
and energy to argument. What renders this talking 
fever more alarming, is that the people appear to be 
in the unhappy state of a patient whose palate nau- 
seates the medicine best calculated for the cure of 
his disease, and seem anxious to continue in the full 
enjoyment of their chattering epidemic. They alarm 
each other by direful reports and fearful apprehen- 
sions ; like I have seen a knot of old wives in this 
country entertain themselves with stories of ghosts 
and goblins until their imaginations were in a most 
agonizing panic. Every day begets some new tale, 
big with agitation ; ancl the busy goddess, rumour, 
to speak in the poetic language of the Christians, is 
constantly in motion. She mounts her rattling stage- 
wagon and gallops about the country, freighted with 
a load of" hints," "informations," "extracts of letters 
from respectable gentlemen," " observations of re- 
spectable correspondents," and " unquestionable au- 
thorities ;" — which her high-priests, the slang whang- 
ers, retail to their sapient followers with all the so- 
lemnity — and all the authenticity of oracles. True 
it is, the unfortunate slang-whangers are sometimes 
at a loss for food to supply this insatiable appetite 
for intelligence ; and are, not unfrequently, reduced 
to the necessity of manufacturing dishes suited to 



the taste of the times : to be served up as morning 
and evening repasts to their disciples. 

When the hungry politician is thus full charged 
with important information, he sallies forth to give 
due exercise to his tongue ; and tells all he knows to 
every body he meets. Now it is a thousand to one 
that every person he meets is just as wise as himself, 
charged with the same articles of information, and 
possessed of the same violent inclination to give it 
vent; for in this country every man adopts some 
particular slang-whanger as the standard of his judg- 
ment, and reads every thing he writes, if he reads 
nothing else ; which is doubtless the reason why the 
people of this logocracy are so marvelously enlight- 
ened. So away they tilt at each other with their 
borrowed lances, advancmg to the combat with the 
opinions and speculations of their respective slang- 
whangers, which in all probability are diametrically 
opposite : — here, then, arises as fair an opportunity 
for a battle of words as heart could wish ; and thou 
mayest rely upon it, Asem, they do not let it pass 
unmiproved. They sometimes begin with argument ; 
but in process of time, as the tongue begins to wax 
wanton, other auxiliaries become necessary ; recrim- 
ination commences ; reproach follows close at its 
heels ; — from political abuse they proceed to per- 
sonal ; and thus often is a friendship of years tram- 
pled down by this contemptible enemy, this gigantic 
dwarf of politics, the mongrel issue of grovelling 
ambition and aspiring ignorance ! 

There would be but little harm indeed in all this, 
if it ended merely in a broken head ; for this might 
soon be healed, and the scar, if any remained, might 
serve as a warning ever after against the indulgence 

of political intemperance; at the worst, the loss 

of such heads as these would be a gain to the na- 
tion. But the evil extends far deeper ; it threatens 
to impair all social intercourse, and even to sever 
the sacred union of family and kindred. The con- 
vivial table is disturbed ; the cheerful fireside is in- 
vaded ; the smile of social hilarity is chased away : — 
the bond of social love is broken by the everlasting 
intrusion of this fiend of contention, who lurks in the 
sparkhng bowl, crouches by the fireside, growls in 
the friendly circle, infests every avenue to pleasure ; 
and, like the scowling incubus, sits on the bosom of 
society, pressing down and smothering every throb 
and pulsation of liberal philanthropy. 

But thou wilt perhaps ask, "What can these peo- 
ple dispute about ? one would suppose that being all 
free and equal, they would harmonize as brothers ; 
children of the same parent, and equal heirs of the 
same inheritance." This theory is most exquisite, 
my good friend, but in practice it turns out the very 
dream of a madman. Equality, Asem, is one of the 
most consummate scoundrels that ever crept from 
the brain of a political juggler — a fellow who 
thrusts his hand into the pocket of honest industry, 
or enterprising talent, and squanders their hard- 
earned profits on profligate idleness or indolent stu- 
pidity. There will always be an inequality among 
mankind so long as a portion of it is enlightened and 
industrious, and the rest idle and ignorant. The one 
will acquire a larger share of wealth, and its attend- 
ant comforts, refinements, and luxuries of life ; and 
the influence, and power, which those will always" 
possess who have the greatest ability of administer- 
ing to the necessities of their fellow-creatures. 
These advantages will inevitably excite envy ; and 
envy as inevitably begets ill-will : — hence arises that 
eternal warfare, which the lower orders of society 
are waging against those who have raised themselves 
by their own merits, or have been raised by tlie mer- 
its of their ancestors, above the common level. In 
a nation possessed of quick feelings and impetuous 



700 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



passions, the hostility might engender deadly broils 
and bloody commotions ; but here it merely vents 
itself in high-sounding words, which lead to contin- 
ual breaches of decorum ; or in the insidious assas- 
sination of character, and a restless propensity among 
the base to blacken every reputation which is fairer 
than their own. 

I cannot help smiling sometimes to see the solici- 
tude with which the people of America, so called 
from the country having been first discovered by 
Christopher Columbus, battle about them when any 
election tal<es place ; as if they had the least con- 
cern in the matter, or were to be benefited by an ex- 
change of bashaws ; — they really seem ignorant that 
none but the bashaws and their dependants are at 
all interested in the event ; and that the people at 
large will not find their situation altered in the least. 
I formerly gave thee an account of an election which 
took place under my eye. — The result has been that 
the people, as some of the slang-whangers say, have 
obtained a glorious triumph ; which, however, is 
flatly denied by the opposite slang-whangers, who 
insist that their party is composed of the true sover- 
eign people ; and that the others are all jacobins. 
Frenchmen, and Irish rebels. I ought to apprise 
thee that the last is a term of great reproach here ; 
which, perhaps, thou wouldst not otherwise imagine, 
considering that it is not many years since this very 
people were engaged in a revolution ; the failure of 
which would have subjected them to the same igno- 
minious epithet, aijd a particijiation in which is now 
the highest recommendation to public confidence. 
By Mahomet, but it cannot be denied, that the con- 
sistency of this people, like every thing else apper- 
taining to them, is on a prodigious great scale ! To 
return, however, to the event of the election. — The 
people triumphed ; and much good has it done them. 
I, for my part, expected to see wonderful changes, 
and most magical metamorphoses. 1 expected to 
see the people all rich, that they would be all gentle- 
men bashaws, riding in their coaches, and faring 
sumptuously every day ; emancipated from toil, and 
revelling in luxurious ease. Wilt thou credit me, 
Asem, when I declare to thee that every thing re- 
mains exactly in the same state it was before the last 
wordy campaign ? — except a few noisy retainers, who 
have crept into office, and a few noisy patriots, on 
the other side, who have been kicked out, there is 
not the least difference. The labourer toils for his 
daily support ; the beggar still lives on the charity 
of those who have any charity to bestow ; and the 
only solid satisfaction the multitude have reaped is, 
that they have got a new governor, or bashaw, whom 
they will praise, idolize, and exalt for a while ; and 
afterwards, notwithstanding the sterling merits he 
really possesses, in compliance with immemorial cus- 
tom, they will abuse, calumniate, and trample him 
under foot. 

Such, my dear Asem, is the way in which the 
wise people of " the most enlightened country under 
the sun " are amused with straws and puffed up 
with mighty conceits ; like a certain fish I have 
seen here, which, having his belly tickled for a short 
time, will swell and puff himself up to twice his usual 
size, and become a mere bladder of wind and vanity. 

The blessing of a true Mussulman light on thee, 
good Asem ; ever while thou livest be true to thy 
prophet ; and rejoice, that, though the boasting po- 
litical chatterers of this logocracy cast upon thy 
countrymen the ignominious epithet of slaves, thou 
livest in a country where the people, instead of being 
at the mercy of a tyrant with a million of heads, 
have nothing to do but submit to the will of a ba- 
shaw of only three tails. 

Ever thine, MuSTAPHA. 



COCKLOFT HALL. 

BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



Those who pass their time immured in the smoky 
circumference of the city, amid the rattling of carts, 
the brawling of the multitude, and the variety of un- 
meaning and discordant sounds that prey insensibly 
upon the nerves and beget a weariness of the spirits, 
can alone understand and feel that expansion of the 
heart, that physical renovation which a citizen expe- 
riences when he steals forth from his dusty prison to 
breathe the free air of heaven and enjoy the clear 
face of nature. Who that has rambled by the side 
of one of our majestic rivers at the hour of sunset, 
when the wildly romantic scenery around is softened 
and tinted by the voluptuous mist of evening ; when 
the bold and swelling outlines of the distant mount- 
ain seem melting into the glowing horizon and a rich 
mantle of refulgence is thrown over the whole ex- 
panse of the heavens, but must have felt how abun- 
dant is nature in sources of pure enjoyment ; how 
luxuriant in all that can enliven the senses or delight 
the imagination. The jocund zephyr, full freighted 
with native fragrance, sues sweetly to the senses ; 
the chirping of the thousand varieties of insects with 
which our woodlands abound, forms a concert of 
simple melody ; even the barking of the farm dog, 
the lowing of the cattle, the tinkling of their bells, 
and the strokes of the woodman's axe from the op- 
posite shore, seem to partake of the softness of the 
scene and fall tunefully upon the ear ; while the voice 
of the villager, chanting some rustic ballad, swells 
from a distance in the semblance of the very music 
of harmonious love. 

At such time I feel a sensation of sweet tranquil- 
lity ; a hallowed calm is diffused over my senses ; I 
cast my eyes around, and every object is serene, sim- 
ple, and beautiful ; no warring passion, no discordant 
string there vibrates to the touch cf ambition, self- 
interest, hatred, or revenge ; — I am at peace with 
the whole world, and hail all mankind as friends and 
brothers. — Blissful moments ! ye recall the careless 
days of my boyhood, when mere existence was hap- 
piness, when hope was certainty, this world a para- 
dise, and every woman a ministering angel ! — surely 
man was designed for a tenant of the universe, in- 
stead of being pent up in these dismal cages, these 
dens of strife, disease, and discord. We were crea- 
ted to range the fields, to sport among the groves, 
to build castles in the air, and have every one of 
them realized ! 

A whole legion of reflections like these insinuated 
themselves into my mind, and stole me from the in- 
fluence of the cold realities before me, as I took my 
accustomed walk, a few weeks since, on the batteiy. 
Here watching the splendid mutations of one of our 
summer skies, which emulated the boasted glories 
of an Italian sun-set, I all at once discovered that it 
was but pack up my portmanteau, bid adieu for 
awhile to my elbow-chair, and in a little time I 
should be transported from the region of smoke, and 
noise, and dust, to the enjoyment of a far sweeter 
prospect and a brighter sky. The next morning I 
was off full tilt to Cockloft-Hall, leaving my man 
Pompey to follow at his leisure with my baggage. 
I love to indulge in rapid transitions, which are 
prompted by the quick impulse of the moment ; — 
'tis the only mode of guarding against that intruding 
and deadly foe to all parties of pleasure, — anticipa- 
tion. 

Having now made good my retreat, until the 
black frosts commence, it is but a piece of civility 
due to my readers, who I trust are, ere this, my 



SALMAGUNDI. 



701 



friends, to give them a proper introduction to my 
.present residence. I do this as much to gratify 
them as myself: well knowing a reader is always 
anxious to learn how his author is lodged, whether 
in a garret, a cellar, a hovel, or a palace ; at least an 
author is generally vain enough to think so ; and an 
author's vanity ought sometimes to be gratified ; 
poor vagabond ! it is often the only gratification he 
eves tastes in this world ! 

Cock LOFT-HALL is the country residence of the 
family, or rather the paternal mansion ; which, like 
the mother country, sends forth whole colonies to 
populate the face of the earth. Pindar whimsically 
denominates it the family hive ! and there is at least 
as much truth as humour in my cousin's epithet; — 
for many a redundant swarm has it produced. I 
don't recollect whether I have at any time mention- 
ed to my readers, for I seldom look back on what I 
have written, that the fertility of the Cocklofts is 
proverbial. The female members of the family are 
most incredibly fruitful ; and to use a favourite phrase 
of old Cockloft, who is excessively addicted to back- 
gammon, they seldom fail " to throw doublets every 
time." I myself have known three or four very in- 
dustrious young men reduced to great extremities, 
with some of these capital breeders ; heaven smiled 
upon their union, and enriched them with a numer- 
ous and hopeful offspring — who eat them out of 
doors. 

Hut to return to the hall. — It is pleasantly situated 
on the bank of a sweet pastoral stream : not so near 
town as to invite an inundation of unmeaning, idle 
acquaintance, who come to lounge away an after- 
noon, nor so distant as to render it an absolute deed 
of charitv or friendship to perform the journey. It 
is one of the oldest habitations in the country, and 
was built by my cousin Christopher's grandfather, 
who was also mine by the mother's side, in his latter 
days, to form, as the old gentleman expressed him- 
self " a snug retreat, where he meant to sit himself 
down in his old days and be comfortable for the rest 
of his life." He was at this time a few years over 
four score : but this was a common saying of his, 
with which he usually closed his airy speculations. 
One would have thought, from the long vista of 
years through which he contemplated many of his 
projects, that the good man had forgot the age of 
the patriarchs had long since gone by, and calculated 
upon living a century longer at least. He was for a 
considerable time in doubt on the question of roof- 
ing his house with shingles or slate : — shingles would 
not last above thirty years ! but then they were much 
cheaper than slates. He settled the matter by a 
kind of compromise, and determined to build with 
shingles first ; "and when they are worn out," said 
the old gentleman, triumphantly, " 'twill be time 
enough to replace them with more durable mate- 
rials ! " But his contemplated improvements sur- 
passed every thing ; and scarcely had he a roof over 
his head, when he discovered a thousand things to 
be arranged before he could " sit down comfortably." 
In the first place, everv tree and bush on the place 
was cut down or grubbed up by the roots, because 
they were not placed to his mind ; and a vast quan- 
tity of oaks, chestnuts, and elms, set out in clumps 
and rows, and labyrinths, which he observed in 
about five-and-twenty or thirty years at most, would 
yield a very tolerable shade, and, moreover, shut out 
all the surrounding country ; for he was determined, 
he said, to have all his views on his own land, and 
be beholden to no man for a prospect. This, my 
learned readers will perceive, was something very 
like the idea of Lorenzo de Medici, who gave as a 
reason for preferring one of his seats above all the 
others, " that all the ground within view of it was 



his own :" now, whether my grandfather ever heard 
of the Medici, is more than I can say ; I rather 
think, however, from the characteristic originality of 
the Cocklofts, that it was a whim-wham of his own 
begetting. Another odd notion of the old gentle- 
man was to blow up a large bed of rocks, for the 
purpose of having a fish-pond, although the river 
ran at about one hundred yards distance from the 
house, and was well stored with fish ; — but there was 
nothing, he said, like having things to one's-self 
So at it he went with all the ardour of a projector 
who has just hit upon some splendid and useless 
whim-wham. As he proceeded, his views enlarged ; 
he would have a summer-house built on the margin 
of the fish-pond ; he would have it surrounded with 
elms and willows ; and he would have a cellar dug 
under it, for some incomprehensible purpose, which 
remains a secret to this day. " In a few years," he 
observed, "it would be a delightful piece of wood 
and water, where he might ramble on a summer's 
noon, smoke his pipe, and enjoy himself in his old 
days : " — thrice honest old soul ! — he died of an ap- 
oplexy in his ninetieth year, just as he had begun to 
blow up the fish-pond. 

Let no one ridicule the whim-whams of my grand- 
father. -If — and of this there is no doubt, for wise 

men have said it — if life is but a dream, happy is he 
who can make the most of the illusion. 

Since my grandfather's death, the hall has passed 
through the hands of a succession of true old cava- 
liers, like himself who gloried in observing the gold- 
en rules of hospitality ; which, according to the 
Cockloft principle, consist in giving a guest the free- 
dom of the house, cramming him with beef and 
pudding, and, if possible, laying him under the table 
with prime port, claret, or London particular. The 
mansion appears to have been consecrated to the 
jolly god, and teems with monuments sacred to con- 
viviality. Every chest of drawers, clothes-press, 
and cabinet, is decorated with enormous China 
punch-bowls, which Mrs. Cockloft has paraded with 
much ostentation, particularly in her lavourite red 
damask bed-chamber, and in which a projector might, 
with great satisfaction, practise his experiments on 
fleets, diving-bells, and sub-marine boats. 

I have before mentioned cousin Christopher's pro- 
found veneration for antique furniture ; in conse- 
quence of which the old hall is furnished in much 
the same style with the house in town. Old-fashion- 
ed bedsteads, with high testers ; massy clothes- 
presses, standing most majestically on eagles' claws, 
and ornamented with a profusion of shining brass 
handles, clasps, and hinges ; and around the grand 
parlour are solemnly arranged a set of high-backed, 
leather-bottomed, massy, mahogany chairs, that al- 
ways remind me of the formal long-waisted belles, 
who flourished in stays and buckram, about the time 
they were in fashion. 

If 1 may judge from their height, it was not the 
fashion fur gentlemen in those days to loll over the 
back of a lady's chair, and wdiisper in her ear what 
— might be as well spoken aloud ; — at least, they 
must have been Patagonians to have effected it. 
Will Wizard declares that he saw a little fat German 
gallant attempt once to whisper Miss Barbara Cock- 
loft in this manner, but being unluckily caught by the 
chin, he dangled and kicked about for half a minute, 
before he could find terra firma ; — but Will is much 
addicted to hyperbole, by reason of his having been 
a great traveller. 

But what the Cocklofts most especially pride them- 
selves upon, is the possession of several family por- 
traits, which exhibit as honest a square set of portly, 
well-fed looking gentlemen, and gentlewomen, as 
ever grew and flourished under the pencil of a Dutch 



702 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



painter. Old Christopher, who is a complete geneal- 
ogist, has a story to tell of each ; and dilates with 
copious eloquence on the great services of the gen- 
eral in large sleeves, during the old French war ; 
and on the piety of the lady in blue velvet, who so 
attentively peruses her book, and was once so cele- 
brated for a beautiful arm : but much as I reverence 
my illustrious ancestors, I find little to admire in 
their biography, except my cousin's excellent mem- 
ory ; which is most provokingly retentive of every 
uninteresting particular. 

My allotted chamber in the hall is the same that 
was occupied in days of yore by my honoured uncle 
John. The room exhibits many memorials which 
recall to my remembrance the solid excellence and 
amiable eccentricilies of that gallant old lad. Over 
the mantel-piece hangs the portrait of a young lady 
dressed in a flaring, long-waisted, blue-silk gown ; 
be-flowered, and bc-furbelowed, and be-cuffed, in a 
most abundant manner ; she holds in one hand a 
book, which she very complaisantly neglects to turn 
and smile on the spectator ; in the other a flower, 
which I hope, for the honour of dame nature, was 
the sole production of the painter's imagination ; and 
a little behind her is something tied to a blue riband, 
but whether a little dog, a monkey, or a pigeon, must 
be left to the judgment of future commentators. This 
little damsel, tradition says, was my uncle John's third 
flame ; and he would infallibly have run away with 
her, could he have persuaded her into the measure ; 
but at that time ladies were not quite so easily run 
away with as Columbine ; and my uncle, failing in 
the point, took a lucky thought ; and with great gal- 
lantry run off with her picture, which he conveyed in 
triumph to Cockloft-hall, and hung up in his bed- 
chamber as a monument of his enterprising spirit. 
The old gentleman prided himself mightily on this 
chivalric manceuvre ; always chuckled, and pulled 
up his stock when he contemplated the picture, and 
never related the exploit without winding up with — 
" I might, indeed, have carried off the original, had 
I chose to dangle a little longer after her chariot- 
wheels ; — for, to do the girl justice, I believe she had 
a liking for me ; but I always scorned to coax, my 
boy, — always, — 'twas my way." My uncle John was 
of a happy temperament ; — I would give half I am 
worth for his talent at self-consolation. 

The Miss Cocklofts have made several spirited at- 
tempts to introduce modern furniture into the hall ; 
but with very indifferent success. Modern style has 
always been an object of great annoyance to honest 
Christopher ; and is ever treated by him with sover- 
eign contempt, as an upstart intruder. — It is a com- 
mon observation of his, that your old-fashioned sub- 
stantial furniture bespeaks the respectability of one's 
ancestors, and indicates that the family has been 
used to hold up its head for more than the present 
generation ; whereas the fragile appendages of mod- 
ern style seemed to be emblems of mushroom gen- 
tility ; and, to his mind, predicted that the family 
dignity would moulder away and vanish with the 
finery thus put on of a sudden. — The same whim- 
wham makes him averse to having his house sur- 
rounded with poplars ; which he stigmatizes as mere 
upstarts ; just fit to ornament the shingle palaces of 
modern gentry, and characteristic of the establish- 
ments they decorate. Indeed, so far does he carry 
his veneration for all the antique trumpePi', that he 
can scarcely see the venerable dust brushed from its 
resting place on the old-fashioned testers ; or a gray- 
bearded spider dislodged from his ancient inherit- 
ance without groaning ; and I once saw him in a 
transport of passion on Jeremy's knocking down a 
mouldering martin-coop with his tennis-ball, which 
had been set up in the latter davs of my grandfather. 



Another object of his peculiar afTection is an old 
English cherry tree, which leans against a corner of 
the hall ; and whether the house supports it, or it 
supports the house, would be, I believe, a question 
of some difficulty to decide. It is held sacred by 
friend Christopher because he planted and reared it 
himself, and had once well-nigh broke his neck by a 
fall from one of its branches. This is one of his 
favourite stories : — and there is reason to believe, 
that if the tree was out of the way, the old gentle- 
man would forget the whole affair; — which would 
be a great pity. — The old tree has long since ceased 
bearing, and is exceedingly infirm ; — every tempest 
robs it of a limb ; and one would suppose from the 
lamentations of my old friend, on such occasions, 
that he had lost one of his own. He often con- 
templates it in a half-melancholy, half-moralizing 
humour — " together," he says, " have we flourished, 
and together shall we wither away : — a few years, 
and both our heads will be laid low ; and, perhaps, 
my mouldering bones may, one day or other, mingle 
with the dust of the tree I have planted." He often 
fancies, he says, that it rejoices to see him when he 
revisits the hall ; and that its leaves assume a bright- 
er verdure, as if to welcome his arrival. How whim- 
sically are our tenderest feelings assailed ! At one 
time the old tree had obtruded a withered branch 
before Miss Barbara's window, and she desired her 
father to order the gardener to saw it off. I shall 
never forget the old man's answer, and the look that 
accompanied it. "What," cried he, "lop off the 
limbs of my cherry tree in its old age ? — why do 
you not cut off the gray locks of your poor old fa- 
ther.' " 

Do my readers yawn at this long family detail .' 
They are welcome to throw down our work, and 
never resume it again. I have no care for such un- 
gratified spirits, and will not throw away a thought 
on one of them ; — full often have I contributed to 
their amusement, and have I not a right, for once, to 
consult my own ? Who is there that does not fondly 
turn, at times, to Imger round those scenes which 
were once the haunt of his boyhood, ere his heart 
grew heavy and his head waxed gray ; — and to dwell 
with fond affection on the friends who have twined 

themselves round his heart, mingled in all his 

enjoyments, contributed to all his felicities? If 

there be any who cannot relish these enjoyments, 
let them despair ; — for they have been so soiled in 
their intercourse with the world, as to be incapable 
of tasting some o( the purest pleasures that sun'ive 
the happy period of youth. 

To such as have not yet lost the rural feeling, I 
address this simple family picture : and in the honest 
sincerity of a warm heart, I invite them to turn aside 
from bustle, care, and toil, to tarry with me for a 
season, in the hospitable mansion of the Cocklofts. 



I WAS reallv apprehensive, on reading the follow- 
ing effusion of Will Wizard, that he still retained that 
pestilent hankering after puns of which we lately 
convicted him. He, however, declares, that he is 
fully authorized by the example of the most popular 
critics and wits of the present age, whose manner 
and matter he has closely, and he flatters himself 
successfully, copied in the subsequent essay. 



THEATRICAL INTELLIGENCE. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

The uncommon healthiness of the season, occa- 
sioned, as several learned physicians assure me, by 



SALMAGUNDI. 



703 



the universal prevalence of the influenza, has en- 
couraged the chieftain of our dramatic corps to 
marshal his forces, and to commence the campaign 
at a much earlier day than usual. He has been in- 
duced to take the field thus suddenly, I am told, by 
the invasion of certain foreign marauders, who pitched 
-their tents at Vauxhall-Garden during the warm 
months ; and taking advantage of his army being dis- 
banded and dispersed in summer quarters, committed 
sad depredations upon the borders of his territories : 
■ — carrying off a considerable portion of his winter 
harvest, and murdering some of his most distinguished 
characters. 

It is true, these hardy invaders have been reduced 
to great extremity by the late heavy rains, which in- 
jured and destroyed much of their camp-equipage ; 
besides spoiling the best part of their wardrobe. Two 
cities, a triumphal car, and a new moon for Cinde- 
rella, together with the barber's boy who was em- 
ployed every night to powder and make it shine 
white, have been entirely washed away, and the sea 
has become very wet and mouldy ; insomuch that 
great apprehensions are entertained that it will never 
be dry enough for use. Add to this the noble county 
Paris had the misfortune to tear his corduroy breeches, 
in the scuffle with Romeo, by reason of the tomb 
being very wet, which occasioned him to slip: and 
he and his nob'e rival possessing but one poor pair 
of satin ones between them, were reduced to con- 
siderable shifts to keep up the dignity of their re- 
spective houses. In spite of these disadvant.iges, 
and the untoward circumstances, they continued to 
enact most intrepidly ; performing with much ease 
and confidence, inasmuch as they were seldom 
pestered with an audience to criticise and put them 
out of countenance. It is rumoured that the last 
heavy shower absolutely dissolved the company, and 
that our manager has nothing further to apprehend 
from that quarter. 

The theatre opened on Wednesday last, with great 
eclat, as we critics say, and almost vied in brilliancy 
with that of my superb friend Consequa in Canton ; 
where the castles were all ivory, the sea mother-of- 
pearl, the skies gold and silver leaf, and the outside 
of the boxes inlaid with scallop shell-work. Those 
who want a better description of the theatre, may as 
well go and see it ; and then they can judge for them- 
selves. For the gratification of a highly respectable 
class of readers, who love to see every thing on paper, 
I had indeed prepared a circumstantial and truly in- 
comprehensible account of it, such as your traveller 
always fills his book with, and which 1 defy the most 
intelligent architect, even the great Sir Christopher 
Wren, to understand. I had jumbled cornices, and 
pilasters, and pillars, and capitals, and trigliphs, and 
modules, and plinths, and volutes, and perspectives, 
and foreshortenings, helter-skelter ; and had set all 
the orders of architecture, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, 
&c., together by the ears, in order to work out a 
satisfactory description ; but the manager having 
sent me a polite note, requesting that I would not 
take off the sharp edge, as he whimsically expresses 
it, of public curiosity, thereby diminishing the re- 
ceipts of his house, I have willingly consented to 
oblige him, and have left my description at the store 
of our publisher, where any person may see it — pro- 
vided he applies at a proper hour. 

I cannot refrain here from giving vent to the satis- 
faction I received from the excellent performances of 
the different actors, one and all ; and particularly the 
gentlemen who shifted the scenes, who acquitted 
themselves throughout with great celerity, dignity, 
pathos, and effect. Nor must 1 pass over the peculiar 
merits of my friend JOHN, who gallanted off the 
chairs and tables in the most dignified and circum- 



spect manner. Indeed, I have had frequent occasion 
to applaud the correctness with which this gentle- 
man fulfils the parts allotted him, and consider him 
as one of the best general performers in the com- 
pany. My friend, the cockney, found considerable 
fault with the manner in which John shoved a huge 
rock from behind the scenes; maintaining that he 
should have put his left foot forward, and pushed it 
with his right hand, that being the method practised 
by his contemporaries of the royal theatres, and uni- 
versally approved by their best critics. He also took 
exception to John's coat, which he pronounced too 
short by a foot at least ; particularly when he turned 
his back to the company. But I look upon these 
objections in the same light as new readings, and 
insist that John shall be allowed to manoeuvre his 
chairs and tables, shove his rocks, and wear his 
skirts in that style which his genius best effects. My 
hopes in the rising merit of this favourite actor daily 
increase ; and I would hint to the manager the pro- 
priety of giving him a benefit, advertising in the usual 
style of play-bills, as a " springe to catch woodcocks," 
that, between the play and farce, John will M.\KE A 
BOW — for that night only ! 

I am told that no pains have been spared to make 
the exhibitions of this season as splendid as possible. 
Several expert rat-catchers have been sent into dif- 
ferent parts of the country to catch white mice for 
the grand pantomime of CINDERELLA. A nest full 
of little squab Cupids have been taken in the neigh- 
bourhood of Conimunipaw ; they are as yet but half 
fledged, of the true Holland breed, and it is hoped 
will be able to fly about by the middle of October ; 
otherwise they will be suspended about the stage hy 
the waistband, like little alligators in an apothecary's 
shop, as the pantomime must positively be perform- 
ed by that time. Great pains and expense have been 
incurred in the importation of one of the most portly 
pumpkins in New-England ; and the public may be 
assured there is now one on board a vessel from 
New-Haven, which will contain Cinderella's coach 
and six with perfect ease, were the white mice even 
ten tmies as large. 

Also several barrels of hail, rain, brimstone, and 
gunpowder, are in store for melo-dramas ; of which 
a number are to be played off this winter. It is fur- 
thermore whispered me that the great thunder-drum 
has been new braced, and an expert performer on 
that instrument engaged, who will thunder in plain 
English, so as to be understood by the most illiterate 
hearer. This will be infinitely preferable to the 
miserable Italian thunderer, employed last winter by 
Mr. Ciceri, who performed in such an unnatural and 
outlandish tongue, that none but the scholars of 
signer Da Ponte could understand him. It will be a 
further gratification to the patriotic audience to 
know, that the present thunderer is a fellow-country- 
man, born at Dunderbarrack, among the echoes of 
the Highlands; — and that he thunders with peculiar 
emphasis and pompous enunciation, in the true style 
of a fourth of July orator. 

In addition to all these additions, the manager has 
provided an entire new snow-storm ; the very sight 
of which will he quite sufficient to draw a shawl over 
every naked bosom in the theatre ; the snow is per- 
fectly fresh, having been manufactured last August. 

N. B. The outside of the theatre has been orna- 
mented with a new chimney ! ! 



704 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



No. XV.— THURSDAY, OCTOBER i, 1807. 



SKETCHES FROM NATURE. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 



The brisk north-westers, which prevailed not long 
since, had a powerful effect in arresting the progress 
of belles, beaux, and wild pigeons in their fashion- 
able northern tour, and turning them back to the 
more balmy region of the South. Among the rest, I 
was encountered, full butt, by a blast which set my 
teeth chattering, just as I doubled one of the frown- 
ing bluffs of the Mohawk mountains, in my route to 
Niagara ; and facing about incontmently, I forthwith 
scud before the wind, and a few days since arrived 
at my old quarters in New- York. My first care, on 
returning from so long an absence, was to visit the 
worthy family of the Cocklofts, whom I found safe, 
burrowed in their country mansion. On inquiring 
for my highly respected coadjutor, Langstaff, I 
learned with great concern that he had relapsed into 
one of his eccentric fits of the spleen, ever since th:: 
era of a turtle dinner given by old Cockloft to some 
of the neighbouring squires ; wherein the old gentle- 
man had achieved a glorious victory, in laying honest 
Launcelot fairly under the table. Langstaff, although 
fond of the social board, and cheerful glass, yet 
abominates any excess; and has an invincible aver- 
sion to getting mellow, considering it a wilful outrage 
on the sanctity of imperial mind, a senseless abuse 
of the body, and an unpardonable, because a volun- 
tary, prostration of both mental and personal dignity. 
I have heard him moralize on the subject, in a style 
that would have done honour to Michael Cassia him- 
self: but I believe, if the truth were known, this 
antipathy rather arises from his having, as the phrase 
is, but a weak head, and nerves so extremely sensi- 
tive, that he is sure to sufl'er severely from a frolic ; 
and will groan and make resolutions against it for a 
week afterwards. He therefore took this waggish 
exploit of old Christopher's, and the consequent 
quizzing which he underwent, in high dudgeon ; had 
kept aloof from company for a fortnight, and appeared 
to be meditating some deep plan of retaliation upon 
his mischievous old crony. He had, however, for 
the last day or two, shown some symptoms of con- 
valescence : had listened, without more than half a 
dozen twitches of impatience, to one of Christopher's 
unconscionable long stories ; and even was seen to 
smile, for the one hundred and thirtieth time, at a 
venerable joke originally borrowed from Joe Miller : 
but which, by dint of long occupancy, and frequent 
repetition, the old gentleman now firmly believes 
happened to himself somewhere in New-England. 

As I am well acquainted with Launcelot 's haunts, 
I soon found him out. He was lolling on his favour- 
ite bench, rudely constructed at the foot of an old 
tree, which is full of fantastical twists, and with its 
spreading branches forms a canopy of luxuriant foli- 
age. This tree is a kind of chronicle of the short 
reigns of his uncle John's mistresses ; and its trunk 
is sorely wounded with carvings of true lovers' knots, 
hearts, darts, names, and inscriptions ! — frail memo- 
rials of the variety of the fair dames who captivated 
the wandering fancy of that old cavalier in the days 
of his youthful romance. Launcelot holds this tree 
in particular regard, as he does every thing else con- 
nected with the memory of his good uncle John. 
He was reclining, in one of his usual brown studies, 
against its trunk, and gazing pensively upon the river 
that glided just by, washing the drooping branches 
of the dwarf willows that fringed its bank. My ap- 



pearance roused him ; — he grasped my hand with 
his usual warmth, and with a tremulous but close 
pressure, which spoke that his heart entered into the 
salutation. After a number of affectionate inquiries 
and felicitations, such as friendship, not form, dic- 
tated, he seemed to relapse into his former flow of 
thought, and to resume the chain of ideas my ap- 
pearance had broken for a moment. 

" I was reflecting," said he, "my dear Anthony, 
upon some observations I made in our last number ; 
and considering whether the sight of objects once 
dear to the affections, or of scenes where we have 
passed different happy periods of earlv life, really oc- 
casions most enjoyment or most regret. Renewing 
our acquaintance with well-known but long-sepa- 
rated objects, revives, it is true, the recollection of 
former pleasures, and touches the tenderest feelings 
of the heart ; like the flavour of a delicious bever- 
age will remain upon the palate long after the cup 
has parted from the lips. But on the other hand, 
my friend, these same objects are too apt to awaken 
us to a keener recollection of what we were, when 
they erst delighted us ; to provoke a mortifying and 
melancholy contrast with what we are at present. 
They act, in a manner, as milestones of existence, 
showing us how far we have travelled in the journey 
of life ; — how much of our weary but fascinating 
pilgrimage is accomplished. I look round me, and 
my eye fondly recognizes the fields I once sported 
over, the river in which I once swam, and the 
orchard I intrepidly robbed in the halcyon days of 
boyhood. The fields are still green, the river still 
rolls unaltered and undiminished, and the orchard is 
still flourishing and fruitful ; — it is I only am chang- 
ed. The thoughtless flow of mad-cap spirits that 
nothing could depress ; — the elasticity of nerve that 
enabled me to bound over the field, to stem the 
stream, and climb the tree ; — the ' sunshine of the 
breast ' that beamed an illusive charm over every 
object, and created a paradise around me ! — where 
are they ? — the thievish lapse of years has stolen 
them away, and left in return nothing but gray hairs, 
and a repining spirit." My friend Launcelot con- 
cluded his harangue with a sigh, and as I saw he 
was still under the influence of a whole legion of the 
blues, and just on the point of sinking into one of 
his whimsical and unreasonable fits of melancholy 
abstraction, I proposed a walk ; — he consented, and 
slipping his left arm in mine, and waving in the 
other a gold-headed thorn cane, bequeathed him by 
his uncle John, we slowly rambled along the margin 
of the river. 

Langstaff, though possessing great vivacity of 
temper, is most wofully subject to these " thick 
coming fancies : " and I do not know a man whose 
animal spirits do insult him with more jiltings, and 
coquetries, and slippery tricks. In these moods he 
is often visited by a whim-wham which he indulges 
in common with the Cocklofts. It is that of looking 
back with regret, conjuring up the phantoms of good 
old times, and decking them out in imaginary finery, 
with the spoils of his fancy ; like a good lady widow, 
regretting the loss of the " poor dear man ; " for 
whom, while living, she cared not a rush. I have 
seen him and Pindar, and old Cockloft, amuse them- 
selves over a bottle with their youthful days; until 
by the time they had become what is termed merry, 
they were the most miserable beings in existence. 
In a similar humour was Launcelot at present, and I 
knew the only way was to let him moralize himself 
out of it. 

Our ramble was soon interrupted by the appear- 
ance of a personage of no little importance at Cock- 
loft-hall :— for, to let ray readers into a family secret, 
friend Christopher is notoriously hen-pecked by an old 



SALMAGUNDI. 



705 



negro, who has whitened on the place ; and is his 
master, ahnanac, and counsellor. My readers, if 
haply they have sojourned in the country, and be- 
come conversant in rural manners, must have ob- 
served, that there is scarce a little hamlet but has 
one of these old weather-beaten wiseacres of ne- 
groes, who ranks among the great characters of the 
place. He is always resorted to as an oracle to re- 
solve any question about the weather, fishing, shoot- 
ing, farming, and horse-doctoring : and on such oc- 
casions will slouch his remnant of a hat on one side, 
fold his arms, roll his white eyes, and examine the 
sky. with a look as knowing as Peter Pindar's mag- 
pie when peeping into a marrow-bone. Such a sage 
curmudgeon is Old Ca:sar, who acts as friend Cock- 
loft's prime minister or grand vizier ; assumes, when 
abroad, his master's style and title ; to wit, squire 
Cockloft ; and is, in effect, absolute lord and ruler of 
the soil. 

As he passed us he pulled off his hat with an air 
of something more than respect ; — it partook, I 
thought, of affection. " There, now, is another 
memento of the kind I have been noticing," said 
Launcelot ; " Cssar was a bosom friend and chosen 
playmate of cousin Pindar and myself, when we 
were boys. Never were we so happy as when, steal- 
ing away on a holiday to the hall, we ranged about 
the fields with honest Caesar. He was particularly 
adroit in making our quail-traps and fishing-rods : 
was always the ring-leader in all the schemes of 
frolicksome mischief perpetrated by the urchins of 
the neighbourhood ; considered himself on an equal- 
ity with the best of us ; and many a hard battle have 
I had with him, about a division of the spoils of an 
orchard, or the title to a bird's nest. Many a sum- 
mer evening do I remember when huddled together 
on the steps of the hall door, Cssar, with his 
stories of ghosts, goblins, and witches, would put us 
all in a panic, and people every lane, and church- 
yard, and solitary wood, with imaginary beings. In 
process of time, he became the constant attendant 
and Man Friday of cousin Pindar, whenever he went 
a sparking among the rosy country girls of the 
neighbouring farms ; and brought up his rear at 
every rustic dance, when he would mingle in the 
sable group that always thronged the door of merri- 
'ment ; and it was enough to put to the rout a host of 
splenetic imps to see his mouth gradually dilate from 
ear to ear, with pride and exultation, at seeing how 
neatly master Pindar footed it over the floor. 
Cssar was likewise the chosen confidant and special 
agent of Pindar in all his love affairs, until, as his 
evil stars would have it, on being entrusted with the 
delivery of a poetic billetdoux to one of his patron's 
sweethearts, he took an unlucky notion to send it to 
his own sable dulcinea; who, not being able to read 
it, took it to her mistress ; — and so the whole affair 
was blown. Pindar was universally roasted, and 
Caesar discharged for ever from his confidence. 

" Poor Caesar !^he has now grown old, like his 
young masters, but he still remembers old times ; 
and will, now and then, remind me of them as he 
lights me to my room, and lingers a little while to 
bid me a good-night: believe me, iny dear Ever- 
green, the honest, simple old creature has a warm 
corner in my heart ; — 1 don't see, for my part, why a 
body may not like a negro as well as a white man ! " 

By the time these biographical anecdotes were 
ended we had reached the stable, into which we in- 
voluntarily strolled, and found Caesar busily employed 
in rubbing down the horses ; an oflice he would not 
entrust to any body else ; havmg contracted an af- 
fection for every beast in the stable, from their being 
descendants of the old race of animals, his youthful 
contemporaries. Caisar was very particular in giving 
45 



us their pedigrees, together with a panegyric on the 
swiftness, bottom, blood, and spirit of their sires. 
From these he digressed into a variety of anecdotes, 
in which Launcelot bore a conspicuous part, and on 
which the old negro dwelt with all the garrulity of 
age. Honest Langstaff stood leaning with his arm 
over the back of his favourite steed, old Killdeer ; 
and I could perceive he listened to Caesar's simple 
details with that fond attention with which a feeling 
mind will hang over narratives of boyish days. His 
eyes sparkled with animation, a glow of youthful fire 
stole across his pale visage ; he nodded with smiling 
approbation at every sentence ; — chuckled at every 
exploit ; laughed heartily at the story of his once 
having smoked out a country singing-school with 
brimstone and assafcetida ; — and slipping a piece of 
money into old Cfesar's hand to buy himself a new 
tobacco-box, he seized me by the arm and hurried 
out of the stable brinifull of good-nature. '• 'Tis a 
pestilent old rogue for talking, my dear fellow," cried 
he, " but you must not find fault with him, — the 
creature means well." I knew at the very moment 
that he made this apology, honest Caesar could not 
have given him half the satisfaction had he talked 
like a Cicero or a Solomon. 

Launcelot returned to the house with me in the 
best possible humour: — the whole family, who, in 
truth, love and honour him from their very souls, 
were delighted to see the sunbeams once more play 
in his countenance. Every one seemed to vie who 
should talk the most, tell the longest stories, and be 
most agreeable ; and Will Wizard, who had accom- 
panied me in my visit, declared, as he lighted his 
segar, which had gone out forty times in the course 
of one of his oriental tales, — that he had not passed 
so pleasant an evening since the birth-night ball of 
the beauteous empress of Hayti. 

[The following essay was written by my friend 
Langstaff, in one of the paroxysms of his splenetic 
complaint ; and, for aught I know, may have been 
effectual in restoring him to good humour. — A men- 
tal discharge of the kind has a remarkable tendency 
toward sweetening the temper, — and Launcelot is, 
at this moment, one of the best-natured men in ex- 
istence. A. Evergreen.] 



ON GREATNESS. 

BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



We have more than once, in the course of our 
work, been most jocosely familiar with great person- 
ages ; and, in truth, treated them with as little cere- 
mony, respect, and consideration, as if they had been 
our most particular friends. Now, we would not suf- 
fer the mortification of having our readers even sus- 
pect us of an intiinacy of the kind ; assuring them 
we are extremely choice in our intimates, and un- 
commonly circumspect in avoiding connexions with 
all doubtful characters ; particularly pimps, bailiffs, 
lottery-brokers, chevaliers of industry, and great 
men. The world, in general, is pretty well aware 
of what is to be understood by the former classes of 
delinquents ; but as the latter has never, I believe, 
been specifically defined ; and as we are determined 
to instruct our readers to the extent of our abilities, 
and their limited comprehension, it may not be amiss 
here to let them know what we understand by a 
great man. 

First, therefore, let us — editors and kings are al- 
ways plural— premise, that there are two kinds of 



70G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



greatness ; — one conferred by heaven — the exalted 
nobility of the soul ; — the other, a spurious distinc- 
tion, engendered by the mob and lavished upon its 
favourites. The former of these distinctions we have 
alwaj's contemplated with reverence; the latter, we 
will take this opportunity to strip naked before our 
unenlightened readers ; so that if by chance any of 
them are held in ignominious thraldom by this base 
circulation of false coin, they may forthwith emanci- 
pate themselves from such inglorious delusion. 

It is a fictitious value given to individuals by pub- 
lic caprice, as bankers give an impression to a worth- 
less slip of paper; thereby gaining it a currency for 
infinitely more than its intrinsic value. Every nation 
has its peculiar coin, and peculiar great men ; neither 
of which will, for the most part, pass current out of 
the country where they are stamped. Your true 
mob-created great man, is like a note of one of the 
little New-England banks, and his value depreciates 
in proportion to the distance from home. In En- 
gland, a gre.it man is he who has most ribands and 
gew-gaws on his coat, most horses to his carriage, 
most slaves in his retinue, or most toad-eaters at his 
table ; in France, he who can most dexterously 

flourish his heels above his head Duport is most 

incontestably the greatest man in France ! — when 
the emperor is absent. The greatest man in China 
is he who can trace his ancestry up to the moon ; 
and in this country, our great men may generally 
hunt down their pedigree until it burrows in the dirt 
like a rabbit. To be concise ; our great men are 
those who are most expert at crawling on all fours, 
and have the happiest facility in dragging and wind- 
ing themselves along in the dirt like very reptiles. 
This may seem a paradox to many of my readers, 
who, with great good-nature be it hinted, are too 
stupid to look beyond the mere surface of our invalu- 
able writings ; and often pass over the knowing al- 
lusion, and poignant meaning, that is slily couching 
beneath. It is for the benefit of such helpless igno- 
rants, who have no other creed but the opinion of 
the mob, that I shall trace — as far as it is possible to 
follow him in his progress from insignificance — the 
rise, progress, and completion of a little great 
MAN. 

In a logocracy, to use the sage Mustapha's phrase, 
it is not absolutely necessary to the formation of a 
great man that he should be either wise or valiant, 
upright or honourable. On the contrary, daily ex- 
perience shows that these qualities rather impede 
his preferment ; inasmuch as they are prone to ren- 
der him too inflexibly erect, and are directly at vari- 
ance with that willowy suppleness which enables a 
man to wind and twist through all the nooks and 
turns and dark winding passages that lead to great- 
ness. The grand requisite for climbing the rugged 
hill of popularity, — the summit of which is the seat 
of power, — is to be useful. And here once more, tor 
the sake of our readers, who are, of course, not so 
wise as ourselves, I must explain what we under- 
stand by usefulness. The horse, in his native state, 
is wild, swift, impetuous, full of majesty, and of a 
most generous spirit. It is then the animal is noble, 
exalted, and useless. — But entrap him, manacle him, 
cudgel him, break down his lofty spirit, put the curb 
into his mouth, the load upon his back, and reduce 
him into servile obedience to the bridle and the lash, 
and it is then he becomes useful. Your jackass is 
one of the most useful animals in existence. If my 
readers do not now understand what I mean by use- 
fulness, I give them all up for most absolute nincoms. 
To rise in this country, a man must first descend. 
The aspiring poliiician may be compared to that 
indefatigable insect called the tumbler ; pronounced 
by a distinguished personage to be the only indus- 



trious animal in Virginia, which buries itself in filth, 
and works ignoblv in the dirt, until it forms a little 
ball, which it rolls laboriously along, like Diogenes . 
in his tub ; sometimes head, sometimes tail foremost, 
pilfering from every rut and mud-hole, and increasing 
its ball of greatness by the contributions of the ken- 
nel. Just so the candidate for greatness ; — he plunges 
into that mass of obscenity, the mob ; labours in dirt 
and oblivion, and makes unto himself the rudiments 
of a popular name from the admiration and praises 
of rogues, ignoramuses, and blackguards. His name 
once started, onward he goes struggling, and puffing, 
and pushing it before him ; collecting new tributes 
from the dregs and offals of the land, as he proceeds, 
until having gathered together a mighty mass of 
popularity, he mounts it in triumph ; is hoisted into 
oflice, and becomes a great man, and a ruler in the 
land ; — all this will be clearly illustrated by a sketch 
of a worthy of the kind, who sprung up under my 
eye, and was hatched from pollution by the broad 
rays of popularity, which, like the sun, can " breed 
maggots in a dead dog." 

Timothy Dabble was a young man of very 
promising talents: for he wrote a fair hand, and had 
thrice won the silver medal at a country academy ; 
— he was also an orator, for he talked with emphatic 
volubility, and could argue a full hour, without taking 
either side, or advancing a single opinion ; — he had 
still further requisites for eloquence; — for he made 
very handsome gestures, had dimples in his cheeks 
when he smiled, and enunciated most harmoniously 
through his nose. In short, nature had certainly 
marked him out for a great man ; lor though he was 
not tall, yet he added at least half an inch to his 
stature by elevating his head, and assumed an amaz- 
ing expression of dignity by turning up his nose and 
curling his nostrils in a style of conscious superiority. 
Convinced by these unequivocal appearances, Dab- 
ble's friends, in full caucus, one and all, declared that 
he was undoubtedly born to be a great man, and it 
would be his own fault if he were not one. Dabble 
was tickled with an opinion which coincided so happily 
with his own, — for vanity, in a confidential whisper, 
had given him the like intimation ; — and here\erenced 
the judgment of his friends because they thought so 
highly of himself; — accordingly he sat out with a 
determination to become a great man, and to start 
in the scrub-race for honour and renown. How to 
attain the desired prizes was, however, the question. 
He knew by a kind of instinctive leeling, which 
seems peculiar to grovelling minds, that honour, 
and its better part— profit, would never seek him 
out ; that they would never knock at his door and 
crave admittance ; but must be courted, and toiled 
after, and earned. He therefore strutted forth into 
the highways, the market-places, and the assemblies 
of the people; ranted like a true cockerel orator 
about virtue, and patriotism, and liberty, and equal- 
ity, and himself. Full many a political wind-mill 
did he battle with ; and full many a time did he talk 
himself out of breath, and his hearers out of their 
patience. But Dabble found, to his vast astonish- 
ment, that there was not a notorious political pimp 
at a ward meeting but could out-talk him ; and what 
was still more mortifying, there was not a notorious 
political pimp but was more noticed and caressed 
than himself. The reason was simple enough ; while 
he harangued about principles, the others ranted 
about men ; where he reprobated a political error, 
they blasted a political character ; — they were, con- 
sequently, the most useful ; for the great object of our 
political disputes is not who shall have the honour of 
emancipating the community from the leading strings 
of delusion, but who shall have the profit of holding 
the strings and leading the community by the nosj. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



707 



Dabble was likewise very loud in his professions 
of integrity, incorruptibility, and disinterestedness ; 
words which, from being filtered and refined through 
newspapers and election handbills, have lost their 
original signification ; and in the political dictionary 
are synonymous with empty pockets, itching palms, 
and interested ambition. He, in addition to all this, 
declared that he would support none but honest 
men ; — but unluckily as but few of these offered 
themselves to be supported, Babble's services were 
seldom required. He pledged himself never to en- 
gage in party schemes, or party politics, but to stand 
up solely for the broad interests of his country ; — so 
he stood alone ; and what is the same thing, he 
stood still ; for, in this country, he who does not 
side with either party, is like a body in a vacwcm 
between two planets, and must for ever remain mo- 
tionless. 

Dabble was immeasurably surprised that a man 
so honest, so disinterested, and so sagacious withal, 
— and one too who had the good of his country so 
much at heart, should thus remain unnoticed and 
unapplauded. A little worldly advice, whispered in 
his ear by a shrewd old politician, at once explained 
the whole m)sterv. " He who would become great," 
said he, "must serve an apprenticeship to greatness; 
and rise by regular gradation, like the master of a 
vessel, who commences by being scrub and cabin- 
boy. He must fag in the train of great men, echo 
all their sentiments, become their toad-eater and 
parasite ; — laugh at all their jokes, and above all, 
endeavour to make them laugh ; if you only now and 
then make a man laugh, your fortune is made. 
Look but about you, youngster, and you will not see 
a single little great man of the day, but has his 
miserable herd of retainers, who yelp at his heels, 
come at his whistle, worry whoever he points his 
finger at, and think themselves fully rewarded by 
sometimes snapping up a crumb that falls from the 
great man's table. "Talk of patriotism and virtue, 
and incorruptibility ! — tut, man ! they are the very 
qualities that scare munificence, .and keep patronage 
at a distance. You might as well attempt to entice 
crows with red rags and gunpowder. Lay all these 
scarecrow virtues aside, and let this be your maxim, 
that a candidate for political eminence is like a dried 
herring ; he never becomes luminous until he is cor- 
rupt." 

Dabble caught with hungry avidity these congenial 
doctrines, and turned into his pre-destined channel 
of action with the force and rapidity of a stream 
which has for a while been restrained I'rom its natu- 
ral course. He became what nature had fitted him 
to be; — his tone softened down from arrogant self- 
sufticiency, to the whine of fawning solicitation. 
He mingled in the caucuses of the sovereign people; 
adapted his dress to a similitude of dirty raggedness ; 
argued most logically with those who were of his 
own opinion ; and slandered, with all the malice of 
impotence, exalted characters whose orbit he des- 
paired ever to approach : — just as that scoundrel 
midnight thief, the owl, hoots at the blessed light of 
the sun, whose glorious lustre he dares never con- 
template. He likewise applied himself to discharg- 
ing, faithfully, the honourable duties of a partizan ; 
— ^e poached about for private slanders and ribald 
anecdotes ; — he folded handbills; — he even wrote 
one or two himself, which he carried about in his 
pocket and read to every body ; — he became a secre- 
tary at ward-meetings, set his hand to divers resolu- 
tions of patriotic import, and even once went so far 
as to make a speech, in which he proved that patri- 
otism was a virtue ; — the reigning bashaw a great 
man ; — that this was a free country, and he himself 
an arrant and incontestible buzzard ! 



Dabble was now very frequent and devout in his 
visits to those temples of ])olitics, popularity, and 
smoke, the ward porter-houses ; those true dens of 
equality where all ranks, ages, and talents are 
brought down to the dead level of rude familiarity. 
'Twas here his talents expanded, and his genius 
swelled up into its proper size ; like the loathsome 
toad, which, shrinking from balmy airs and jocund 
sunshine, finds his congenial home in caves and dun- 
geons, and there nourishes his venom, and bloats 
his deformity. 'Twas here he revelled with the 
swmish multitude in their debauches on patriotism 
and porter; and it became an even chance whether 
Dabble would turn out a great man or a great 
drunkard. But Dabble in all this kept steadily in 
his eye the only deity he ever worshipped — his 
interest. Having by this familiarity ingratiated 
himself with the mob, he became wonderfully 
potent and industrious at elections ; knew all the 
dens and cellars of profligacy and intemperance ; 
brought more negroes to the polls, and knew to a 
greater certainty where votes could be bought for 
beer, than any of his contemporaries. His exer- 
tions in the cause, his persevering industry, his de- 
grading compliance, his unresisting humility, his 
steadfast dependence, at length caught the atten- 
tion of one of the leaders of the party ; who was 
pleased to observe that Dabble was a very useful 
fellow, who would go all lengths. From that mo- 
ment his fortune was made ; — he was hand and 
glove with orators and slang-whangers ; basked in 
the sunshine of great men's smiles, and had the 
honour, sundry times, of shaking hands with digni- 
taries, and drinking out of the same pot with them 
at a porter-house ! ! 

I will not fatigue myself with tracing this cater- 
pillar in his slimy progress from worm to butter- 
fly : suffice it that Dabble bowed and bowed, and 
fawned, and sneaked, and smirked, and libelled, 
until one would have thought perseverance itself 
would have settled down into despair. There was 
no knowing how long he might have lingered at 
a distance from his hopes, had he not luckily got 
tarred and feathered for some of his electioneering 
manoeuvres ; — this was the making of him ! — Let 
not my readers stare ; — tarring and feathering here 
is equal to pillory and cropped ears in England ; 
and either of these kinds of martyrdom will ensure 
a patriot the sympathy and support of his faction. 
His partizans, for even he had his partizans, took 
his case into consideration ; — he had been kicked 
and cuffed, and disgraced, and dishonoured in the 
cause ; — he had licked the dust at the feet of the 
mob ; — he was a faithful drudge, slow to anger, of 
invincible patience, of incessant assiduity ; — a thor- 
ough-going tool, who could be curbed, and spur- 
red, and directed at pleasure ; — in short, he had 
all the important qualifications for a little great 
man, and he was accordingly ushered into otifice 
amid the acclamations of the party. The leading 
men complimented his usefulness, the multitude 
his republican simplicity, and the slang-whangcrs 
vouched for his patriotism. Since his elevation he 
has discovered indubitable signs of having been 
destined for a great man. His nose has acquired 
an additional elevation of several degrees, so that 
now he appears to have bidden adieu to this world 
and to have set his thoughts altogether on things 
above ; and he has swelled and inflated himself to 
such a degree, that his friends are under apprehen- 
sions that he will one day or other explode and blov; 
up like a torpedo. 



708 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



No. XVI.— THURSDAY, OCT. 15, 1807. 



STYLE, AT BALLSTON. 

BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 



Notwithstanding Evergreen h.is never been 
abroad, nor had his understanding enlightened, or 
his views enlarged by that marvellous sharpener of 
the wits, a salt-water voyage ; yet he is tolerably 
shrewd, and correct, in the limited sphere of his 
observations ; and now and then astounds me with 
a right pithy remark, which would do no discredit 
even to a man who had made the grand tour. 

In several late conversations at Cockloft-Hall, he 
has amused us exceedingly by detailing sundry par- 
ticulars concerning that notorious slaughter-house 
of time, Ballston Springs ; where he spent a consid- 
erable part of the last summer. The following is a 
summary of his observations. 

Pleasure has passed through a variety of signifi- 
cations at Ballston. It originally meant nothing 
more than a relief from pain and sickness ; and the 
patient who had journeyed many a weary mile to 
the Springs, with a heavy heart and emaciated form, 
called It pleasure when he threw by his crutches, 
and danced away from them with renovated spirits 
and limbs jocund with vigour. In process of time 
pleasure underwent a refinement, and appeared in 
the likeness of a sober, unceremonious country- 
dance, to the flute of an amateur or the three- 
stringed fiddle of an itinerant country musician. — 
Still every thing bespoke that happy holiday which 
the spirits ever enjoy, when emancipated from the 
shackles of formality, ceremony, and modern po- 
liteness: things went on cheerily, and Ballston was 
pronounced a charming, hum-drum, careless place of 
resort, where every one was at his ease, and might 
follow unmolested the bent of his humour — pro- 
vided his wife was not there ; — when, lo ! all on a 
sudden Style made its baneful appearance in the 
semblance of a gig and tandem, a pair of leather 
breeches, a liveried footman, and a cockney ! — 
since that fatal era pleasure has taken an entire 
new signification, and at present means nothing 
but STYLE. 

The worthy, fashionable, dashing, good-for-noth- 
ing people of every state, who had rather suffer the 
martyrdom of a crowd than endure the monotony 
of their own homes and the stupid company of their 
own thoughts, fiock to the Springs ; not to enjoy the 
pleasures of society or benefit by the qualities of the 
waters, but to exhibit their equipages and wardrobes, 
and to excite the admiration, or what is much more 
satisfactory, the envy of their fashionable competi- 
tors. This, of course, awakens a spirit of noble 
emulation between the eastern, middle, and southern 
states ; and every lady hereupon finding herself 
charged in a manner with the whole weight of her 
country's dignity and style, dresses and dashes and 
sparkles without mercy at her competitors from 
other parts of the Union. This kind of rivalship 
naturally requires a vast deal of preparation and 
prodigious quantities of supplies. A sober citizen's 
wife will break half a dozen milliners' shops, and 
sometimes starve her family a whole season, to ena- 
ble herself to make the Springs campaign in style. — 
She repairs to the seat of war with a mighty force 
of trunks and bandboxes, like so many ammunition 
chests, filled with caps, hats, gowns, ribands, shawls, 
and all the various artillery of fashionable warfare. 
The lady of a southern planter will lay out the whole 
annual produce of a rice plantation in silver and 



gold muslins, lace veils, and new liveries ; carry a 
hogshead of tobacco on her head, and trail a bale 
of sea-island cotton at her heels; while a lady of 
Boston or Salem will wrap herself up in the net pro- 
ceeds of a cargo of whale-oil, and tie on her hat 
with a quintal of codfish. 

The planters' ladies, however, have generally the 
advantage in this contest ; for, as it is an incontest- 
able fact, that whoever comes from the West or 
East Indies, or Georgia, or the Carolinas, or, in fact, 
any warm climate, is immensely rich, it cannot be 
expected that a simple cit of the north can cope 
with them in style. The planter, therefore, who 
drives four horses abroad and a thousand negroes at 
home, and who flourishes up to the Springs, followed 
by half a score of black-a-moors in gorgeous liveries, 
is unquestionably superior to the noi thern merchant, 
who plods on in a carriage and pair ; which, being 
nothing more than is quite necessary, has no cktim 
whatever to style. He, however, has his consolation 
in feeling superior to the honest cit who dashes 
about in a simple gig : — he, in return, sneers at the 
country squire, who jogs along with his scrubby, 
long-eared pony and saddle-bags ; and the squire, 
by way of taking satisfaction, would make no scru- 
ple to run over the unobtrusive pedestrian, were it 
not that the last being the most independent of the 
whole, might chance to break his head by way of 
retort. 

The great misfortune is, that this style is supported 
at such an expense as sometimes to encroach on the 
rights and. privileges of the pocket, and occasion 
very awkward embarrassments to the tyro of fash- 
ion. Among a number of instances, Evergreen 
mentions the fate of a dashing blade from the south, 
who made his entre with a tandem and two out- 
riders, by the aid of which he attracted the atten- 
tion of all the ladies, and caused a coolness between 
several young couples, who, it was thought, before 
his arrival, had a considerable kindness for each 
other. In the course of a fortnight his tandem dis- 
appeared ! — the class of good folk who seem to have 
nothing to do in this world but pry into other peo- 
ple's affairs, began to stare ! — in a little time longer 
an outrider was missing I — this increased the alarm, 
and it was consequently v/hispered that he had eaten 
the horses and drank the negro. — N. B. Southern 
gentlemen are very apt to do this on an emergency. 
— Serious apprehensions were entertained about the 
fate of the remaining servant, which were soon veri- 
fied by his actually vanishing ; and, in " one little 
month," the dashing Carolinian modestly took his 
departure in the stage-coach ! — universally regretted 
by the friends who had generously released him from 
his cumbrous load of style. 

Evergreen, in the course of his detail, gave very 
melancholy accounts of an alarming famine which 
raged with great violence at the Springs. Whether 
this was owing to the incredible appetites of the 
company, or the scarcity which prevailed at the inns, 
he did not seem inclined to say ; but he declares that 
he was for several days in imminent danger of 
starvation, owing to his being a little too dilatory 
in his attendance at the dinner-table. He relates a 
number of "moving accidents" which befell many 
of the polite company in their zeal to get a good 
seat at dinner ; on which occasion a kind of scrub- 
race always took place, wherein a vast deal of 
jockeying and unfair play was shown, and a variety 
of squabbles and unseemly altercations occurred. 
But when arrived at the scene of action, it was 
truly an awful sight to behold the confusion, and to 
hear the tumultuous uproar of voices crying, some 
for one thing and some for another, to the tuneful 
accompanyment of knives and forks, rattling with 



SALMAGUNDI. 



709 



all the energy of hungry impatience. — The feast of 
the Centaurs and the Lipitha? was nothing when 
compared with a dinner at the great house. At one 
time an old gentleman, whose natural irascibility 
was a little sharpened by the gout, had scalded his 
throat by gobbling down a bowl of hot soup in a 
vast hurry, in order to secure the tirst fruits of a 
roasted partridge before it was snapped up by some 
hungry rival ; when, just as he was whetting his 
knife and fork, preparatory for a descent on the 
promised land, he had the mortification to see it 
transferred bodily to the plate of a squeamish little 
damsel who was taking the waters for debility and 
loss of appetite. This was too much for the patience 
of old Crusty ; he lodged his fork into the partridge, 
whipt it into his dish, and cutting off a wing of it, — 
" There, Miss, there's more th.in you can eat. — 
Oons ! what should such a little chalky-faced pup- 
pet as you do with a whole partridge ! " — .^t an- 
other time a mighty, sweet-disposed old dowager, 
who loomed most magnificently at the table, had a 
sauce-boat launched upon the capacious lap of a 
silver-sprigged muslin gown by the manoeuvring of 
a little politic Frenchman, who was dexterously 
attempting to make a lodgment under the covered 
way of a chicken-pye ; — human nature could not 
bear it ! — the ladv bounced round, and, with one box 
on the ear, drove the luckless wight to utter anni- 
hilation. 

, But these little cross accidents are amply com- 
pensated by the great variety of amusements which 
abound at this charming resort of beauty and fash- 
ion. In the morning the company, each like a jolly 
Bacchanalian with glass in hand, sally forth to the 
Springs : where the gentlemen, who wish to make 
themselves agreeable, have an opportunity of dip- 
ping themselves into the good opinion of the ladies : 
and it is truly delectable to see with what grace and 
adroitness they perform this ingratiating feat. An- 
thony says that it is peculiarly amazing to behold 
the quantity of water the ladies drink on this occa- 
sion for the purpose of getting an appetite for 
breakfast. He assures me he has been present 
when a young lady of unparalleled delicacy tossed 
off in the sp.ice of a mmute or two one and twenty 
tumblers and a wine-glass full. On my asking An- 
thony whether the solicitude of the by-standers was 
not greatly awakened as to what might be the ef- 
fects of this debauch, he replied that the ladies at 
Ballston had become such great sticklers for the 
doctrine of evaporation, that no gentleman ever ven- 
tured to remonstrate against this excessive drinking 
for fear of bringing his philosophy into contempt. 
The most notorious water-drinkers in particular 
were continually holding forth on the surprising 
aptitude with which the Ballston waters evaporated ; 
and several gentlemen, who had the hardihood to 
question this female philosophy, were held in high 
displeasure. 

After breakfast every one chooses his amusement ; 
— some take a ride into the pine woods and enjoy 
the varied and romantic scenery of burnt trees, post 
and rail fences, pine flats, potatoe patches, and log 
huts ; — others scramble up the surrounding sand- 
hills, that look like the abodes of a gigantic race of 
ants ; — take a peep at the other sand-hills beyond 
them ; — and then — come down again : others, who 
are romantic, and sundry young ladies insist upon 
being so whenever they visit the Springs, or go 
any where into the country, stroll along the bor- 
ders of a little swampy brook that drags itself along 
like an Alexandrine ; and that so lazily as not to 
make a single murmur; — watching the little tadpoles 
as they frolic, right flippantly, in the muddy stream ; 
and listening to the inspiring melody of the harmo- 



nious frogs that croak upon its borders. Some play 
at billiards, some play at the fiddle, and some — play 
the fool ; — the latter being the most prevalent amuse- 
ment at Ballston. 

These, together with abundance of dancing, and 
a prodigious deal of sleeping of afternoons, make up 
the variety of pleasures at the Springs ; — a delicious 
life of alternate lassitude and fatigue ; of laborious 
dissipation and listless idleness ; of sleepless nights, 
and days spent in that dozing insensibility which 
ever succeeds them. Now and then, indeed, the in- 
fluenza, the fever-and-ague, or some such pale-faced 
intruder, may happen to throw a momentary damp 
on the general felicity ; but on the whole. Evergreen 
declares that Ballston wants only six things, to wit : 
good air, good wine, good living, good beds, good 
company, and good humour, to be the most enchant- 
ing place in the world ; excepting Botany-bay, 

Musquito Cove, Dismal Swamp, and the Black-hole 
at Calcutta. 



The following letter from the sage Mustapha has 
cost us more trouble to decypher and render into 
tolerable English than any hitherto published. It 
was full of blots and erasures, particularly the latter 
part, which we have no doubt was penned in a mo- 
ment of great wrath and indignation. Mustapha has 
often a rambling mode of writing, and his thoughts 
take such unaccountable turns that it is difficult to 
tell one moment where he will lead you the next. 
This is particularly obvious in the commencement 
of his letters, which seldom bear much analogy to 
the subsequent parts ; — he sets off with a flourish, 
like a dramatic hero,— assumes an air of great pom- 
posity, and struts up to his subject mounted most 
loftily on stilts. L. LanGST.-vff. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 



Among the variety of principles by which man- 
kind are actuated, there is one, my dear Asem, which 
I scarcely know whether to consider as springing 
from grandeur and nobility of mind, or from a re- 
fined species of vanity and egotism. It is that singu- 
lar, although almost universal, desire of living in the 
memory of posterity ; of occupying a share of the 
world's attention when we shall long since have 
ceased to be susceptible either of its praise or cen- 
sure. Most of the passions of the mind are bounded 
by the grave ; — sometimes, indeed, an anxious hope 
or trembling fear will venture beyond the clouds and 
darkness that rest upon our mortal horizon, and ex- 
patiate in boundless futurity ; but it is only this act- 
ive love of fame which steadily contemplates its fru- 
ition in the applause or gratitude of future ages. 
Indignant at the narrow limits which circumscribe 
existence, ambition is for ever struggling to soar be- 
yond them ; — to triumph over space and time, and 
to bear a name, at least, above the inevitable oblivion 
in which every thing else that concerns us must be 
involved. It is this, my friend, which prompts the 
patriot to his most heroic achievements ; which in- 
spires the sublimest strains of the poet, and breathes 
ethereal fire into the productions of the painter and 
the statuary. 

For this the monarch rears the lofty column ; the 
laurelled conqueror claims the triumphal arch ; while 
the obscure individual, who moved in an humbler 



710 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sphere, asks but a plain and simple stone to mark 
his grave and bear to the next generation this im- 
portant truth, that he was born, died — and was 
buried. It was this passion which once erected the 
vast Numidian piles, whose ruins we have so often 
regarded with wonder, as the shades of evening — fit 
emblems of oblivion — gradually stole over and en- 
veloped them in darkness. — It was this which gave 
being to those sublime monuments of Saracen mag- 
nificence, which nod in mouldering desolation, as 

the blast sweeps over our deserted plains. How 

futile are all our efforts to evade the obliterating 
hand of time ! As I traversed the dreary wastes of 
Egypt, on my journey to Grand Cairo, I stopped my 
camel for a while and contemplated, in awful ad- 
miration, the stupendous pyramids.— An appalling 
silence prevailed around ; such as reigns in tne wil- 
derness when the tempest is hushed and the beasts 
of prey have retired to their dens. The myriads that 
had once been employed in rearing these lofty me- 
mentoes of human vanity, whose busy hum once en- 
livened the solitude of the desert,— had all been 
swept from the earth by the irresistible arm of 
death ; — all were mingled with their native dust ; — 
all were forgotten ! Even the mighty names which 
these sepulchres were designed to perpetuate had 
long since faded from remembrance ; history and 
tradition afforded but vague conjectures, and the 
pyramids imparted a humiliating lesson to the can- 
didate for immortality. .-Mas ! alas ! said I to my- 
self, how mutable are the foundations on which our 
proudest hopes of future fame are reposed ! He who 
imagines he has secured to himself the meed of 
deathless renown, indulges in deluding visions, which 
only bespeak the vanity of the dreamer. The sto- 
ried obelisk, — the triumphal arch, — the swelling 
dome, shall crumble into dust, and the names they 
would preserve from oblivion shall often pass away 
betore their own duration is accomplished. 

Yet this passion for fame, however ridiculous in 
the eye of the philosopher, deserves respect and con- 
sideration, from having been the source of so many 
illustrious actions ; and hence it has been the prac- 
tice in all enlightened governments to perpetuate, by 
monuments, the memory of great men, as a testi- 
mony of respect for the illustrious dead, and to 
awaken in the bosoms of posterity an emulation to 
merit the same honourable distinction. The people 
of the American logocracy, who pride themselves 
upon improving on every precept or example of an- 
cient or modern governments, have discovered a new 
mode of exciting this love of glory ; a mode by which 
they do honour to their great men, even in their life- 
time ! 

Thou must have observed by this time that they 
manage every thing in a manner peculiar to them- 
selves ; and doubtless in the best possible manner, 
seeing they have denominated themselves " the most 
enlightened people under the sun." Thou wilt there- 
fore, perhaps, be curious to know how they contrive 
to honour the name of a living patriot, and what 
unheard-of monument they erect in memory of h'S 
achievements. — By the fiery beard of the mighty 
Barbarossa, but I can scarcely preserve the sobriety 
of a true disciple of Mahomet while I tell thee !— 
wilt thou not smile, O Mussulman of invincible grav- 
ity, to learn that they honour their great men by eat- 
ing, and that the only trophy erected to their exploits 
is a public dinner ! But, trust me, Asem, even in 
this measure, whimsical as it may seem, the philo- 
sophic and considerate spirit of this people is ad- 
mirably displayed. Wisely concluding that when the 
hero is dead he becomes insensible to the voice of 
fame, the song of adulation, or the splendid trophy, 
they have determined that he shall enjoy his quan- 



tum of celebrity while living, and revel in the full en- 
joyment of a nine-days' immortality. The barbarous 
nations of antiquity immolated human victims to the 
memory of their lamented dead, but the enlightened 
Americans offer up whole hecatombs of geese and 
calves, and oceans of wine, m honour.of the illustri- 
ous living ; and the patriot has the felicity of hearing 
from every quarter the vast exploits in gluttony and 
revelling that have been celebrated to the glory of 
his name. 

No sooner does a citizen signalize himself in a con- 
spicuous manner in the service of his country, than 
all the gormandizers assemble and discharge the na- 
tional debt of gratitude — by giving him a dinner; — 
not that he really receives all the luxuries provided 
on this occasion; — no, my friend, it is ten chances 
to one that the great man does not taste a morsel 
from the table, and is, perhaps, five hundred miles 
distant ; and, to let thee into a melancholy fact, a 
patriot under this economic government, may be 
often in want of a dinner, while dozens are devoured 
in his praise. Neither are these repasts spread out 
for the hungry and necessitous, who might other- 
wise be filled with food and gladness, and inspired 
to shout forth the illustrious name, which had been 
the means of their enjoyment ; — far from this, Asem ; 
it is the rich only who indulge in the banquet ; — 
those who pay for the dainties are alone privileged 
to enjoy them ; so that, while opening their purses in 
honour of the patriot, they at the same time fulfil a 
great maxim, which in this country comprehends all 
the rules of prudence, and all the duties a man owes 
to himself; — namely, getting the worth of their 
money. 

In process of time this mode of testifying public 
applause has been found so marvellously agreeable, 
that they extend it to events as well as characters, 
and eat in triumph at the news of a treaty, — at the 
anniversary of any grand national era, or at the 
gaining of that splendid victory of the tongue — an 
election. — Nay, so far do they carry it, that certain 
days are set apart when the guzzlers, the gorman- 
dizers, and the wine-bibbers meet together to cele- 
brate a grand indigestion, in memory of some great 
event ; and every man in the zeal of patriotism gets 
devoutly drunk — "as the act directs." — Then, my 
friend, mayest thou behold the sublime spectacle of 
love of country, elevating itself from a sentiment 
into an appetite, whetted to the quick with the cheer- 
ing prospect of tables loaded with the fat things of 
the land. On this occasion every man is anxious to 
fall to work, cram himself in honour ol the day, and 
risk a surfeit in the glorious cause. Some, 1 have 
been told, actually fast for four and twenty hours 
preceding, that they may be enabled to do greater 
honour to the feast ; and certainly, if eating and 
drinking are patriotic rites, he who eats and drinks 
most, and proves himself the greatest glutton, is. un- 
doubtedly, the most distinguished patriot. Such, at 
any rate, seems to be the opinion here ; and they act 
up to it so rigidly, that by the time it is dark, every 
kennel in the neighbourhood teems with illustrious 
members of the sovereign people, wallowing in their 
congenial element of mud and mire. 

These patriotic feasts, or rather national monu- 
ments, are patronized and promoted by certain infe- 
rior cadis, called ALDERMEN, who are commonly 
comphmented with their direction. These dignita- 
ries, as far as I can learn, are generally appointed 
on account of their great talents for eating, a quali- 
fication peculiarly necessary in the discharge of their 
official duties. They hold frequent ineetings at tav- 
erns and hotels, where they enter into solemn con- 
sultations for the benefit of lobsters and turtles ; — 
establish wholesome regulations for the safety and 



SALMAGUNDI. 



711 



presei-vation of fish and wild-fowl ; — appoint the 
seasons most proper for eating oysters ; — inquire 
into the economy of taverns, the cliaracters of pub- 
hcans, and the abilities of their cooks ; and discuss, 
most learnedly, the merits of a bowl of soup, a 
chicken-pye, or a haunch of venison : in a word, the 
alderman has absolute control in all matters of eat- 
ing, and superintends the whole police — of the belly. 
Having, in the prosecution of their important oliice, 
signalized themselves at so many public festivals ; 
having gorged so often on patriotism and pudding, 
and entombed so many great names in their exten- 
sive maws, thou wilt easily conceive that they wax 
portly apace, that they fatten on the fame of mighty 
men, and that their rotundity, like the rivers, the 
lakes, and the mountains of their country, must be 
on a great scale ! Even so, my friend ; and when I 
sometimes see a portly alderman, puffing along, and 
swelling as if he had the world under his waistcoat, 
I cannot help looking upon him as a walking monu- 
ment, and am often ready to exclaim — " Tell me, 
thou majestic mortal, thou breathing catacomb ! — 
to what illustrious character, what mighty event, 
does that capacious carcass of thine bear testi- 
mony ? " 

But though the enlightened citizens of this logoc- 
racy eat in honour of their friends, yet they drink 
destruction to their enemies. — Yea, Asem, wo unto 
those who are doomed to undergo the public ven- 
geance, at a public dinner. No sooner are the viands 
removed, than they prepare for merciless and exter- 
minating hostilities. They drink the intoxicating 
juice of the grape, out of little glass cups, and over 
each draught pronounce a short sentence or prayer ; 
— not such a prater as thy virtuous heart would dic- 
tate, thy pious lips give utterance to, my good Asem ; 
— not a tribute of thanks to all bountiful Allah, nor a 
humble supplication for his blessing on the draught ; 
— no, my friend, it is merely a toast, that is to say, 
a fulsome tribute of flattery to their demagogues ; — 
a laboured sally of affected sentiment or national 
egotism ; or, what is more despicable, a malediction 
on their enemies, an empty threat of vengeance, or 
a petition for their destruction ; for toasts, thou must 
know, are another kmd of missive weapon in a logoc- 
racy, and are levelled from afar, like the annoying 
arrows of the Tartars. 

Oh, Asem ! couldst thou but witness one of these 
patriotic, these monumental dinners ; how furiously 
the flame of patriotism blazes forth ; — how suddenly 
they vanquish armies, subjugate whole countries, 
and exterminate nations in a bumper, thou wouldst 
more than ever admire the force of that omnipotent 
weapon, the tongue. At these moments every cow- 
ard becomes a hero, every ragamuffin an invincible 
warrior ; and the most zealous votaries of peace and 
quiet, forget, for a while, their cherished maxims and 
join in the furious attack. Toast succeeds toast ; — 
kings, emperors, bashaws, are like chaff before the 
tempest ; the inspired patriot vanquishes fleets with 
a single gun-boat, and swallows down navies at a 
draught, until, overpowered with victory and wine, 
he sinks upon the field of battle — dead drunk in his 
country's cause. — Sword of the puissant Khalid ! 
what a display of valour is here ! — ^the sons of Afric 
are hardy, brave, and enterprising, but they can 
achieve nothing like this. 

Happy would it be if this mania for toasting ex- 
tended no further than to the expression of national 
resentment. Though we might smile at the impo- 
tent vapouring and windy hyperbole, by which it is 
distinguished, yet we would excuse it, as the un- 
guarded overflowings of a heart glowing with na- 
tional injuries, and indignant at the insults offered 
to lis country. But alas, my friend, private resent- 



ment, individual hatred, and the illiberal spirit of 
party, are let Ijose on these festive occasions. Even 
the names of individuals, of unoft'onding fellow-citi- 
zens, are sometimes dragged forth to undergo the 
slanders and execrations of a distempered herd of 
revellers.*— Head of Mahomet ! how vindictive, how 
insatiably vindictive must be that spirit which can 
drug the mantling bowl with gall and bitterness, 
and indulge an angry passion in the moment of re- 
joicing ! — " Wine," says their poet, " is like sunshine 
to the heart, which under its generous influence ex- 
pands with good-will, and becomes the very temple 
of philanthropy." — Strange, that in a temple conse- 
crated to such a divinity, there should remain a se- 
cret corner, polluted by the lurkings of malice and 
revenge; strange, that in the full flow of social en- 
joyment, these votaries of pleasure can turn aside to 
call down curses on the head of a fellow-creature. 
Despicable souls I ye are unworthy of being citizens 
of this " most enlightened country under the sun : " 
— rather herd with the murderous savages who prowl 
the mountains of Tibesti ; who stain their midnight 
orgies with the blood of the innocent wanderer, and 
drink their infernal potations from the skulls of the 
victims they have massacred. 

And yet. trust me, Asem, this spirit of vindictive 
cowardice is not owing to any inherent depravity of 
soul, for, on other occasions, I have had ample proof 
that this nation is mild and merciful, brave and mag- 
nanimous ; — neither is it owing to any defect in their 
political or religious precepts. The principles incul- 
cated by their rulers, on all occasions, breathe a 
spirit of universal philanthropy ; and as to their re- 
ligion, much as I am devoted to the Koran of our 
divine prophet, still I cannot but acknowledge with 
admiration the mild torbearance, the amiable benev- 
olence, the sublime morality bequeathed them by the 
founder of their faith. — Thou rememberest the doc- 
trines of the mild Nazarine, who preached peace and 
good-will to all mankind ; who, when he was reviled, 
reviled not again ; who blessed those who cursed 
him, and prayed lor those who despitefuUy used and 
persecuted him ! What then can give rise to this un- 
charitable, this inhuman custom among the disciples 
of a master so gentle and forgiving } — It is that 
fiend POLITICS, Asem — that baneful fiend, which 
bewildercth every brain, and poisons every social 
feeling; which intrudes itself at the festive banquet, 
and like the detestable harpy, pollutes the very viands 
of the table; which contaminates the refreshing 
draught while it is inhaled ; which prompts the cow- 
ardly assassin to launch his poisoned arrows from 
behind the social board ; and which renders the bot- 
tle, that boasted promoter of good fellowship and 
hilarity, an infernal engine, charged with direful 
combustion. 

Oh, Asem ! Asem ! how does my heart sicken 
when 1 contemplate these cowardly barbarities ? 
Let me, therefore, if possible, withdraw my attention 
from them for ever. My feelings have borne me 
from my subject ; and from the monuments of 
ancient greatness, I have wandered to those of 
modern degradation. My warmest wishes remain 
with thee, thou most illustrious of slave-drivers ; 



NOTE BY WILLIAM WIZARD, ESQ. 

* It would seem that in this sentence, the sa^e Mustapha had 
reference to a patriotic dinner, celebrated last fourth of July, by 
some gentlemen of Baltimore, when they righteously drank perdi- 
tion to an unoffending individual, and really thought " they had 
done the state some service." This amiable custom of "eating 
and drinking damnation " to others, is not confined to any party ; — 
for a month or two after the fourth of July, the different news- 
papers file off their columns of patriotic toasts against each other, 
and take a pride in showing how brilliantly their partizans can 
blackguard public characters in their cups — " they do but jest — 
poison in jest," as Hamlet says. 



712 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mayest thou ever be sensible of the mercies of our 
great prophet, who, in compassion to human imbe- 
cility, has prohibited his disciples from the use of the 
deluding beverage of the grape ; — that enemy to rea- 
son — that promoter of defamation — that auxiliary of 
POLITICS. 

Ever thine, Mustapha. 



No. XVII.— WEDNESDAY, NOV. ii, 1807. 



AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS 
BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



When a man is quietly journeying downwards into 
the valley of the shadow of departed youth, and be- 
gins to contemplate, in a shortened perspective, the 
end of his pilgrimage, he becomes more solicitous 
than ever that the remainder of his wayfaring should 
be smooth and pleasant ; and the evening of his life, 
like the evening of a summer's day, fade away in 
mild uninterrupted serenity. If haply his heart has 
escaped uninjured through the dangers of a seduc- 
tive world, it may then administer to the purest of 
his felicities, and its chords vibrate more musically 
for the trials they have sustained ; — like the viol, 
which yields a melody sweet in proportion to its age. 

To a mind thus temperately harmonized, thus 
matured and mellowed by a long lapse of years, 
there is something truly congenial in the quiet en- 
joyment of our early autumn, amid the tranquilhties 
of the countr)-. There is a sober and chastened air 
of gayety diffused over the face of nature, peculiarly 
interesting to an old man ; and when he views the 
surrounding landscape withering under his eye, it 
seems as if he and nature were taking a last farewell 
of each other, and jiarting with a melancholy smile ; 
like a couple of old friends, who having sported away 
the spring and summer of life together, part at the 
approach of winter with a kind of prophetic fear that 
they are never to meet again. 

It is either my good fortune or mishap to be 
keenly susceptible to the influence of the atmos- 
phere ; and I can feel in the morning, before I open 
my window, whether the wind is easterly. It will 
not, therefore, I presume, be considered an extrava- 
gant instance of vain-glory when 1 assert that there 
are few men who can discriminate more accurately 
in the different varieties of damps, fogs, Scotch- 
mists, and north-east storms, than myself. To the 
great discredit of my philosophy I confess I seldom 
fail to anathematize and excommunicate the we.ather, 
when it sports too rudely with my sensitive sys- 
tem ; but then I always endeavour to atone therefor, 
by eulogizing it when deserving of approbation. 
And as most of my readers — simple folks ! make 
but one distinction, to-wit, rain and sunshnie inly- 
ing in most honest ignorance of the various nice 
shades which distinguish one fine day from another, 
I take the trouble, from time to time, of letting them 
into some of the secrets of nature ; — so will they be 
the better enabled to enjoy her beauties, with the 
zest of connoisseurs, and derive at least as much in- 
formation from my pages, as from the weather-wise 
lore of the almanac. 

Much of my recreation, since I retreated to the 
Hall, has consisted in making little excursions 
through the neighbourhood ; which abounds in the 
variety of wild, romantic, and luxuriant landscape 
•that generally characterizes the scenery in the 
vicinity of our rivers. There is not an eminence 
■within a circuit of many miles but commands an 



extensive range of diversified and enchanting pros- 
pect. 

Often have I rambled to the summit of some 
favourite hill ; and thence, with feelings sweetly 
tranquil as the lucid expanse of the heavens that 
canopied me, have noted the slow and almost im- 
perceptible changes that mark the waning year. 
There are many features peculiar to our autumn, 
and which give it an individual character. The 
" green and yellow melancholy " that first steals 
over the landscape ;— the mild and steady serenity 
of the weather, and the transparent purity of the 
atmosphere, speak, not merely to the senses, but the 
heart ; — it is the season of liberal emotions. — To 
this succeeds fantastic gayety, a motley dress, which 
the woods assume, where green and yellow, orange, 
purple, crimson, and scarlet, are whimsically blended 
together. — A sickly splendour this ! — like the wild 
and broken-hearted gayety that sometimes precedes 
dissolution ; — or that childish sportiveness of super- 
annuated age, proceeding, not from a vigorous flow 
of animal spirits, but from the decay and imbecility 
of the mind. We might, perhaps, be deceived by this 
gaudy garb of nature, were it not for the rustling 01 
the falling leaf,- which, breaking on the stillness of 
the scene, seems to announce, in prophetic whispers, 
the dreary winter that is approaching. When I have 
sometimes seen a thrifty young oak changing its hue 
of sturdy vigour for a bright, but transient, glow of 
red, it has recalled to my mind the treacherous 
bloom that once mantled the cheek of a friend who 
is now no more ; and which, while it seemed to prom- 
ise a long life of jocund spirits, was the sure pre- 
cursor of premature decay. In a little while and 
this ostentatious foliage disappears ; the close of 
.autumn leaves but one wide expanse of dusky 
brown ; save where some rivulet steals along, bor- 
dered w^ith little strips of green grass ; — the wood- 
land echoes no more to the carols of the feathered 
tribes that sported in the leafy covert, and its soli- 
tude and silence is uninterrupted, except by the 
plaintive whistle of the quail, the barking of the 
squirrel, or the still more melancholy wintry wind, 
which, rushing and swelling through the hollows of 
the mountains, sighs through the leafless branches 
of the grove, and seems to mourn the desolation of 
the year. 

To one who, like myself, is fond of drawing com- 
parisons between the different divisions of life, and 
those of the seasons, there will appear a striking 
analogy which connects the feelings of the aged with 
the decline of the year. Often as I contemplate the 
mild, uniform, and genial lustre with which the sun 
cheers and invigorates us in the month of October, 
and the almost imperceptible haze which, without 
obscuring, tempers all the asperities of the landscape, 
and gives to every object a character of stillness and 
repose, I cannot help comparing it with that portion 
of existence, when the spring of youthful hope, and 
the summer of the passions having gone by, reason 
assumes an undisputed sway, and lights us on with 
bright but undazzling lustre adown the hill of life. 
There is a full and mature luxuriance in the fields 
that fills the bosom with generous and disinterested 
content. It is not the thoughtless extravagance of 
spring, prodigal onlv in blossoms, nor the languid 
voluptuousness of summer, feverish in its enjoyments, 
and teeming only with immature abundance ; — it is 
that certain fruition of the labours of the past — that 
prospect of comfortable realities, which those will be 
sure to enjoy who have improved the bounteous 
smiles of heaven, nor wasted away their spring and 
summer in empty trifling or crmrinal indulgence. 

Cousin Pindar, who is my constant companion in 
these expeditions, and who still possesses much of 



SALMAGUNDI. 



713 



the fire and energy of youthful sentiment, and a bux- 
om hilarity of the spirits, often, indeed, draws me 
from these half-meiancholy reveries, and makes me 
feel young again by the enthusiasm with which he 
contemplates, and the animation with which he 
eulogizes the beauties of nature displayed before 
him. His enthusiastic disposition never allows him 
to enjoy things by halves, and his feelings are con- 
tinually breaking out in notes of admiration and 
ejaculations that sober reason might perhaps deem 
extravagant : — ^But for my part, when 1 see a hale, 
hearty old man, who has jostled through the rough 
path of the world, without having worn away the 
fine edge of his feelings, or blunted his sensibility to 
natural and moral beauty, I compare him to the 
ever-green of the forest, whose colours, instead of 
fading at the approach of winter, seem to assume 
additional lustre when contrasted with the surround- 
ing desolation ; such a man is my friend Pindar ; 

— yet sometimes, and particularly at the approach of 
evening, even he will lall in with my humour ; but he 
soon recovers his natural tone of spirits : and, mount- 
ing on the elasticity of his mind, like Ganymede on 
the eagle's wing, he soars to the ethereal regions of 
sunshine and fancy. 

One afternoon we had strolled to the top of a high 
hill in the neighbourhood of the Hall, which com- 
mands an almost boundless prospect ; and as the 
shadows began to lengthen around us. and the dis- 
tant mountains to fade into mists, my cousin was 
seized with a moralizing fit. " It seems to me," 
said he, laying his hand lightly on my shoulder, 
"that there is just at this season, and this hour, a 
sympathy between us and the world we are now con- 
templating. The evening is stealing upon nature as 
well as upon us; — the shadows of the opening day 
have given place to those of its close ; and the only 
difference is, that in the morning they were before 
us, now they are behind ; and that the first vanished 
in the splendours of noon-day, the latter will be lost 
in the oblivion of night; — our 'May of life,' my dear 
Launce, has for ever fied ; and our summer is over 
and gone: -but," continued he, suddenly recover- 
ing himself and slapping me gaily on the shoulder, 
— " but why should we repine ? — what ? though the 
capricious zephyrs of spring, the heats and hurricanes 
of summer, have given place to the sober sunshine 
of autumn ! — and though the woods begin to assume 
the dappled livery of decay ! — yet the prevailing 
colour is still green : — gay. sprightly green. 

" Let us, then, comfort ourselves with this reflec- 
tion ; that though the shades of the morning have 
given place to those of the evening, — though the 
spring is past, the summer over, and the autumn 
come, — still you and I go on our way rejoicing ; — 
and while, like the lofty mountains of our southern 
America, our heads are covered with snow, still, like 
them, we feel the genial warmth of spring and sum- 
mer playing upon our bosoms." 



BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



In the description which I gave, sometime since, 
of Cockloft-hall, I totally forgot to make honourable 
mention of the library ; which I confess was a most 
inexcusable oversight ; for in truth it would bear a 
comparison, in point of usefulness and eccentricity, 
with the motley collection of the renowned hero of 
La Mancha. 

It was chiefly gathered together by my grand- 
father ; who spared neither pains nor expense to pro- 
cure specimens of the oldest, most quaint, and in- 



sufferable books in the whole compass of English, 
Scotch, and Irish literature. There is a tradition in 
the family that the old gentleman once gave a grand 
entertainment in consequence of having got posses- 
sion of a copy of a philippic, by archbishop Anselm, 
against the unseemly luxury of long-toed shoes, as 
worn by the courtiers in the time of William Rufus ; 
which he purchased of an honest brickmaker in the 
neighbourhood, for a little less than forty times its 
value. He had undoubtedly a singular reverence for 
old authors, and his highest eulogium on his library . 
was, that it consisted of books not to be met with in 
any other collection ; and, as the phrase is, entirely 
out ot print. The reason of which was, I suppose, 
that they were not worthy of being reprinted. 

Cousin Christopher preserves these relics with 
great care, and has added considerably to the col- 
lection ; for with the hall he has inherited almost all 
the whim-whams of its former possessor. He cher- 
ishes a reverential regard for ponderous /omes of 
Greek and Latin ; though he knows about as much 
of these languages as a young bachelor of arts does 
a year or two after leaving college. A worm-eaten 
work in eight or ten volumes he compares to an old 
family, more respectable for its antiquity than its 
splendour ; — a lumbering folio he considers as a 
duke ; — a sturdy quarto, as an earl ; and a row of 
gilded duodecimos, as so many gallant knights of 
the garter. But as to modern works of literature, 
they are thrust into trunks and drawers, as intruding 
upstarts, and regarded with as much contempt as 
mushroom nobility in England ; who, having risen 
to grandeur, merely by their talents and ser\'ices, are 
regarded as utterly unworthy to mingle their blood 
with those noble currents that can be traced without 
a single contamination through a long line of, per- 
haps, useless and profligate ancestors, up to William 
the bastard's cook, or butler, or groom, or some one 
of Rollo's freebooters. 

Will Wizard, whose studies are of a most uncom- 
mon complexion, takes great delight in ransacking 
the library ; and has been, during his late sojourn- 
ings at the hall, very constant and devout in his visits 
to this receptacle of obsolete learning. He seemed 
particularly tickled with the contents of the great 
mahogany chest of drawers mentioned in the begin- 
ning of {his work. This venerable piece of archi- 
tecture has frowned, in sullen majesty, from a corner 
of the library, time out of mind; and is filled with 
musty manuscripts, some in my grandfather's hand- 
wridng, and others evidently written long before his 
day. 

It was a sight, worthy of a man's seeing, to behold 
Will with his outlandish phiz poring over old scrawls 
that would puzzle a whole society of antiquarians to 
expound, and diving into receptacles of trumpery, 
which, for a century past, had been undisturbed by 
mortal hand. He would sit for whole hours, with a 
phlegmatic patience unknown in these degenerate 
days, except, perad venture, among the High Dutch 
commentators, prying into the quaint obscurity ot 
musty parchments, until his whole face seemed to be 
converted into a folio leaf of black-letter ; and oc- 
casionally, when the whimsical meaning of an ob- 
scure passage flashed on his mind, his countenance 
would curl up into an expression of gothic risibility, 
not unlike the physiognomy of a cabbage leaf wilting 
before a hot fire. 

At such times there was no getting Will to join in 
our walks ; or take any part in our usual recreations ; 
he hardly gave us an oriental tale in a week, and 
would smoke so inveterately that no one else dared 
enter the- library under pain of suffocation. This was 
more especially the case when he encountered any 
knotty piece of writing ; and he honestly confessed 



7U 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



to me that one woim-eaten manuscript, written in a 
pestilent crabbed hand, had cost him a box ot" the 
best Spanish segars before he could make it out ; and 
after all, it was not worth a tobacco-stalk. Such is 
the turn of my knowing associate ; — only let him get 
fairly in the track of any odd out-of-the-way whim- 
wham, and away he goes, whip and cut, until he 
either runs down liis game, or runs himself out of 
breath ; — I never in my life met with a man who rode 
his hobby-horse more intolerably hard than Wizard. 

One of his favourite occupations for some time 
past, has been the hunting of black-letter, which he 
holds in high regard ; and he often hints, that learn- 
ing has been on the decline ever since the introduc- 
tion of the Roman alphabet. An old book printed 
three hundred years ago, is a treasure ; and a ragged 
scroll, about one-half unintelligible, fills him with 
rapture. Oh ! with what enthusiasm will he dwell 
on the discovery of the Pandects of Justinian, and 
Livy's history : and when he relates the pious e.xer- 
tions of the Medici, in recovering the lost treasures 
of Greek and Roman literature, his eye brightens, 
and his face assumes all the splendour of an illumi- 
nated manuscript. 

Will had vegetated for a considerable time in per- 
fect tranquillity among dust and cobwebs, when one 
morning as we were gathered on the piazza, listen- 
ing with exemplary patience to one of cousin Chris- 
topher's long stories about the revolutionary war, 
we were suddenly electrified by an explosion of 
laughter from the library. — My readers, unless per- 
adventure they have heard honest Will laugh, can 
form no idea of the prodigious uproar he makes. To 
hear him in a forest, you would imagine — that is to 
say, if you were classical enough — that the satyrs and 
the dryads had just discovered a pair of rural lovers 
in the shade, and were deriding, with bursts of ob- 
streperous laughter, the blushes of the nymph and 
the indignation of the swain ; — or if it were suddenly, 
as in the present mstance, to break upon the serene 
and pensive silence of an autumnal morning, it would 
cause a sensation something like that which arises 
from hearing- a sudden clap of thunder in a summer's 
day, when not a cloud is to be seen above the horizon 
In short, I recommend Will's laugh as a sovereign 
remedy for the spleen : and if any of our readers are 
troubled with that villainous complaint, — which can 
hardly be, if they make good use of our works, — I 
advise them earnestly to get introduced to him forth- 
with. 

This outrageous merriment of Will's, as maybe 
easily supposed, threw the whole family into a vio- 
lent fit of wondering ; we all, with the exception of 
Christopher, who took the interruption in high 
dudgeon, silently stole up to the library ; and bolting 
in upon him, were fain at the first glance to join in 
his aspiring roar. His face, — but I despair to give 
an idea of his appearance ! — and untd his portrait, 
which is now in the hands of an eminent artist, is en- 
graved, my readers must be content : — 1 promise 
them they shall one day or other have a striking 
likeness of Will's indescribable phiz, in all its native 
comeliness. 

Upon my inquiring the occasion of his mirth, he 
thrust an old, rusty, musty, and dusty manuscript 
into my hand, of which I could not decypher one 
word out of ten, without more trouble than it was 
worth. This task, however, he kindly took off my 
hands ; and, in a little more than eight and forty 
hours, produced a translation into fair Roman let- 
ters ; though he assured me it had lost a vast deal 
of its humour by being modernized and degraded into 
plain English. In return for the great pains he had 
taken, I could not do less than insert it in our work. 
Will informs me that it is but one sheet of a stu- 



pendous bundle which still remains uninvestigated ; 
— who was the author we have not yet discovered ; 
but a note on the back, in my grandfather's hand- 
writing, informs us that it was presented to him as a 
literary curiosity by his particular friend, the illustri- 
ous Rip Van Dam, formerly lieutenant-governor of 
the colony of NEW Amsterd.-\m ; and whose fame, 
if it has never reached these latter days, it is only 
because he was too modest a man ever to do any 
thing worthy of being particularly recorded. 



CHAP. CIX. OF THE CHRONICLES OF THE 
RENOWNED AND ANTIENT CITY OF 
GOTHAM. 



How Gotham city conquered was, 
And how the folk turn'd apes — because. 



Link. Fid. 



Albeit, much about this time it did fall out that 
the thrice renowned and delectable city of GOTHAM 
did suffer great discomfiture, and was reduced to 
perilous extremity, by the invasion and assaults of 
the HOPPINGTOTS. These are a people inhabiting 
a far distant country, exceedingly pleasaunte and 
fertile ; but they being withal egregiously addicted 
to migrations, do thence issue forth in mighty 
swarms, like the Scythians of old, overrunning divers 
countries, and commonwealths, and committing 
great devastations wheresoever they do go, by their 
horrible and dreadful feats and prowesses. They 
are specially noted for being right valorous in all 
exercises of the leg; and of them it hath been rightly 
aflfinned that no nation in all Christendom or else- 
where, can cope with them in the adroit, dexterous, 
and jocund shaking of the heel. 

This engaging excellence doth stand unto them 
a sovereign recommendation, by the which they do 
insinuate themselves into universal favour and good 
countenance ; and it is a notable iact, that, let a 
Hoppingtot but once introduce a foot into com- 
pany, .and it goeth hardly if he doth not contrive to 
flourish his whole body in thereafter. The learned 
Linkum Fidelius, in his famous and unheard-of 
treatise on man, whom he defineth, with exceed- 
ing sagacity, to be a corn-cutting, tooth-drawing 
animal, is particularly minute and elaborate in treat- 
ing of the nation of the Hoppingtots, and betrays 
a little of the Pythagorean in his theory, inasmuch 
as he accounteth for their being so wonderously 
adroit in pedestrian exercises, by supposing that they 
did originally acquire this unaccountable and un- 
paralleled aptitude for huge and unmatchable feats 
of the leg, by having heretofore been condemned for 
their numerous offences against that harmless race 
of bipeds.^or quadrupeds, — for herein the sage 
Linkum Fidelius appeareth to doubt and waver ex- 
ceedingly — the frogs, to animate their bodies for the 
space of one or two generations. 

He also giveth it as his opinion, that the name of 
Hoppingtots is manifestly derivative from this trans- 
migration. Be this, however, as it may, the matter, 
albeit it hath been the subject of controversy among 
the learned, is hut little pertinent to the subject of 
this history ; wherefore shall we treat and consider 
it as naughte. 

Now these people being thereto impelled by a 
superfluity of appetite, and a plentiful deficiency 
of the wherewithal to satisfy the same, did take 
thought that the antient and venerable city of 
Gotham, was, peradventure, possessed of mighty 
treasures, and did, moreover, abound with all man- 
ner of fish and flesh, and eatables and drinkables, 
and such like delightsome and wholesome e.xcel- 



SALMAGUNDI. 



715 



lencies withal. Whereupon calling a council of 
the most active heeled warriors, they did resolve 
forthwith to put forth a mighty array, make them- 
selves masters of the same, and revel in the good 
things of the land. To this were they hotly stirred 
up, and wickedly incited, by two redoubtable and 
renowned warriors, hight PIROUET and rigadoon ; 
ycleped in such sort, by reason that they were two 
mighty, valiant, and invincible little men ; utterly 
famous for the victories of the leg which they 
had, on divers illustrious occasions, right gallantly 
achieved. 

These doughty champions did ambitiously and 
wickedly inflame the minds of their countr)nien, 
with gorgeous descriptions, in the which they did 
cunninglie set forth the marvellous riches and lux- 
uries of Gotham ; where Hoppingtots might have 
garments for their bodies, shirts to their ruffles, and 
might riot most merrily every day in the week on 
beet", pudding, and such like lusty dainties. — They, 
Pirouet and Rigadoon, did likewise hold out hopes 
of an easy conquest ; forasmuch as the Gothamites 
were as yet but little versed in the mystery and 
science of handling the legs ; and being, moreover, 
like unto that notable bully of antiquity, Achilles, 
most vulnerable to all attacks on the heel, would 
doubtless surrender at the very first assault. — 
Whereupon, on the hearing of this inpiriting coun- 
sel, the Hoppingtots did set up a prodigious great 
cry of joy, shook their heels in triumph, and were 
all impatience to dance on to Gotham and take it by 
storm. 

The cunning Pirouet and the arch caitifl" Riga- 
doon, knew full well how to profit of this enthusi- 
asm. They forthwith did order every man to arm 
himself with a certain pestilent little weapon, called 
a fiddle ; — to pack up in his knapsack a pair of silk 
breeches, the like of ruffles, a cocked hat of the 
form of a half-moon, a bundle of catgut — and in- 
asmuch as in marching to Gotham, the army might, 
peradventure, be smitten with scarcity of provis- 
ions, they did account it proper that each man 
should take especial care to carry with him a bunch 
of right merchantable onions. Having proclaimed 
these orders by sound of fiddle, they, Pirouet and 
Rigadoon, did accordingly put their army behind 
them, and striking up the right jolly and sprightful 
tune of Cu Ira, away they all capered towards the 
devoted city of Gotham, with a inost horrible and 
appalling chattering of voices. 

Of their first appearance before the beleaguered 
town, and of the various difficulties which did en- 
counter them in their march, this history saith not ; 
being that other matters of more weighty import 
require to be written. When that the army of the 
Hoppingtots did peregrinate within sight of Go- 
tham, and the people of the city did behold the 
villainous and hitherto unseen capers, and grimaces, 
which they did make, a most horrific panic was 
stirred up among the citizens ; and the sages of the 
town tell into great despondency and tribulation, 
as supposing that these invaders were of the race 
of the Jig-hees, who did make men into baboons 
when they achieved a conquest over them. The 
sages, therefore, called upon all the dancing men, 
and dancing women, and exhorted them with great 
vehemency of speech, to make heel against the in- 
vaders, and to put themselves upon such gallant 
defence, such glorious array, and such sturdy evo- 
lution, elevation, and transposition of the foot as 
might incontinently impester the legs of the Hop- 
pingtots, and produce their complete discomfiture. 
But so it did happen, by great mischance, that di- 
vers light-heeled youth of Gotham, more especially 
those who are descended from three wise men, so 



renowned of yore for having most venturesomely 
voyaged over sea in a bowl, were, from time to time, 
captured and inveigled into the camp of the enemy ; 
where, being foolishly cajoled and treated for a sea- 
son with outlandish disports and pleasantries, they 
were sent back to their friends, entirely changed, 
degenerated, and turned topsy-turvy; insomuch 
that they thought thenceforth of nothing but their 
heels, always essaying to thrust them into the most 
manifest point of view ; — and, in a word, as might 
truly be affirmed, did for ever after walk upon their 
heads outright. 

And the Hoppingtots did day by day, and at late 
hours of the night, wax more and more urgent in 
this their investment of the city. At one time 
they would, in goodly procession, make an open 
assault by sound of fiddle in a tremendous contra- 
dance ;— and anon they would advance by little de- 
tachments and manceuvres to take the town by 
figuring in cotillions. But truly their most cunning 
and devilish cratt, and subtilty, was made manifest 
in their strenuous endeavours to corrupt the garri- 
son, by a most insidious and pestilent dance called 
the Waltz. This, in good truth, was a potent aux- 
iliary ; for, by it, were the heads of the simple Go- 
thamites most villainously turned, their wits sent a 
wool-gathering, and themselves on the point of sur- 
rendering at discretion even unto the very arms of 
their invading foemen. 

At length the fortifications of the town began to 
give manifest symptoms of decay; inasmuch as the 
breastwork of decency was considerably broken 
down, and the curtain works of propriety blown 
up. When that the cunning caitiff Pirouet beheld 
the ticklish and jeopardized state of the city — 
" Now, by my leg," quoth he, — he always swore by 
his leg, being that it was an exceeding goodlie leg ; 
— " Now, by my leg," quoth he, " but this is no great 
matter of recreation ; — I will show these people a 
pretty, strange, and new way forsooth, presentlie, 
and will shake the dust off my pumps upon this 
most obstinate and uncivilized town." Whereupon 
he ordered, and did command his warriors, one and 
all, that they should put themselves in readiness, 
and prepare to carry the town by a GRAND BALL. 
They, in no wise to be daunted, do forthwith, at 
the word, equip themselves for the assault ; and in 
good faith, truly, it was a gracious and glorious 
sight, a most triumphant and incomparable specta- 
cle, to behold them gallantly arrayed in glossy and 
shining silk breeches tied with abundance of riband ; 
with silken hose of the gorgeous colour of the sal- 
mon ; — right goodlie morocco pumps, decorated 
with clasps or buckles of a most cunninge and secret 
contrivance, inasmuch as they did of themselves 
grapple to the shoe without any aid of fluke or 
tongue, marvellously ensembling witchcraft and 
necromancy. They had, withal, exuberant chitter- 
ling-s ; which puffed out at the neck and bosom, 
after a most jolly fashion, like unto the beard of 
an anticnt he-turkey ; — and cocked hats, the which 
they did carry not on their heads, after the fashion 
of the Gothamites, but under their arms, as a roasted 
fowl his gizzard. 

Thus being equipped, and marshalled, they do at- 
tack, assault, batter and belabour the town with 
might and main ; — most gallantly displaying the vig- 
our of their legs, and shaking their heels at it most 
emphatically. And the manner of their attack was 
in this sort;— first, they did thunder and gallop for- 
ward in a contrc-tetnps ; — and anon, displayed column 
in a Cossack dance, a fandango, or a gavot. Where- 
at the Gothamites, in no wise understanding this 
unknown system of warfare, inarvelled exceedinglie, 
and did open their mouths incontinently, the full dis- 



716 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tance of a bow-shot, meaning a cross-bow, in sore 
dismay and apprehension. Whereupon, saith Riga- 
doon, flourishing his left leg with great expression of 
valour, and most magnitic carriage — "my copes- 
mates, for what wait we here ; are not the townsmen 
already won to our favour.' — do not their women and 
young damsels wave to us from the walls in such 
sort that, albeit there is some show of defence, yet is 
it manifestly converted into our interests ? " so say- 
ing, he m.ade no more ado, but leaping into the air 
about a flight-shot, and crossing his feet six times, 
after the manner of the Hoppingtots, he gave a short 
partridge-run, and with mighty vigour and swiftness 
did bolt outright over the walls with a somerset. 
The whole army of Hoppingtots danced in after their 
valiant chieftain, with an enormous squeaking of fid- 
dles, and a horrific blasting and brattling of horns ; 
insomuch that the dogs did howl in the streets, so 
hideously were their ears assailed. The Gothamites 
made some semblance of defence, but their women 
having been all won over into the interest of the ene- 
my, they were shortly reduced to make most abject 
submission ; and delivered over to the coercion of 
certain professors of the Hoppingtots, who did put 
them under most ignominious durance, for the space 
of a long time, until they had learned to turn out 
their toes, and flourish their legs after the true man- 
ner of their conquerors. And thus, after the manner 
I have related, was the mighty and puissant city of 
Gotham circumvented, and taken by a coup dc pied : 
or as it might be rendered, by force of legs. 

The conquerors showed no mercy, but did put all 
ages, sexes, and conditions to the fiddle and the 
dance ; and, in a word, compelled .and enforced them 
to become absolute Hoppingtots. " Habit," as the 
ingenious Linkum Fidelius profoundly affirmeth, " is 
second nature." And this original and invaluable 
observation hath been most aptly proved, and illus- 
trated, by the example of the Gothamites, ever since 
this disastrous and unlucky mischance. In process of 
time, they have waxed to be most flagrant, outra- 
geous, and abandoned dancers ; they do ponder on 
noughte but how to gallantize it at balls, routs, and 
fandangoes ; insomuch that the like was in no time 
or place ever observed before. They do, moreover, 
pitifully devote their nights to the jollification of the 
legs, and their days forsooth to the instruction and 
edification of the heel. And to conclude ; their 
young folk, who whilome did bestow a modicum of 
leisure upon the improvement of the head, have of 
late utterly abandoned this hopeless task ; and have 
quietly, as it were, settled themselves down into mere 
machines, wound up by a tune, and set in motion by 
a fiddle-stick ! 



No. XVIII.— TUESDAY, NOV. 24, 1S07. 



THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK. 
BY LAUNCELOT LANGSTAFF, ESQ. 



The following story has been handed down by 
family tradition for more than a century. It is one 
on which my cousin Christopher dwells with more 
than usual prolixity ; and, being in some measure 
connected with a personage often quoted in our work, 
I have thought it worthy of being laid before my 
readers. 

Soon after my grandfather, Mr. Lemuel Cockloft, 
had quietly settled himself at the hall, and just about 
the time that the gossips of the neighbourhood, tired 



of prying into his affairs, were anxious for some new 
tea-table topic, the busy community of our little vil- 
lage was thrown into a grand turmoil of curiosity 
and conjecture — a situation very common to little 
gossiping villages — by the sudden and unaccountable 
appearance of a mvsterious individual. 

The object of this solicitude was a little black- 
Icoking man, of a foreign aspect, who took posses- 
sion of an old building, which having long had the 
reputation of being haunted, was in a state of ruin- 
ous desolation, and an object of fear to all true be- 
lievers in ghosts. He usually w'ore a high sugarloaf 
hat with a narrow brim ; and a little black cloak, 
which, short as he was, scarcely reached below his 
knees. He sought no intimacy or acquaintance with 
any one ; appeared to take no mterest in the pleas- 
ures or the little broils of the village ; nor ever 
talked ; except sometimes to himself in an outland- 
ish tongue. He commonly carried a large book, cov- 
ered with sheepskin, under his arm ; appeared always 
to be lost in meditation ; and was often met by the 
peasantry ; sometimes watching the dawning of day, 
sometimes at noon seated under a tree poring over 
his volume ; and sometimes at evening gazing with a 
look of sober tranquillity at the sun as it gradually 
sunk below the horizon. 

The good people of the vicinity beheld something 
prodigiously singular in all this ; — a profound mystery 
seemed to hang about the stranger, which, with all 
their sagacity, they could not penetrate ; and id the 
excess of worldly charity they pronounced it a sure 
sign " that he was no better than he should be ; " — 
a phrase innocent enough in itself: but which, as ap- 
plied in common, signifies nearly every thing that is 
bad. The young people thought him a gloomy mis- 
anthrope, because he never joined in their sports ; — 
the old men thought still more hardly of him because 
he followed no trade, nor ever seemed ambitious of 
earning a farthing ; — and as to the old gossips, baf- 
fled by the inflexible taciturnity of the stranger, they 
unanimously decreed that a man who could not or 
would not ialk was no better than a dumb beast. 
The little man in black, careless of their opinions, 
seemed resolved to maintain the liberty of keeping 
his own secret ; and the consequence w-as, that, in a 
little while, the whole village was in an uproar ; — for 
in little communities of this description, the members 
have always the privilege of being thoroughly versed, 
and even of meddling in all the affairs of each other. 

A confidential conference was held one Sunday 
morning after sennon, at the door of the village 
church, and the character of the unknown fully in- 
vestigated. The schoolmaster gave as his opinion, 
that he was the wandering Jew ; — the sexton was 
certain that he must be a free-mason from his si- 
lence : — a third maintained, with great obstinacy, 
that he was a high German doctor ; and that the 
book which he carried about with him, contained 
the secrets of the black art ; but the most prevailing 
opinion seemed to be that he was a witch ; — a race 
of beings at that time abounding in those parts ; and 
a sagacious old matron, from Connecticut, proposed 
to ascertain the fact by sousing him into a kettle of 
hot water. 

Suspicion, when once afloat, goes with wind and 
tide, and soon becomes certainty. Many a stormy 
night was the little man in black seen by the flashes 
of lightning, frisking and curveting in the air upon a 
broomstick ; and it was always observed, that at 
those times the storm did more mischief than at any 
other. The old lady in particular, who suggested 
the humane ordeal of the boiling kettle, lost on one 
of these occasions a fine brindle cow ; which acci- 
dent was entirely ascribed to the vengeance of the 
little man in black. If ever a mischievous hireling 



SALMAGUNDI. 



717 



rode his master's favourite horse to a distant frolic, 
and the animal was observed to be lame and jaded 
in the morning, — the little man in black was sure to 
be at the bottom of the affair ; nor could a higli wind 
howl through the village at night but the old women 
shrugged up their shoulders, and observed, " tlie 
little man in black was in his tantnims." In short, 
he became the bugbear of everv' house ; and was as 
effectual in frightening little children into obedience 
and hysterics, as the redoubtable Raw-head-and- 
bloodj-bones himself: nor could a housewife of the 
village sleep in peace, except under the guardianship 
of a horse-shoe nailed to the door. 

The object of these direful suspicions remained 
for some time totally ignorant of the wonderful 
quandary he had occasioned ; but he was soon 
doomed to feel its effects. An individual who is 
once so unfortunate as to incur the odium of a 
village, is in a great measure outlawed and pro- 
scribed ; and becomes a mark for injury and insult ; 
particularly if he has not the power or the disposi- 
tion to recriminate. The little venomous passions, 
which in the great world are dissipated and weaken- 
ed by being widely diffused, act in the narrow limits 
of a country town with collected vigour, and become 
rancorous in proportion as they are confined in their 
sphere of action. The little man in black experi- 
enced the truth of this ; every mischievous urchin 
returning from school, had full liberty to break his 
windows ; and this was considered as a most daring 
exploit ; for in such awe did they stand of him, that 
the most adventurous school boy was never seen to 
approach his threshold, and at night would prefer 
going round by the cross-roads, where a traveller 
had been murdered by the Indians, rather than pass 
by the door of his forlorn habitation. 

The only living creature that seemed to have any 
care or affection for this deserted being, was an old 
turnspit, — the companion of his lonely mansion and 
his solitary wanderings ; — the sharer of his scanty 
meals, and, sorry am I to say it, — the sharer of his 
persecutions. The turnspit, like his master, was 
peaceable and inoffensive ; never known to bark at 
a horse, to growl at a traveller, or to quarrel with 
the dogs of the neighbourhood. He followed close 
at his master's heels when he went out, and when 
he returned stretched himself in the sunbeams at 
the door; demeaning himself in all things like a civil 
and well-disposed turnspit. But notwithstanding 
his exemplary deportment, he fell likewise under the 
ill report of the village; as being the familiar of the 
little man in black, and the evil spirit that presided 
at his incantations. The old hovel was considered 
as the scene of their unhallowed rites, and its harm- 
less tenants regarded with a detestation which their 
inoffensive conduct never merited. — Though pelted 
and jeered at by the brats of the village, and fre- 
quently abused by their parents, the little man in 
black never turned to rebuke them ; and his faithful 
dog, when wantonly assaulted, looked up wistfully 
in his master's face, and tliere learned a lesson of 
patience and forbearance. 

The movements of this inscrutable being had long 
been the subject of speculation at Cockloft-hall, for 
its inmates were full as much given to wondering as 
their descendants. The patience with which he bore 
his persecutions particularly surprised them ; for pa- 
tience is a virtue but little known in the Cockloft 
family. My grandmother, who it appears was rather 
superstitious, saw in this humility nothing but the 
gloomy sullenness of a wizard, who restrained him- 
sclt lor the present, in hopes of midnight vengeance ; 
— the parson of the village, who was a man of some 
reading, pronounced it the stubborn insensibility of 
a stoic philosopher ; — my grandfather, who, worthy 



soul, seldom wandered abroad in search of conclu- 
sions, took a data from his own excellent heart, and 
regarded it as the humble forgiveness of a Christian. 
But however different were their opinions as to the 
character of the stranger, they agreed in one partic- 
ular, namely, in never intruding upon his solitude ; 
and my grandmother, who was at that time nursing 
my mother, never left the room without wisely 
putting the large family Bible in the cradle ; a sure 
talisman, in her opinion, against witchcraft and nec- 
romancy. 

One stormy winter night, when a bleak north- 
east wind moaned about the cottages, and howled 
around the village steeple, my grandfather was re- 
turning from club, preceded by a servant with a 
lantern. Just as he arrived opposite the desolate 
abode of the little man in black, he was arrested by 
the piteous howling of a dog, which, heard in the 
pauses of a storm, was exquisitely mournful ; and 
he fancied now and then, that he caught the low 
and broken groans of some one in distress. — He 
stopped for some minutes, hesitating between the 
benevolence of his heart and a sensation of genuine 
delicacy, which, in spite of his eccentricity, he fully 
possessed, — and which forbade him to pry into the 
concerns of his neighbours. Perhaps, too, this hesi- 
tation might have been strengthened by a little taint 
of superstition ; for surely, if the unknown had been 
addicted to witchcraft, this was a most propitious 
night lor his vagaries. At length the old gentle- 
man's philanthropy predominated ; he approached the 
hovel, and pushing open the door, — for poverty has 
no occasion for locks and keys, — beheld, by the light 
of the lantern, a scene that smote his generous heart 
to the core. 

On a miserable bed, with pallid and emaciated 
visage, and hollow eyes ; — in a room destitute of every 
convenience ; — without fire to w^arm or friend to 
console him, lay this helpless mortal, who had been 
so long the terror and wonder of the village. His 
dog was crouching on the scanty coverlet, and shiv- 
ering with cold. My grandfather stepped softly and 
hesitatingly to the bed-side, and accosted the forlorn 
sufferer in his usual accents of kindness. The little 
man in black seemed recalled by the tones of com- 
passion from the lethargy into which he had fallen ; 
lor, though his heart was almost frozen, there was 
yet one chord that answered to the call of the good 
old man who bent over him ; the tones of sympathy, 
so novel to his ear, called back his wandering senses, 
and acted like a restorative to his solitary feelings. 

He raised his eyes, but they were vacant and hag- 
gard ; — he put forth his hand, but it was cold ; he 
essayed to speak, but the sound died away in his 
throat ; — he pointed to his mouth with an expression 
of dreadful meaning, and, sad to relate ! my grand- 
father understood that the harmless stranger, desert- 
ed by society, was perishing with hunger ! — with the 
quick impulse of humanity he despatched the servant 
to the hall for refreshment. A little warm nourish- 
ment renovated him for a short time, but not long: 
— it was evident his pilgrimage was drawing to a 
close, and he was about entering that peaceful asylum 
where "the wicked cease from troubling." 

His tale of misery was short, and quickly told ; 
infirmities had stolen upon him, heightened by the 
rigours of the season : he had taken to his bed with- 
out strength to rise and ask for assistance; — "and 
if 1 had," said he, in a tone of bitter despondency, 
" to whom should I have applied .' I have no friend 
that I know of in the world ! — the villagers avoid me 
as something loathsome and dangerous; and here, 
in the midst of Christians, should I have perished, 
without a fellow-being to sooth the last moments of 
existence, and close my dying eyes, hnd not the 



718 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



bowlings of my faithful dog excited your atten- 
tion." 

He seemed deeply sensible of the kindness of my 
grandfather ; and at one time as he looked up into 
his old benefactor's face, a solitary tear was observed 
to steal adown the parched furrows of his cheek — 
poor outcast ! — it was the last tear he shed — but I 
warrant it was not the first by millions ! my grand- 
father watched by him all night. Towards morning 
he gradually declined ; and as the rising sun gleamed 
through the window, he begged to be raised in his 
bed that he might look at it for the last time. He 
contemplated it for a moment with a kind of religious 
enthusiasm, and his lips moved as if engaged in 
prayer. The strange conjectures concerning him 
rushed on my grandfather's mind : "he is an idol- 
ater !" thought he, "and is worshipping the sun I " 
— He listened a moment and blushed at his own un- 
charitable suspicion ; he was only engaged in the 
pious devotions of a Christian. His simple orison 
being finished, the little man in black withdrew his 
eyes from the east, and taking my grandfather's 
hand in one of his, and making a motion with the 
other towards the sun ; — " I love to contemplate it," 
said he, " 'tis an emblem of the universal benevolence 
of a true Christian ; — and it is the most glorious 
work of him who is philanthropy itself! " My grand- 
father blushed still deeper at his ungenerous sur- 
mises ; he had pitied the stranger at first, but now 
he revered him : — he turned once more to regard 
him, but his countenance had undergone a change ; 
— the holy enthusiasm that had lighted up each 
feature, had given place to an expression of mysteri- 
ous import ; — a gleam of grandeur seemed to steal 
across his Gothic visage, and he appeared full of 
some mighty secret which he hesitated to impart. 
He raised the tattered nightcap that had sunk al- 
most over his eyes, and waving his withered hand 
with a slow and feeble expression of dignity, — " In 
me," said he, with laconic solemnity, — "in me you 
behold the last descendant of the renowned Linkum 
Fidelius ! " My grandfather gazed at him with rev- 
erence ; for though he had never heard of the illus- 
trious personage, thus pompously announced, yet 
there was a certain black-letter dignity in the name 
that peculiarly struck his fancy and commanded his 
respect. 

"You have been kind to me," continued the little 
man in black, after a momentary pause, "and richly 
will I requite your kindness by making you heir to 
my treasures ! In yonder large deal box are the 
volumes of my illustrious ancestor, of which I alone 
am the fortunate possessor. Inherit them — ponder 
over them, and be wise ! " He grew faint with the 
exertion he had made, and sunk back almost breath- 
less on his pillow. His hand, which, inspired with 
the importance of his subject, he had raised to my 
grandfather's arm, slipped from its hold and fell over 
the side of the bed, and his faithful dog licked it ; as 
if anxious to sooth the last moments of his master, 
and testify his gratitude to the hand that had so 
often cherished him. The untaught caresses of the 
faithful animal were not lost upon his dving master ; 
— he raised his languid eyes, — turned them on the 
dog, then on my grandfather; and having given this 
silent recommendation — closed them for ever. 

The remains of the little man in black, notwith- 
standing the objections of many pious people, were 
decently interred in the church-yard of the village ; 
and his spirit, harmless as the bodvit once animated, 
has never been known to molest a living being. My 
grandfather complied, as far as ])ossible, with his 
last request ; he conveyed the volumes of Linkum 
Fidelius to his library ; — he pondered over them fre- 
quently : — but whether he grew wiser, the tradition 



doth not mention. This much is certain, that his 
kindness to the poor descendant of Fidelius was 
amply rewarded by the approbation of his own 
heart and the devoted attachment of the old turn- 
spit, who, transferring his affection from his deceased 
master to his benefactor, became his constant at- 
tendant, and was father to a long line of runty curs 
that still flourish in the family. And thus was the 
Cockloft library first enriched by the invaluable folios 
of the sage LiNKUM FiDELlus. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELI KHAN, 

TO ASEM HACCHEM, PRINCIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO HIS HIGHNESS THE BASHAW OF TRIPOLI. 



Though I am often disgusted, my good Asem, 
with the vices and absurdities of the men of this 
country, yet the women afford me a world of amuse- 
ment. Their lively prattle is as diverting as the 
chattering of the red-tailed parrot ; nor can the 
green-headed monkey of Timandi equal them in 
whim and playfulness. But, notwithstanding these 
valu.ible qualifications, I am sorry to observe they 
are not treated with half the attention bestowed on 
the before-mentioned animals. These infidels put 
their parrots in cages and chain their monkeys ; but 
their women, instead of being carefully shut up in 
harems and seraglios, are abandoned to the direc- 
tion of their own reason and suffered to run about 
in perfect freedom, like other domestic animals : — 
this comes, Asem, of treating their women as ra- 
tional beings and allowing them souls. The conse- 
quence of this piteous neglect may easily be imag- 
ined : — they have degenerated into all their native 
wildness, are seldom to be caught at home, and, at 
an early age, take to the streets and highways, 
where they rove about in droves, giving almost as 
much annoyance to the peaceable people as the 
troops of wild dogs that infest our great cities, or 
the flights of locusts that sometimes spread famine 
and desolation over whole regions of fertility. 

This propensity to relapse into pristine wildness 
convinces me of the untameable disposition of the 
sex, who may indeed be partially domesticated by a 
long course of confinement and restraint, but the 
moment they are restored to personal freedom, be- 
come wild as the young partridge of this country, 
which, though scarcely half hatched, will take to the 
fields and run about with the shell upon its back. 

Notwithstanding their wildness, however, they are 
remarkably easy of access, and suffer themselves to 
be approached at certain hours of the day without 
any symptoms of apprehension ; and I have even 
happily succeeded in detecting them at their domes- 
tic occupations. One of the most important of these 
consists in thumping vehemently on a kind of mu- 
sical instrument, and ])roducing a confused, hideous, 
and indefinable uproar, which they call the descrip- 
tion of a battle ; — a jest, no doubt, for they are won- 
derfully facetious at times, and make great practice 
of passing jokes upon strangers. Sometimes they 
employ themselves in painting little caricatures of 
landscapes, wherein they display their singular droll- 
ery in bantering nature fairly out of countenance ; 
representing her tricked out in all the tawdiy finery 
of copper skies, purple rivers, calico rocks, red grass, 
clouds that look like old clothes set adrift by the tem- 
pest, and foxv trees whose melancholy foliage, droop- 
ing and curling most fantastically, reminds me of 
an undressed perriwig that I have now and then 



SALMACxUNDI. 



719 



seen hung on a stick in a barber's window. At 
other times they employ themselves in acquiring a 
smattering of langu»iges spoken by nations on the 
other side of the globe, as they find their own lan- 
guage not sufficiently copious to supply their con- 
stant demands and express tlieir multifarious ideas. 
But their most important domestic avocation is to 
embroider, on satin or muslin, flowers of a nonde- 
script kind, in which the great art is to make them 
as unlike nature as possible ; — or to fasten little bits 
of silver, gold, tinsel, and glass on long strips of 
muslin, which they drag after them with much dig- 
nity whenever they go abroad ; — a fine lady, like a 
bird of paradise, being estimated by the length of 
her tail. 

But do not, my friend, fall into the enormous error 
of supposing that the exercise of these arts is at- 
tended with any useful or profitable result ; — believe 
me, thou couldst not indulge an idea more unjust 
and injurious ; for it appears to be an established 
maxim among the women of this country, that a 
lady loses her dignity when she condescends to be 
useful, and forfeits all rank in society the moment 
she can be convicted of earning a farthing. Their 
labours, therefore, are directed not towards supply- 
ing their household, but in decking their persons, 
and — generous souls ! ~ they deck their persons, not 
so much to please themselves, as to gratify others, 
particularly strangers. I am confident thou wilt 
stare at this, my good Asem, accustomed as thou 
art to our eastern females, who shrink in blushing 
timidity even from the glance of a lover, and are so 
chary of their favours, that they even seem fearful 
of lavishing their smiles too profusely on their hus- 
bands. Here, on the contrary, the stranger has the 
first place in female regard, and, so far do they 
carry their hospitality, that I have seen a fine lady 
slight a dozen tried friends and real admirers, who 
hved in her smiles and made her happiness their 
study, merely to allure the vague and wandering 
glances of a stranger, who viewed her person with 
indifference and treated her advances with con- 
tempt. By the whiskers of our sublime bashaw, 

but this is highly flattering to a foreigner ! and thou 
mayest judge how particularly pleasing to one who 
is, like myself, so ardent an admirer of the sex. Far 
be it from me to condemn this extraordinary mani- 
festation of good will — let their own countrymen 
look to that. 

Be not alarmed, I conjure thee, my dear Asem, 
lest I should be tempted by these beautiful barba- 
rians to break the faith I owe to the three-and-twenty 
wives from whom my unhappy destiny has perhaps 
severed me for ever : — no, Asem, neither time nor 
the bitter succession of misfortunes that pursues me 
can shake from my heart the memory of former at- 
tachments. I listen with tranquil heart to the 
strumming and prattling of these tnir syrens ; their 
whimsical paintings touch not the tender chord of 
my affections ; and I would still defy their fascina- 
tions, though thev trailed after them trains as long 
as the gorgeous trappings which are dragged at 
the heels of the holy camel of Mecca : or as the 
tail of the great beast in our prophet's vision, which 
measured three hundred and forty-nine leagues, two 
miles, three furlongs, and a hand's breadth in longi- 
tude. 

The dress of these women is, if possible, more 
eccentric and whimsical than their deportment ; and 
they take an inordinate pride in certain ornaments 
which are probably derived from their savage pro- 
genitors. A woman of this country, dressed out 

lor an exhibition, is loaded with as many ornaments 
as a Circassian slave when brought out for sale. 
Their heads are tricked out with little bits of horn 



or shell, cut into fantastic shapes, and they seem to 
emulate each other in the number of these singular 
baubles; — like the women we have seen in our jour- 
neys to Aleppo, who cover their heads with the en- 
tire shell of a tortoise, and, thus equipped, are the 
envy of all their less Ibrtunate acquaintance. They 
also decorate their necks and ears with coral, gold 
chains, and glass beads, and load their fingers with 
a variety of rings ; though, I must confess, I have 
never perceived that they wear any in their noses — 
as has been affirmed by many travellers. We have 
heard much of their painting themselves most hide- 
ously, and making use of bear's grease in great pro- 
fusion ; but this, I solemnly assure thee, is a misrep- 
resentation ; civilization, no doubt, having gradually 
extirpated these nauseous practices. It is true, I have 
seen two or three of these females, who had disguis- 
ed their features with paint ; but then it was merely 
to give a tinge of red to their cheeks, and did not 
look very frightful ; and as to ointment, they rarely 
use any now, except occasionally a little Grecian oil 
for their hair, which gives it a glossy, greasy, and, 
they think, very comely appearance. The last-men- 
tioned class of females, I take it for granted, have 
been but lately caught, and still retain strong traits 
of their original savage propensities. 

The most flagrant and inexcusable fault, how- 
ever, which I find in these lovely savages, is the 
shameless and abandoned exposure of their persons. 
Wilt not thou suspect me of exaggeration when I 
affirm ; — wilt thou not blush for them, most discreet 
Mussulman, when I declare to thee, that they are so 
lost to all sense of modesty, as to expose the whole 
of their faces from their forehead to the chin, and 
they even go abroad with their hands uncovered ! — 
Monstrous indelicacy ! — 

But what I am going to disclose, will, doubtless, 
appear to thee still more incredible. Though 1 can- 
not forbear paying a tribute of admiration to the 
beautiful faces of these fair infidels, yet I must give 
it as my firm opinion, that their persons are prepos- 
terously unseemly. In vain did 1 look around me, 
on my first landing, for those divine forms of redun- 
dant proportions, which answer to the true standard 
of eastern beauty ; — not a single fat fair one could 
I behold among the multitudes that thronged the 
streets ; the females that passed in review before me, 
tripping sportively along, resembled a procession of 
shadows, returning to their graves at the crowing of 
the cock. 

This meagreness I first ascribed to their excessive 
volubility ; for I have somewhere seen it advanced 
by a learned doctor, that the sex were endowed with 
a peculiar activity of tongue, in order that they 
miglit practise talking as a healthful exercise, neces- 
sary to their confined and sedentary mode of life. 
This exercise, it was natural to suppose, would be 
carried to great excess in a logocracy. — "Too true," 
thought I, " they have converted, what was undoubt- 
edly meant as a beneficent gift, into a noxious habit, 
that steals the flesh I'rom their bones and the rose 
from their cheeks — they absolutely talk themselves 
thin ! " Judge then of my surprise when I was as- 
sured, not long since, that this meagreness was con- 
sidered the perfection of personal beauty, and that 
many a lady starved herself, with all the obstinate 

perseverance of a pious dervise into a fine figure ! 

" Nay, more," said my informer, " they will often 

sacrifice their healihs in this eager pursuit of skele- 
ton beauty, and drink vinegar, eat pickles, and smoke 
tobacco, to keep themselves within the scanty out- 
lines of the fashions." — Faugh ! Allah preserve me 
from such beauties, who contaminate their pure 
blood with noxious recipes ; who impiously sacrifice 
\ the best gifts of Heaven, to a preposterous and mis- 



720 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



taken vanity. Ere long I shall not be surprised to 
see them scarring their faces like the negroes of 
Congo, flattening their noses in imitation of the Hot- 
tentots, or like the barbarians of Ab-al Timar, distort- 
ing their lips and ears out of all natural dimensions. 
Since 1 received this information, I cannot contem- 
plate a fine figure, without thinking of a vinegar cruet; 
nor look at a dashing belle, without fancying her a 
pot of pickled cucumbers ! What a difference, my 
friend, between these shades and the plump beauties 
of Tripoli, — -what a contrast between an infidel fair 
one and my favourite wife Fatima, whom I bought by 
the hundred weight, and had trundled home in a 
wheel-barrow ! 

But enough for the present ; I am promised a 
faithful account of the arcana of a lady's toilette — 
a complete initiation into the arts, mysteries, spells, 
and potions ; in short, the whole chymical process 
by which she reduces herself down to the most fash- 
ionable standard of insignificance ; together with 
specimens of the strait waistcoats, the lacings, the 
bandages, and the various ingenious instruments with 
which she puts nature to the rack, and tortures her- 
self into a proper figure to be admired. 

Farewell, thou sweetest of slave-drivers ! the 
echoes that repeat to a lover's ear the song of his 
mistress, are not more soothing than tidings from 
those we love. Let thy answer to my letters be 
speedy ; and never, I pray thee, for a moment, cease 
to watch over the prosperity of my house, and the 
welfare of my beloved wives. Let them want for 
nothing, my friend ; but feed them plentifully on 
honey, boiled rice, and water gruel ; so that when I 
return to the blessed land of my fathers, if that can 
ever be ! I may find them improved in size and loveli- 
ness, and sleek as the graceful elephants that range 
the green valley of Abimar. 

Ever thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 



No. XIX.— THURSDAY, DEC. 31, 1S07. 

FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



Having returned to town, and once more formally 
taken possession of my elbow-chair, it behooves me 
to discard the rural feelings, and the rural sentiments, 
in which I have for some time past indulged, and 
devote myself more exclusively to the edification of 
the town. As I feel at this moment a chivalric spark 
of gallantry playing around my heart, and one of 
those dulcet emotions of cordiality, which an old 
bachelor will sometimes entertain towards the divine 
sex, I am determined to gratify the sentiment for 
once, and devote this number exclusively to the 
ladies. I would not, however, have our fair readers 
imagine that we wish to flatter ourselves into their 
good graces; devoutly as we adore them ! — and what 
true cavalier does not, — and heartily as we desire to 
flourish in the mild sunshine of their smiles, yet we 
scorn to insinuate ourselves into their favour ; unless 
it be as honest friends, sincere well-wishers, and dis- 
interested advisers. If in the course of this number 
they tind us rather prodigal of our encomiums, they 
will have the modesty to ascribe it to the excess of 
their own merits; — if they find us extremely indul- 
gent to their faults, they will impute it rather to the 
superaliundance of our good-nature, than to any ser- 
vile and illiberal fear of giving offence. 

The following letter of Mustapha falls in exactly 
with the current of my purpose. As I have before 
mentioned that his letters are without dates, we are 



obliged to give them very irregularly, without any 
regard to chronological order. 

The present one appears to have been written not 
long after his arrival, and antecedent to several al- 
ready published. It is more in the familiar and col- 
loquial style than the others. Will Wizard declares 
he has translated it with fidelity, excepting that he 
has omitted several remarks on the waltz, which the 
honest Mussulman eulogizes with great enthusiasm ; 
comparing it to certain voluptuous dances of the 
seraglio. Will regretted exceedingly that the in- 
delicacy of several of these observations compelled 
their total exclusion, as he wishes to give all possible 
encouragement to this popular and amiable exhibi- 
tion. 



LETTER FROM MUSTAPHA RUB-A-DUB 
KELT KHAN, 

TO MULEY HELIM AL RAGGI, GURNAMED THE 
AGREEABLE RAGAMUFFIN, CHIEF MOUNTE- 
BANK AND BUFFA-DANCER TO HIS HIGHNESS. 



The numerous letters which I have written to our 
friend the slave-driver, as well as those to thy kins- 
man THE SNORER, and which, doubtless, were read 
to thee, honest Muley, have, in all probability, awak- 
ened thy curiosity to know further particulars con- 
cerning the manners of the barbarians, who hold me 
in such ignominious captivity. I was lately at one 
of their public ceremonies, which, at first, perplexed 
me exceedingly as to its object ; but as the explana- 
tions of a friend have let me somewhat into the 
secret, and as it seems to bear no small analogy to 
thy profession, a description of it may contribute to 
thy amusement, if not to thy instruction. 

A few days since, just as I had finished my coffee, 
and was perfuming my whiskers, preparatory to a 
morning walk, I was waited upon by an inhabitant 
of this place, a gay young infidel, who has of late 
cultivated my acquaintance. He presented me with 
a square bit of painted pasteboard, which, he inform- 
ed me, would entitle me to admittance to the CITY 
ASSEMBLY. Curious to know the meaning of a 
phrase which was entirely new to me, I requested 
an explanation ; when my friend informed me that 
the assembly was a numerous concourse of young 
people of both sexes, who, on certain occasions, 
gathered together to dance about a large room with 
violent gesticulation, and try to out-dress each other. 
— " In short," said he, " if you wish to see the natives 
in all their glory, there's no place like the City As- 
sembly ; so you must go there, and sport your whis- 
kers." Though the matter of sporting my whiskers 
was considerably above my apprehension, yet I now 
began, as I thought, to understand him. I had 
heard of the war dances of the natives, which are a 
kind of religious institution, and had little doubt but 
that this must be a solemnity of the kind — upon a 
prodigious great scale. Anxious as I am to contem- 
plate these strange people in every situation, I wil- 
lingly acceded to his proposal, and, to be the inore at 
ease, I determined to lay aside my Turkish dress, 
and appear in plain garments of the fashion of this 
country ; as is my custom whenever I wish to mingle 
in a crowd without exciting the attention of the 
gaping multitude. 

It was long after the shades of night had fallen, 
before my friend appeared to conduct me to the as- 
sembly. " These infidels," thought 1, "shroud them- 
selves in mystery, and seek the aid of gloom and 
darkness, to heighten the solemnity of their pious 
orgies." Resolving to conduct myself with that 



SALMAGUNDI. 



721 



decent respect which every stranger owes to the 
customs of the land in which he sojourns, I chastised 
my features into an expression of sober reverence, 
and stretched my face into a degree of longitude 
suitable to the ceremony I was about to witness. 
Spite of myself, I felt an emotion of awe stealing over 
my senses as I approached the majestic pile. My 
imagination pictured something similar to a descent 
into the cave of Dom-Daniel, where the necroman- 
cers of the East are taught their infernal arts. I 
entered with the same gravity of demeanour that I 
would have approached the holy temple at Mecca, 
and bowed my head three times as I passed the 
threshold. " Head of the mighty Anirou ! " thought 
I. on being ushered ijito a splendid saloon, " what a 
display is here ! surelv I am transported to the man- 
sions of the Houris, the elysium of the faithful ! " — 
How tame appeared all the descriptions of enchant- 
ed palaces in our Arabian poetry ! — w'herever I turned 
my eyes, the quick glances of beauty dazzled my 
vision and ravished my heart ; lovely virgins fluttered 
by me, darting imperial looks of conquest, or beam- 
ing such smiles of invitation, as did Gabriel when lie 
beckoned our holy prophet to Heaven. Shall I own 
the weakness of thy friend, good Muley ? — while thus 
gazing on the enchanted scene before me, I, for a 
moment, forgot my country; and even the memoi^ 
of my three-and-twenty wives faded from my heart ; 
my thoughts were bewildered and led astray by the 
charms of these bewitching savages, and I sunk, for 
a while, into that delicious state of mind, where the 
senses, all enchanted, and all striving for mastery, 
produce an endless variety of tumultuous, yet pleas- 
ing emotions. Oh, Muley, never shall I again won- 
der that an infidel should prove a recreant to the 
single solitary wife allotted him, when, even thy 
friend, armed with all the precepts of Mahomet, can 
so easily prove faithless to three-and-twenty ! 

" Whither have )ou led me ? " said I, at length, to 
my companion, " and to whom do these beautiful 
creatures belong.' Certainly this must be the se- 
raglio of the grand bashaw of the city, and a most 
happy bashaw must he be, to possess treasures, 
which even his highness of Tripoli cannot parallel." 
" Have a care," cried my companion, " how you talk 
about seraglios, or you'll have all these gentle nymphs 
about your ears ; for seraglio is a word which, beyond 
all others, they abhor; — most of them," continued 
he, " have no lord and master, but come here to catch 
one^they're in the market, as we term it." " Ah, 
hah ! " said I, exultingly, " then you really have a lair, 
or slave-market, such as we have in the east, where 
the faithful are provided with the choicest virgins of 

Georgia and Circassia ? by our glorious sun of 

Afric, but I should like to select some ten or a dozen 
wives from so lovely an assemblage ! Pray, what 
would you suppose they might be bought for .' "■ 

Before I could receive an answer, my attention 
was attracted by two or three good-looking, middle- 
sized men, who, being dressed in black, a colour 
universally worn in this country by the muftis and 
dervises, 1 immediately concluded to be high-priests, 
and was confirmed in my original opinion that this 
was a religious ceremony. These reverend person- 
ages are entitled managers, and enjoy unlimited au- 
thority in the assemblies, being armed with swords, 
with which, I am told, they would infallibly put any 
lady to death who infringed the laws of the temple. 
They walked round the room with great solemnity, 
and, with an air of profound importance and mystery, 
put a little piece of folded paper in eacli fair hand, 
which I concluded were religious talismans. One 
of them dropped on the floor, whereupon I slily put 
my loot on it, and, watching an opportunity, picked 
it up unobserved, and found it to contain some unin- 
4G 



telligible words and the mystic number 9. What 
were its virtues I know not ; except that I put it in 
my pocket, and have hitherto been preserved from 
my tit of the lumbago, which I generally have about 
this season of the year, ever since I tumbled into the 
well of Zim-zim on my pilgrimage to Mecca. I en- 
close it to thee in this letter, presuming it to be par- 
ticularly serviceable against the dangers of thy pro- 
fession. 

Shortly after the distribution of these talismans, 
one of the high-priests stalked into the middle of the 
room with great majesty, and clapped his hands three 
times ; a loud explosion of music succeeded from a 
number of black, \ ellow, and white musicians, perched 
in a kind of cage over the grand entrance. The com- 
pany were thereupon thrown into great confusion 
and apparent consternation. — They hurried to and 
fro about the room, and at length formed themselves 
into little groupes of eight persons, half male and 
half female; — the music struck into something like 
harmony, and, in a moinent, to my utter astonish- 
ment and dismay, they were all seized with what I 
concluded to be a paroxysm of religious phrenzy, 
tossing about their heads in a ludicrous style from 
side to side, and indulging in extravagant contortions 
of tigure ; — now throwing their heels into the air, 
and anon whirling round with the \elocity of the 
eastern idolaters, who think they pay a grateful 
homage to the sun by imitating his motions. I ex- 
pected evei7 inoment to see them fall down in con- 
vulsions, foam at the mouth, and shriek with fancied 
inspiration. As usual the females seemed most fer- 
vent in their religious exercises, and performed them 
with a melancholy expression of feature that was 
peculiarly touching ; but 1 was highly gratified by 
the exemplary conduct of several male devotees, who, 
though their gesticulations would intimate a wild mer- 
riment of the feelings, maintained throughout as in- 
flexible a gravity of countenance as so many monkeys 
of the island of Borneo at their anticks. 

" And pray," said I, " who is the divinity that pre- 
sides in this splendid mosque.'" "The divinit) ! 

— oh, I understand — you mean the belle of the even- 
ing ; we have a new one every season : the one at 
present in fasliion is that lady you see yonder, dressed 
in white, with pink ribands, and a crowd of adorers 
around her." " Truly," cried I, " this is the pleas- 
antest deity I have encountered in the whole course 
of my travels ;— so familiar, so condescending, and 
so merry withal ; — why, her very worshippers take her 

by the hand, and whisper in her ear." " My good 

Mussulman," replied niy friend, with great gravity, 
" I perceive you are completely in an error concern- 
ing the intent of this ceremony. You are now in a 
place of public amusement, not of public worsliip ; — • 
and the pretty-looking young men you see making 
such violent .ind grotesque distortions, are merely 
indulging in our favourite amusement of dancing." 
" I cry your mercy," exclaimed I, " these, then, are 
the dancing men and women of the town, such as 
we have in our principal cities, who hire themselves 
out for the entertainment of the wealthy ; — but, pray 

who pays them for this fatiguing exhibition.' " 

My friend regarded me for a moment with an air of 
whimsical perplexity, as if doubtful whether I was in 

jest or earnest. " 'Sblood, man," cried he, " these 

are some of our greatest people, our fashionables, 

who are merely dancing here tor amusement." 

Dancing for amusement ! think of that, Muley! — 
thou, whose greatest pleasure is to chew opium, 
smoke tobacco, loll on a couch, and doze thyself into 
the regions of the Houris ! Dancing for amuse- 
ment ! — shall 1 never cease having occasion to laugh 
at the absurdities of these barbarians, who are labori- 
ous in their recreations, and indolent only in their 



(22 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



hours of business ? Dancing for amusement ! — 

the very idea mal<es my bones ache, and I never 
thinl< of it without being obliged to apply my hand- 
kerchief to my forehead, and fan myself into some 
degree of coolness. 

"And pray," said I, when my astonishment had 
a httle sulisided, " do these musicians also toil for 
amusement, or are they confined to their cage, like 
birds, to sing for the gratification of others ? — I 
should think the former was the case, from the ani- 
mation with which they flourish their elbows." — 
"Not so," replied my friend, "they are well paid, 
which is no more than just, tor 1 assure you they are 
the most important personages in the roonn. The 
fiddler puts the whole assembly in motion, and di- 
rects their movements, like the master of a puppet- 
show, who sets all his pasteboard gentry kicking by a 
jerk of his fingers: there, now — look at that dap- 
per little gentleman yonder, who appears to be suf- 
fering the pangs of dislocation in every Hmb : he is 
the most expert puppet in the room, and perfotms, 
not so much for his own amusement, as for that of 

the by-standers." Just then the little gentleman, 

having finished one of his paro.wsms of activity, 
seemed to be looking round for applause from the 
spectators. Feeling myself really much obliged to 
him for his exertions, I made him a low bow of 
thanks, but nobody followed my example, which I 
thought a singular instance of ingratitude. 

Thou wilt perceive, friend Muley, that the dancing 
of these barbarians is totally different from the 
science professed by thee in Tripoli ; — the country, 
in fact, is afflicted by numerous epidemical diseases, 
which travel from house to house, from city to city, 
with the regularity of a caravan. Among these, the 
most formidable is this dancing mania, which pre- 
vails chiefly throughout the winter. It at first seized 
on a few people of fashion, and being indulged in 
moderation, was a cheerful exercise ; but in a little 
time, bv quick advances, it infected all classes of the 
community, and became a raging epidemic. The 
doctors immediately, as is their usual way, instead 
of devising a remedy, fell together by the ears, to 
decide whether it was native or imported, and the 
sticklers for the latter opinion traced it to a cargo 
of trumpery from France, as they had before hunted 
down the yellow-fever to a bag of coffee from the 
West Indies. What makes this disease the more 
formidable is, that the patients seem infatuated with 
their malady, abandon themselves to its unbounded 
ravages, and expose their persons to wintry storms 
and midnight airs, more fatal, in this capricious cli- 
mate, than the withering Simoom blast of the desert. 

I know not whether it is a sight most whimsical or 
melancholy, to witness a fit of this dancing malady. 
The lady hops up to the gentleman, who stands at 
the distance of about three paces, and then capers 
back again to her place ; — the gentleman of course 
does the same ; then they skip one way, then they 
jump another ; — then they turn their backs to each 
other ; — then they seize each other and shake hands ; 
then they whirl round, and throw themselves into a 
thousand grotesque and ridiculous attitudes ;— some- 
times on one leg, sometimes on the other, and some- 
times on no leg at all ; — and this they call exhibiting 
the graces! — By the nineteen thousand capers of the 
great mountebank of Damascus, but these graces 
must be something like the crooked-backed dwarf 
Shabrac, who is sometimes permitted to amuse his 
highness by imitating the tricks of a monkey. These 
fits continue at short inter\'als from four to five hours, [ 
till at last the lady is led off, faint, languid, exhaust- 
ed, and panting, to her carriage ; — rattles home ; — ' 
passes a night of feverish restlessness, cold perspira- 1 
tions and troubled sleep ; — rises late next morning, | 



if she rises at all, is nervous, petulant, or a prev to 
languid indifference all day ; — a mere household 
spectre, neither giving nor receiving enjoyment ; in 
the evening hurries to another dance; receives an 
unnatural exhilaration from the lights, the music, 
the crowd, and the unmeaning bustle; — flutters, 
sparkles, and blooms for a while, until the transient 
delirium being past, the infatuated maid droops and 
languishes into apathy again ; — is again led off to 
her carriage, and the next morning rises to go through 
exactly the same joyless routine. 

And yet, wilt thou believe it, my dear Raggi, these 
are rational beings: nay more, their countrymen 
would fain persuade me they have souls ! — Is it not 
a thousand times to be lamented that beings, en- 
dowed with charms that might warm even the frigid 
heart of a dervise ; — with social and endearing pow- 
ers, that would render them the joy and pride of the 
harem ; — should surrender themselves to a habit of 
heartless dissipation, which preys imperceptibly on 
the roses of the cheek ; — which robs the eye of its 
lustre, the mouth of its dimpled smile, the spirits 
of their cheerful hilarity, and the limbs of their 
elastic vigour ; — which hurries them off in the spring- 
time of existence ; or, if they survive, yields to the 
arms of a youthful bridegroom a frame wrecked in 
the storms of dissipation, and struggling with pre- 
mature infirmity. Alas, Muley ! may I not ascribe 
to this cause, the number of little old women I meet 
with in this country, from the age of eighteen to 
eight-and-twenty ? 

In sauntering down the room, my attention was 
attracted by a smoky painting, which, on nearer ex- 
amination, I found consisted of two female figures 
crowning a bust with a wreath of laurel. " This, I 
suppose," cried I, "was some favourite dancer in 

his time ? " " Oh, no," replied my friend, " he 

was only a general." " Good ; but then he must 

have been great at a cotillion, or expert at a fiddle- 
stick — or why is his memorial here?" "Quite 

the contrary," answered my companion, " history 
makes no mention of his e\'er having flourished a 
fiddle-stick, or figured in a single dance. You have, 
no doubt, heard of him ; he was the illustrious 
Washington, the father and deliverer of his coun- 
try ; and, as our nation is remarkable for gratitude 
to great men, it always does honour to their mem- 
ory, by placing their monuments over the doors of 
taverns, or in the corners of dancing-rooms." 

From thence my friend and I strolled into a small 
apartment adjoining the grand saloon, where I be- 
held a number of grave-looking persons wdth vener- 
able gray heads, but without beards, which I thought 
very unbecoming, seated around a table, studying 
hieroglyphics; — I approached them with reverence, 
as so many magi, or learned men, endeavouring to 
expound the mysteries of Egyptian science : several 
of them threw down money, which I supposed was 
a reward proposed for some great discovery, when 
presently one of them spread his hieroglyphics on 
the table, exclaimed triumphantly, " two bullets and 
a bragger ! " and swept all the money into his pock- 
et. He has discovered a key to the hieroglyphic-, 
thought I ; — happy mortal ! no doubt his name will 
be immortalized. Willing, however, to be satisfied, 
I looked round on my companion with an inquiring 
eye — he understood me, and informed me, that these 
were a company of friends, who had met together 
to win each other's inoney, and be agreeable. " Is 
that all .' " exclaimed I, " why, then, I pray you, make 
way, and let me escape from this temple of abomi- 
nations, or who knows but these people, who meet 
together to toil, worry, and fatigtie themselves to 
death, and give it the name of pleasure ; — and who 
win each other's money by way of being agreeable ; 



SALMAGUNDI. 



723 



— may some one of them take a liking to me, and 
pick my pocket, or break my head in a paroxysm of 
hearty good-will ! " 

Thy friend, Mustapha. 



BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

Nunc est bibenditm^ nuKc pcde libera 
Plihanda tell us. — Hor, 

Now is the tyme for wine and myrthfiil sportes, 
For daunce, and song, and dispones of syche sortes. 

— Link, Fid. 

The winter campaign has opened. Fashion has 
summoned her numerous legions at the sound of 
trumpet, tamborine, and drum ; and all the harmo- 
nious minstrelsy of the orchestra, to hasten from the 
dull, silent, and insipid glades and groves, where 
they have vegetated during the summer; recovering 
from the ravages of the last winter's campaign. 
Our fair ones have hurried to town, eager to pay 
their devotions to this tikelary deity, and to make 
an offering at her shrine of the few pale and tran- 
sient roses they gathered in their healthful retreat. 
The fiddler rosins his bow, the card-table devotee 
is shuffling her pack : the young ladies are indus- 
triously spangling muslins ; and the tea-party heroes 
are airing their chapcaux bras, and p.ease-blossom 
breeches, to prepare for figuring in the gay circle of 
smiles, and graces, and beauty. Now the fine lady 
forgets her country friends in the hurry of fashiona- 
ble engagements, or receives the simple intruder, 
who has foolishly accepted her thousand pressing in- 
vitations, with such politeness that the poor soul de- 
termines never to come again ; — now the gay buck, 
who erst figured at Ballston, and quaffed the pure 
spring, exchanges the sparkling water for still more 
sparkling champaign ; and deserts the nymph of the 
fountain, to enlist under the standard of jolly Bac- 
chus. In short, now is the important time of the 
year in which to harangue the bon-ton reader ; and, 
like some ancient hero in front of the battle, to 
spirit him up to deeds of noble daring, or still more 
noble suffering, in the ranks of fashionable warfare. 

Such, indeed, has been my intention ; but the num- 
ber of cases which have lately come before me, and 
the variety of complaints I have received from a 
crowd of honest and well-meaning correspondents, 
call for more immediate attention. A host of ap- 
peals, petitions, and letters of advice are now before 
me ; and I believe the shortest way to satisfy my 
petitioners, memorialists, and advisers, will be to 
publish their letters, as I suspect the object of most 
of them is merely to get into print. 



these occasions ; for, to speak my mind freely, there 
are certain young gentlemen who seem to consider 
fashionable parties as mere places to barter old 
clothes ; and I am informed that a number of them 
manage, by this great system of e.Kchange, to keep 
their crowns decently covered without their hatter 
suffering in the least by it. 

It was but lately that I went to a private b.all with 
a new hat, and on returning, in the latter part of the 
evening, and asking for it, the scoundrel of a serv- 
ant, with a broad grin, informed me that the new 
hats had been dealt out half an hour since, and they 
were then on the third quality ; and I was in the 
end obliged to borrow a young lady's beaver rather 
than go home with any of the ragged remnants that 
were left. 

Now I would wish to know if there is no possibil- 
ity of having these offenders punished by law; and 
whether it would not be advisable for ladies to men- 
tion in their cards of invitation, as a postscript, 
" stealing of hats and shawds positively prohibited." 
At any rate I would thank you, Mr. Evergreen, to 
discountenance the thing totally, by publishing in 
your paper that stealing a hat is no joke. 

Your humble servant, WALTER WITHERS. 

My correspondent is informed that the police have 
determined to take this matter into consideration, 
and have set apart Saturday mornings for the cogni- 
zance of fashionable larcenies. 

Mr. Evergreen — Sir : — Do you think a married 
woman may lawfully put her husband right in a 
story, before strangers, when she knows him to be 
in tlie wrong ; and can any thing authorize a wife in 
the exclamation of— "lord, my dear, how can you 



say so 



?" 



Margaret Timson. 



TO ANTHONY EVERGREEN, GENT. 

Sir : — As you appear to have taken to yourself the 
trouble of meddling in the concerns of the beau 
monde, I take the liberty of appealing to you on a 
subject which, though considered merely as a very 
good joke, has occasioned me great vexation and 
expense. You must know I pride myself on being 
very useful to the ladies : that is, I take boxes for 
them at the theatre, go shopping with them, supply 
them with bouquets, and furnish them with novels 
from the circulating library. In consequence of these 
attentions, I am become a great favourite, and there 
is seldom a party going on in the city without my 
having an invitation. The grievance I have to men- 
tion is the exchange of hats which takes place on 



Dear Anthony:— Going down Broadway this 
morning in a great hurry, I ran full against an ob- 
ject which at first put me to a prodigious nonplus. 
Observing it to be dressed in a man's hat. a cloth 
overcoat and spatterdashes, I framed my apology 
accordingly, exclaiming, "my dear sir, I ask ten 
thousand pardons ; — I assure you, sir, it was entirely 
accidental : — pray excuse me, sir," &c. At every one 
of these excuses the thing answered me with a down- 
right laugh ; at which I was not a little surprised, 
until, on resorting to my pocket-glass, I discovered 
that it was no other than my old acquaintance, Cla- 
rinda Trollop ; — I never was more chagrined in my 
life ; for, being an old bachelor, I like to appear as 
young as possible, and am always boasting of the 
goodness of my eyes. I beg of you, Mr. Evergreen, 
if you have any feeling for your cotemporaries, to 
discourage this hermaphrodite mode of dress, for 
really, if the fashion take, we poor bachelors will be 
utterly at a loss to distinguish a woman from a man. 
Pray let me know your opinion, sir, whether a lady 
who wears a man's hat and spatterdashes before 
marriage, may not be apt to usurp some other arti- 
cle of his dress afterwards. 

Your humble ser\'ant, Rodertc Worry. 

Dear Mr. Evergreen : — The other night, at 
Richard the Third, 1 sat behind three gentlemen 
who talked very loud on the subject of Richard's 
wooing Lady Ann directly in the face of his crimes 
against that lady. One of them declared such an 
unnatural scene would be hooted at in China. Praj', 
sir, was that Mr. Wizard > Selina Badger. 

P. S. The gentleman I allude to had a pocket- 
glass, and wore his hair fastened behind by a tor- 
toise-shell comb, with two teeth wanting. 



724 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Mr. EverGRIN — Sz'r: — Being' a little curious in 
the aff;iirs of the toilette, I was much interested by 
the sage Mustapha's remarks, in your last num- 
ber, concerning the art of manufacturing a modern 
fine lady. I would have you caution your fair read- 
ers, however, to be very careful in the management 
of their machinery ; as a deplorable accident hap- 
pened last assembly, in consequence of the archi- 
tecture of a lady's figure not being sufficiently strong. 
In the middle of one of the cotillions, the company 
was suddenly alarmed by a tremendous crash at the 
lower end of the room, and, on crowding to the 
place, discovered that it was a fine figure which had 
unfortunately broken down from too great exertion 
in a pigeon wing. By great good luck I secured the 
corset, which 1 carried home in triumph; and the 
next morning had it publicly dissected, and a lect- 
ure read on it at Surgeon's Hall. I have since com- 
menced a dissertation on the subject ; in which I 
shall treat of the superiority of those figures manu- 
factured by steel, stay-tape, and whale-bone, to those 
formed by dame nature. I shall show clearly that 
the Venus de Medicis has no pretension to beauty 
of form, as she never wore stays, and her waist is in 
exact proportion to the rest of her body. I shall in- 
quire into the mysteries of compression, and how 
tight a figure can be laced without danger of faint- 
ing; and whether it would not be advisable for a 
lady, when dressing for a ball, to be attended by the 
lamily physician, as culprits are when tortured on 
the rack, to know how much more nature will en- 
dure. 1 shall prove that ladies have discovered the 
secret of that notorious juggler, who ofiiered to 
squeeze himself into a quart bottle ; and I shall dem- 
onstrate, to the satisfaction of every fashionable 
reader, that there is a degree of heroism in purchas- 
ing a preposterously slender waist at the expense of 
an old age of decrepitude and rheumatics. This dis- 
sertation shall be published as soon as finished, and 
distributed gratis among boarding-school madams 
and all worthy matrons who are ambitious that their 
daughters should sit straight, move like clock-work, 
and "do credit to their bringing up." In the mean 
time, I have hung up the skeleton of the corset in the 
museum, beside a dissected weazle and a stufled alli- 
gator, where it may be inspected by all those natu- 
ralists who are fond of studying the " human form 
divine." Yours, &c. JULIAN CoGNOUS. 

P. S. By accurate calculation I find it is danger- 
ous for a fine figure, when full dressed, to pronounce 
a word of moie than three syllables. Fine Figure, 
if in love, may indulge in a gentle sigh ; but a sob is 
hazardous. Fine Figure may smile with safety, may 
even venture as far as a giggle, but must never risk 
a loud laugh. Figure must never play the part of a 
confidante ; as at a tea-party some fine evenings 
since, a young lady, whose unparalleled impalpability 
of waist was the en\'y of the drawing-room, burst 
with an important secret, and had three ribs — of her 
corset ! — fractured on the spot. 

Mr. Evergreen— 5/;- .• — 1 am one of those in- 
dustrious gemmen who labour hard to obtain cur- 
rency in the fashionable world. I have went to great 
expense in little boots, short vests, and long breech- 
es ; — my coat is regularly imported, per stage, from 
Philadelphia, duly insured against all risks, and 
my boots are smuggled from Bond-street. I have 
lounged in Broadway with one of the most crooked 
walking-sticks I could procure, and have sported a 
pair of salmon-coloured small-clothes, and flame- 
coloured stockings, at every concert and ball to 
which I could purchase admission. Being atfeared 
that I might possibly appear to less advantage as a 
pedestrian, in consequence of my being rather short [ 



and a little bandy, I have lately hired a tall horse, 
with cropped ears and a cocked tail, on which I 
have joined the cavalcade of pretty gemmen, who 
exhibit bright stirrups every fine morning in Broad- 
way and take a canter of two miles per day, at the 
rate of three hundred dollars per annum. But, sir, 
all this expense has been laid out in vain, for I can 
scarcely get a partner at an assembly, or an invita- 
tion to a tea-party. Pray, sir, inform me what more 
I can do to acquire admission into the true stylish 
circles, and whether it would not be advisable to 
charter a curricle for a month and have my cypher 
put on it, as is done by certain dashers of my ac- 
quaintance. 

■Yours to serve, Malvolio Dubster. 



TEA: A POEM. 

FROM THE MILL OF PINDAR COCKLOFT, ESQ. 

And earnestly ricommended lo the attention of all Maidens 
of a eert^n age. 



Old time, my dear girls, is a knave who in truth 
From the fairest of beauties will pilfer their youth; 
Who, by constant attention and wily deceit. 
For ever is coaxing some grace to retreat; 
And, like crafty seducer, with subtle approach. 
The further indulged, will still further encroach. 
Since this "thief of the world" has made off with your 

bloom. 
And left you some score of stale years in its room — 
Has depriv'd you of all those gay dreams, that would 

dance 
In your brains at fifteen, and your bosoms entrance; 
And has forc'd you almost to renounce, in despair. 
The hope of a husband's affection and care — 
Since such is the case, and a case rather hard ! 
Permit one who holds you in special regard. 
To furnish such hints in your loveless estate 
As may shelter your names from distraction and hate. 
Too often our maidens, grown aged, I ween. 
Indulge to excess in the workings of spleen; 
And at times, when annoy'd by the slights of mankind, 
Work off their resentment — by speaking their mind: 
.Assemble together in snuff-taking clan. 
And hold round the tea-urn a solemn divan. 
A convention of tattling — a tea party hight. 
Which, like meeting of witches, is brew'd up at night; 
Where each matron arrives, fraught with tales of sur- 
prise. 
With knowing suspicion and doubtful surmise; 
Like the broomstick whirl'd hags that appear in Mac- 
beth, 
Each bearing some relic of venom or death, 
" To stir up the toil and to double the trouble. 
That fire may burn, and that cauldron may bubble." 

When the party commences, all starch'd and all glum. 
They talk of the weather, their corns, or sit mum: 
They will tell you of cambric, of ribands, of lace. 
How cheap they were sold — and will name you the 

place. 
They discourse of their colds, and they hem and they 

cough, 
And complain of their servants to pass the time off; 
Or list to the tale of some doating mamma 
How her ten weeks' old baby will laugh and say taa! 

But tea, that enlivener of wit and of soul — 
More loquacious by far than the draughts of the bowl, 
Soon unloosens the tongue and enlivens the mind. 
And enlightens their eyes to the faults of mankind. 

'Twas thus with the Pythia, who served at the fount 
That flow'd near the far-famed Parnassian mount, 
While the steam was inhal'd of the sulphuric spring. 
Her vision expanded, her fancy took wing; — 
By its aid she pronounced the oracular will 
That Apollo commanded his sons to fulfil. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



But alas! the sad vestal, performing the rite, 
Appear'd like a demon — terrific to sight. 

IC'en the priests of Apollo averted their eyes, 
,\iKi the temple of Delphi resounded her cries, 
Hut quitting the nymph of the tripod of yore, 
We return to the dames of the tea-pot once more. 

In harmless chit-chat an acquaintance they roast. 
And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast; 
Some gentle fau.x pas, or some female mistake. 
Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake; 
A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust. 
It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first 
With a little affected good-nature, and cry 
" No body regrets the thing deep than I." 
Our young ladies nibble a good name in play 
As for pastime they nibble a biscuit away: 
While with shrugs and surmises, the toothless old dame. 
As she mumbles a crust she will mumble a name. 
And as the fell sisters astonished the Scot, 
In predicting of Banquo's descendants the lot. 
Making shadows of kings, amid flashes of light. 
To appear in array and to frown in his sight. 
So they conjure up spectres all hideous in hue. 
Which, as shades of their neighbours, are passed in 
review. > 

The wives of our cits of inferior degree. 
Will soak up repute in a little bohea; 
The potion is vulgar, and vulgar the slang 
With which on their neighbours' defects they harangue; 
But the scandal improves, a refinement in wrong! 
As our matrons are richer and rise to souchong. 
With hyson — a beverage that's still more refin'd, 
Our ladies of fashion enliven their mind. 
And by nods, innuendoes, and hints, and what not. 
Reputations and tea send together to pot. 
While madam in cambrics and laces array 'd. 
With her plate and her liveries in splendid parade, 
Will drink in imperial a friend at a sup, 
Or in gunpowder blow them by dozens all up. 
Ah me! how I groan when with full swelling sail 
Wafted stately along by the favouring gale, 
A China ship proudly arrives in our bay. 
Displaying her streamers and blazing away. 
Oh! more fell to our port, is the cargo she bears, 
Than grenadoes, torpedoes, or warlike affairs: 
Each chest is a bombshell thrown into our town 
To shatter repute and bring character down. 

Ye Samquas, ye Chinquas, Chouquas, so free. 
Who discharge on our coast your cursed quantums of 

tea. 
Oh think, as ye waft the sad weed from your strand. 
Of the plagues and vexations ye deal to our land. 
As the Upas' dread breath, o'er the plain where it 

flies, 
Empoisons and blasts each green blade that may rise. 
So, wherever the leaves of your shrub find their way, 
The social affections soon suffer decay: 
Like to Java's drear waste they embarren the heart, 
Till the blossoms of love and of friendship depart. 

Ah, ladies, and was it by heaven design'd. 
That ye should be merciful, loving and kind ! 
Did it form you like angels, and send you below 
To prophesy peace — to bid charity flow! 
And have ye thus left your primeval estate. 
And wandered so widely — so strangely of late? 
Alas! the sad cause I too plainly can see — 
These evils have all come upon you through tea! 
Cursed weed, that can make our fair spirits resign 
The character mild of their mission divine; 
That can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true. 
Which from female to female for ever is due! 
Oh, how nice is the te.\ture — how fragile the frame 
Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame! 
'Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath 
And shrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death. 
How often, how often, has innocence sigh'd; 
Has beauty been reft of its honour — its pride; 
Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light. 
Been painted as dark as a demon of night: 
All offer'd up victims, an auto da fe. 
At the gloomy cabals — the dark orgies of tea! 



If I, in the remnant that's left me of life. 
Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife. 
Let me fall, I implore, in the slang-whanger's claw, 
Where the evil is open, and subject to law. 
Not nibbled, and mumbled, and put to the rack. 
By the sly underminings of tea party clack: 
Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting. 
But spare me! oh, spare me, a tea table toasting! 



No. XX.— MONDAY, JANUARY 25, 1808. 

FROM MY ELBOW-CHAIR. 



Extremum hunc mihi concede laborein. ViRG. 
'* Soft you, a word or two before we part." 

In this season of festivity, when the gate of time 
swings open on its hinges, and an honest rosy-faced 
New-Year comes waddling in, like a jolly fat-sided 
alderman, loaded with good wishes, good humour, 
and minced pies ; — at this joyous era it has been the 
custom, from time immemorial, in this ancient and 
respectable city, for periodical writers, from reverend, 
grave, and potent essayists like ourselves ! down to 
the humble but industrious editors of magazines, re- 
views, and newspapers, to tender their subscribers 
the compliments of the season ; and when they have 
slily thawed their hearts with a little of the sunshine 
of tiatteiT, to conclude by delicately dunning them 
for their arrears of subscription money. In like 
manner the carriers of newpapers, who undoubtedly 
belong to the ancient and honourable order of liter- 
ati, do regularly, at the commencement of the year, 
salute their patrons with abundance of excellent ad- 
vice, conveyed in e.KCeeding good poetry, for which 
the aforesaid good-natured patrons are well pleased 
to pay them exactly twenty-five cents. In walking 
the streets I am every day saluted with good wishes 
from old gray-headed negroes, whom I never recol- 
lect to have seen before ; and it was but a few days 
ago, that I was called to receive the compliments of an 
ugly old woman, who last spring was employed by 
Mrs. Cockloft to whitewash my room and put 
things in order; a phrase which, if rightly under- 
stood, means little else than huddling every thing 
into holes and corners, so that if I want to find any 
particular article, it is, in the language of an humble 
but expressive saying, — " looking for a needle in a 
haystack." Not recognizing my visitor, I demanded 
by' what authority she wished me a " Happy New- 
Year .' " Her claim was one of the weakest she 
could have urged, for I have an innate and mortal 
antipathy to this custom of putting things to rights ; 
— so giving the old witch a pistareen, I desired her 
forthwith to mount her broomstick, and ride off as 
fast as possible. 

Of all the various ranks of society, the bakers 
alone, to their immortal honour be it recorded, de- 
part from this practice of making a market of con- 
gratulations ; and. in addition to always allowing 
thirteen to the dozen, do with great liberality, in- 
stead of drawing on the purses of their customers 
at the New- Year, present them with divers large, 
fair, spiced cakes; which, like the shield of Achilles, 
or an Egyptian obelisk, are adorned with figures 
of a variety of strange animals, that, in their con- 
formation, out-marvel all the wild wonders of nat- 
ure. 

This honest gray-beard custom of setting apart a 
certain portion of this good-for-nothing existence 
for the purposes of cordiality, social merriment, and 
good cheer, is one of the inestimable relics handed 
down to us from our worthy Dutch ancestors. In 



72G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



perusing one of the manuscripts from my worthy 
grandfather's mahogany chest of drawers, I find the 
new year was celebrated with great festivity during 
that golden age of our city, when the reins of gov- 
ernment were held by the renowned Rip Van Dam, 
who always did honour to the season by seeing out 
the old year ; a ceremony which consisted in plying 
his guests with bumpers, until not one of them was 
capable of seeing. "Truly," observes my grand- 
father, who was generally of these parties — " Truly, 
he was a most stately and magnificent burgomaster ! 
inasmuch as he did right lustily carouse it with his 
friends about New-Year ; roasting huge quantities 
of turkeys ; baking innumerable minced pyes ; and 
smacking the lips of all fair ladies the which he 
did meet, with such sturdy emphasis that the same 
might have been heard the distance of a stone's 
throw." In his days, according to my grandfather, 
were first invented these notable cakes, hight new- 
year-cookies, which originally were impressed on one 
side with the honest, burly countenance of the 
illustrious Rip; and on the other with that of the noted 
St. Nicholas, vulgarly called Santaclaus ; — of all the 
saints in the kalendar the most venerated by true 
Hollanders, and their unsophisticated descendants. 
These cakes are to this time given on the first of 
January to all visitors, together with a glass of 
cherry-bounce, or raspberry-brandy. It is with 
great regret, however, I observe that the simplicity 
of this venerable usage has been much violated by 
modern pretenders to style ! and our respectable 
new-year-cookies, and cherry-bounce, elbowed aside 
by plum-cake and outlandish liqueurs, in the same 
way that our worthy old Dutch families are out- 
dazzled by modern upstarts, and mushroom cockneys. 

In addition to this divine origin of new-year fes- 
tivity, there is something exquisitely grateful, to a 
good-natured mind, in seeing every face dressed in 
smiles ; — in hearing the oft-repeated salutations that 
flow spontaneously from the heart to the lips ; — in 
beholding the poor, for once, enjoying the smiles of 
plenty, and forgetting the cares which press hard 
upon them, in the jovial revelry of the feelings ; — 
the young children decked out in their Sunday 
clothes and freed from their only cares, the cares of 
the school, tripping through the streets on errands 
of pleasure ; — and even the very negroes, those holi- 
day-loving rogues, gorgeously arrayed in cast-off 
finery, collected in juntos, at corners, displaying 
their white teeth, and making the welkin ring with 
bursts of laughter, — loud enough to crack even the 
icy cheek of old winter. There is something so 
pleasant in all this, that I confess it would give me 
real pain to behold the frigid influence of modern 
style cheating us of this jubilee of the heart ; and 
converting it, as it does every other article of social 
intercourse, into an idle and unmeaning ceremony. 
'Tis the annual festival of good-humour ; — it comes 
in the dead of winter, when nature is without a 
charm, when our pleasures are contracted to the 
fire-side, and where every thing that unlocks the 
icy fetters of the heart, and sets the genial current 
flowing, should be cherished, as a stray lamb found 
in the wilderness ; or a flower blooming among 
thorns and briers. 

Animated by these sentiments, it is with peculiar 
satisfaction 1 perceived that the last New-Year was 
kept with more than ordinary enthusiasm. It seem- 
ed as if the good old times had rolled back again 
and brought with them all the honest, unceremoni- 
ous intercourse of those golden days, when people 
were more open and sincere, more moral, and more 
hospitable than now ; — when every object carried 
about it a charm which the hand of time has stolen j 
away, or turned to a deformity; when the women were ; 



more simple, more domestic, more lovelv, and more 
true ; and when even the sun, like a hearty old blade 
as he is, shone with a genial lustre unknown in these 
degenerate days : — in short, those fairy times, when 
I was a mad-cap boy, crowding every enjoy- 
ment into the present moment ; — making of the past 
an oblivion ; — of the future a heaven ; and careless 
of all that was "over the hills and far away." Only 
one thing was wanting to make every part of the 
celebration accord with its ancient simplicity. The 
ladies, who — I write it with the most piercing regret — 
are generally at the head of all domestic innovations, 
most fastidiously refused that mark of good-will, that 
chaste and holy salute which was so fashionable in 
the happy days of governor Rip and the patriarchs. 
Even the Miss Cocklofts, who belong to a family 
that is the last entrenchment behind which the man- 
ners of the good old school have retired, made vio- 
lent opposition ; and whenever a gentleman entered 
the room, immediately put themselves in a posture of 
defence; — this Will Wizard, with his usual shrewd- 
ness, insists was only to give the visitor a hint that 
they expected an attack ; and declares, he has uni- 
formly observed, that the resistance of those ladies 
who make the greatest noise and bustle, is most 
easily overcome. This sad innovation originated with 
my good aunt Charity, who was as arrant a tabby as 
ever wore whiskers ; and I am not a little afflicted to 
find that she has found so many followers, even 
among the young and beautiful. 

In compliance with an ancient and venerable cus- 
tom, sanctioned by time and our ancestors, and 
more especially by my own inclinations, I will take 
this opportunity to salute my readers wnth as many 
good wishes as I can possibly spare ; for, in truth, 
I have been so prodigal of late, that I have but few 
remaining. I should have offered my congratula- 
tions sooner ; but, to be candid, having made the 
last new-year's campaign, according to custom, un- 
der cousin Christopher, in which I have seen some 
pretty hard service, my head has been somewhat 
out of order of late, and my intellects rather cloudy 
for clear writing. Beside, I may allege as another 
reason, that I have deferred my greetings until this 
day, which is exactly one year since we introduced 
ourselves to the public ; and surely periodical wri- 
ters have the same right of dating from the com- 
mencement of their works that monarchs have from 
the time of their coronation ; or our most puissant 
republic from the declaration of its independence. 

These good wishes are warmed into more than 
usual benevolence by the thought that I am now, 
perhaps, addressing my old friends for the last time. 
That we should thus cut olT our work in the very 
vigour of its existence may excite some little matter of 
wonderin this enlightened community. — Now, though 
we could give a variety of good reasons for so doing, 
yet it would be an ill-natured act to deprive the pub- 
lic of such an admirable opportunity to indulge in 
their favourite amusement of conjecture : so vve gen- 
erously leave them to flounder in the smooth ocean 
of glorious uncertainty. Beside, we have ever con- 
sidered it as beneath persons of our dignity to ac- 
count for our movements or caprices ; — thank 
heaven, we are not like the unhappy rulers of this 
enlightened land, accountable to the mob for our 
actions, or dependent on their smiles for support !^ 
this much, however, we will say, it is not for want 
of subjects that we stop our career. We are not in 
the situation of poor Alexander the Great, who wept, 
as well indeed he might, because there were no more 
worlds to conquer ; for, to do justice to this queer, 
odd, rantipole city and this whimsical country, there 
is matter enough in them to keep our risible muscles 
and our pens going until doomsday. 



SALMAGUNDI. 



72'J 



Most people, in taking a farewell which may, per- 
l'..i|)s. be tor ever, are anxious to part on good terms : 
ami it is usual, on such melancholy occasions, for 
even enemies to shake hands, forget their previous 
quarrels, and bury all former animosities in parting 
regrets. Now, because most people do this, I am 
determined to act in quite a different way ; for, as I 
have lived, so I should wish to die in my own way, 
without imitating any person, whatever may be his 
rank, talents, or reputation. Besides, if I know our 
trio, we have no enmities to obliterate, no hatchet to 
burv, and as to all injuries — those we have long since 
forgiven. At this moment there is not an individ- 
ual in the world, not even the Pope himself, to whom 
we have any personal hostility. But if, shutting 
their eyes to the many striking proofs of good-nat- 
ure displayed through the whole course of this work, 
there should be any persons so singularly ridiculous 
as to take offence at our strictures, we heartily for- 
give their stupidity ; earnestly entreating them to de- 
sist from all manifestations of ill-humour, lest they 
should, peradventure, be classed under some one of 
the denominations of recreants we have felt it our 
duty to hold up to public ridicule. Even at this mo- 
ment we feel a glow of parting philanthropy stealing 
upon us ; — a sentiment of cordial good-will towards 
the numerous host of readers that have jogged on 
at our heels during the last year ; and, in justice to 
ourselves, must seriously protest, that if at any time 
we have treated them a little ungently, it was purely 
in that spirit of hearty affection with which a school- 
master drubs an unluckv urchin, or a humane mule- 
teer his recreant animal, at the very moment when 
his heart is brim-full of loving-kindness. If this is 
not considered an ample justification, so much the 
worse ; for in that case I fear we shall remain for 
ever unjustified ; — a most desperate extremity, and 
worthy of every man's commiseration ! 

One circumstance in particular has tickled us 
mightily as we jogged along, and that is the aston- 
ishing secrecy with which we have been able to carry 
on our lucubrations ! Fully aware of the profound 
sagacity of the public of Gotham, and their won- 
derful faculty of distinguishing a writer by his style, 
it is with great self-congratulation we find that sus- 
picion has never pointed to us as the authors of Sal- 
magundi. Our gray-beard speculations have been 
most bountifully attributed to sundry smart young 
gentlemen, who, for aught we know, have no beards 
at all ; and we have often been highly amused, when 
they were charged with the sin of writing what their 
harmless minds never conceived, to see them affect 
all the blushing modesty and beautiful embarrass- 
ment of detected virgin authors. The profound and 
penetrating public, having so long been led away 
from truth and nature by a constant perusal of those 
delectable histories and romances from beyond seas, 
in which human nature is for the most part wickedly 
mangled and debauched, have never once imagined 
this work was a genuine and most authentic history; 
that the Cocklofts were a real family, dwelling in the 
city; — paying scot and lot. entitled to the right of 
suffrage, and holding several respectable offices in 
the corporation. — As little do they suspect that there 
is a knot of merry old bachelors seated snugly in the 
old-fashioned parlour of an old-fashioned Dutch 
house, with a weathercock on the top that came 
from Holland, who amuse themselves of an evening 
by laughing at their neighbours in an honest way, 
and who manage to jog on through the streets of 
our ancient and venerable city without elbowing or 
being elbowed by a living soul. 

When we first adopted the idea of discontinuing 
this work, we determined, in order to give the critics 
a fair opportunity for dissection, to declare ourselves. 



one and all, absolutely defunct ; for, it is one of the 
rare and invaluable privileges of a periodical writer, 
that by an act of innocent suicide he may lawfully 
consign himself to the grave and cheat the world 
of posthumous renown. But we abandoned this 
scheme for many substantial reasons. In the first 
place, we care but little for the opinion of critics, 
who we consider a kind of freebooters in the repub- 
lic of letters ; who, like deer, goats, and divers other 
graminivorous animals, gain subsistence by gorging 
upon the buds and leaves of the young shrubs of the 
forest, thereby robbing them of their verdure and 
retarding their progress to maturity. It also oc- 
curred to us, that though an author might lawfully 
in all countries kill himself outright, yet this privi- 
lege did not extend to the raising himself from the 
dead, if he was ever so anxious ; and all that is left 
him in such a case is to take the benefit of the me- 
tempsychosis act and revive under a new name and 
form. 

Far be it, therefore, from us to condemn ourselves 
to useless embarrassments, should we ever be dis- 
posed to resume the guardianship of this learned city 
of Gotham, and finish this invaluable work, which is 
yet but half completed. We hereby openly and 
seriously declare, that we are not dead, but intend, 
if it pleases Providence, to live for many years to 
come ; — to enjoy life with the genuine relish of honest 
souls ; careless of riches, honours, and every thing 
but a good name, among good fellows ; and with the 
full expectation of shuffling off the remnant of exist- 
ence, after the excellent fashion of that merry Grecian 
who died laughing. 



TO THE LADIES. 

BY ANTHONY EVERGREEN", GENT. 



Next to our being a knot of independent old 
bachelors, there is nothing on which we pride our- 
selves more highly than upon possessing that true 
chivalric spirit of gallantry, which distinguished the 
days of king Arthur, and his valiant knights of the 
Round-table. We cannot, therefore, leave the lists 
where we have so long been tilting at folly, without 
giving a farewell salutation to those noble dames and 
beauteous damsels who have honoured us with their 
presence at the tourney. Like true knights, the only 
recompense we crave is the smile of beautv, and the 
approbation of those gentle fair ones, whose smile 
and whose approbation far excels all the trophies of 
honour, and all the rewards of successful ambition. 
True it is. that we have suffered infinite perils in 
standing forth as their champions, from the sly 
attacks of sundry arch caitiffs, who, in the overflow- 
ings of their malignity, have even accused us of en- 
tering the lists as defenders of the very foibles and 
faults of the sex. — Would that we could meet with 
these recreants hand to hand ; — they should receive 
no more quarter than giants and enchanters in ro- 
mance. 

Had we a spark of vanity in our natures, here is 
a glorious occasion to show our skill in refuting these 
illiberal insinuations ; — but there is something manly, 
and ingenuous, in making an honest confession of 
one's offences when about retiring from the world ; 
— and so, without any more ado, we doff our hel- 
mets and thus publicly plead guilty to the deadly sin 
of GOOD NATURE ; hoping and expecting forgive- 
ness from our good-natured readers, — yet careless 
whether they bestow it or not. And in this we do 
but imitate sundrv condemned criminals, who, find- 



728 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ing themselves convicted of a capital crime, with 
great openness and candour do generally in their 
last dying speech make a confession of all their pre- 
vious offences, which confession is always read with 
great delight by all true lovers of biography. 

Still, however, nothwithstanding our notorious de- 
votion to the gentle sex, and our indulgent partiality, 
we have endeavoured, on divers occasions, with all 
the' polite and becoming delicacy of true respect, to 
reclaim them from many of those delusive follies and 
unseemly peccadilloes in which they are unhappily 
too prone to indulge. We have warned them agamst 
the sad consequences of encountering our midnight 
damps and withering wintry blasts ; — we have en- 
deavoured, with pious hand, to snatch them from the 
vvildering mazes of the waltz, and thus rescuing them 
from the arms of strangers, to restore them to the 
bosoms of their friends ; to preserve them from the 
nakedness, the famine, the cobweb muslins, the vin- 
egar cruet, the corset, the stay-tape, the buckram, 
and all the other miseries and racks of a fine figure. 
But, above all, we have endeavoured to lure them from 
the mazes of a dissipated world, where they wander 
about, careless of their value, until they lose their 
original worth ; — and to restore them, before it is too 
late, to the sacred asylum of home, the soil most con- 
genial to the opening blossom of female loveliness ; 
where it blooms and expands in safety, in the foster- 
ing sunshine of maternal affection, and where its 
heavenly sweets are best known and appreciated. 

Modern philosophers may determine the proper 
destination of the sex ; — they may assign to them an 
extensive and brilliant orbit, in which to revolve, to 
the delight of the million and the confusion of man's 
superior intellect ; but when on this subject we dis- 
claim philosophy, and appeal to the higher tribunal 
of the heart ; — and what heart that had not lost its 
better feelings, would ever seek to repose its hap- 
piness on the bosom of one whose pleasures all lay 
without the threshold of home ; — who snatched en- 
joyment only in the whirlpool of dissipation, and 
amid the thoughtless and evanescent gayety of a ball- 
room. The fair one who is for ever in the career of 
amusement, may for a while dazzle, astonish, and 
entertain ; but we are content with coldly admiring ; 
and fondly turn from glitter and noise, to seek the 
liappy fire-side of social life, there to confide our 
dearest and best affections. 

Yet some there are, and we delight to mention 
them, who mingle freely with the world, unsullied 
by its contaminations ; whose brilliant minds, like 
the stars of the firmament, are destined to shed their 
light abroad and gladden every beholder with their 
radiance ; — to withhold them from the world, would 
be doing it injustice ; — they are inestimable gems, 
which were never formed to be shut up in caskets ; 
but to be the pride and ornament of elegant society. 

We have endeavoured always to discriininate be- 
tween a female of this superior order, and the 
thoughtless votary of pleasure ; who, destitute ol intel- 
lectual resources, is servilely dependent on others 
for every little pittance of enjoyment ; who exhibits 
herself incessantly amid the noise, the giddy frolic, 
and capricious variety of fashionable assemblages; 
dissipating her languid affections on a crowd ; lavish- 
ing her ready smiles with indiscriminate prodigality 
on the worthy, or the undeserving ; and listening, with 
equal vacancy of mind, to the conversation of the 
enlightened, the frivolity of the coxcomb, and the 
flourish of the fiddle-stick. 

There is a certain artificial polish, — a common- 
place vivacity acquired by perpetually mingling in the 
bMU monde ; which, in the commerce of the world, 
supplies the place of natural suavity of good humour : 
but is purchased at the expense of all original and 



sterling traits of character. By a kind of fashionable 
discipline, the eye is taught to brighten, the lip to 
smile, and the whole countenance to emanate with 
the semblance of friendly welcome, while the bosom 
is unwarmed by a single spark of genuine kindness 
or good-will. — This elegant simulation may be ad- 
mired by the connoisseur of human character, as a 
perfection of art ; but the heart is not to be deceived 
by the superficial illusion : it turns with delight to 
the timid retiring fair one, whose smile is the smile 
of nature ; whose blush is the soft suffusion of delicate 
sensibility ; and whose affections, unblighted by the 
chilling effects of dissipation, glow with all the ten- 
derness and purity of artless youth. Hers is a single- 
ness of mind, a native innocence of inanners, and a 
sweet timidity, that steal insensibly upon the heart, 
and lead it a willing captive ; — though venturing oc- 
casionally among the fairy haunts of pleasure, she 
shrinks from the broad glare of notoriety, and seems 
to seek refuge among her friends, even from the ad- 
miration of the world. 

These observations bring to mind a little allegory 
in one of the manuscripts of the sage Mustapha; 
which, being in some measure applicable to the sub- 
ject of this essay, we transcribe for the benefit of our 
fair readers. 

Among the numerous race of the Bedouins, who 
people the vast tracts of Arabia Deserta, is a 
small tribe, remarkable for their habits of solitude 
and love of independence. They are of a rambling 
disposition, roving from waste to waste, slaking their 
thirst at such scanty pools as are found in those 
cheerless plains, and glory in the unenvied liberty 
they enjoy. A youthful Arab of this tribe, a simple 
son of nature, at length growing weai7 of his pre- 
carious and unsettled mode of life, determined to set 
out in search of some permanent abode. " I will 
seek," said he, " some happy region, some generous 
clime, where the dews of heaven diffuse fertility , — I 
will find out some unfailing stream ; and, forsaking 
the joyless life of my forefathers, settle on its borders, 
dispose my mind to gentle pleasures and tranquil en- 
joyments, and never wander more." 

Enchanted with this picture of pastoral felicity, he 
departed from the tents of his companions ; and hav- 
ing journeyed during five days, on the sixth, as the 
sun was just rising in all the splendours of the east, 
he lifted up his eyes and beheld extended before him, 
in smiling luxuriance, the fertile regions ol Arabia 
the Happy. Gently swelling hills, tufted with bloom- 
ing groves, swept down into luxuriant vales, enamel- 
led with dowers of never-withering beiuty. The 
sun, no longer darting his rays with torrid fervour, 
beamed with a genial warmth that gladdened and 
enriched the landscape. A pure and temperate 
serenity, an air of voluptuous repose, a smile of con- 
tented abundance, pervaded the face of nature ; and 
every zephyr breathed a thousand delicious odours. 
The soul of the youthful wanderer expanded with 
delight ;— he raised his eyes to heaven, and almost 
mingled with his tribute of gratitude a sigh of regret 
that he had lingered so long amid the sterile soli- 
tudes of the desert. 

With fond impatience he hastened to make choice 
of a stream where he might fix his habitation, and 
taste the promised sweets of this land of delight. 
But here commenced an unforeseen perplexity ; for, 
though he beheld innumerable streams on every side, 
yet not one could he find which completely answered 
his high-raised expectations. One abounded with 
wild and pictures(]ue beauty, but it was capricious 
and unsteady in its course ; sometimes dashing its 
angry billows against the rocks, and often raging 
and overflowing its banks. Another flowed smoothly 
along, without even a ripple or a murmur ■ but its 



SALMAGUNDI. 



729 



bottom was soft and muddy, and its current dull and 
sluggish. A third was pure and transparent, but its 
waters were of a chilling coldness, and it had rocks 
and flints in its bosom. A fourth was dulcet in its 
tinklings, and graceful in its meanderings ; but it 
had a cloying sweetness that palled upon the taste ; 
while a tifth possessed a sparkling vivacity, and a 
pungency of flavour, that deterred the wanderer from 
repeating his draught. 

The youthful Bedouin began to weary with fruit- 
less trials and repeated disappointments, when his 
attention was suddenly attracted by a lively brook, 
whose dancing waves glittered in the sunbeams, and 
whose prattling current communicated an air of be- 
witching gayety to the surrounding landscape. The 
heart of the wayworn traveller beat with expectation ; 
but on regarding it attentively in its course, he found 
that it constantly avoided the embowering shade ; 
loitering with equal fondness, whether gliding through 
the rich valley, or over the barren sand ; — that the 
fragrant flower, the fruitful shrub, and worthless 
bramble were alike fostered by its waves, and that 
its current was often interrupted by unprofitable 
weeds. With idle ambition it expanded itself be- 
yond its proper bounds, and spread into a shallow 
waste of water, destitute of beauty or utilitv, and 
babbling along with uninteresting vivacity and vapid 
turbulence. 

The wandering son of the desert turned away with 
a sigh of regret, and pitied a stream which, if con- 
tent within its natural limits, might have been the 
pride of the valley, and the object of all his wishes. 
Pensive, musing, and disappointed, he slowlv pur- 
sued his now almost hopeless pilgrimage, and had 
rambled for some time along the margin of a gentle 
rivulet, before he became sensible of its beauties. It 
was a simple pastoral stream, which, shunning the 
noonday glare, pursued its unobtrusive course through 
retired and tranquil vales ; — now dimpling among 
flowery banks and tufted shrubbery; now winding 
among spicy groves, whose aromatic foliage fondly 
bent down to meet the limpid wave. Sometimes, 
but not often, it would venture from its covert to 
stray through a flowery meadow ; but quickly, as if 
fearful of being seen, stole back again into its more 
congenial shade, and there lingered with sweet delay. 
Wherever it bent its course, the face of nature bright- 
ened into smiles, and a perennial spring reigned up- 
on its borders. — The warblers of the woodland de- 
lighted to quit their recesses and carol among its 
bowers: while the turtle-dove, the timid fawn, the 
soft-eyed gazelle, and all the rural populace, who joy 
in the sequestered haunts of nature, resorted to its 
vicinity. — Its pure, transparent waters rolled over 
snow-white sands, and heaven itself was reflected in 
its tranquil bosom. 

The simple Arab threw himself upon its verdant 
margin ;-^he tasted the silver tide, and it was like 
nectar to his lips ; — he bounded with transport, for 
he had found the object of his wayfaring. " Here," 
cried he, " will I pitch my tent : — here will I pass my 
days ; for pure, oh, fair stream, is thy gentle current ; 
beauteous are thy borders ; and the grove must be a 
paradise that is refreshed by thy meanderings ! " 



Pendant opera interrupta. 
The work's all aback. 



-Virg. 

— Link. Fid. 



"How hard it is," exclaims the divine Con-futse, 
better known among the illiterate by the name of 
Confucius, "for a man to bite off his own nose! " 
At this moment I, William Wizard, Esq., feel the 



full force of this remark, and cannot but give vent to 
my tribulation at being obliged, through the whim 
of friend Langstafl", to stop short in my literary 
career, when at the very point of astonishing my 
country, and reaping the brightest laurels of litera- 
ture. We daily hear of shipwrecks, of failures and 
bankruptcies ; they are trifling mishaps which, from 
their frequency, excite but little astonishment or 
sympathy ; but it is not often that we hear of a man's 
letting immortality slip through his fingers ; and when 
he does meet with such a misfortune, who would 
deny him the comfort of bewailing his calamity .' 

Next to embargo, laid upon our commerce, the 
greatest public annoyance is the embargo laid upon 
our work ; in consequence of which the produce of 
my wits, like that of my country, must remain at 
home ; and mv ideas, like so many merchantmen in 
port, or redoubtable frigates in the Potomac, moulder 
away in the mud of my own brain. I know of few 
things in this world more annoying than to be inter- 
rupted in the middle of a favourite story, at the most 
interesting part, where one expects to shine ; or to 
have a conversation broken off just when you are 
about coming out with a score of excellent jokes, 
not one of which but was good enough to make 
every fine figure in corsets literally split her sides 
with laughter. In some such predicament am I 
placed at present ; and I do protest to you, my good- 
looking and well-beloved readers, by the chop-sticks 
of the immortal Josh, I was on the very brink of 
treating you with a full broadside of the most in- 
genious and instructive essays that your precious 
noddles were ever bothered with. 

In the first place, 1 had, with infinite labour and 
pains, and by consulting the divine Plato, Sanco- 
niathon, Apollonius, Rhodius, Sir John Harrington, 
Noah Webster, Linkum Fidelius, and others, fully 
refuted all those wild theories respecting the first 
settlement of our venerable country ; and proved, 
beyond contradiction, that America, so far from be- 
ing, as the writers of upstart Europe denominate it, 
the new world, is at least as old as any country in 
existence, not excepting Egypt, China, or even the 
land of the Assiniboils ; which, according to the tra- 
ditions of that ancient people, has already assisted at 
the funerals of thirteen suns and four hundred and 
seventy thousand moons ! 

1 had likewise written a long dissertation on cer- 
tain hieroglyphics discovered on these fragments of 
the moon, which have lately fallen, with singular 
propriety, in a neighbouring state ; — and have thrown 
considerable light on the state of literature and the 
arts in that planet ; — showing that the universal lan- 
guage which prevails there is High Dutch ; thereby 
proving it to be the most ancient and original tongue, 
and corroborating the opinion of a celebrated poet, 
that it is the language in which the serpent tempted 
our grandmother Eve. 

To support the theatric department, I had several 
very judicious critiques, ready written, wherein no 
quarter was shown either to authors or actors ; and 
1 was only waiting to determine at what plays or 
performances they should be levelled. As to the 
grand spectacle of Cinderella, which is to be repre- 
sented this season, I had given it a most unmerciful 
handling : showing that it was neither tragedy, com- 
edy, nor farce ; that the incidents were highly Im- 
probable, that the prince played like a perfect harle- 
quin, that the white mice were merely powdered for 
the occasion, and that the new moon had a most 
outrageous copper nose. 

But my most profound and erudite essay in em- 
bryo is an analytical, hypercritical review of these 
Salmagundi lucubrations ; which I had written part- 
ly in revenge for the many waggish jokes played off 



730 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



against me by my confederates, and partly for the 
purpose of saving- much invaluable labour to the 
Zoiluses and Dennises of the age, by detecting and 
exposing all the similarities, resemblances, synony- 
mies, analogies, coincidences, &c., which occur in 
this work. 

I hold it downright plagiarism for any author to 
write, or even to think, in the same manner with any 
other writer that either did, doth, or may exist. It 
is a sage maxim of law — " l^norantza neminsni 
exciisat" — and the same has been extended to liter- 
ature : so that if an author shall publish an idea that 
has been ever hinted by another, it shall be no ex- 
culpation for him to plead ignorance of the fact. 
All, therefore, that I had to do was to take a good 
pair of spectacles, or a magnifying glass, and with 
Salmagundi in hand, and a table full of books before 
me, to mouse over them alternately, in a corner of 
Cockloft library : carefully comparing and contrasting 
all odd ends and fragments of sentences. Little did 
honest Launce suspect, when he sat lounging and 
scribbling in his elbow-chair, with no other stock to 
draw upon than his own brain, and no other author- 
ity to consult than the sage Linkum Fidelius ! — little 
did he think that his careless, unstudied effusions 
would receive such scrupulous investigation. 

By laborious researches, and patiently collating 
words, where sentences and ideas did not correspond, 
I have detected sundry sly disguises and metamor- 
phoses of which, I'll be bound, Langstaff himself is 
ignorant. Thus, for instance — -The little man in 
black is evidently no less a personage than old 
Goody Blake, or goody something, filched from the 
Spectator, w'ho confessedly filched her from Otway's 
" wrinkled hag with age grown double." My friend 
Launce has taken the honest old woman, dressed 
her up in the cast-off suit worn by Twaits, in Lam- 
pedo, and endeavoured to palm the imposture upon 
the enlightened inhabitants of Gotham. No further 
proof of the fact need be given, than that Goody 
Blake was taken for a witch ; and the little man in 
black for a conjuror ; and that they both lived in vil- 
lages, the inhabitants of w-hich were distinguished 
by a most respectful abhorrence of hobgoblins and 
broomsticks ; — to be sure the astonishing similarity 
ends here, but surely that is enough to prove that 
the little man in black is no other than Goody Blake 
in the disguise of a white witch. 

Thus, also, the sage Mustapha, in mistaking a 
brag party for a convention of magi studying hiero- 
glyphics, may pretend to originality of idea, and to a 
familiar acquaintance with the black-letter literati 
of the east ; — but this Tripolitan trick will not pass 
here ; — I refer those who wish to detect his larceny 
to one of those wholesale jumbles or hodge podge 
collections of science, which, like a tailor's pande- 
monium, or a giblet-pye, are receptacles for scien- 
tific fragments of all sorts and sizes. — The reader, 
learned in dictionary studies, will at once perceive I 
mean an encyclopaedia. There, under the title of 
magi, Egypt, cards, or hieroglyphics, I forget which, 
will be discovered an idea simdar to that of Mus- 
tapha, as snugly concealed as tmth at the bottom of 
a well, or the mistletoe amid the shady branches of 
an oak : — and it may at any time be drawn from its 
lurking place, by those hewers of wood and drawers 
of water, who labour in humbler walks of criticism. 
This is assuredly a most unpardonable error of the 



sage Mustapha, who had been the captain of a ketch ; 
and, of course, as your nautical men are for the most 
part ver\' learned, ought to have known better. — 
But this is not the only blunder of the grave .Mussul- 
man, who swears by the head of Amrou, the beard 
of Barbarossa, and the sword of Khalid, as glibly as 
our good Christian soldiers anathematize body and 
soul, or a sailor his eyes and odd limbs. Now I 
solemnly pledge myself to the world, that in all my 
travels through the east, in Persia, Arabia, China, 
and Egypt, I never heard man, woman, or child 
utter any of those preposterous and new-fangled 
asseverations ; and that, so far from swearing by 
any man's head, it is considered, throughout the 
east, the greatest insult that can be offered to either 
the living or dead to meddle in any shape even with 
his beard. These are but two or three specimens 
of the exposures I would have made ; but 1 should 
have descended still lower; nor would have spared 
the most insignificant ; and, or but, or nevertheless, 
provided I could have found a ditto in the Spectator 
or the dictionary ; — but all these minutiae I bequeath 
to the Lilliputian literati of this sagacious commu- 
nity, who are fond of hunting " such small deer," 
and I earnestly pray they may find full employment 
for a twelve-month to come. 

But the most outrageous plagiarisms of friend 
Launcelot are those made on sundry living per- 
sonages. Thus : Tom Straddle has been evidently 
stolen from a distinguished Brummagem emigrant, 
since they both ride on horseback ; — -Dabble, the 
little great man, has his origin in a certain aspiring 
counsellor, who is rising in the world as rapidly as 
the heavmess of his head will permit ; mine uncle 
John will bear a tolerable comparison, particularly 
as it respects the sterling qualities of his heart, with 
a worthy yeoman of Westchester county; — and to 
deck out Aunt Charity, and the amiable Miss Cock- 
lofts, he has rifled the charms of half the ancient 
vestals in the city. Nay, he has taken unpardonable 
liberties with my own person I — elevating me on the 
substantial pedestals of a worthy gentleman fronr 
China, and tricking me out with claret coats, tight 
breeches, and silver-sprigged dickeys, in such sort 
that I can scarcely recognize my own resemblance ; 
— whereas I absolutely declare that I am an exceed- 
ing good-looking man, neither too tall nor too short, 
too old nor too young, with a person indifterently 
robust, a head rather inclining to be large, an easy 
swing in my walk ; and that I wear my own hair, 
neither queued, nor cropped, nor turned up, but in a 
fair, pendulous, oscillating club, tied with a yard of 
nine-penny black riband 

And now having said all that occurs to me on 
the present pathetic occasion, — having made my 
speech, wrote my eulogy, and drawn my portrait, I 
bid my readers an affectionate farewell ; exhorting 
them to live honestly and soberly ; — paying their 
taxes, and reverencing the state, the church, and 
the corporation ; — reading diligently the Bible and 
almanac, the newspaper, and Salmagundi; — which 
is all the reading an honest citizen has occasion for ; 
— and eschewing all spirit of faction, discontent, 
irreligion, and criticism. 

Which is all at present 

From their departed friend, 
William Wizard. 



Voyages and Discoveries 



COMPANIONS OF COLUMBUS. 



To declare my opinion herein, whatsoever hath heretofore been 
discovered by the famous travayles of Saturnus and Hercules, with 
such other whom the Antiquitie for their heroical acts honoured as 
gods, seemeth but little and obscure, if it be compared to the vic- 
torious labors of the Spanyards. 

— P. Martyr^ Decad. III. c. 4. Lock's translation. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The first discovery of the western hemisphere has 
idready been related by the author in his History of 
Columbus. It is proposed by him, in the present work, 
to narrate the enterprises of certain of the companions 
and disciples of the admiral, who, enkindled by his 
zeal, and instructed by his example, sallied forth 
separately in the vast region of adventure to which he 
had led the way. Many of them sought merely to 
skirt the continent which he had partially visited, and 
to secure the first fruits of the pearl fisheries of Paria 
and Cubaga, or to explore the coast of Veragua, 
which he had represented as the Aurea Chersonesus 
of the Ancients. Others aspired to accomplish a grand 
discovery which he had meditated toward the close of 
his career. In the course of his expeditions along the 
coast of Terra Firma, Columbus had repeatedly re- 
ceived information of the existence of a vast sea to the 
south. He supposed it to be the great Indian Ocean, 
the region of the Oriental spice islands, and that it 
must communicate by a strait with the Caribbean Sea. 
His last and most disastrous voyage was made for the 
express purpose of discovering that imaginary strait, 
and making his way into this Southern Ocean. The 
illustrious navigator, however, was doomed to die, as 
it were, upon the threshold of his discoveries. It was 
reserved for one of his followers, Vasco Nunez de 
Balboa, to obtain the first view of the promised ocean, 
from the lofty mountains of Darien, some years after the 
eyes of the venerable admiral had been closed in death. 

The expeditions herein narrated, therefore, may be 
considered as springing immediately out of the voy- 
ages of Columbus, and fulfilling some of his grand de- 
signs. They may be compared to the attempts of ad- 
venturous knights errant to achieve the enterprise left 
unfinished by some illustrious predecessor. Neither 
is this comparison entirely fanciful. On the contrary, 
it is a curious fact, well worthy of notice, that the 
spirit of chivalry entered largely into the early expedi- 
tions of the Spanish discoverers, giving them a char- 
acter wholly distinct from similar enterprises under- 
taken by other nations. It will not, perhaps, be con- 
sidered far sought, if we trace the cause of this peculi- 
arity to the domestic history of the Spaniards during 
the middle ages. 

Eight centuries of incessant warfare with the Moor- 
ish usurpers of the peninsula produced a deep and 
lasting effect upon the Spanish character and man- 
ners. The war being ever close at home, mingled 
itself with the domestic habits and concerns of the 
Spaniard. He was born a soldier. The wild and 



predatory nature of the war, also, made him a kind 
of chivalrous marauder. His horse and weapon were 
always ready for the field. His delight was in roving 
incursions and extravagant e.xploits, and no gain was 
so glorious in his eyes as the cavalgada of spoils and 
captives, driven home in triumph from a plundered 
province. Religion, which has ever held great empire in 
the Spanish mind, lent its aid to sanctify these roving 
and ravaging propensities, and the Castilian cavalier, 
as he sacked the towns and laid waste the fields of 
his Moslem neighbour, piously believed he was doing 
God service. 

The conquest of Granada put an end to the penin- 
sular wars between christian and infidel ; the spirit of 
Spanish chivalry was thus suddenly deprived of its 
wonted sphere of action ; but it had been too long 
fostered and excited to be as suddenly appeased. The 
youth of the nation, bred up to daring adventure and 
heroic achievement, could not brook the tranquil and 
regular pursuits of common life, but panted for some 
new field of romantic enterprise. 

It was at this juncture that the grand project of Co- 
lumbus was carried into effect. His treaty with the 
sovereigns was, in a manner, signed with the same pen 
that had subscribed the capitulation of the Moorish 
capital, and his first expedition may almost be said to 
have departed from beneath the walls of Granada. 
Many of the youthful cavaliers who had fleshed their 
swords in that memorable war, crowded the ships of 
the discoverers, thinking a new career of arms was to 
be opened to them — a kind of crusade into splendid 
and unknown regions of infidels. The very weapons 
and armour that had been used against the Moors, 
were drawn from the arsenals to equip the discoverers, 
and some of the most noted of the early commanders 
in the new world will be found to have made their 
first essay in arms under the banner of Ferdinand and 
Isabella, in their romantic campaigns among the mount- 
ains of Andalusia. 

To these circumstances may, in a great measure, be 
ascribed that swelling chivalrous spirit which will be 
found continually mingling, or rather warring, with 
the technical habits of the seaman, and the sordid 
schemes of the mercenary adventurer ; in these early 
Spanish discoveries, chivalry had left the land and 
launched upon the deep. The .Spanish cavalier had 
embarked in the Caraval of the discoverer ; he carried 
among the trackless wildernesses of the new world, 
the same contempt of danger and fortitude under suf- 
fering, the same restless roaming spirit, the same pas- 
sion for inroad and ravage, and vain-glorious exploit, 
and the same fervent, and often bigoted, zeal for 
the propagation of his faith that had distinguished 

(731) 



732 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



him during his warfare with the Moors. Instances in 
point will be found in the extravagant career of the 
daring Ojeda, particularly in his adventures alons the 
coast of Terra Firma and the wild shores of Cuba. 
In the sad story of the " unfortunate Nicuesa ; " graced 
as it is with occasional touches of high-bred courtesy ; 
in the singular cruise of that brave, but credulous, old 
cavalier, Juan Ponce de Leon, who fell upon the flow- 
ery coast of Florida, in his search after an imaginary 
fountain of youth ; and above all in the chequered for- 
tunes of Vasco Nunez de Balboa, whose discovery of 
the Pacific ocean, forms one of the most beautiful and 
striking incidents in the history of the new world, and 
whose fate might furnish a theme of wonderful interest 
for a poem or a drama. 

The extraordinary actions and adventures of these 
men, while they rival the exploits recorded in chivalric 
tale, have the additional interest of verity. They 
leave us in admiration of the bold and heroic qualities 
inherent in the Spanish character, which led that na- 
tion to so high a pitch of power and glory, and which 
are still discernible in the great mass of that gallant 
people, by those who have an opportunity of judging 
of them rightly. 

Before concluding these prefatory remarks, the au- 
thor would acknowledge how much he has been in- 
debted to the third volume of the invaluable Historical 
collection of Don Martin Fernandez de Navarrete, 
wherein he has exhibited his usual industry, accuracy, 
and critical acumen. He has likewise profited greatly 
by the second volume of Oviedo's general history, 
which only exists in manuscript, and a copy of which 
he found in the Columbian library of the Cathedral 
of Seville. 

He has had some assistance also from the docu- 
ments of the law-case between Don Diego Columbus 
and the Crown, which exists in the archives of the 
Indies ; and for an inspection of which he is much in- 
debted to the permission of the Spanish Government 
and the kind attentions of Don Josef de La Higuera 
Lara, the keeper of the archives. These, with the 
historical works of Las Casas, Herrera Gomera, and 
Peter Martyr, have been his authorities for the facts 
contained in the following work ; though he has not 
thought proper to refer to them continually at the 
bottom of his page. 

While his work was going throu.gh the press he re- 
ceived a volume of Spanish Biography, written with 
great elegance and accuracy, by Don Manuel Josef 
Quintana, and containing a life of Vasco Nufiez de 
Balboa. He was gratified to find that his arrange- 
ment of facts were generally corroborated by this 
work ; though he was enabled to correct his dates in 
several instances, and to make a few other emenda- 
tions from the volume of Sefior Quintana, whose posi- 
tion in Spain gave him the means of attaining superior 
exactness on these points. 



ALONZO DE OJEDA, 



HIS FIRST VOYAGE, IN WHICH HE WAS ACCOM- 
PANIED BY AMERIGO VESPUCCI.t 



CHAPTER I. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF OJEDA — OF JUAN DE LA COSA 
— OF AMERIGO VESPUCCI — PREPARATIONS FOR 
THE VOYAGE.— (1499). 

Those who have read the History of Columbus 
will, doubtless, remember the character and exploits 
of Alonzo de Ojeda ; as some of the readers of the 

* Ojeda is pronounced in Spanish Oheda, with a strong aspiration 
of the h. 

t Vespucci, Vespuchy. 



following pages, however, may not have perused 
that work, and as it is proposed at present to trace 
the subsequent fortunes of this youthful adventurer, 
a brief sketch of him may not be deemed superfluous. 

Alonzo de Ojeda was a native of Cuenca, in New 
Castile, and of a respectable family. He was brought 
up as a page or esquire, in the service of Don Luis 
de Cerda, Duke of Medina Cell, one of the most 
powerful nobles of Spain ; the same who for some 
time patronised Columbus during his application to 
the Spanish court.* 

In those warlike days, when the peninsula was dis- 
tracted by contests between the christian kingdoms, 
by feuds between the nobles and the crown, and by 
the incessant and marauding warfare with the Moors, 
the household of a Spanish nobleman was a coin- 
plete school of arms, where the youth of the country 
were sent to be trained up in all kinds of hardy exer- 
cises, and to be led to battle under an illustrious 
banner. Such was especially the case with the serv- 
ice of the Duke of Aledina Cell, who possessed 
princely domains, whose household was a petty 
court, who led legions of armed retainers to the 
field, and who appeared in splendid state and with 
an immense retinue, more as an ally of Ferdinand 
and Isabella, than as a subject. He engaged in 
many of the roughest expeditions of the memorable 
war of Granada, always insisting on leading his own 
troops in person, wlien the service was of peculiar 
difficulty and danger. Alonzo de Ojeda was formed 
to signalize himself in such a school. Though small 
of stature, he was well made, and of wonderful force 
and activity, with a towering spirit and a daring eye 
that seemed to make up for deficiency of height. He 
was a bold and graceful horseman, an excellent foot 
soldier, dexterous with every weapon, and noted for 
his extraordinary skill and adroitness in all leats of 
strength and agility. 

He must have been quite young when he followed 
the duke of Medina Cell, as page, to the Moorish 
wars ; for he was but about twenty-one years of age 
when he accompanied Columbus in his second voy- 
age ; he had already, however, distinguished himself 
by his enterprizing spirit and headlong valour; and 
his exploits during that voyage contributed to en- 
hance his reputation. He returned to Spain with 
Columbus, but did not accompany him in his third 
voyage, in the spring of 149S. He was probably im- 
patient of subordination, and ambitious of a separate 
employment or command, which the influence of his 
connexions gave him a great chance of obtaining. 
He had a cousin-german of his own name, the rev- 
erend Padre Alonzo de Ojeda, a Dominican friar, 
who was one of the first inquisitors of Spain, and a 
great favourite with the Catholic sovereigns.t This 
father inquisitor was, moreover, an intimate friend 
of the bishop Don Juan Rodriguez Fonseca, who had 
the chief management of the affairs of the Indies, un- 
der which general name were comprehended all the 
countries discovered in the new world. Through 
the good offices of his cousin inquisitor, therefore. 
Ojeda had been introduced to the notice of the bishop, 
who took him into his especial favour and patronage. 
Mention has already been made, in the History of 
Columbus, of a present made by the bishop to Ojeda 
of a small Flemish painting of the Holy Virgin. 
This the young adventurer carried about with him 
as a protecting relic, invoking it at all times of peril, 
whether by sea or land ; and to the special care of 
the Virgin he attributed the remarkable circumstance 
that he had never been wounded in any of the innu- 



* Varones Ilustres, Dor F. Pizarro y Orellana, p. 41. Las Casas, 
Hist. Ind. 1. i. c. 82. 
t Pizarro. Varones Ilustres. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



733 



merable brawls and battles into wliich he was con- 
tinually betrayed by his rash and fiery temperament. 

While Ojeda was lingering about the court, letters 
■were received from Columbus, giving an account of 
the events of his third voyage, especially of his dis- 
covery of the coast of Paria, which he described as 
abounding with drugs and spices, with gold and sil- 
ver, and precious stones, and, above all, with oriental 
pearls, and which he supposed to be the borders of 
that vast and unknown region of the East, wherein, 
according to certain learned theorists, was situated 
the terrestrial paradise. Specimens of the pearls, 
procured in considerable quantities from the natives, 
accompanied his epistle, together with charts descrip- 
tive of his route. These tidings caused a great sen- 
sation among the maritime adventurers of Spain ; 
but no one was more excited by them than Alonzo 
de Ojeda, who, from his intimacy with the bishop, 
had full access to the charts and correspondence of 
Columbus. He immediately conceived the project of 
making a voyage in the route thus marked out by the 
admiral, and of seizing upon the first fruits of discovery 
which he had left ungathered. His scheme met with 
ready encouragement from Fonseca, who, as has here- 
tofore been shown, was an implacable enemy to Colum- 
bus, and willing to promote any measure that might 
injure or molest him. The bishop accordingly granted 
a commission to Ojeda, authorizing him to fit out an 
armament and proceed on a voyage of discovery, 
with the proviso merely that he should not visit any 
territories appertaining to Portugal, or any of the 
lands discovered in the name of Spain previous to 
the year 1495. The latter part of this provision ap- 
pears to have been craftily worded by the bishop, so 
as to leave the coast of Paria and its pearl fisheries 
open to Ojeda, they having been recently discovered 
by Columbus in 1498. 

The commission was signed by Fonseca alone, in 
virtue of general powers vested in him tor such pur- 
poses, but the signature of the sovereigns did not 
appear on the instrument, and it is doubtful whether 
their sanction was sought on the occasion. He knew 
that Colutiibus had recently remonstrated against a 
royal mandate issued in 1495, permitting voyages of 
discovery, by private adventurers, and that the sov- 
ereigns had in consequence revoked their mandate 
wherever it might be deeined prejudicial to the stip- 
ulated privileges of the admiral.* It is probable, 
therefore, that the bishop avoided raising any ques- 
tion that might impede the enterprise ; being confi- 
dent of the ultimate approbation of Ferdinand, who 
would be well pleased to have his dominions in the 
new world extended by the discoveries of private ad- 
venturers, undertaken at their own expense. It was 
stipulated in this, as well as in subsequent licenses 
for private expeditions, that a certain proportion of 
the profits, generally a fourth or fifth, should be re- 
served for the crown. 

Having thus obtained pennission to make the voy- 
age, the next consideration with Ojeda was to find 
the means. He was a young adventurer, a mere sol- 
dier of fortune, and destitute of wealth ; but he had 
a high reputation for courage and enterprise, and 
with these, it was thought, would soon make his 
way to the richest parts of the newly discovered 
lands, and have the wealth of the Indies at his dis- 
posal. He had no difficulty, therefore, in finding 
monied associates among the rich merchants of 
Seville, who, in that age of discovery, were ever 
ready to stake their property upon the schemes of 
roving navigators. With such assistance he soon 
equipped a squadron of four vessels at Port St. Mary, 
opposite Cadiz. Among the seatnen who engaged 



* Navairetc, t. ii. Document, cxiii. 



with him were several who had just returned from 
accompanying Columbus in his voyage to this very 
coast of Paria. The principal associate of Ojeda, 
and one on whom he placed great reliance, was Juan 
de la Cosa ; who accompanied him as first mate, or, 
as it was termed, chief pilot. This was a bold Bis- 
cayan, who may be regarded as a disciple of Colum- 
bus, with whom he had sailed in his second voyage, 
when he coasted Cuba and Jamaica, and he had 
since accompanied Rodrigo de Bastides, in an e.\pe- 
dition along the coast of Terra Firma. The hardy 
veteran was looked up to by his contemporaries as 
an oracle of the seas, and was pronounced one of 
the most able mariners of the day ; he may be ex- 
cused, therefore, if in his harmless vanity, he con- 
sidered himself on a par even with Columbus.* 

Another conspicuous associate of Ojeda, in this 
voyage, was Amerigo Vespucci, a Florentine mer- 
chant, induced by broken fortunes and a rambling 
disposition to seek adventures in the new world, 
whether he had any pecuniary interest in the expe- 
dition, and in what capacity he saded, does not ap- 
pear. His importance has entirely arisen from sub- 
sequent circumstances ; from his having written and 
published a narrative of his voyages, and from his 
name having eventually been given to the new 
world. 



CHAPTER II. 



DEPARTURE FROM SPAIN — -ARRIVAL ON THE 
COAST OF PARIA — CUSTOMS OF THE NATIONS. 

Ojeda sailed from Port St. Mary on the 20th of 
May, 1499, and, having touched for supplies at the 
Canaries, took a departure from Gomara, pursuing 
the route of Columbus, in his third voyage, being 
guided by the chart he had sent home, as well as by 
the mariners who had accompanied him on that oc- 
casion. At the end of twenty-four days he reached 
the continent of the new world, about two hundred 
leagues farther south than the part discovered by 
Columbus, being, as it is supposed, the coast of 
-Surinam. t 

From hence he ran along the coast of the Gulf 
of Paria, passing the mouths of many rivers, but 
especially those of the Esquivo and the Oronoko. 
These, to the astonishment of the Spaniards, unac- 
customed as yet to the mighty rivers of the new 
world, poured forth such a prodigious volume of 
water, as to freshen the sea for a great extent. They 
beheld none of the natives until they arrived at the 
Island of Trinidad, on which island they met with 
traces of the recent visit of Columbus. 

Vespucci, in his letters, gives a long description 
of the people of this island and of the coast of Paria, 
who were of the Carib race, tall, well-made and vig- 
orous, and expert with the bow, the lance, and the 
buckler. His description, in general, resembles those 
which have frequently been given of the Aboriginals 
of the new world ; there are two or three particu- 
lars, however, vvorthy of citation. 

They appeared, he said, to believe in no religious 
creed, to have no place of worship, and to make no 
prayers or sacrifices ; but, he adds, from the volup- 
tuousness of their lives, they might be considered 
Epicureans.! Their habitations were built in the 
shape of bells ; of the trunks of trees, thatched 
with palm leaves, and were proof against wind and 
weather. They appeared to be in common, and 



* Nav.-irrete. Collec. Viag., t. Hi., p. 4. 

-j- Navarrete, t. ili., p. 5 

X Viages de Vespucci. Navarrete, t. iii., p. 211 



734 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



some of them were of such magnitude as to con- 
tain six hundred persons : in one place there were 
eight principal houses capable of sheltering nearly 
ten thousand inhabitants. Every seven or eight 
years the natives were obliged to change their resi- 
dence, from the maladies engendered by the heat of 
the climate in their crowded habitations. 

Their riches consisted in beads and ornaments 
made from the bones of fishes: in small white and 
green stones strung like rosaries, with which they 
adorned their persons, and in the beautiful plumes 
of various colours for which the tropical birds are 
noted. 

The Spaniards smiled at their simplicity in at- 
taching an extraordinary value to such worthless 
trifles ; while the savages, in all probability, were 
equally surprised at beholding the strangers so eager 
after gold, and pearls, and precious stones, which to 
themselves were objects of indifference. 

Their manner of treating the dead was similar to 
that observed among the natives of some of the 
islands. Having deposited the corpse in a cavern or 
sepulchre, they placed a jar of water and a few eat- 
ables at its head, and then abandoned it without 
moan or lamentation. In some parts of the coast, 
when a person was considered near his end, his 
nearest relatives bore him to the woods and laid him 
in a hammock suspended to the trees. They then 
danced round him until evening, when, having left 
within his reach sufficient meat and drink to sustain 
him for four days, they repaired to their habitations. 
If he recovered and returned home, he was received 
with much ceremony and rejoicing ; if he died of 
his malady or of famine, nothing more was thought 
of him. 

Their mode of treating a fever is also worthy of 
mention. In the height of the malady they plunged 
the patient in a bath of the coldest water, after 
which they obliged him to make many evolutions 
round a great fire, until he was in a violent heat, when 
they put him to bed, that he might sleep : a treat- 
ment, adds Amerigo Vespucci, by which we saw 
many cured. 



CHAPTER III. 



COASTING OF TERRA FIRMA— MILITARY EXPE- 
DITION OF OJEDA. 

After touching at various parts of Trinidad and 
the Gulf of Paria, Ojeda passed through the strait 
of the Boca del Drago, or Dragon's Mouth, which 
Columbus had found so formidable, and then steered 
his course along the coast of Terra Firma, landing 
occasionally until he arrived at Curiana, or the Gulf 
of Pearls. From hence he stood to the opposite 
island of Margarita, previously discovered by Colum- 
bus, and since renowned for its pearl fishery. This, 
as well as several adjacent islands, he visited and 
explored ; after which he returned to the main land, 
and touched at Cumana and Maracapana, where he 
found the rivers infested with alligators resembling 
the crocodiles of the Nile. 

Finding a convenient harbour at Maracapana he 
unloaded and careened his vessels there, and built a 
small brigantine. The natives came to him in great 
numbers, bringing abundance of venison, fish, and 
cassava bread, and aiding the seamen in their 
labours. Their hospitality was not certainly disin- 
terested, for they sought to gain the protection of 
the Spaniards, whom they reverenced as superhuman 
beings. When they thought they had sufficiently 
secured their favour, they represented to Ojeda that 
their coast was subject to invasion from a distant 



island, the inhabitants of which were cannibals, and 
carried their people into captivity, to be devoured at 
their unnatural banquets. They besought Ojeda, 
therefore, to avenge them upon these ferocious ene- 
mies. 

The request was gratifying to the fighting pro- 
pensities of Alonzo de Ojeda, and to his love of advent- 
ure, and was readily granted. Taking seven of the 
natives on board of his vessels, therefore, as guides, he 
set sail in quest of the cannibals. After sailing for 
seven days he came to a chain of islands, some of 
which were peopled, others uninhabited, and which 
are supposed to have been the Carribee islands. 
One of these was pointed out by his guides as the 
habitation of their foes. On running near the shore 
he beheld it thronged with savage warriors, decora- 
ted with coronets of gaudy plumes, their bodies 
painted with a variety of colours. They were armed 
with bows and arrows, with darts, lances, and buck- 
lers, and seemed prepared to defend their island from 
invasion. 

This show of war was calculated to rouse the 
martial spirit of Ojeda. He brought his ships to an- 
chor, ordered out his boats, and provided each with 
a paterero or small cannon. Beside the oarsmen, 
each boat contained a number of soldiers, who were 
told to crouch out of sight in the bottom. The 
boats then pulled in steadily for the shore. As they 
approached, the Indians let fly a cloud of arrows, 
but without much effect. Seeing the boats continue 
to advance, the savages threw themselves into the 
sea, and brandished their lances to prevent their land- 
ing. Upon this, the soldiers sprang up in the boats 
and discharged the patereroes. At the sound and 
smoke of these unknown weapons the savages aban- 
doned the water in affright, while Ojeda and his men 
leaped on shore and pursued them. The Carib war- 
riors rallied on the banks, and fought for a long 
lime with that courage peculiar to their race, but 
were at length driven to the woods, at the edge of the 
sword, leaving many killed and wounded on the field 
of battle. 

On the following day the savages were seen on 
the shore in still greater numbers, armed and paint- 
ed, and decorated with war plumes, and sounding 
defiance with their conchs and drums. Ojeda again 
landed with fifty-seven men, whom he separated into 
four companies, and ordered them to charge the 
enemy from different directions. The Caribs fought 
for a time hand to hand, displaying great dexterity in 
covering themselves with their bucklers, but were at 
length entirely routed and driven, with great slaugh- 
ter, to the forests. The Spaniards had but one man 
killed and twenty-one wounded in these combats, — 
such superior advantage did their armour give them 
over the naked savages. Having plundered and 
set fire to the houses, they returned triumphantly 
to their ships, with a number of Carib captives, and 
made sail (or the main land. Ojeda bestowed a part 
of the spoil upon the seven Indians who had ac- 
companied him as guides, and sent them exulting to 
their homes, to relate to their countrymen the signal 
vengeance that had been wreaked upon their foes. 
He then anchored in a bay, where he remained for 
twenty days, until his men had recovered from their 
wounds.* 



* There is gome discrepance in tliC early .accounts of this battle, 
as to the lime antl place of its occurrence. The author has collated 
the narratives of Vespucci, Las Casas. Herrera. and Peter Martyr, 
and the evidence given in the law-suit of Diego Columbus, and 
1 as endeavoured as much as possible to reconcile them. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



735 



CHAPTER IV. 

DISCOVERY OF THE GULF OF VENEZUELA — TRANS- 
ACTIONS THERE — OJEDA EXPLORES THE GULF 
—PENETRATES TO MARACAIBO. 

His crew being refreshed, and the wounded suf- 
ficiently recovered, Ojeda made sail, and touched at 
the island of Curazao, which, according- to the ac- 
counts of Vespucci, was inhabited by a race of 
giants, " every woman appearing a Penthesilea, and 
every man an Anlasus." * As Vespucci was a 
scholar, and as he supposed himself exploring the 
regions of the extreme East, the ancient reahn of 
fable, it is probable his imagination deceived him, 
and construed the formidable accounts given by the 
Indians of their cannibal neighbours of the islands, 
into something according with his recollections of 
classic fable. Certain it is, that the reports of subse- 
quent voyagers proved the inhabitants of the island 
to be of the ordinaiy size. 

Proceeding along the coast, he arrived at a vast 
deep gulf, resembling a tranquil lake ; entering 
which, he beheld on the eastern side a village, the 
construction of which struck him with surprise. It 
consisted of twenty large houses, shaped like bells, 
and built on piles driven into the bottom of the lake, 
which, in this part, was limpid and of but little depth. 
Each house was provided with a drawbridge, and 
with canoes, by which the communication was 
carried on. From these resemblances to the Italian 
city, Ojeda gave to the bay the name of the Gult 
of Venice : and it is called at the present day 
Venezuela, or little Venice : the Indian name was 
Coquibacoa. 

When the inhabitants beheld the ships standing 
into the bay, looking like wonderful and unknown 
apparitions from the deep, they fled with terror to 
their houses, and raised the drawbridges. The 
Spaniards remained for a time gazing with admira- 
tion at this amphibious village, when a squadron of 
canoes entered the harbour from the sea. On be- 
holding the ships they paused in mute amazement, 
and on the Spaniards attempting to approach them, 
paddled swiftly to shore, and plunged into the forest. 
They soon returned with sixteen young girls, whom 
they conveyed in their canoes to the ships, distribut- 
ing four on board of each, either as peace-offerings 
or as tokens of amity and confidence. The best of 
understanding now seemed to be established ; and 
the inhabitants of the village came swarming about 
the ships in their canoes, and others swimming in 
great numbers from the shores. 

The friendship of the savages, however, was all 
delusive. On a sudden, several old women at the 
doors of the houses uttered loud shrieks, tearing 
their hair in fury. It appeared to be a signal for 
hostility. The sixteen nymphs plunged into the sea 
and made for shore ; the Indians in the canoes 
caught up their bows and discharged a flight of 
arrows, and even those who were swimming bran- 
dished darts and lances, which they had hitherto 
concealed beneath the water. 

Ojeda was for a moment surprised at seeing war 
thus starting up on every side, and the very sea 
bristling with weapons. Manning his boats, he im- 
mediately charged among the thickest of the enemy, 
shattered and sunk several of their canoes, killed 
twenty Indians and wounded many more, and spread 
such a panic among them, that most of the survivors 
flung themselves into the sea and swam to shore. 
Three of them were taken prisoners, and two of the 
fugitive girls, and were conveyed on board of the 



ships, where the men were put in irons. One of 
them, however, and the two girls, succeeded in dex- 
terously escaping the same night. 

Ojeda had but five men wounded in the affray : 
all of whom recovered. He visited the houses, but 
found them abandoned and destitute of booty ; not- 
withstanding the unprovoked hostility of the inhabit- 
ants, he spared the buildings, that he might not 
cause useless irritation along the coast. 

Continuing to explore this gulf, Ojeda penetrated 
to a port or harbour, to which he gave the name of 
St. Bartholomew, but which is supposed to be the 
same at present known by the original Indian name 
of Maracaibo. Here, in compliance with the en- 
treaties of the natives, he sent a detachment of 
twenty-seven Spaniards on a visit to the interior. 
For nine days they were conducted from town to 
town, and feasted and almost idolized by the In- 
dians, who regarded them as angelic beings, per- 
forming their national dances and games, and chaunt- 
ing their traditional ballads for their entertainment. 
The natives of this part were distinguished for the 
symmetry of their forms ; the females in particular 
appeared to the Spaniards to surpass all others that 
they had yet beheld in the new world for grace and 
beauty ; neither did the men evince, in the least 
degree, that jealousy which prevailed in other parts 
of the coast ; but, on the contrary, permitted the 
most frank and intimate intercourse with their wives 
and daughters. 

By the time the Spaniards set out on their return 
to the ship, the whole country was aroused, pouring 
forth its population, male and female, to do them 
honour. Some bore them in litters or hammocks, 
that they might not be fatigued with the journey, 
and happy was the Indian who had the honour of 
bearing a Spaniard on his shoulders across a river. 
Others loaded themselves with the presents that had 
been bestowed on their guests, consisting of rich 
plumes, weapons of various kinds, and tropical birds 
and animals. In this way they returned in triumph- 
ant procession to the ships, the woods and shores 
resounding with their songs and shouts. 

Many of the Indians crowded into the boats that 
took the detachment to the ships ; others put off in 
canoes, or swam from shore, so that in a little while 
the vessels were thronged with upwards of a thou- 
sand wondering natives. While gazing and marvel- 
ling at the strange objects around them, Ojeda 
ordered the cannon to be discharged, at the sound 
of which, says Vespucci, the Indians " plunged into 
the water, like so many frogs from a bank." Per- 
ceiving, however, that it was done in liarmless mirth, 
they returned on board, and passed the rest of the 
day in great festivity. The Spaniards brouglit away 
with them several of the beautiful and hospitable 
females from this place, one of whom, named by 
them Isabel, was much prized by Ojeda, and ac- 
companied him in a subsequent voyage.* 



• Vespucci. — Letter to Lorenzo de Pier Francisco de Medlcis. 



* Navarette, t. iii., p. 8. Idem, pp. 107, 108. 

It is worthy of particular mention that Ojeda, in his report of 
his voyage to the Sovereigns, informed them of his having met 
with English voyagers in the vicinity of Coquibacoa, and that the 
Spanish government attached such importance^ to his information 
as to take measures to prevent any intrusion into those parts by 
the Englisii. It is singular that no record should exist of this 
early and extensive expedition of English navigators. If it was 
undertaken in the service of the Crown, some docurnent ini.^ht be 
found concerning it among ihe archives of the reign of Henry 
VII. The English had already discovered the continent of North 
America. This had been done in 1497, by John Cabot, a Vene- 
tian, accompanied by his son Sebastian, who was born in Bristol. 
They sailed under a license of Henry VII., who w.is to have a fifth 
of the profits of the voyage. On the 24th June they discovered 
Newfoundland, and afterwards coasted the continent quite to Flor- 
ida, bringing back to England a valuable cargo and several of the 
natives. This mas the first discovery oftUe mainland 0/ A mer 
ieii. The success of this expedition may have prompted the one 
which Ojeda encountered in the neighbourhood of Coquibacoa. 



73G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER V. 

PROSECUTION OF THE VOYAGE — RETURN TO 
SPAIN. 

Leaving the friendly port of Coquibacoa, Ojeda 
continued along the western shores of the gulf of 
Venezuela, and standing out to sea, and doubling 
Cape Maracaibo, he pursued his coasting voyage 
from port to port, and promontory to promontory, 
of this unknown continent, until he reached that 
long stretching headland called Cape de la Vela. 
There, the state of his vessels, and perhaps the dis- 
appointment of his hopes at not meeting with abun- 
dant sources of immediate wealth, induced him to 
abandon all further voyaging along the coast, and, 
changing his course, he stood across the Caribbean 
Sea for Hispaniola. The tenor of his commission 
forbade his visiting that island ; but Ojeda was not 
a man to stand upon trifles when his interest or in- 
clination prompted the contrary. He trusted to 
excuse the infraction of his orders by the alleged 
necessity of touching at the island to caulk and refit 
his vessels, and to procure provisions. His true ob- 
ject, however, is supposed to have been to cut dye- 
wood, which abounds in the western part of His- 
paniola. 

He accordingly anchored at Yaquimo in September, 
and landed with a large party of his men. Columbus 
at that time held command of the island, and, hear- 
ing of this unlicensed intrusion, despatched Francesco 
Roldan, the quondam rebel, to call Ojeda to account. 
The contest of stratagem and management that took 
place between these two adroit and daring advent- 
urers has already been detailed in the History of 
Columbus. Roldan was eventually successful, and 
Ojeda, being obliged to leave Hispaniola, resumed 
his rambling voyage, visiting various islands, from 
whence he carried off numbers of the natives. He 
at length arrived at Cadiz, in June, 1 500, with his 
ships crowded with captives, whom he sold as slaves. 
So meagre, however, was the result of this expedi- 
tion, that we are told, when all the expenses were 
deducted, but five hundred ducats remained to be 
divided between fifty-five adventurers. What made 
this result the more mortifying was, that a petty 
armament which had sailed sometime after that of 
Ojeda, had returned two months before him, rich 
with the spoils of the New World. A brief account 
of this latter expedition is necessary to connect this 
series of minor discoveries. 



PEDRO ALONZO NINO* AND CHRISTOVAL 
GUERRA.-(1499.) 



The permission granted by Bishop Fonseca to 
Alonzo de Ojeda, to undertake a private expedition 
to the New World, roused the emulation of others 
of the followers of Columbus. Among these was 
Pedro Alonzo Nino, a hardy seaman, native of Mo- 
guer in the vicinity of Palos, who had sailed with 
Columbus, as a pilot, in his first voyage, and also in 
his cruisings along the coasts of Cuba and Paria.f 
He soon obtained from the bishop a similar license 
to that given to Ojeda, and, like the latter, sought 
for some monied confederate among the rich mer- 
chants of Seville. One of these, named Luis Guerra, 



* Pronounced Ninyo. The N in Spanish is always pronounced 
as if followed by the letter >-. 
t Testimony of Bastides in the law-suit of Diego Columbus. 



offered to fit out a caravel for the expedition ; but on 
condition that his brother, Christoval Guerra, should 
have the command. The poverty of Nifio compelled 
him to assent to the stipulations of the man of wealth, 
and he sailed as subaltern in his own enterprise ; but 
his nautical skill and knowledge soon gained him the 
ascendancy, he became virtually the captain, and 
ultimately enjoyed the whole credit of the voyage. 

The bark of these two adventurers was but of 
fifty tons burthen, and the crew thirty-three souls all 
told. With this slender armament they undertook 
to traverse unknown and dangerous seas, and to ex- 
plore the barbarous shores of that vast continent re- 
cently discovered by Columbus ; — such was the dar- 
ing spirit of the Spanish voyagers of those days. 

It was about the beginning of June, 1499, and but 
a few days after the departure of Ojeda, that they 
put to sea. They sailed from the little port of Pa- 
los, the original cradle of American discovery, whose 
brave and skilful mariners long continued foremost 
in all enterprises to the New World. Being guided 
by the chart of Columbus, they followed his route, 
and reached the southern continent, a little beyond 
Paria, about fifteen days after the same coast had 
been visited by Ojeda. 

They then proceeded to the gulf of Paria, where 
they landed to cut dye-wood, and were amicably en- 
tertained by the natives. Shortly after, sallying from 
the g-ulf by the Boca del Drago, they encountered 
eighteen canoes of Caribs, the pirate-rovers of these 
seas and the terror of the bordering lands. This 
savage armada, instead of being daunted as usual 
by the sight of a European ship with swelling sails, 
resembling some winged monster of the deep, con- 
sidered it only as an object of plunder or hostility, 
and assailed it with showers of arrows. The sud- 
den burst of artillery, however, from the sides of the 
caravel and the havoc made among the Caribs by 
this seeming thunder, struck them with dismay and 
they fled in all directions. The Spaniards succeeded 
in capturing one of the canoes, with one of the war- 
riors who had manned it. In the bottom of the 
canoe lay an Indian prisoner bound hand and foot. 
On being liberated he informed the Spaniards by 
signs that these Caribs had been on a marauding 
expedition along the neighbouring coasts, shutting 
themselves up at night in a stockade which they car- 
ried with them, and issuing forth by day to plunder 
the villages and to make captives. He had been one 
of seven prisoners. His companions had been de- 
voured before his eyes at the cannibal banquets of 
these savages, and he had been awaiting the same 
miserable fate. Honest Niiio and his confederates 
were so indignant at this recital, that, receiving it as 
established fact, they performed what thev consid- 
ered an act of equitable justice, by abandoning the 
Carib to the discretion of his late captive. The lat- 
ter fell upon the defenceless warrior with fist and 
foot and cudgel ; nor did his rage subside even after 
the breath had been mauled out of his victim, but, 
tearing the grim head from the body, he placed it on 
a pole as a trophy of his vengeance. 

Nino and his fellow-adventurers now steered for 
the island of Margarita, where they obtained a con- 
siderable quantity of pearls by barter. They after- 
wards skirted the opposite coast of Cumana, trading 
cautiously and shrewdly from port to port; some- 
times remaining on board of their little bark, and 
obliging the savages to come off to them, when the 
latter appeared too numerous, at other times ventur- 
ing on shore, and even into the interior. They were 
invariably treated with amity by the natives, who 
were perfectly naked, excepting that they were 
adorned with neckl.aces and bracelets of pearls. 
These they sometimes gave freely to the Spaniards, 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



737 



at other times they exchanged them for glass beads 
and other trinkets, and smiled at the folly of the 
strangers in making such silly bargains.* 

The Spaniards were struck with the grandeur and 
density of the forests along this coast, for in these 
regions of heat and moisture, vegetation appears in 
its utmost magnificence. They heard also the cries 
and roarings of wild and unknown animals in the 
woodlands, which, however, appeared not to be very 
dangerous, as the Indians went about the forest 
armed solely with bows and arrows. From meet- 
ing with deer and rabbits, they were convinced that 
that was a part of Terra Firma, not having found 
any animals of the kind on the islands.t 

Nino and Guerra were so well pleased with the 
hospitality of the natives of Cumana, and with the 
profitable traffic for pearls, by which they obtained 
many of great size and beauty, that they remained 
upwards of three months on the coast. 

They then proceeded westward to a country called 
Cauchieto, trading as usual for pea'ls, and for the in- 
ferior kind of gold called guanin. At length they 
arrived at a place where there was a kind of fortress 
protecting a number of houses and gardens situated 
on a river, the whole forming to the eyes of the 
Spaniards one of the most delicious abodes imagin- 
able. They were about to land and enjoy the pleas- 
ures of this fancied paradise, when they beheld up- 
wards of a thousand Indians, armed with bows and 
arrows and war-clubs, preparing to give them a 
warm reception ; having been probably incensed by 
the recent visit of Ojeda. As Nino and Guerra had 
not the fighting propensities of Ojeda, and were in 
quest of profit rather than renown, having, more- 
over, in all probability, the fear of the rich merchant 
of Seville before their eyes, they prudently abstained 
from landing, and, abandoning this hostile coast, re- 
turned forthwith to Cumana to resume their trade 
for pearls. They soon amassed a great number, 
many of which were equal in size and beauty to the 
most celebrated of the East, though they had been 
injured in boring from a want of proper implements. 

Satisfied with their success they now set sail tor 
Spain and piloted their little bark safely to Bayonne 
in Gallicia, where they anchored about the middle 
of April, 1500, nearly two months before the arrival 
of Ojeda and his associates. La Cosa and Vespucci. J 

The most successful voyagers to the New World 
were doomed to trouble from their very success. 
The ample amount of pearls paid to the treasury, as 
the royal portion of the profits of this e.xpedition, 
drew suspicion instead of favour upon the two ad- 
venturers. They were accused of having concealed 
a great part of the pearls collected by them, thus 
defrauding their companions and the crown. Pedro 
Alonzo Nino was actually thrown into prison on this 
accusation, but, nothing being proved against him, 
was eventually set free, and enjoyed the enviable 
reputation of having performed the richest voyage 
that had yet been made to the New WorId.§ 



VICENTE YANEZ PINZ0N-(1499). 



Among the maritime adventurers of renown who 
were roused to action by the Hcenses granted for 
private expeditions of discovery, we find conspicuous 



* Las Casas. Hist. Ind. lib. i. c, 171. 
t Navarrete, t. iii, p. 14. 

t Peter Martyr. Other historians give a different date for their 
arrival. Herrera says Feb. 6. 

S Navarrete. Collect, t. iil, p. 11. Herrera, d. 1. I. iv. c. v. 

47 



the name of Vicente Yanez Pinzon, of Palos, one of 
the three brave brothers who aided Columbus in his 
first voyage and risked life and fortune with him in 
his doubtful and perilous enterprise. 

Of Martin Alonzo Pinzon, the eldest and most im- 
portant of these three brothers, particular mention 
has been made in the History of Columbus, and of 
the unfortunate error in conduct which severed him 
from the admiral, brought on him the displeasure of 
the sovereigns, and probably contributed to his pre- 
mature and melancholy death. 

Whatever cloud of disgrace may have over- 
shadowed his family, it w-as but temporal^. The 
death of Martin Alonzo, as usual, atoned for his 
faults, and his good deeds lived after him. The 
merits and services of himself and his brothers were 
acknowledged, and the survivors of the family were 
restored to royal confidence. A feeling of jealous 
hostility prevented them from taking a part in the 
subsequent voyages of Columbus ; but the moment 
the door was thrown^open for individual enterprise, 
they pressed forward lor permission to engage in it 
at their own risk and expense — and it was readily 
granted. In fact, their supposed hostility to Colum- 
bus was one of the surest recommendations they 
could have to the favour of the Bishop Fonseca, by 
whom the license was issued for their expedition. 

Vicente YaiTez Pinzon was the leader of this new 
enterprise, and he was accompanied by two nephews 
named Arias Perez and Diego Fernandez, sons of 
his late brother, Martin Alonzo Pinzon. Several of 
his sailors had sailed with Columbus in his recent 
voyage to Paria, as had also his three principal pi- 
lots, Juan Ouintero, Juan de Umbria, and Juan de 
Jerez. Thus these minor voyages seemed all to 
emanate from the great expeditions of Columbus, 
and to aim at realizing the ideas and speculations 
contained in the papers transmitted by him to Spain. 

The armament consisted of four caravels, and was 
fitted out at the port of Palos. The funds of Vi- 
cente Yailez were completely exhausted before he 
had fitted out his little squadron ; he was obliged, 
therefore, to purchase on credit the sea-stores and 
articles of traffic necessary for the enterprise. The 
merchants of Palos seem to have known how to 
profit by the careless nature of sailors and the san- 
guine spirit of discoverers. In their bargains they 
charged honest Pinzon eighty and a hundred per 
cent, above the market value of their merchandise, 
and in the hurry and urgency of the moment he was 
obliged to submit to the imposition.* 

The squadron put to sea in the beginning of De- 
cember, 1499, and, after passing the Canary and 
Cape de Verde Islands, stood to the south-west. 
Having sailed about seven hundred leagues, they 
crossed the equator and lost sight of the north star. 
They had scarcely passed the equinoctial line when 
they encountered a terrible tempest, which had well- 
nigli swallowed up their slender barks. The storm 
passed away and the firmament was again serene; 
but the mariners remained tossing about in confu- 
sion, dismayed by the turbulence of the waves and 
the strange aspect of the heavens. They looked in 
vain to the south for soine polar star by which to 
shape their course, and fancied that some swelling 
prominence of the globe concealed it from their 
view. They knew nothing as yet of the firmament 
of that hemisphere, nor of that beautiful constella- 
tion, the southern cross, but expected to find a guid- 
ing star at the opposite pole, similar to the cynosure 
of the north. 

Pinzon, however, who was of an intrepid spirit, 
pursued his course resolutely to the west, and after 



* Navarrete, vol. iii. See Doc. No. 7, where Vicente Vafiez Pin- 
zon petitions for redress. 



738 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



sailing about two hundred and forty leagues, and be- 
in^ in the eighth degree of southern latitude, he be- 
held land afar off on the 28th of January, to which he 
gave the name of SiDita Maria de la CoiisjLicion, 
Irom the sight of it having consoled him in the midst 
of doubts and perplexities. It is now called Cape 
St. Augustine, and forms the most prominent part 
of the immense empire of Brazil. 

The sea was turbid and discoloured as in rivers, 
and on sounding they had sixteen fathoms of water. 
Pinzon landed, accompanied by a notary and wit- 
nesses, and took formal possession of the territory 
for the Castilian crown ; no one appeared to dispute 
his pretensions, but he observed the print of footsteps 
on the beach which seemed of gigantic size. 

At night there were fires lighted upon a neigh- 
bouring part of the coast, which induced Pinzon on 
the following morning to send forty men well armed 
to the spot. A band of Indians, of about equal 
number, sallied forth to encounter them, armed 
with bows and arrows, and seemingly of extraordi- 
nary stature. A still greater number were seen in 
the distance hastening to the support of their com- 
panions. The Indians arrayed themselves for com- 
bat, and the two parties remained for a short time 
eyeing each other with mutual curiosity and distrust. 
The Spaniards now displayed looking-glasses, beads, 
and other trinkets, and jingled strings of hawks' 
bells, in general so captivating to an Indian ear ; 
but the haughty savages treated all their overtures 
with contempt, regarding these offerings carelessly 
for a short time, and then stalking off with stoic 
gravity. They were ferocious of feature, and ap- 
parently warlike in disposition, and are supposed to 
have been a wandering race of unusual size, who 
roamed about in the night, and were of the most 
fierce, untractable nature. By nightfall there was 
not an Indian to be seen in the neighbourhood. 

Discouraged by the inhospitable character of the 
coast, Pinzon made sail and stood to the north-west, 
until he came to the month of a river too shallow to 
receive his ships. Here he sent his boats on shore 
withanumberof men well armed. They landed on the 
river banks, and beheld a multitude of naked Indians 
on a neighbouring hill. A single Spaniard armed 
simply with sword and buckler, was sent to invite 
them to friendly intercourse. He approached them 
with signs of amity, and threw to them a hawks' 
bell. They replied to him with similar signs, and 
threw to him a small gilded wand. The soldier 
stooped to pick it up, when suddenly a troop of sav- 
ages rushed down to seize him; he threw himself im- 
mediately upon the defensive, with sword and target, 
and though but a small man, and far from robust, 
he handled his weapons with such dexterity and 
fierceness, that he kept the savages at bay, making a 
clear circle round him, and wounding several who 
attempted to break it. His unlooked-for prowess 
surprised and confounded his assailants, and gave 
time for his comrades to come to his assistance. The 
Indians then made a general assault, with such a 
galling discharge of darts and arrows that almost 
immediately eight or ten Spaniards were slain, and 
many more wounded. The latter were compelled 
to retreat to their boats disputing every inch of 
ground. The Indians pursued them even into the 
water, surrounding the boats and seizing hold of the 
oars. The Spaniards made a desperate defence, 
thrusting many through with their lances, and cut- 
ting down and ripping up others with their swords ; 
but such was the ferocity of the survivors, that they 
persisted in their attack until they overpowered the 
crew of one of the boats, and bore it off in triumph. 
With this they retired from the combat, and the 
Spaniards returned, delcated and disheartened, to 



their ships, having met with the roughest reception 
that the Europeans had yet experienced in the New 
World. 

Pinzon now stood forty leagues to the north-west, 
until he arrived in the neighbourhood of the equi- 
noctial line. Here he found the water of the sea so 
fresh that he was enabled to replenish his casks with 
it. Astonished at so singular a phenomenon he 
stood in for the land, and arrived among a number 
of fresh and verdant islands, inhabited by a gentle 
and hospitable race of people, gaily painted, who 
came off to the ships with the most frank and fear- 
less confidence. Pinzon soon found that these 
islands lay in the mouth of an immense river, more 
than thirty leagues in breadth, the water of which 
entered upwards of forty leagues into the sea before 
losing its sweetness. It was, in fact, the renowned 
Maranon, since known as the Orellana and the 
Amazon. While lying in the mouth of this river 
there was a sudden swelling of the stream, which, 
being opposed by the current of the sea, and strait- 
ened by the narrow channels of the islands, rose 
more than five fathoms, with mountain waves, and 
a tremendous noise, threatening the destruction of 
the ships. Pinzon extricated his little squadron with 
great difficulty from this perilous situation, and find- 
ing there was but little gold or any thing else of value 
to be found among the simple natives, he requited 
their hospitality, in the mode too common among 
the early . discoverers, by carrying off thirty-six of 
them captive. 

Having regained the sight of the polar star, Pin- 
zon pursued his course along the coast, passing the 
mouths of the Oronoko, and entering the Gulf of 
Paria, where he landed and cut Brazil-wood. Sally- 
ing forth bv the Boca del Drago, he reached the 
island of Hispaniola about the 23d of June, from 
whence he sailed for the Bahamas. Here, in the 
month of July, while at anchor, there came such a 
tremendous hurricane that two of the caravels were 
swallowed up with all their crews in the sight of 
their terrified companions : a third parted her cables 
and was driven out to sea, while the fourth was so 
furiously beaten by the tempest that the crew threw 
themselves into the boats and made for shore. 
Here they found a few naked Indians, who offered 
them no molestation ; but, fearing that they might 
spread the tidings of a handful of shipwrecked 
Spaniards being upon the coast, and thus bring the 
savages of the neighbouring islands upon them, a 
council of war was held whether it would not be a 
wise precaution to put these Indians to death. For- 
tunately for the latter, the vessel which had been 
driven from her anchors returned and put an end to 
the alarm, and to the council of war. The other 
caravel also rode out the storm uninjured, and the 
sea subsiding, the Spaniards returned on bo u-d, and 
made the best of their way to the Island of Hispani- 
ola. Having repaired the damages sustained in the 
gale, they again made sail for Spain, and came to 
anchor in the river before Palos, about the end of 
September. 

Thus ended one of the most checquered and dis- 
astrous voyages that had yet been made to the New 
World. Yauez Pinzon had lost two of his ships, and 
many of his men ; what made the loss of the latter 
more grievous was that they had been enlisted from 
among his neighbours, his friends, and relatives. In 
fact, the expeditions to the New World must have 
realized the terrors and apprehensions of the people 
of Palos by rilling that little community with widows 
and orphans. When the rich merchants, who had 
sold goods to Pinzon. at a hundred percent, advance, 
beheld him return in this sorry condition, with two 
shattered barks and a handful of poor, tattered. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



739 



weather-beaten seamen, they began to tremble for 
their money. No sooner, therefore, had he and his 
nephews departed to Granada, to give an account of 
their discoveries to the sovereigns, than the mer- 
chants seized upon their caravels and cargoes, and 
began to sell them to repay themselves. Honest 
Pinzon immediately addressed a petition to the gov- 
ernment, stating the imposition that had been prac- 
tised upon him, and the danger he was in of im- 
prisonment and utter ruin, should his creditors be. 
allowed to sacrifice his goods at a public sale. He 
petitioned that they might be compelled to return the 
property thus seized, and that he might be enabled 
to sell three hundred and fifty quintals of Brazil- 
wood, which he had brought back with him, and 
which would be sufficient to satisfy the demands of 
his creditors. The sovereigns granted his prayer. 
They issued an order to the civil authorities of Palos 
to interfere in the matter, with all possible prompt- 
ness and brevity, allowing no vexatious delay, and 
administering justice so impartially that neither of 
the parties should have cause to complain. 

Pinzon escaped from the fangs of his creditors, 
but, of course, must have suffered in purse from the 
expenses of the law ; which, in Spain, is apt to bury 
even a successful client under an overwhelming 
mountain of documents and writings. We infer this 
in respect to Pinzon from a royal order issued in the 
following year, allowing him to export a quantity of 
grain, in consideration of the heavy losses he had 
sustained in his voyage of discovery. He did but 
share the usual lot of the Spanish discoverers, whose 
golden anticipations too frequently ended in penury; 
but he is distinguished from among the crowd of 
them by being the first European who crossed the 
Equinoctial line, on the western ocean, and by dis- 
covering the great kingdom of Brazil.* 



DIEGO DE LEPE AND RODRIGO DE BASTIDES.- 

(1500). 



NOTWITHSTANNING the hardships and disasters 
that had beset the voyagers to the New World, and 
the penury in which their golden anticipations had 
too frequently terminated, adventurers continued to 
press forward, excited by fresh reports of newly-dis- 
covered regions, each of which, in its turn, was rep- 
resented as the real land of promise. Scarcely had 
Vicente Yanez Pinzon departed on the voyage recent- 

* On the 5th of September, 1501, a royal permission was given to 
Vicente Yafiez Pinzon to colonize and govern the lands he had dis- 
covered, beginning a little north of the river Amazon, and extend- 
ing to Cape St. Augustine. The object of the govt-rnment in this 
permission was to establish an outpost and a resolute commander 
on this southern frontier, that should check any intrusions the 
Portuguese might make in consequence of the accidental discovery 
of a part of the coast of Brazil by Pedro Alvarez Cabral, in 1500. 
The subsetjtient arrangement of a partition line between the two 
countries prevented the necessity of this precaution, and it docs 
not appear that Vicente Yai\ez Pinzon made any second voyage to 
those parts. 

In 1S06 he undertook an expedition in company with Juan Diaz 
de Jiolis, a native ot Lebrija, the object of which was to endeavour 
to find the strait or passage supposed by Columbus to lead from the 
Atlantic to a southern ocean. It was necessarily without success, 
as was also another voyage made by them, for the same purpose, in 
1508. As no such passage exists, no blame could attach to those 
able navigators for being foiled in the object of their search. 

In consequence of the distinguished merits and services of the 
Pinzon family they were raised, by the emperor Charles V., to the 
dignity of a Hidalguia, or nobility, without any express title, and 
a coat of arms was granted them, on which were emblazoned three 
caravels, with a hand at the stern pointing to an island covered 
with savages. This coat of arms is still maintained by the family, 
who have added to it the motto granted to Columbus, merely sub- 
stituting the name of Pinzon for that of the Admiral, 

A Castile y a Leon. 
Nuevo Mundo dio Pinzon. 



ly narrated, when his townsman, Diego de Lepe. 
likewise set sail with two vessels from the busy little 
port of Palos on a like expedition. No particulars 
of importance are known of this voyage, excepting 
that Lepe doubled Cape St. Augustine, and beheld 
the southern continent stretching far to the south- 
west. On returning to Spain he drew a chart of the 
coast for the bishop Fonseca, and enjoyed the repu- 
tation, for upwards of ten years afterwards, of hav- 
ing extended his discoveries further south than any 
other voyager. 

Another contemporary adventurer to the New 
World was Rodrigo de Bastides, a wealthy notary 
of Triana, the suburb of Seville inhabitecl by the 
maritime part of its population. Being sanctioned 
by the sovereigns, to whom he engaged to yield a 
fourth of his profits, he fitted out two caravels in 
October, 1500, to go in quest of gold and pearls. 

Prudently distrusting his own judgment in nauti- 
cal matters, this adventurous notary associated with 
him the veteran pilot Juan de la Cosa, the same 
hardy Biscayan who had sailed with Columbus and 
Ojeda. A general outline of their voyage has already 
been given in the life of Columbus ; it extended the 
discoveries of the coast of Terra Firnia from Cape 
de la Vela, where Ojeda had left off, quite to the 
port of Nombre de Dios. 

Bastides distinguished himself from the mass of 
discoverers by his kind treatment of the natives, and 
Juan de la Cosa by his sound discretion and his able 
seamanship. Their voyage had been extremely suc- 
cessful, and they had collected, by barter, a great 
amount of gold and pearls, when their prosperous 
career was checked by an unlooked-for evil. Their 
vessels, to their surprise, became leaky in eveiy part, 
and they discovered, to their dismay, that the bot- 
toms were pierced in innumerable places by the 
broma, or worm, which abounds in the waters of 
the torrid zone, but of which they, as yet, had 
scarcely any knowledge. It was with great difficulty 
they could keep afloat until they reached a small 
islet on the coast of Hispaniola. Here they repaired 
their ships as well as they were able, and again put 
to sea to return to Cadiz. A succession of gales 
drove them back to port ; the ravages of the worms 
continued; the leaks broke out afresh; they landed 
the most portable and precious part of their wealthy 
cargoes, and the vessels foundered with the remain- 
der. Bastides lost, moreover, the arms and ammu- 
nition saved from the wreck, being obliged to destroy 
them lest they should fall into the hands of the 
Indians. 

Distributing his men into three bands, two of 
them headed by La Cosa and himself, they set off 
for San Domingo by three several routes, as the 
country was not able to furnish provisions for so 
large a body. Each band was provided with a cof- 
fer stored with trinkets and other articles of Indian 
traffic, with which to buy provisions on the road. 

Francisco de Bobadilla. the wrong-headed oppres- 
sor and superseder of Columbus, was at that time 
governor of San Domingo. The report reached him 
that a crew of adventurers had landed on the island, 
and were marching through the country in three 
bands, each provided with a coffer of gold, and car- 
r)'ing on illicit trade with the natives. The moment 
Bastides made his appearance, therefore, he was 
seized and thrown into prison, and an investigation 
commenced. In his defence he maintained that his 
only traffic with the natives was for the purpose of 
procuring provisions for his followers, or guides for 
his journey. It was determined, however, to send 
him to Spain for trial, with the written testimony 
and the other documents of his examination. 

He was accordingly conveyed in the same fleet in 



740 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



which Boliadilla embarked for Spain, and which ex- 
perienced such an awful shipwreck in the sight of 
Columbus. The ship Rodrigo Bastides was one of 
the few that outlived the tempest : it arrived safe at 
Cadiz in September, 1502. Bastides was ultimately 
acquitted of the charges advanced against him. So 
lucrative had been his voyage, that, notwithstanding 
the losses sustained by the foundering of his vessels, 
he was enabled to pay a large sum to the crown as 
a fourth of his profits, and to retain a great amount 
for himself. In reward of his services and discover- 
ies the sovereigns granted him an annual revenue for 
life, to arise from the proceeds of the province of 
Uraba, which he had discovered. An equal pension 
was likewise assigned to the hardy Juan de la Cosa, 
to result from the same territory, of which he was 
appointed Alguazil Mayor.* Such was the economi- 
cal generosity of king Ferdinand, who rewarded the 
past toils of his adventurous discoverers out of the 
expected produce of their future labours. 



SECOND VOYAGE OF ALONZO DE OJEDA.- 
1502. 



The first voyage of Alonzo de Ojeda to the coast 
of Paria, and its meagre termination in June, i 500, 
has been related. He gained nothing in wealth by 
that expedition, but he added to his celebrity as a 
bold and skilful adventurer. His youthful fire, his 
sanguine and swelling spirit, and the wonderful 
stories that were told of his activity and prowess, 
made him extremely popular, so that his patron, the 
bishop Fonseca, found it an easy matter to secure 
for him the royal favour. In consideration of his 
past services and of others expected from him, a 
grant was made to him of six leagues of land on 
the southern part of Hispaniola, and the govern- 
ment of the province of Coquibacoa which he had 
discovered. He was, furthermore, authorized to fit 
out any number of ships, not exceeding ten, at his 
own expense, and to prosecute the discovery of the 
coast of Terra Firma. He was not to touch or 
traffic on the pearl coast of Paria ; extending as far 
as a bay in the vicinity of the island of Margarita. 
Beyond this he had a right to trade in all kinds of 
merchandise, whether of pearls, jewels, metals, or 
precious stones ; paying one-fifth of the profits to the 
crown, and abstaining from making slaves of the 
Indians without a special license from the sover- 
eigns. He was to colonize Coquibacoa, and, as a 
recompense, was to enjoy one-half of the proceeds 
of his territory, provided the half did not exceed 
300,000 maravedies : all beyond that amount was 
to go to the crown. 

A principal reason, however, for granting this 
government and those privileges to Ojeda, was that, 
in his previous voyage, he had met with English ad- 
venturers on a voyage of discovery in the neighbour- 
hood of Coquibacoa, at which the jealousy of the 
sovereigns had taken the alarm. They were anx- 
ious, therefore, to establish a resolute and fighting 
commander like Ojeda upon this outpost, and they 
mstructed him to set up the arms of Castile and 
Leon in every place he visited, as a signal of dis- 
covery and possession, and to put a stop to the in- 
trusions of the English. t 

With this commission in his pocket, and the gov- 



* Navarrete. CoUcc. t. iii. 

t Navarrete, t. iii., document x. 



ernment of an Indian territory in the perspective, 
Ojeda soon found associates to aid him in fitting out 
an armament. These were Juan de Vergara, a serv- 
ant of a rich canon of the cathedral of Seville, and 
Garcia de Campos, commonly called Ocampo. They 
made a contract of partnership to last for two years, 
according to which the expenses and profits of the 
expedition, and of the government of Coquibacoa, 
were to be shared equally between them. The 
purses of the confederates were not ample enough 
to afford ten ships, but they fitted out four, ist, 
The Santa Maria de la Antigua, commanded by 
Garcia del Campo ; 2d, The Santa Maria de la Gra- 
nada, commanded by Juan de Vergara ; 3d, The 
Caravel Magdalena, commanded by Pedro de Ojeda, 
nephew to Alonzo ; and 4th, The Caravel Santa 
Ana, commanded by Hernando de Guevara. The 
whole was under the command of Alonzo de Ojeda. 
The expedition set sail in 1502, touched at the 
Canaries, according to custom, to take in provisions, 
and then proceeded westward for the shores of the 
New World. 

After traversing the Gulf of Paria, and before 
reaching the Island of Margarita, the caravel Santa 
Ana, commanded by Hernando de Guevara, was 
separated from them, and for several days the ships 
were mutually seeking each other, in these silent 
and trackless seas. After they were all reunited they 
found their provisions growing scanty ; they landed 
therefore at a part of the coast called Cumana by 
the natives, but to which, from its beauty and fer- 
tility, Ojeda gave the name of Valfermoso. While 
foraging here for their immediate supplies, the idea 
occurred to Ojeda that he should want furniture and 
utensils of all kinds for his proposed colony, and that 
it would be better to pillage them from a country 
where he was a mere transient visitor, than to wrest 
them from his neighbours in the territory where he 
was to set up his government. His companions 
were struck with the policy, if not the justice, of this 
idea, and they all set to work to carry it into execu- 
tion. Dispersing themselves, therefore, in ambush 
in various directions, they at a concerted signal 
rushed forth from their concealment, and set upon 
the natives. Ojeda had issued orders to do as little 
injury and damage as possible, and on no account to 
destroy the habitations of the Indians. His follow- 
ers, however, in their great zeal, transcended his 
orders. Seven or eight Indians were killed and 
many wounded in the skirmish which took place, 
and a number of their cabins were wrapped in 
flames. A great quantity of hammocks, of cotton, 
and of utensils of various kinds, fell into the hands 
of the conquerors ; they also captured several female 
Indians, some of whom were ransomed with the kind 
of gold called guanin ; some were retained by Ver- 
gara lor himself and his friend Ocampo; others were 
distributed among the crews ; the rest, probably the 
old and ugly, were set at liberty. As to Ojeda, he 
reserved nothing for himself of the spoil excepting a 
single hammock. 

The ransom paid by the poor Indians for some of 
their effects and some of their women, y ielded the 
Spaniards a trifling quantity of gold, but they found 
the place destitute of provisions, and Ojeda was 
obliged to despatch Vergara in a caravel to the isl- 
and of Jamaica to forage for supplies, with instruc- 
tions to rejoin him at Maracaibo or Cape de la Vela. 

Ojeda at length arrived at Coquibacoa. at the port 
destined for his seat of government. He found the 
country, however, so poor and sterile, that he pro- 
ceeded along the coast to a bay which he named 
Santa Cruz, but which is supposed to be the same at 
present called Bahia Honda, where he found a Span- 
iard who had been left in the province of Citarma by 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



741 



Bastides in !.is late voyage about thirteen months be- 
fore, and had remained ever since among the Indians, 
so that he had acquired their language. 

Ojeda determined to form his settlement at this 
place ; but the natives seemed disposed to defend 
their territory, for, the moment a party landed to pro- 
cure water, they were assailed by a galling shower of 
arrows, and driven back to the ships. Upon this 
Cjeda landed with all his force, and struck such terror 
into the Indians, that they came forward with signs 
of amity, and brought a considerable quantity of gold 
as a peace-offering, which was graciously accepted. 

Ojeda, with the concurrence of his associates, now 
set to work to establish a settlement, cutting down 
trees, and commencing a fortress. They had scarce 
begun, when thev were attacked by a neighbouring 
cacique, but Ojeda sallied forth upon him with such 
intrepidity and effect as not merely to defeat, but to 
drive him from the neighbourhood. He then pro- 
ceeded quietly to finish his fortress, which was de- 
fended by lombards, and contained the magazine of 
provisions and the treasure amassed in the expedi- 
tion. The provisions were dealt out twice a day, 
under the inspection of proper officers ; the treasure 
gained by barter, by ransom, or by plunder, was de- 
posited in a strong bo.x secured by two locks, one 
key being kept by the royal supervisor, the other by 
Ocampo. 

In the mean time provisions became scarce. The 
Indians never appeared in the neighbourhood of the 
fortress, except to harass it with repeated though in- 
effectual assaults. Vergara did not appear with the 
expected supplies from Jamaica, and a caravel was 
despatched m search of him. The people, worn out 
with labour and privations of various kinds, and dis- 
gusted with the situation of a settlement, which was 
in a poor and unhealthy countr,', grew discontented 
and factious. They began to fear that they should 
lose the means of departing, as their vessels were in 
danger of being destroyed by the broma or worms. 
Ojeda led them forth repeatedly upon foraging parties 
about the adjacent country, and collected some pro- 
visions and booty in the Indian villages. The pro- 
visions he deposited in the magazine, part of the 
spoils he divided apiong his followers, and the gold 
he locked up in the strong box, the keys of which he 
took possession of, to the great displeasure of the 
supervisor and his associate Ocampo. The mur- 
murs of the people grew loud as their sufferings in- 
creased. They insinuated that Ojeda had no author- 
ity over this part of the coast, having passed the 
boundaries of his government, and formed his settle- 
ment in the country discovered by Bastides. By the 
time Vergara arrived from Jamaica, the factions of 
this petty colony had risen to an alarming height. 
Ocampo had a personal enmity to the governor, 
arising probably from some feud about the strong 
box ; being a particular friend of Vergara, he held a 
private conference with him, and laid a plan to en- 
trap the doughty Ojeda. In pursuance of this the 
latter was invited on hoard of the caravel of Vergara, 
to see the provisions he had brought from Jamaica, 
but no sooner was he on board than they charged 
him with having transgressed the limits of his gov- 
ernment, with having provoked the hostility of the 
Indians, and needlessly sacrificed the lives of his fol- 
lowers, and above all. with having taken possession of 
the strong box, in contempt ot the authority of the 
royal supervisor, and with the intention of appropri- 
ating to himself all the gains of the enterprise ; they 
informed him, therefore, of their intention to convey 
him a prisoner to Hispaniola, to answer to the Gov- 
ernor for his offences. Ojeda finding himself thus 
entrapped, proposed to Vergara and Ocampo that 
they should return to Spam with such of the crews 



as chose to accompany them, leaving him with the. 
remainder to prosecute his enterprise. The two 
recreant partners at first consented, for they were 
disgusted with the enterprise, which offered little 
profit and severe hardships. They agreed to leave 
Ojeda the smallest of the caravels, with a third of 
the provisions and of their gains, and to build a row 
boat for him. They actually began to labour 
upon the boat. Before ten days had elapsed, how- 
ever, they repented of the arrangement, the ship- 
carpenters were ill, there were no caulkers, and 
moreover, they recollected that as Ojeda, according 
to their representations, was a defaulter to the crown, 
they would be liable as his sureties, should they re- 
turn to Spain without him. They concluded, there- 
fore, that the wisest plan was to give him nothing, 
but to carry him off prisoner. 

When Ojeda learned the determination of his 
wary partners, he attempted to make his escape and 
get off to St. Domingo, but he was seized, thrown 
in irons, and conveyed on board of the caravel. The 
two partners then set sail from banta Cruz, bearing 
off the whole community, its captive governor, and 
the litigated strong box. 

They put to sea about the beginning of Septem- 
ber, and arrived at the western part of the island of 
Hispaniola. While at anchor within a stone's 
throw of the land, Ojeda, confident in his strength 
and skill as a swimmer, let himself quietly slide 
down the side of the ship into the water during the 
night, and attempted to swim for the shore. His 
arms were free, but his feet were shackled, and the 
weight of his irons threatened to sink him. He was 
obliged to shout for help ; a boat was sent from the 
vessel to his relief, and the unfortunate governor 
was brought back half drowned to his unrelenting 
partners.* 

The latter now landed and delivered their prisoner 
into the hands of Gallego, the commander of the 
place, to be put at the disposal of the governor of 
the island. In the mean time the strong box, which 
appears to have been at the bottom of all these 
feuds, remained in the possession ot Vergara and 
Ocampo, who, Ojeda says, took from it whatever 
they thought proper, without regard to the royal 
dues or the consent of the royal supervisor. They 
were all together, prisoner and accusers, in the 
city of San Domingo, about the end of Septem- 
ber 1502, when the chief judge of the island, 
after hearing both parties, gave a verdict against 
Ojeda that stripped him of all his effects, and 
brought him into debt to the crown for the royal 
proportion of the profits of the voyage. Ojeda ap- 
pealed to the sovereign, and, after some time, was 
honourably acquitted, by the royal council, from all 
the charges, and a mandate was issued in 1503, 
ordering a restitution of his property. It appears, 
however, that that the costs of justice, or rather ot 
the law, consumed his share of the treasure of the 
strong box, and that a royal order was necessary to 
liberate him from the hands of the governor ; so 
that, like too many other litigants, he finally emerged 
from the labyrinths of the law a triumphant client, 
but a ruined man. 



THIRD VOYAGE OF ALONZO DE OJEDA. 



OJEDA APPLIES FOR A COMMAND — HAS A RIVAL 
CANDIDATE IN DIEGO DE NICUESA — HIS SUC- 
CESS. 

For several years alter his ruinous, though suc- 
cessful lawsuit, we lose all traces of Alonzo de Ojeda, 



* Hist. Gen. de Viages. Herrera, Hist. Ind. 



742 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



excepting' that we are told he made another voyage 
to the vicinity of Coquibacoa, in 1505. No record 
remains of this expedition, which seems to have been 
equally unprofitable vith the preceding, for we find 
him, in 1508, in the island of Hispaniola, as poor in 
purse, though as proud in spirit, as ever. In fact, 
however fortune might have favoured him, he had a 
heedless, squandering disposition that would always 
have kept him poor. 

About this time the cupidity of King Ferdinand 
was greatly excited by the accounts which had been 
given by Columbus, of the gold mines of Veragua, in 
which the admiral fancied he had discovered the 
Aurea Chersonesus of the ancients, from whence 
King Solomon procured the gold used in build- 
ing the temple of Jerusalem. Subsequent voy- 
agers had corroborated the opinion of Columbus as 
to the general riches of the coast of Terra Firma ; 
King Ferdinand resolved, therefore, to found regular 
colonies along that coast and to place the whole un- 
der some capable commander. A project of the 
kind had been conceived by Columbus, when he dis- 
covered that region in the course of his last voyage, 
and the reader may remember the disasters expe- 
rienced by his brother Don Bartholomew and him- 
self, in endeavouring to establish a colony on the 
hostile shores of Veragua. The admiral being dead, 
the person who should naturally have presented him- 
self to the mind of the sovereign for this particular 
service was Don Bartholomew, but the wary and 
selfish monarch knew the Adelantado to be as lofty 
in his terms as his late brother, and preferred to ac- 
complish his purposes by cheaper agents. He was 
unwilling, also, to increase the consequence of a 
family, whose vast, but just, claims were already a 
cause of repining to his sordid and jealous spirit. 
He looked round, therefore, among the crowd of ad- 
venturers, who had sprung up in the school of Co- 
lumbus, for some individual who might be ready to 
serve him on more accommodating terms. Among 
those, considered by their friends as most fitted for 
this purpose, was Alonzo de Ojeda, for his roving 
voyages and daring exploits had made him famous 
among the voyagers ; and it was thought that an appli- 
cation on his part would be attended with success, for 
he was known to possess a staunch friend at court in 
the Bishop Fonseca. Unfortuately he was too far 
distant to urge his suit to the bishop, and what was 
worse, he was destitute of money. At this juncture 
there happened to be at Hispaniola the veteran navi- 
gator and pilot, Juan de la Cosa, who was a kind of 
Nestor in all nautical affairs.* The hardy Biscayan 
had sailed with Ojeda, and had conceived a great 
opinion of the courage and talents of the youthful 
adventurer. He had contrived, also, to fill his purse 
in the course of his cruising, and now, in the gener- 
ous spirit of a sailor, offered to aid Ojeda with it in 
the prosecution of his wishes. 

His offer was gladly accepted ; it was agreed that 
Juan de la Cosa should depart for Spain, to promote 
the appointment of Ojeda to the command of Terra 
Firma, and, in case of success, should fit out, with 
his own funds, the necessary armament. 

La Cosa departed on his embassy ; he called on 
the Bishop Fonseca, who, as had been expected, en- 



*' Peter Martyr gives the following weighty testimony to the 
knowledge and skill ol this excellent seaman: — "Of the Spaniards, 
as many as thought themselves to have any knowledge of what 
pertained to measure the land and sea. drew cardes ^cha^ts) on 
parchment as concerning these navigations. Of all others they 
most esteem them which Juan de la Cnsa, the companion of Ojeda, 
and another pilot, called Andres Morales, had set forth, and this, 
as well for the great experience which both had, {ta luhom these 
tracks were as loeit known as the chantbers o/ their oiun houses,) 
as also that they were thought to be cunninger in that part of cos- 
mography which teacheth the description and measuiing of the 
sea. * P. Martyr, Decad. it, c. lo. 



tered warmly into the views of his favourite, Ojeda, and 
recommended him to the ambitious and bigot king, 
as a man well fitted to promote his empire in the 
wilderness, and to dispense the blessings of Chris- 
tianity among the savages. 

The recommendation of the bishop was usu- 
ally effectual in the affairs of the New World, 
and the opinion of the veteran de la Cosa had 
great weight even with the sovereign ; but a 
rival candidate to Ojeda had presented himself, and 
one who had the advantage of higher connexions 
and greater pecuniary means. This was Diego de 
Nicuesa, an accomplished courtier of noble birth, 
who had filled the post of grand carver to Don En- 
rique Enriquez, uncle of the king. Nature, educa- 
tion, and habit seemed to have combined to form 
Nicuesa as a complete rival of Ojeda. Like him he 
was small of stature, but remarkable for symmetry 
and compactness of form and for bodily strength and 
activity ; like him he was master at all kinds of 
weapons, and skilled, not merely in feats of agility, 
but in those graceful and chivalrous exercises, which 
the Spanish cavaliers of those days had inherited 
from the Moors ; being noted for his vigour and ad- 
dress in the jousts or tilting matches after the Mo- 
resco fashion. Ojeda himself could not suqjass him 
in feats of horsemanship, and particular mention is 
made of a favourite mare, which he could make ca- 
per and carricol in strict cadence to the sound of a 
viol ; beside all this, he was versed in the legendary 
ballads or romances of his countiy, and was renown- 
ed as a capital performer on the guitar ! Such were 
the qualifications of this candidate for a command in 
the wilderness, as enumerated by the reverend Bish- 
op Las Casas. It is probable, however, that he had 
given evidence of qualities more adapted to the de- 
sired post ; having already been out to Hispaniola in 
the military train of the late Governor Ovando. 

Where merits were so singularly balanced as those 
of Ojeda and Nicuesa, it might have been difficult to 
decide , King Ferdinand avoided the dilemma by fa- 
vouring both of the candidates ; not indeed by fur- 
nishing them with ships and money, but by granting 
patents and dignities which cost nothing, and might 
bring rich returns. 

He divided that part of the continent which lies 
along the Isthmus of Darien into two provinces, the 
boundary line running through the Gulf of Uraba. 
The eastern part, extending to Cape de la Vela, was 
called New Andalusia, the government of it given to 
Ojeda. The other, to the west, including Veragua, 
and reaching to Cape Gracias a Dios, was assigned 
to Nicuesa. The island of Jamaica was given to the 
two governors in common, as a place from whence to 
draw supplies of provisions. Each of the governors 
was to erect two fortresses in his district, and to en- 
joy for ten years the profits of all the mines he should 
discover, paying to the crown one-tenth part the first 
year, one-ninth the second, one-eighth the third, one- 
seventh the fourth, and one-fifth part in each of the 
remaining years. 

Juan de la Cosa, who had been indefatigable in 
promoting the suit of Ojeda, was appomted his lieu- 
tenant in the government, with the post of Alguazil 
Mayor of the province. He immediately Ireighted a 
ship and two brigantines, in which he embarked with 
about two hundred men. It was a slender armament, 
but the purse of the honest voyager was not very 
deep, and that of Ojeda was empty. Nicuesa, having 
ampler means, armed four large vessels and two 
brigantines, furnished them with abundant munitions 
and supplies, both for the voyage and the projected 
colony, enlisted a much greater force, and set sail in 
gay and vaunting style, for the golden shores of 
V'eragua, the Aurea Chersonesus of his imagination. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



743 



CHAPTER 11. 

FEUD BETWEEN THE RIVAL GOVERNORS, OJEDA 
AND NICUESA — A CHALLENGE. — (l 509.) 

The two rival armaments arrived at San Domingo 
about the same time. Nicuesa had experienced 
what was doubtless considered a pleasant little turn 
of fortune by the way. Touching' at Santa Cruz, 
one of the Carribee islands, he had succeeded in 
capturing a hundred of the natives, whom he had 
borne off in his ships to be sold as slaves at Hispan- 
iola. This was deemed justifiable in those days, 
even by the most scrupulous divines, from the belief 
that the Caribs were all anthropophagi, or man- 
eaters ; fortunately the opinion of manlcind, in this 
more enlightened age. makes but little difference in 
atrocity between the cannibal and the kidnapper. 

Alonzo dc Ojeda welcomed with joy the arrival of 
his nautical friend and future lieutenant in the gov- 
ernment, the worthy Juan de la Cosa ; still he could 
not but feel some mortification at the inferiority of 
his armament to that of his rival Nicuesa, whose 
stately ships rode proudly at anchor in the harbour 
of San Domingo. He felt, too, that his means were 
inadequate to the establishment of his intended col- 
ony. Ojeda, however, was not long at a loss for 
pecuniary assistance. Like many free-spirited men, 
who are careless and squandering of their own 
purses, he had a facility at commanding the purses 
of his neigbours. Among the motley population of 
San Domingo there was a lawyer of some abilities, 
the Bachelor Martin Fernandez de Enciso, who had 
made two thousand castillanos by his pleading;* for 
it would appear that the spirit of litigation was one 
of the first fruits of civilized life transplanted to the 
New World, and flourished surprisingly among the 
Spanish colonists. 

Alonzo de Ojeda became acquainted with the 
Bachelor, and finding him to be of a restless and 
speculative character, soon succeeded in inspiring 
him with a contempt for the dull but secure and 
profitable routine of his office in San Domingo, and 
imbuing him with his own passion for adventure. 
Above all, he dazzled him with the offer to make him 
Alcalde Mayor, or chief judge of the provincial gov- 
ernment he was about to establish in the wilderness. 

In an evil hour the aspiring Bachelor yielded to 
the temptation, and agreed to invest all his money in 
the enterprise. It was agreed that Ojeda should 
depart with the armament which had arrived from 
Spain, while the Bachelor should remain at Hispan- 
iola to beat up for recruits and provide supplies ; 
with these he was to embark in a ship purchased by 
himself, and proceed to join his high-mettled friend 
at the seat of his intended colony. Two rival gov- 
ernors, so well matched as Ojeda and Nicuesa, and 
both possessed of swelling spirits, pent up in small 
but active bodies, could not remain long in a little 
place like San Domingo without some collision. The 
island of Jamaica, which had been assigned to them 
in common, furnished the first ground of contention ; 
the province of Darien furnished another, each pre- 
tending to include it within the limits of his jurisdic- 
tion. Their disputes on these points ran so high 
that the whole place resounded with them. In talk- 
ing, however, Nicuesa had the advantage; having 
been brought up in the court, he was more polished 
and ceremonious, had greater self-command, and 
probably perplexed his rival governor in argument. 
Ojeda was no great casuist, but he was an e.xcellent 
swordsman, and always ready to fight his way 
through any question of right or dignity which he 



* Equiva'.ent to 10,650 doll.irs of the present day. 



could not clearly argue with the tongue ; so he pro- 
posed to settle the dispute by single combat. Nicu- 
esa, though equally brave, was more a man of the 
world, and saw the folly of such arbitrament. Se- 
cretly smiling at the heat of his antagonist, he pro- 
posed, as a preliminary to the duel, and to furnish 
something worth fighting for, that each should de- 
posit five thousand catiUanos, to be the prize of the 
victor. This, as he foresaw, was a temporary check 
upon the fiery valour of his rival, who did not pos- 
sess a pistole in his treasury ; but probably was too 
proud to confess it. 

It is not likely, however, that the impetuous spirit 
of Ojeda would long have remained in check, had 
not the discreet Juan de la Cosa interposed to calm 
it. It is interesting to notice the great ascendency 
possessed by this veteran navigator over his fiery as- 
sociate. Juan de la Cosa was a man whose strong 
natural good sense had been quickened by long and 
hard experience ; whose courage was above all ques- 
tion, but tempered by time and trial. He seems to 
have been personally attached to Ojeda, as veterans 
who have outlived the rash impulse of youthful val- 
our are apt to love the fiery quality in their younger 
associates. So long as he accompanied Ojeda in his 
enterprises, he stood by him as a Mentor in council, 
and a devoted partisan in danger. 

In the present instance the interference of this 
veteran of the seas had the most salutary effect ; he 
prevented the impending duel of the rival governors, 
and persuaded them to agree that the river Darien 
should be the boundary line between their respective 
jurisdictions. 

The dispute relative to Jamaica was settled by the 
Admiral Don Diego Columbus himself. He had al- 
ready felt aggrieved by the distribution of these gov- 
ernments by the king, without his consent or even 
knowledge, being contrary to the privileges which 
he inherited from his father, the discoverer. It was 
in vain to contend, however, when the matter was 
beyond his reach and involved in technical disputes. 
But as to the island of Jamaica, it in a manner lay 
at his own door, and he could not brook its being 
made a matter of gift to these brawling governors. 
Without waiting the slow and uncertain course of 
making remonstrances to the king, he took the af- 
fair, as a matter of plain right, into his own hands, 
and ordered a brave officer, Juan de Esquibel, the 
same who had subjugated the province of Higuey, 
to take possession of that island, with seventy men, 
and to hold it subject to his command. 

Ojeda did not hear of this arrangement until he 
was on the point of embarking to make sail. In the 
heat of the moment he loudly defied the power ot 
the admiral, and swore that if he ever found Juan de 
Esquibel on the island of Jamaica he would strike 
off his head. The populace present heard this men- 
ace, and had too thorough an idea of the fiery and 
daring character of Ojeda to doubt that he would 
carry it into effect. Notwithstanding his bravado, 
however, Juan de Esquibel proceeded according to 
his orders to take possession of the island of Jamaica. 

The squadron of Nicuesa lingered for some time 
after the sailing of his rival. His courteous and en- 
gaging manners, aided by the rumour of great riches 
in the province of Veragua, where he intended to 
found his colony, had drawn numerous volunteers 
to his standard, insomuch that he had to purchase 
another ship to convey them. 

Nicuesa was more of the courtier and the cavalier 
than the man of business, and had no skill in manag- 
ing his pecuniary affairs. He had expended his funds 
with a free and lavish hand, and involved himself in 
debts which he had not the immediate means of pay- 
ing. Many of his creditors knew that his expedition 



744 



WORJCS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



was regarded with an evil eye by the Admiral, Don 1 
Diego Columbus ; to gain favour with the latter, 
therefore, they threw all kinds of impediments in the 
way of Nicuesa. Never was an unfortunate gentle- 
man more harassed and distracted by duns and de- 
mands, one plucking at his skirts as soon as the 
other was satisfied. He succeeded, however, in get- 
ting all his forces embarked. He had seven hundred 
men, well chosen and well armed, together with six 
horses. He chose Lope de Olano to be his captain- 
general, a seemingly impolitic appointment, as this 
Olano had been concerned with the notorious Roldan 
in his rebellion against Columbus. 

The squadron sailed out of the harbour and put 
to sea, excepting one ship, which, with anchor a-trip 
and sails unfurled, waited to receive Nicuesa, who 
was detained on shore until the last moment by 
the perplexities which had been artfully multiplied 
around him. 

Just as he was on the point of stepping into his 
boat he was arrested by the harpies of the law, and 
carried before the Alcalde Mayor to answer a de- 
mand for five hundred ducats, which he was ordered 
to pay on the spot, or prepare to go to prison. 

This was a thunderstroke to the unfortunate cava- 
lier. In vain he represented his utter incapacity to 
furnish such a sum at the moment ; in vain he 
represented the ruin that would accrue to himself 
and the vast injury to the public service, should he 
be prevented from joining his expedition. The Al- 
calde Mayor was inflexible, and Nicuesa was reduced 
to despair. At this critical moment relief came from 
a most unexpected quarter. The heart of a public 
notary was melted by his distress ! He stepped for- 
ward in court and declared that rather than see so 
gallant a gentleman reduced to extremity he himself 
would pay down the money. Nicuesa gazed at him 
with .istonishment, and could scarcely believe his 
senses, but when he saw him actually pay off the 
debt, and found himself suddenly released from this 
dreadlul embarrassment, he embraced his deliverer 
with tears of gratitude, and hastened with all speed 
to embark, lest some other legal spell should be laid 
upon his person. 



CHAPTER HI. 



EXPLOITS AND DISASTERS OF OJEDA ON THE 
COAST OF CARTHAGENA — FATE OF THE VET- 
ERAN JUAN DE LA COSA. — (1509.) 

It was on the loth of November, 1509, that 
Alonzo de Ojeda set sail from San Domingo with 
two ships, two brigantines, and three hundred men. 
He took with him also twelve brood mares. Among 
the remarkable adventurers who embarked with him 
was Francisco Pizarro, who was afterwards renown- 
ed as the conqueror of Peru.* Hernando Cortez 
had likewise intended to sail in the expedition, but 
was prevented by an inflammation in one of his 
knees. 



* Francisco Pizarro was a native of Truxillo in Estremadura. He 
was the illegitimate fruit of an amour between Gonsalvo Pizarro. a 
veteran captain of infantry, and a damsel in low life. His child- 
hood was passed in grovelling occupations incident to the humble 
tfondition of his mother, and he is said to have been a swineherd. 
When he had sufficiently increased in ye-ars and stature he enlisted 
as a soldier. His first campaigns may have been against the Moors 
in the war of Granada. He certainly served in Italy under the 
banner of the Great Captain, Gonsalvo of Cordova. His roving 
spirit then induced him to join the bands of adventurers to the 
New World. He was of ferocious courage, and, when engaged in 
any enterprise, possessed an obstinate perseverance that was nei- 
ther to be deterred by danger, weakened by fatigue and hardship, or 
checked bv repeated disappointment. After having conquered the 
great kingdom (if Peru, he was assassinated, at an advanced age, in 
E541, defending himself bravely to the last. 



The voyage was speedy and prosperous, and they 
arrived late in the autumn in the harbour of Cartha- 
gena. The veteran Juan de la Cosa was well ac- 
quainted with this place, having sailed as pilot with 
Rodrigo de Bastides, at the time he di.'icovered it in 
1501. He warned Alonzo de Ojeda to be upon his 
guard, as the natives were a brave and warlike race, 
of Carib origin, far different from the soft and gentle 
inhabitants of the islands. They wielded great 
swords of palm -wood, defended themselves with 
osier targets, and dipped their arrows in a subtle 
poison. The women, as well as the men, mingled 
in battle, being expert in drawing the bow and 
throwing a species of lance called the azagay. The 
warning was well timed, for the Indians of these 
parts had been irritated by the misconduct of pre- 
vious adventurers, and flew to arms on the first ap- 
pearance of the ships. 

Juan de la Cosa now feared for the safety of the 
enterprise in which he had person, fortune, and 
official dignity at stake. He earnestly advised Ojeda 
to abandon this dangerous neighbourhood, and to 
commence a settlement in the gulf of Uraba, where 
the people were less ferocious, and did not use poi- 
soned weapons. Ojeda was too proud of spirit to 
alter his plans through fear of a naked foe. It 
is thought, too, that he had no objection to a skir- 
mish, being desirous of a pretext to make slaves to 
be sent to Hispaniola in discharge of the debts he 
had left unpaid.* He landed, therefore, with a con- 
siderable part of his force, and a number of friars, 
who had been sent out to convert the Indians. His 
faithful lieutenant, being unable to keep him out of 
danger, stood by to second him. 

Ojeda ad\'anced towards the savages, and ordered 
the friars to read aloud a certain formula which had 
recently been digested by profound jurists and di- 
vines in Spain. It began in stately form. " I, Alonzo 
de Ojeda, servant of the most high and mighty 
sovereigns of Castile and Leon, conquerors of bar- 
barous nations, their messenger and captain, do 
notify unto you, and make you know, in the best 
way I can, that God our Lord, one and eternal, 
created the heaven and the earth, and one man and 
one woman, from whom you and we, and all the 
people of the earth proceeded, and are descentlants, 
as well as those who shall come hereafter." The 
formula then went on to declare the fundamental 
principles of the Catholic Faith ; the supreme power 
given to St. Peter over tlie world and all the human 
race, and exercised by his representative the pope ; 
the donation made by a late pope of all this part of 
the world and all its inhabitants, to the Catholic 
sovereigns of Castile; and the ready obedience 
which h,ad already been paid liy many of its lands 
and islands and people to the agents and representa- 
tives of those sovereigns. It called upon those 
savages present, therefore, to do the same, to ac- 
knowledge the truth of the Christian doctrines, the 
supremacy of the pope, and the sovereignty of the 
Catholic King, but, in case of refusal, it denounced 
upon them all the horrors of war, the desolation of 
their dwelling, the seizure of their property, and the 
slavery of their wives and children. Such was 
the extraordinary document, which, Irom this time 
forward, was read by the Spanish discoverers to the 
wondering savages of any newly-found country, as a 
prelude to sanctify the violence about to be mflicted 
on them.t 

When the friars had read this pious manifesto, 
Ojeda made signs of amity to the natives, and held 



* Las Cas.as. Hist. Ind. 1. ii. c. 57. MS. 

t The reader will find the complete form of this curious manifesto 
in the appendi.x. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



745 



up glittering presents ; they had already suffered, 
however, from the cruelties of the white men, and 
were not to be won by kindness. On the contrary, 
they brandished their weapons, sounded their conchs, 
and prepared to make battle. 

Juan de la Cosa saw the rising choler of Ojeda, 
and knew his fiery impatience. He again entreated 
him to abandon these hostile shores, and reminded 
him of the venomous weapons of the enemy. It 
was all in vain : Ojeda conhded blindly in the pro- 
tection of the Virgin. Putting up, as usual, a short 
prayer to his patroness, he drew his weapon, braced 
his buckler, and charged furiously upon the savages. 
Juan de la Cosa followed as heartily as if the battle 
had been of his own seeking. The Indians were 
soon routed, a number killed, and several taken 
prisoners ; on their persons were found plates of 
gold, but of an inferior quality. Flushed by this 
triumph, Ojeda took several of the prisoners as 
guides, and pursued the flying enemy four leagues 
into the interior. He was followed, as usual, by his 
faithful lieutenant, the veteran La Cosa, continually 
remonstrating against his useless temerity, but hard- 
ily secontling him m the most hare-brained perils. 
Having penetrated far into the forest, they came to 
a strong-hold of the enemy, where a numerous force 
was ready to receive them, armed with clubs, lances, 
arrows, and bucklers. Ojeda led his men to the 
charge with the old Castilian war cry, " Santiago ! " 
The savages soon took to flight. Eight of their 
bravest warriors threw themselves into a cabin, and 
plied their bows and arrows so vigorously, that the 
Spaniards were kept at bay. Ojeda cried shame 
upon his followers to be daunted by eight naked 
men. Stung by this reproach, an old Castilian 
soldier rushed through a shower of arrows, and 
forced the door of the cabin, but received a shaft 
through the heart, and fell dead on the threshold. 
Ojeda, furious at the sight, ordered fire to be set to 
the combustible edifice ; in a moment it was in a 
blaze, and the eight warriors perished in the flames. 

Seventy Indians were made captive and sent to 
the ships, and Ojeda, regardless of the remonstrances 
of Juan de la Cosa, continued his rash pursuit of the 
fugitives through the forest. In the dusk of the 
evening they arrived at a village called Yurbaco; 
the mhabitants of which had fled to the mountains 
with their wives and children and principal effects. 
The Spaniards, imagining that the Indians were 
completely terrified and dispersed, now roved in 
quest of booty among the deserted houses, which 
stood distant from each other, buried among the 
trees. While they were thus scattered, troops of sav- 
ages rushed forth, with furious yells, from all parts 
of the forest. The Spaniards endeavoured to gather 
together and support each other, but ever)- little 
party was surrounded by a host of foes. They fought 
with desperate bravery, but for once their valour and 
their iron armour were of no avail ; they were over- 
whelmed by numbers, and sank beneath war-clubs 
and poisoned arrows. 

Ojeda on the first alarm collected a few soldiers 
and ensconced himself within a small enclosure, sur- 
rounded by palisades. Here he was closely besieged 
and galled by flights of arrows. He threw himself 
on his knees, covered himself with his buckler, and, 
being small and active, managed to protect himself 
from the deadly shower, but all his companions were 
slain by his side, some of them perishing in frightful 
agonies. At this fearful moment the veteran La 
Cosa, having heard of the peril of his commander, 
arrived, with a few followers, to his assistance. 
Stationing himself at the gate of the palisades, the 
brave Biscayan kept the savages at bay until most of 
his men were slain and he himself \\3.s severely 



wounded. Just then Ojeda sprang forth like a tiger 
into the midst of the enemy, dealing his blows on 
every side. La Cosa would have seconded hirn, but 
was crippled by his wounds. He took refuge with 
the remnant of his men in an Indian cabin ; the 
straw roof of which he aided them to throw off, lest 
the enemy should set it on fire. Here he defended 
himself until all his comrades, but one, were de- 
stroyed. The subtle poison of his wounds at length 
overpowered him, and he sank to the ground. Feeling 
death at hand, he called to his only surviving compan- 
ion. " Brother," said he, " since God hath pro- 
tected thee from harm, sally forth and fly, and if 
ever thou shouldst see Alonzo de Ojeda, tell him of 
my fate ! " 

Thus fell the hardy Juan de la Cosa, faithful and 
devoted to the very last ; nor can we refrain from 
pausing to pay a passing tribute to his memor)'. He 
was acknowledged by his contemporaries to be one 
of the ablest of those gallant Spanish navigators 
who first explored the way to the New World. But 
it is by the honest and kindly qualities of his heart 
that his memory is most endeared to us ; it is, above 
all, by that loyalty in friendship displayed in this his 
last and fatal expedition. Warmed by his attach- 
ment for a more youthful and a hot-headed adventurer, 
we see this wary veteran of the seas forgetting his 
usual prudence and the lessons of his experience, 
and embarking, heart and hand, purse and person, in 
the wild enterprises of his favourite. We behold 
him watching over him as a parent, remonstrating 
with him as a counsellor, but fighting by him as a 
partisan ; following him, without hesitation, into 
known and needless danger, to certain death itself, 
and showing no other solicitude in his dying mo- 
ments but to be remembered by his friend. 

The histories of these Spanish discoveries abound 
in noble and generous traits of character, but few 
have charmed us more than this instance of loyalty 
to the last gasp, in the death of the staunch Juan 
de la Cosa. The Spaniard who escaped to tell the 
story of his end was the only suri'ivor of seventy that 
had followed Ojeda in this rash and headlong inroad. 



CHAPTER IV. 



ARRIVAL OF NICUESA — VENGEANCE TAKEN ON 
THE INDIANS. 

While these disastrous occurrences happened on 
shore, great alarm began to be felt on board of the 
ships. Days had elapsed since the party had ad- 
ventured so rashly into the wilderness ; yet nothing 
had been seen or heard of them, and the forest 
spread a mystery over their fate. Some of the 
Spaniards ventured a little distance into the woods, 
but were deterred by the distant shouts and yells of 
the savages, and the noise of their conchs and 
drums. Armed detachments then coasted the shore 
in boats, landing occasionally, climbing the rocks 
and promontories, firing signal-guns, and sounding 
trumpets. It was all in vain ; they heard nothing 
but the echoes of their own noises, or perhaps the 
wild whoop of an Indian from the bosom of the 
forest. At length, when they were about to give up 
the search in despair, they came to a great thicket of 
mangrove trees on the margin of the sea. These 
trees grow within the water, but their roots rise, 
and are intertwined, above the surface. In this en- 
tangled and almost impervious grove, they caught a 
glimpse of a man in Spanish attire. They entered, 
and, to their astonishment, found it to be Alonzo de 
Ojeda. He was lying on the matted roots of the 



74G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mangroves, his buckler on his shoulder, and his 
sword in his hand ; but so wasted with hunger and 
fatigue that he could not speak. They bore him to 
the lirm land ; made a fire on the shore to warm 
him, for he was chilled with the damp and cold of 
his hiding-place, and when he was a little revived 
they gave him food and wine. In this way he gradii- 
ally recovered strength to tell his doleful story.* 

He had succeeded in cutting his way through the 
host of savages, and attaining the woody skirts of 
the mountains ; but when he found himself alone, 
and that all his brave men had been cut off, he was 
ready to yield up in despair. Bitterly did he reproach 
himself for having disregarded the advice of the 
veteran La Cosa, and deeply did he deplore the loss 
of that loyal follower, who had fallen a victim to his 
devotion. He scarce knew which way to bend his 
course, but continued on, in the darkness of the 
night and of the forest, until out of hearing of the 
yells of triumph uttered by the savages over the 
bodies of his men. When the day broke, he sought 
the rudest parts of the mountains, and hid himself un- 
til the night ; then struggling forward among rocks, 
and precipices, and matted forests, he made his way 
to the sea-side, but was too much exhausted to reach 
the ships. Indeed it was wonderful that one so 
small of frame should have been able to endure such 
great hardships ; but he was of admirable strength 
and hardihood. His followers considered his escape 
fro:n death as little less than miraculous, and he 
himself regarded it as another proof of the special 
protection of the Virgin ; for, though he had, as 
usual, received no wound, yet it is said his buckler 
bore the dints of upwards of three hundred arrows.f 

While the Spaniards were yet on the shore, ad- 
ministering to the recovery of their commander, 
they beheld a squadron of ships standing towards 
the harbour of Carthagena, and soon perceived chem 
to be the ships of Nicuesa. Ojeda was troubled in 
mind at the sight, recollecting his late intemperate 
defiance of that cavalier ; and, reflecting that, should 
he seek him in enmity, he was in no situation to 
maintain his challenge or defend himself. He ordered 
his men, therefore, to return on board the ships and 
leave him alone on the shore, and not to reveal the 
place of his retreat while Nicuesa should remain in 
the harbour. 

As the squadron- entered the harbour, the boats 
sallied forth to meet it. The first inquiry of Nicuesa 
was concerning Ojeda. The followers of the latter 
replied, mournfully, that their commander had gone 
on a warlike expedition into the country, but days 
had elapsed without his return, so that they feared 
some misfortune had befallen him. They entreated 
Nicuesa, therefore, to give his word, as a cavalier, 
that should Ojeda really be in distress, he would not 
take advantage of his misfortunes to revenge him- 
self for their late disputes. 

Nicuesa, who was a gentleman of noble and gen- 
erous spirit, blushed with indignation at such a re- 
quest. " Seek your commander instantly," said he ; 
" bring him to me if he be alive ; and I pledge my- 
self not merely to forget the past, but to aid him as 
if he were a brother."^ 

When they met, Nicuesa received his late foe with 
open arms. " It is not," said he, " for Hidalgos, like 

* The picture here given is so much like romance, that the author 
quotes his authority at length. — " Llegaron adonde havia, junto al 
agua de la mar. uiios Manglares, que son arboles, que siempre nacen, 
i crecen i permanecen dentro del agua de la mar, con grandes raices, 
asidas, i enmarafladas unas con otras. i alii metido, i escondido 
hallaron it Alonzo dc Ojeda, con su espada en la mano. i la rodela 
en las e^paldas, i en ella sobre trecientas senales de flechazos. 
Estabo descaido de hanibre, que no podia hechar de si la habla ; i 
si no fuera tan robusto, aunque chico de cuerpo, fuera muerto." 

Las Casas. 1. ii. c. 5a. MS. Herrara, Hist. Ind. D. i. 1. vii. c. xv. 

f Las Casas, ubi. sup. { Las Casas, ubi. sup. 



men of vulgar souls, to remember past differences 
when they behold one another in distress. Hence- 
forth, let all that has occurred between us be forgot- 
ten. Command me as a brother. Myself and my 
men are at your orders, to follow you wherever you 
please, until the deaths of Juan de la Cosa and his 
comrades are revenged." 

The spirits of Ojeda were once more lifted up by 
this gallant and generous offer. The two governors, 
no longer rivals, landed four hundred of their men 
and several horses, and set off with all speed for the 
fatal village. They approached it in the night, and, 
dividing their forces into two parties, gave orders 
that not an Indian should be taken alive. 

The village was buried in deep sleep, but the 
woods were filled with large parrots, which, being 
awakened, made a prodigious clamour. The Indians, 
however, thinking the Spaniards all destroyed, paid 
no attention to these noises. It was not until their 
houses were assailed, and wrapped in tlames, that 
they took the alarm. They rushed forth, some with 
arms, some weaponless, but were received at their 
doors by the exasperated Spaniards, and either slain 
on the spot, or driven back into the fire. Women 
fled wildly forth with children in their arms, but at 
sight of the Spaniards glittering in steel, and of the 
horses, which they supposed ravenous monsters, they' 
ran back, shrieking with horror, into their burning 
habitations. Great was the carnage, for no quarter 
was shown to age or sex. Many perished by the 
fire, and many by the sword. 

When they had fully glutted their vengeance, the 
Spaniards ranged about for booty. While thus em- 
ployed, they found the body of the unfortunate Juan 
de la Cosa. It was tied to a tree, but swoln and dis- 
coloured in a hideous manner by the poison of the 
arrows with which he had been slain. This dismal 
spectacle had such an effect upon the common men, 
that not one would remain in that place during the 
night. Having sacked the village, therefore, they 
left it a smoking ruin, and returned in triumph to 
their ships. The spoil in gold and other articles of 
value must have been great, for the share of Nicuesa 
and his men amounted to the value of seven thousand 
castillanos.* The two governors, now faithtul con- 
federates, parted with many expressions of friend- 
ship, and with mutual admiration of each other's 
prowess, and Nicuesa continued his voyage for the 
coast of Veragua. 



CHAPTER V. 



OJED.\ FOUNDS THE COLONY OF SAN SEBASTIAN 
— BELEAGUERED BY THE INDIANS. 

Ojeda now adopted, though tardily, the advice 
of his unfortunate lieutenant, Juan de la Cosa, and, 
giving up all thoughts of colonising this disastrous 
part of the coast, steered his course for the Gulf of 
Uraba. He sought for some time the river Darien, 
famed among the Indians as abounding in gold, but 
not finding it, landed in various places, seeking a 
favourable sight for his intended colony. His people 
were disheartened by the disasters they had already 
undergone, and the appearance of surrounding ob- 
jects was not calculated to reassure them; The 
countiy, though fertile and covered with rich and 
beautiful vegetation, was in their eyes a land of can- 
nibals and monsters. They began to dread the 
strength as well as fierceness of the savages, who 
could transfix a man with their arrows even when 

* Equivalent to 37,281 dollars of the present day. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



747 



covered with aiTnour, and whose shafts were tipped 
with deadly poison. They heard the howlings of 
tigers, panthers, and, as they thought, hons in the 
forests, and encountered large and venomous ser- 
pents among the rocks and thickets. As they were 
passing along the banks of a river, one of their horses 
was seized by the leg by an enormous alligator, and 
dragged beneath the waves.* 

At length Ojeda fixed upon a place for his town 
on a height at the east side of the Gulf Here, land- 
ing all that could be spared from the ships, he began 
with all diligence to erect houses, giving this embryo 
capital of his province the name of San Sebastian, in 
honour of that sainted martyr, who was slain by ar- 
rows ; hoping he might protect the inhabitants from 
the empoisoned shafts of the savages. As a further 
protection he ere'cted a large wooden fortress, and 
surrounded the place with a stockade. Feeling, 
however, the inadequacy of his handful of men to 
contend with the hostile tribes around him, he des- 
patched a ship to Hispaniola, with a letter to the 
Bachelor, Martin Fernandez de Enciso, his Alcalde 
Mayor, informing him of his having established his 
seat of government, and urging him to lose no time 
in joining him with all the recruits, arms, and pro- 
visions he could command. By the same ship he 
transmitted to San Domingo all the captives and 
gold he had collected. 

His capital being placed in a posture of defence, 
Ojeda now thought of making a progress through 
his wild territory, and set out, accordingly, with an 
armed band, to pay a friendly visit to a neighbouring 
cacique, reputed as possessing great treasures of 
gold. The natives, however, had by this lime learnt 
the nature of these friendly visits, and were prepared 
to resist them. Scarcely had the Spaniards entered 
into the defiles of the surrounding forest when they 
were assailed by flights of arrows from the close 
coverts of the thickets. Some were shot dead on the 
spot ; others, less fortunate, expired raving with the 
torments of the poison ; the survivors, filled with 
horror at the sight, and, losing all presence of mind, 
retreated in confusion to the fortress. 

It was some time before Ojeda could again per- 
suade his men to take the field, so great was their 
dread of the poisoned weapons of the Indians. At 
length their provisions began to fail, and they were 
compelled to forage among the villages in search, 
not of gold, but of food. 

In one of their expeditions they were surprised by 
an ambuscade of savages in a gorge of the mount- 
ains, and attacked with such fury and effect, that 
they were completely routed and pursued with yells 
and howlings to the very gates of St. Sebastian. 
Many died in excruciating agony of their wounds, 
and others recovered with extreme difficulty. Those 
who were well no longer dared to venture forth in 
search of food ; for the whole forest teemed with 
lurking foes. They devoured such herbs and roots 
as they could find without regard to their quality. 
The humors of their bodies became corrupted, and 
various diseases, combined with the ravages of fam- 
ine, daily thinned their numbers. The sentinel who 
feebly mounted guard at night was often found dead 
at his post in the morning. Some stretched them- 
selves on the ground and expired of mere famine and 
debility ; nor was death any longer regarded as an 
evil, but rather as a welcome relief from a life of 
horror and despair. 



* Herrera, Hist. Ind. D. 1. 1, vii. c. xvi. 



CHAPTER VI. 

ALONZO DE OJEDA SUPPOSED BY THE SAVAGES 
TO HAVE A CHARMED LIFE — THEIR EXPERI- 
MENT TO TRY THE FACT. 

In the mean time the Indians continued to harass 
the garrison, lying in wait to surprise the foraging 
parties, cutting off all stragglers, and sometimes 
approaching the walls in open defiance. On such 
occasions Ojeda sallied forth at the head of his men, 
and, from his great agility, was the first to overtake 
the retreating foe. He slew more of their warriors 
with his single arm than all his followers together. 
Though often exposed to showers of arrows, none 
had ever wounded him, and the Indians began to 
think he had a charmed life. Perhaps they had 
heard from fugitive prisoners the idea entertained by 
himself and his followers of his being under super- 
natural protection. Determined to ascertain the 
fact, they placed four of their most dexterous arch- 
ers in ambush with orders to single him out. A 
number of them advanced towards the foit sounding 
their conchs and drums and uttering yells of defi- 
ance. As they expected, the impetuous Ojeda sal- 
lied tbrth immediately at the head of his men. The 
Indians fled towards the ambuscade, drawing him 
in furious pursuit. The archers waited until he w-as 
full in front, and then launched their deadly shafts. 
Three struck his buckler and glanced harmlessly off, 
but the fourth pierced his thigh. Satisfied that he 
was wounded beyond the possibility of cure, the 
savages retreated with shouts of triumph. 

Ojeda was borne back to the fortress in great an- 
guish of body and despondency of spirit. For the 
first time in his life he had lost l)!ood in battle. The 
charm in which he had hitherto confided was 
broken; or rather, the Holy Virgin appeared to 
have withdrawn her protection. He had the hor- 
rible death of his followers before his eyes, who had 
perished of their wounds in raving frenzy. 

One of the symptoms of the poison was to shoot 
a thrilling chill through the wounded part ; from 
this circumstance, perhaps, a remedy suggested it- 
self to the imagination of Ojeda, which few but him- 
self could have had the courage to undergo. He 
caused two plates of iron to be made red hot, and 
ordered a surgeon to apply them to each orifice of 
the wound. The surgeon shuddered and refused, 
saying he w-ould not be the murderer of his gen- 
eral.* Upon this Ojeda made a solemn vow that he 
would hang him unless he obeyed. To avoid the 
gallows, the surgeon appfied the glowing plates. 
Ojeda refused to be tied down, or that any one 
should hold him during this frightful operation. He 
endured it without shrinking or uttering a murmur, 
although it so inflamed his whole system, that they 
had to wrap him in sheets steeped in vinegar to al- 
lay the burning heat which raged throughout his 
body ; and we are assured that a barrel of vinegar 
was exhausted for the purpose. The desperate rem- 
edy succeeded : the cold poison, says I5ishop Las 
Casas, was consumed by the vivid fire.f How far the 
venerable historian is correct in his postulate, sur- 
geons may decide; but many incredulous persons 
will be apt to account for the cure by surmising tliat 
the arrow was not envenomed. 



CHAPTER VII. 



ARRIVAL OF A STRANGE SHIP AT SAN SEBASTIAN. 

Alonzo de Ojeda, though pronounced out of 
danger, was still disabled by his wound, and his 



* Ch-irlevoix, ut sup, p. 293. 

t Las Casas, Hist. Ind. lib. ii. c. 59. MS. 



748 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



helpless situation completed the despair of his com- 
panions ; for, while he was in health and vig-our, his 
buoyant and mercurial spirit, his active, restless, and 
enterprising habits, imparted animation, if not con- 
fidence, to every one around him. The only hope 
of relief was from the sea, and that was nearly ex- 
tinct, when, one day, to the unspeakable joy of the 
Spaniards, a sail appeared on the horizon. It made 
for the port and dropped anchor at the foot of the 
height of San Sebastian, and there was no longer a 
doubt that it was the promised succour from San 
Domingo. 

The ship came indeed from the island of Hispan- 
iola, but it had not been fitted out bv the Bachelor 
Enciso. The commander's name was Bernardino 
de Talavera. This man was one of the loose, heed- 
less adventurers who abounded in San Domingo. His 
carelessness and extravagance had involved him in 
debt, and he was threatened with a prison. In the 
height of his difficulties the ship arrived which Ojeda 
had sent to San Domingo, freighted with slaves and 
gold, an earnest of the riches to be found at San 
Sebastian. Bernardino de Talavera immediately 
conceived the project of giving his creditors the slip 
and escaping to this new settlement. He under- 
stood that Ojeda was in need of recruits, and felt 
assured that, from his own reckless conduct in 
money-matters, he would sympathize with any one 
harassed by debt. He drew into his schemes a 
number of desperate debtors like himself, nor was 
he scrupulous about filling his ranks with recruits 
whose legal embarrassments arose from more crim- 
inal causes. Never did a more vagabond crew en- 
gage in a project of colonization. 

How to provide themselves with a vessel was now 
the question. They had neither money nor credit ; 
but then they had cunning and courage, and were 
troubled by no scruples of conscience ; thus quali- 
fied, a knave will often succeed better for a time 
than an honest man; it is in the long run that he 
fails, as will be illustrated in the case of Talavera 
and his hopeful associates. While casting about for 
means to escape to San Sebastian they "heard of a 
vessel belonging to certain Genoese, w'hich was at 
Cape Tiburon, at the western extremity of the isl- 
and, taking in a cargo of bacon and casava bread 
for San Domingo. Nothing could have happened 
more opportunely: here was a ship amply stored 
with provisions, and ready to their hand ; they had 
nothing to do but seize it and embark. 

The gang, accordingly, seventy in number, made 
their way separately and secretly to Cape Tiburon, 
where, assembling at an appointed time and place, 
they boarded the vessel, overpowered the crew, 
weighed anchor, and set sail. They were heedless, 
hap-hazard mariners, and knew little of the manage- 
ment of a vessel; the historian Charlevoix thinks, 
therefore, that it was a special providence that guided 
them to San Sebastian. Whether or not the good 
father is right in his opinion, it is certain that the 
arrival of the ship rescued the garrison from the 
very brink of destruction.* 

falavera and his gang, though they had come 
lightly by their prize, were not disposed'to part with 
it as frankly, but demanded to be paid down in gold 
for the provisions furnished to the starving colonists. 
Ojeda agreed to their terms, and taking the supplies 
into his possession, dealt them out sparingly to his 
companions. Several of his hungry followers were 
dissatisfied with their portions, and even accused 
Ojeda of unfairness in reserving an undue share for 
himself. Perhaps there may have been some ground 
for this charge, arising, not from any selfishness in 



I the character of Ojeda, but from one of those super- 

i stitious fancies with which his mmd was tinged ; 

for we are told that, for many years, he had been 

haunted by a presentiment that he should e\ entually 

die of hunger.* 

This lurking horror of the mind may have made 
him depart from his usual free and lavish spirit in 
doling out these providential supplies, and may have 
induced him to set by an extra portion for himself, as 
a precaution against his anticipated fate ; certain it 
is that great clamours rose among his people, some 
of whom threatened to return in the pirate vessel to 
Hispaniola. He succeeded, however, in pacifying 
them for the present, by representing the necessity 
of husbanding their supplies, and by assuring them 
that the Bachelor Enciso could not fail soon to ar- 
rive, when there would be provisiohs in abundance. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



• Hist. S. Domingo, lib. iv. 



FACTIONS IN THE COLONY — A CONVENTION MADE. 

DAY.S and days elapsed, but no relief arrived at 
San Sebastian. The Spaniards kept a ceaseless 
watch upon the sea, but the promised ship failed to 
appear. With all the husbandry of Ojeda the stock 
of provisions was nearly consumed ; famine again 
prevailed, and several of the garrison perished 
through their various sufferings and their lack of 
sufficient nourishment. The survivors now became 
factious m their misery, and a plot was formed among 
them to seize upon one of the vessels in the harbour 
and make sail for Hispaniola. 

Ojeda discovered their intentions, and was reduced 
to great perplexity. He saw that to remain here 
without relief from abroad was certain destruction, 
yet he clung to his desperate enterprise. It was his 
only chance for fortune or command ; for should this 
settlement be broken up he might try in vain, with 
his exhausted means and broken credit, to obtain an- 
other post or to set on foot another expedition. Ruin 
in fact would overwhelm him, should he return with- 
out success. 

He exerted himself, therefore, to the utmost to 
pacify his men ; representing the folly of abandon- 
ing a place where they had established a foothold, 
and where they only needed a reinforcement to en- 
able them to control the surrounding country, and 
to make themselves masters of its riches. Finding 
they still demurred, he offered, now that he was suf- 
ficiently recovered from his wound, to go himself to 
San Domingo m quest of reinforcements and supplies. 

This offer had the desired effect. Such confidence 
had the people in the energy, ability, and influence of 
Ojeda, that they felt assured of relief should he seek it 
in person. They made a kind of convention with him, 
therefore, in which it was agreed that they should 
remain quietly at Sebastian's lor the space of fifty 
days. At the end of this time, in case no tidings 
had been received of Ojeda, they were to be at liber- 
ty to abandon the settlement and return in the brig- 
antines to Hispaniola. In the mean time Francisco 
Pizarro was to command the colony as Lieutenant 
of Ojeda, until the arrival of his Alcalde Mayor, the 
Bachelor Enciso. This convention being made, 
Ojeda embarked in the ship of Bernardino de Tala- 
vera. That cut-purse of the ocean and his loose- 
handed crew were effectually cured of their ambition 
to colonize. Disappointed in the hope of finding 
abundant wealth at San Sebastian's, and dismayed at 
the perils and horrors of the surrounding wilderness, 



♦ Herrcra. Decad. 1. i. viii. c. 3, 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



749 



they preferred returning to Hispaniola, even at the 
risk otchains and dungeons. Doubtless they thought 
that the influence of Ojeda would be sufficient to ob- 
tain their pardon, especially as their timely succour 
had been the salvation of the colony. 



CHAPTER IX. 



DISASTROUS VOYAGE OF OJEDA IN THE PIRATE 
SHIP. 

OjEDA had scarce put to sea in the ship of these 
freebooters, when a fierce quarrel arose between him 
and Talavera. Accustomed to take the lead among 
his companions, still feeling himself governor, and 
naturally of a domineering spirit, Ojeda, on coming 
on board, had assumed the command as a matter of 
course. Talavera, who claimed dominion over the 
ship, by the right no doubt of trover and con\'ersion, 
or, in other words, of downright piracy, resisted this 
usurpation. 

Ojeda, as usual, would speedily have settled the 
question by the sword, but he had the whole vaga- 
bond crew against him, who overpowered him with 
numbers and threw him in irons. Still his swelling 
spirit was unsubdued. He reviled Talavera and his 
gang as recreants, traitors, pirates, and offered to 
fight the whole of them successively, provided the) 
would give him a clear deck, and come on two at a 
time. Notwithstanding his diminutive size, they had 
too high an idea of his prowess, and had heard too 
much of his exploits, to accept his challenge ; so they 
kept him raging in his chains while they pursued 
their voyage. 

They had not proceeded far, however, when a vio- 
lent storm arose. Talavera and his crew knew little 
of navigation, and were totally ignorant of those 
seas. The raging of the elements, the baffling 
winds and currents, and the danger of unknown 
rocks and shoals filled them with confusion and 
alarm. They knew not whither they were driving 
before the storm, or where to seek for shelter. In 
this hour of peril they called to mind that Ojeda was 
a sailor as well as soldier, and that he had repeat- 
edly navigated these seas. Making a truce, tiiere- 
fore, for the common safety, they took off his irons, 
on condition that he would pilot the vessel during 
the remainder of her voyage. 

Ojeda acquitted himself with his accustomed spirit 
and intrepidity ; but the vessel had been already 
swept so far to the westward that all his skill was in- 
effectual in endeavouring to work up to Hispaniola 
against storms and adverse currents. Borne away 
by the gulf stream, and tempest-tost for many days, 
until the shattered vessel was almost in a foundering 
condition, he saw no alternative but to run it on shore 
on the southern coast of Cuba. 

Here then the crew of Iree-booters landed from 
their prize in more desperate plight than when they 
first took possession of it. They were on a wild and 
unfrequented coast, their vessel lay a wreck upon the 
sands, and their only chance was to travel on foot to 
the eastern extremity of the island, and seek some 
means of crossing to Hispaniola, where, after their 
toils, they might perhaps only arrive to be thrown 
into a dungeon. Such, liowever, is the yearning of 
civilized men after the haunts of cultiv.ated society, 
that they set out, at every risk, upon their long and 
painful journey. 



CHAPTER X. 

TOILSOME MARCH OF OJEDA AND HIS COMPAN- 
IONS THROUGH THE MORASSES OF CUDA. 

NOTWITHSTANDING the recent services of Ojeda, 
the crew of Talavera still regarded him with hostili- 
ty ; but, if they had felt the value of his skill and 
courage at sea, they were no less sensible of their 
importance on shore, and he soon acquired that 
ascendency over them which belongs to a master- 
spirit in time of trouble. 

Cuba was as yet uncolonized. It was a place of ref- 
uge to the unhappy natives of Hayti, who fled hither 
from the whips and chains of their European task- 
masters. The forests abounded with these wretched 
fugitives, who often opposed themselves to the ship- 
wrecked party, supposing them to be sent by their 
late masters to drag them back to captivity. 

Ojeda easily repulsed these attacks ; but found that 
these fugitives had likewise inspired the villagers with 
hostility to all European strangers. Seeing that his 
companions were too feeble and disheartened to fight 
their way through the populous parts of the island, 
or to climb the rugged mountains of the interior, he 
avoided all towns and villages, and led them through 
the close forests and broad green savannahs which 
extended between the mountains and the sea. 

He had only made choice of evils. The forests 
gradually retired from the coast. The savannahs, 
v.'here the Spaniards at first had to contend merely 
with long rank grass and creeping vines, soon ended 
in salt marshes, where the oozy bottom yielded no 
firm foot-hold, and the mud and water reached to 
their knees. Still they pressed forward, continually 
hoping in a little while to arrive at a firmer soil, and 
flattering themselves they beheld fresh meadow land 
before them, but continually deceived. The farther 
they proceeded, the deeper grew the mire, until, after 
they had been eight days on this dismal journey, 
they found themselves in the centre of a vast morass 
where the water reached to their girdles. Though thus 
almost drowned, they were tormented with incessant 
thirst, for all the water around them was as briny as 
the ocean. They suffered too the cravings of ex- 
treme hunger, having but a scanty supply of cassava 
bread and cheese, and a few potatoes and other roots, 
which they devoured raw. When they wished to 
sleep they had to climb among the twisted roots of 
mangrove trees, which grew in clusters in the waters. 
Still the dreary marsh widened and deepened. In 
many places they had to cross rivere and inlets ; 
where some, who could not swim, were drowned, 
and others were smothered in the mire. 

Their situation became wild and desperate. Their 
cassava bread was spoiled by the water, and their 
stock of roots nearly exhausted. The interminable 
morass still extended before them, while, to return, 
after the distance they had come, was hopeless. 
Ojeda alone kept up a resolute spirit, and cheered 
and urged them forward. He had the little Flem- 
ish painting of the Madonna, which had been given 
him by the Bishop Fonseca, carefully stored among 
the provisions in his knapsack. Whenever he stop- 
ped to repose among the roots of the mangrove 
trees, he took out this picture, placed it among the 
branches, and kneeling, prayed devoutly to the Vir- 
gin for protection. This he did repeatedly in the 
course of the day, and prevailed upon his compan- 
ions to follow his example. Nay, more, at a moment 
of great despondency, he made a solemn vow to 
his patroness, that if she conducted him alive through 
this peril, he would erect a chapel in the first Indian 
village he should arrive at ; and leave her picture 



750 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



there to remain an object of adoration to the Gen- 
tiles.* 

This frightful morass extended for the distance of 
thirty leagues, and was so deep and difficult, so en- 
tangled by roots and creeping vines, so cut up by 
creeks and rivers, and so beset by quagmires, that 
they were thirty days in traversing it. Out of the 
number of seventy men that set out from the ship 
but thirtv-five remamed. " Certain it is," observes 
the venerable Las Casas, " the sufferings of the Span- 
iards in the New World, in search of wealth, have 
been more cruel and severe than ever nation in the 
world endured ; but those experienced by Ojeda and 
his men have surpassed all others." 

They were :;t length so overcome by hunger and 
fatigue, that some lay down and yielded up the 
ghost, and others seating themselves among the 
mangrove trees, waited in despair for death to put 
an end to their miseries. Ojeda, with a few of the 
lightest and most vigorous, continued to struggle 
forward, and, to their unutterable joy, at length ar- 
rived to where the land was firm and dry. They 
soon descried a foot-path, and, following it, arrived 
at an Indian village, commanded by a cacique called 
Cueybas. No sooner did they reach the village than 
they sank to the earth exhausted. 

The Indians gathered round and gazed at them 
with wonder ; but when they learnt their story, they 
exhibited a humanity that would have done honour 
to the most professing Christians. They bore them 
to their dwellings, set meat and drink before them, 
and vied with each other in discharging the offices 
of the kindest humanity. Finding that a number of 
their companions were still in the morass, the ca- 
cique sent a large party of Indians with provisions 
for their relief, with orders to bring on their shoul- 
ders such as were too feeble to walk. " The Indians," 
says the Bishop Las Casas, " did more than they 
were ordered ; for so they always do, when they are 
not exasperated by ill treatment. The .Spaniards 
were brought to the village, succoured, cherished, 
consoled, and alinost worshipped as if they had 
been angels." 



CHAPTER XI. 



OJEDA PERFORMS HIS VOW TO THE VIRGIN. 

Being recovered from his sufferings. Alonzo de 
Ojeda prepared to perform his vow concerning the 
picture of the Virgin, though sorely must it have 
grieved him to part with a relique to which he at- 
tributed his deliverance from so many perils. He 
built a little hermitage or oratory in the village, and 
furnished it with an altar, above which he placed 
the picture. He then summoned the benevolent 
cacique, and explained to him as well as his limited 
knowlrtlge of the language, or the aid of interpre- 
ters would permit, the main points of the Catholic 
faith, and especially the history of the Virgin, whom 
he represented as the mother of the l5eity that 
reigned in the skies, and the great advocate for mor- 
tal man. 

The worthy cacique listened to him with mute 
attention, and though he might not clearly compre- 
hend the doctrine, yet he conceived a profound ven- 
eration for the picture. The sentiment was shared 
by his subjects. They kept the little oratory always 
swept clean, and decorated it with cotton hangings, 
laboured by thr;ir own hands, and with various votive 
offerings. They composed couplets or areytos in 
honour of the Virgin, which they sang to the ac- 



* Las Casas, Hist. Ind. 1. ii. c. 60, MS. 



companiment ot rude musical instruments, dancing 
to the sound under the groves which surrounded the 
hermitage. 

A further anecdote concerning this relique may 
not be unacceptable. The venerable Las Casas, 
who records these facts, informs us that he arrived 
at the village of Cuebas sometime after the departure 
of Ojeda. He found the oratory preserved with the 
most religious care, as a sacred place, and the pic- 
ture of the Virgin regarded with fond adoration. 
The poor Indians crowded to attend mass, which he 
performed at the altar ; they listened attentively to 
his paternal instructions, and at his request brought 
their children to be baptized. The good Las Casas 
having heard much of this famous relique of Ojeda, 
was desirous of obtaining possession of it, and offer- 
ed to give the cacique in exchange an image of the 
Virgin which he had brought with him. The chief- 
tain made an evasive answer, and seemed much 
troubled in mind. The next morning he did not 
make his appearance. 

Las Casas went to the oratory to perform mass, 
but found the altar stripped of its precious relique. 
On inquiring, he learnt that in the night the cacique 
had fled to the woods, bearing off with him his be- 
loved picture of the Virgin. !t was in vain that Las 
Casas sent messengers after him, assuring him that 
he should not be deprived of the relique, but on the 
contrary, that the image should likewise be presented 
to him. The cacique refused to venture from the 
fastnesses of the forest, nor did he return to his vil- 
lage and replace the picture in the oratory until after 
the departure of the Spaniards.* 



CHAPTER XII. 



ARRIVAL OF OJEDA AT JAMAICA — HIS RECEPTION 
BY JUAN DE ESQUIBEL. 

When the Spaniards were completely restored to 
health and strength, they resumed their journey. 
The cacique sent a large body of his subjects to 
carry their provisions and knapsacks, and to guide 
them across a desert tract of country to the province 
of Macaca, where Christopher Columbus had been 
hospitably entertained on his voyage along this 
coast. They experienced equal kindness from its 
cacique and his people, for such seems to have been 
almost invariably the case with the natives of these 
islands, before they had held much intercourse with 
the Europeans. 

The province of Macaca was situated at Cape de 
la Cruz, the nearest point to the island of Jamaica. 
Here Ojeda learnt that there were Spaniards settled 
on that island, being in fact the party commanded by 
the very Juan de Esquibel whose head he had threat- 
ened to strike off, when departing in swelling style 
from San Domingo. It seemed to be the fortune of 
Ojeda to have his bravadoes visited on his head in 
times of trouble and humiliation. He found him- 
self compelled to apply for succour to the very man he 
had so vain-gloriously menaced. This was no time, 
however, to stand on points of pride ; he procured a 
canoe and Indians from the cacique of Macaca, and 
one Pedro de Ordas undertook the perilous voyage 
of twenty leagues in the frail bark, and arrived safe 
at Jamaica. 

No sooner did Esquibel receive the message of 
Ojeda, than, forgetting past menaces, he instantly 
despatched a caravel to bring to him the unfortunate 
discoverer ^nd his companions. He received him 



* Las Casas, Hist. Ind. c. 61, MS.— Herrcra, Hist Ind. d. i. 1. i\. 

C. XV. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



751 



with the utmost kindness, lodged him in his own 
house, and treated him in all things with the most 
delicate attention. He was a gentleman who had 
seen prosperous days, but had fallen into adversity 
and been buffeted about the world, and had learnt 
how to respect the feelings of a proud spirit in dis- 
tress. Ojeda had the warm, touchy heart to feel 
such conduct ; he remained several days with Es- 
quibel in frank communion, and when he sailed for 
San Domingo they parted the best of friends. 

And here we cannot but remark the singular dif- 
ference in character and conduct of these Spanish 
adventurers when dealing with each other, or with 
the unhappy natives. Nothing could be more 
chivalrous, urbane, and charitable ; nothing more 
pregnant with noble sacrifices of passion and in- 
terest, with magnanimous instances of forgiveness 
of injuries and noble contests of generosity, than the 
transactions of the discoverers with each other ; but 
the moment they turned to treat with the Indians, 
even with brave and high-minded caciques, they 
were vindictive, blood-thirsty, and implacable. The 
very Juan de Esquibel, who could requite the recent 
hostility of Ojeda with such humanity and friend- 
ship, was the same who, under the government of 
Ovando, laid desolate the province of Higuey in 
Haspaniola, and inflicted atrocious cruelties upon its 
inhabitants. 

When Alonzo de Ojeda set sail for San Domingo, 
Bernardino de Talavera and his rabble adherents 
remained at Jamaica. They feared to be brought 
to account for their piratical exploit in stealing the 
Genoese vessel, and that in consequence of their re- 
cent violence to Ojeda, they would find in him an 
accuser rather than an advocate. The latter, how- 
ever, in the opinion of Las Casas, who knew him 
well, was not a man to make accusations. With all 
his faults he did not harbour malice. He was quick 
and fiery, it is true, and his sword was too apt to 
leap from its scabbard on the least provocation ; 
but after the first flash all was over, and, if he cooled 
upon an injury, he never sought for vengeance. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



ARRIVAL OF ALONZO DE OJEDA AT SAN DOMINGO 
— CONCLUSION OF HIS STORY. 

On arriving at San Domingo the first inquiry of 
Alonzo de Ojeda was after the Bachelor Enciso. 
He was told that he had departed long before, with 
abundant supplies for the colony, and that nothing 
had been heard of him since his departure. Ojeda 
waited for a time, in hopes of hearing, by some 
return ship, of the safe arrival of the Bachelor at 
San Sebastian. No tidings, however, arrived, and 
he began to fear that he had been lost in those 
storms which had beset himself on his return voyage. 

Anxious for the relief of his settlement, and fear- 
ing that, by delay, his whole scheme of colonization 
would be defeated, he now endeavoured to set on 
foot another armament, and to enlist a new set of 
adventurers. His efforts, however, were all ineffect- 
ual. The disasters of his colony were known, and 
his own circumstances were considered desperate. 
He was doomed to experience the fate that too often 
attends sanguine and brilliant projectors. The world 
is dazzled by them for a time, and hails them as he- 
roes while successful ; but misfortune dissipates the 
charm, and they become stigmatized with the appel- 
lation of adventurers. When Ojeda figured in San 
Domingo as the conqueror of Coanabo, as the com- 
mander of a squadron, as the governor of a province, 



his prowess and exploits were the theme of every 
tongue. When he set sail, in vaunting style, for his 
seat of government, setting the vice-roy at defiance, 
and threatening the life of Esquibel, every one 
thought that fortune was at his beck, and he was 
about to accomplish wonders. A few months had 
elapsed, and he walked the streets of San Domingo 
a needy man, shipwrecked in hope and fortune. His 
former friends, dreading som.e new demand upon 
their purses, looked coldly on him ; his schemes, 
once so extolled, were now pronounced wild and 
chimerical, and he was subjected to all kinds of 
slights and humiliations in the very place which had 
been the scene of his greatest vain-glory. 

While Ojeda was thus lingering at San Domingo, 
the Admiral, Don Diego Columbus, sent a party of 
soldiers to Jamaica to arrest Talavera and his pirate 
crew. They were brought in chains to San Domingo, 
thrown into dungeons, and tried for the robbery of 
the Genoese vessel. Their crime was too notorious 
to admit of doubt, and being convicted, Talavera 
and several of his principal accomplices were hanged. 
Such was the end of their frightful journey by sea 
and land. Never had vagabonds travelled farther 
or toiled harder to arrive at a gallows ! 

In the course of the trial Ojeda had naturally been 
summoned as a witness, and his testimony must 
have tended greatly to the conviction of the culprits. 
This drew upon him the vengeance of the surviving 
comrades of Talavera, who still lurked about San 
Domingo. As he was returning home one night at 
a late hour he was waylaid and set upon by a num- 
ber of these miscreants. He displayed his usual 
spirit. Setting his back against a wall, and drawing 
his sword, he defended himself admirably against 
the whole gang ; nor was he content with beating 
them off, but pursued them for some distance 
through the streets; and having thus put them to 
utter rout, returned tranquil and unharmed to his 
lodgings. 

This is the last achievement recorded of the gal- 
lant, but reckless, Ojeda ; for here his bustling career 
terminated, and he sank into the obscurity that 
gathers round a ruined man. His health Vifas broken 
by the various hardships he had sustained, and by 
the lurking etifects of the wound received at San 
Sebastian, which had been but imperfectly cured. 
Poverty and neglect, and the corroding sickness of 
the heart, contributed, no less than the maladies of 
the body, to quench that sanguine and fiery temper, 
which had hitherto been the secret of his success, 
and to render him the mere wreck of his former self; 
for there is no ruin so hopeless and complete as that 
of a towering spirit humiliated and broken down. 
He appears to have lingered some time at San Do- 
mingo. Gomara, in his history of the Indies, affirms 
that he turned monk, and entered in the convent at 
San Francisco, where he died. Such a change would 
not have been surprising in a man who, in his wild- 
est career, mingled the bigot with the soldier ; nor 
was it unusual with military adventurers in those 
days, after passing their youth in the bustle and 
licentiousness of the camp, to end their days in the 
quiet and mortification of the cloister. Las Casas, 
however, who was at San Domingo at the time, 
makes no mention of the fact, as he certainly would 
have done had it taken place. He confirms, how- 
ever, all that has been said of the striking reverse in 
his character and circumstances ; and he adds an 
affecting picture of his last moments, which may 
serve as a wholesome comment on his life. He 
died so poor, that he did not leave money enough to 
provide for his interment ; and so broken in spirit, 
that, with his last breath, he entreated his body 
might be buried in the monastery of San Francisco, 



752 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



just al tlic portal, in humble expiation of his past 
pride, " that every one who entered might tread 
upon his grave."* 

Such was the fate of Alonzo de Ojeda, — and who 
does not forget his errors and his faults at the thres- 
hold of his hunitjle and untimely grave ! He was one 
of the most fearless and aspiring of that band of 
" Ocean chivalry " that followed the footsteps of 
Columbus. His story presents a lively picture of 
the daring enterprises, the extravagant exploits, the 
thousand accidents, by flood and field, that checquer- 
ed the life of a Spanish cavalier in that roving and 
romantic age. 

" Never," says Charlevoix, " was man more suited 
for a coup-de-main, or to achieve and suffer great 
things under the direction of another : none had a 
heart more lofty, or ambition more aspiring ; none 
ever took less heed of fortune, or showed greater 
firmness of soul, or found more resources in his own 
courage ; but none was less calculated to be com- 
mander-in-chief of a great enterprize. Good man- 
agement and good fortune for ever failed him."t 



THE VOYAGE OF DIEGO DE NICUESA. 



NICUESA SAILS TO THE WESTWARD — HIS SHIP- 
WRECK AND SUBSEQUENT DISASTERS. 

We have now to recount the fortunes experienced 
by the gallant and generous Diego de Nicuesa, after 
his parting from Alonzo de Ojeda at Carthagena. 
On resuming his voyage he embarked in a caravel, 
that he might be able to coast the land and recon- 
noitre ; he ordered that the two brigantines, one of 
which was commanded by his lieutenant. Lope de 
Olano, should keep near to him, while the large ves- 
sels, which drew more water, should stand further 
out to sea. The squadron arrived upon the coast of 
V'eragua, in stormy weather, and, as Nicuesa could 
not find any safe harbour, and was apprehensive of 
rocks and shoals, he stood out to sea at the approach 
of night, supposing that Lope de Olano would follow 
him with the brigantines according to his orders. 
The night was boisterous, the caravel was much 
tossed and driven about, and when the morning 
dawned, not one of the squadron was in sight. 

Nicuesa feared some accident had befallen the 
brigantines ; he stood for the land and coasted along 
it in search of them until he came to a large river, 
into which he entered and came to anchor. He 
had not been here long when the stream suddenly 
subsided, having merely been swoln by the rains. 
Before he had time to extricate himself the caravel 
grounded, and at length fell over on one side. The 
current rushing like a torrent strained the feeble 
bark to such a degree, that her seams yawned, and 
she appeared ready to go to pieces. In this moment 
of peril a hardy seaman threw himself into the water 
to carry the end of a rope on shore as a means of 
saving the crew. He was swept away by the furious 
current and perished in sight of his companions. 
Undismayed by his fate, another brave seaman 
plunged into the waves and succeeded in reaching 
the shore. He then fastened one end of a rope 
firmly to a tree, and, the other being secured on 
board of the caravel, Nicuesa and his crew passed 
one by one along it, and reached the shore in safety. 

Scarcely had they landed when the caravel went 
to pieces, and with it perished their provisions. 



* Las Casas, ubi sup. 



t Charlevoix, Hist. S. Doming. 



clothing, and all other necessaries. Nothing re- 
mained to them but the boat of the caravel, which 
was accidentally cast on shore. Here then they 
were, in helpless plight, on a remote and savage 
coast, without food, without arms, and almost naked. 
What had become of the rest of the squadron they 
knew not. Some feared that the brigantines had 
been wrecked ; others called to mind that Lope de 
Olano had been one of the loose lawless men con- 
federated with Francisco Roldan in his rebellion 
against Columbus, and, judging him from the school 
in which he had served, hinted their apprehensions 
that he had deserted with the brigantines. Nicuesa 
partook of their suspicions, and was anxious and sad 
at heart. He concealed his uneasiness, however, 
and endeavoured to cheer up his companions, pro- 
posing that they should proceed westward on foot in 
search of Veragua, the seat of his intended govern- 
ment, observing, that if the ships had survived the 
tempest, they would probably repair to that place. 
They accordingly set off along the sea shore, for the 
thickness of the forest prevented their traversing the 
interior. Four of the hardiest sailors put to sea in 
the boat, and kept abreast of them, to help them 
across the bays and rivers. 

Their sufferings were extreme. Most of them 
were destitute of shoes, and many almost naked. 
They had to clamber over sharp and rugged rocks, 
and to struggle through dense forests beset with 
thorns and brambles. Often they had to wade across 
rank fens and morasses and drowned lands, or to 
traverse deep and rapid streams. 

Their food consisted of herbs and roots and shell- 
fish gathered along the shore. Had they even met 
with Indians they would have dreaded, in their un- 
armed state, to apply to them for provisions, lest 
they should take revenge for the outrages committed 
along this coast by other Europeans. 

To render their sufferings more intolerable, they 
were in doubt whether, in the storms which preceded 
their shipwreck, they had not been driven past Ve- 
ragua, in which case each step would take them so 
much the farther from their desired haven. 

Still they laboured feebly forward, encouraged by 
the words and the example of Nicuesa, who cheer- 
fully partook of the toils and hardships of the mean- 
est of his men. 

They had slept one night at the foot of impending 
rocks, and were about to resume their weary march 
in the morning, when they were espied by some In- 
dians from a neighbouring height. Among the fol- 
lowers of Nicuesa was a favourite page, whose tat- 
tered finery and white hat caught the quick eyes of 
the savages. One of them immediately singled him 
out, and taking a deadly aim, let fly an arrow that 
laid him expiring at the feet of his master. While 
the generous cavalier mourned over his slaughtered 
page, consternation prevailed among his compan- 
ions, each fearing for his own life. The Indians, 
however, did not follow up this casual act of hostility, 
but suffered the Spaniards to pursue their painful 
journey unmolested. 

Arriving one day at the point of a great bay that 
ran far inland, they were conveyed, a lew at a time, 
in the boat to what appeared to be the opposite point. 
Being all landed, and resuming their march, they 
found to their surprise that th^'y were on an island, 
separated from the main land by a great arm of the 
sea. The sailors who managed the boat were too 
weary to take them to the opposite shore ; they re- 
mained therefore all night upon the island. 

In the morning they prepared to depart, but, to 
their consternation, the boat with the four mariners 
had disappeared. They ran anxiously from point to 
point, uttering shouts and cries, in hopes the boat 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



753 



might be in some inlet ; they clambered the rocks 
and strained their eyes over the sea. It was all in 
vain. No boat was to be seen ; no voice resjjonded 
to their call ; it was too evident the four mariners 
had either perished or had deserted them. 



CHAPTER II. 



NICUESA AND HIS MEN ON A DESOLATE ISLAND. 

The situation of Nicuesa and his men was dreary 
and desperate in the extreme. They were on a des- 
olate island bordering upon a swampy coast, in a 
remote and lonely sea, where commerce never spread 
a sail. Their companions in the other ships, it still 
alive and true to them, had doubtless given them up 
for lost ; and many years might elapse before the 
casual bark of a discoverer might venture along 
these shores. Long before that time their fate would 
be sealed, and their bones bleaching on the sands 
would alone tell their story. 

In this hopeless state many abandoned themselves 
to frantic grief wandering about the island, wringing 
their hands and uttering groans and lamentations; 
others called upon God for succour, and many sat 
down in silent and sullen despair. 

The cravings of hunger and thirst at length roused 
them to exertion. They found no food but a few 
shell-fish scattered along the shore, and coarse herbs 
and roots, some of them of an unwholesome quality. 
The island had neither springs nor streams of fresh 
water, and they were fain to slake their thirst at the 
brackish pools of the marshes. 

Nicuesa endeavoured to animate his men with 
new hopes. He employed them in constructing a 
raft of drift-wood and branches of trees, for the pur- 
pose of crossing the arm of the sea that separated 
them from the main land. It was a difficult task, 
for they were destitute of tools, and when the raft 
was finished they had no oars with which to manage 
it. Some of the most expert swimmers undertook 
to propel it, but they were too much enfeebled by 
their sufferings. On their first essay the currents 
which sweep that coast bore the raft out to sea, and 
they swam back with difficulty to the island. Hav- 
ing no other chance of escape, and no other means 
of exercising and keeping up the spirits of his follow- 
ers, Nicuesa repeatedly ordered new rafts to be con- 
structed, but the result was always the same, and 
the men at length either grew too feeble to work or 
renounced the attempt in despair. 

Thus, day after day and week after week elapsed 
without any mitigation of suffering or any prospect 
of relief. Every day some one or other sank under 
his miseries, a victim not so much to hunger and 
thirst as to grief and despondency. His death was 
envied by his wretched sun'ivors, many of whom 
were reduced to such debility that they had to crawl 
on hands and knees in search of the herbs and shell- 
fish which formed their scanty food. 



CHAPTER III. 



ARRIVAL OF A BOAT — CONDUCT OF LOPE DE 
OLANO. 

When the unfortunate Spaniards, without hope 
of succour, began to consider death as a desirable 
end to their mjseries, they we roused to new life one 
day by beholding a sail gleaming on the horizon. 
Their exultation was checked, however, bv the re- 
48 



flection how many chances there were against its ap- 
proaching this wild and desolate island. Watching 
it with anxious eyes they put up prayers to God to 
conduct it to their relief, and at length, to their 
great joy, they perceived that it was steering directly 
for the island. On a nearer approach it proved to 
be one of the brigantines that had been commanded 
by Lope de Olano. It came to anchor : a boat put 
off and among the crew were the four sailors who 
had disappeared so mysteriously from the island. 

These men accounted in a satisfactory manner for 
their desertion. They had been persuaded that the 
ships were in some harbor to the eastward, and that 
they were daily leaving them farther behind. Dis- 
heartened at the constant, and, in their opinion, 
fruitless toil which fell to their share in the struggle 
westward, they resolved to take their own counsel, 
without risking the opposition of Nicuesa. In the 
dead of the night, therefore, when their companions 
on the island were asleep, they had silently cast off 
their boat, and retraced their course along the coast. 
After several days' toil they found the brigantines 
under the command of Lope de Olano, in the river 
of Belen, the scene of the disasters of Columbus in 
his fourth voyage. 

The conduct of Lope de Olano was regarded with 
suspicion by his contemporaries, and is still subject 
to doubt. He is supposed to have deserted Nicuesa 
designedly, intending to usurp the command of the 
expedition. Men, however, were prone to judge 
harshly of him from his having been concerned in 
the treason and rebellion of Francisco Roldan. On 
the stormy night when Nicuesa stood out to sea 
to avoid the dangers of the ahore, Olano took shelter 
under the lee of an island. Seeing nothing of the 
caravel of his commander in the morning, he made 
no effort to seek for it, but proceeded with the brig- 
antines to the river Chagres, where he found the 
ships at anchor. They had landed all their cargo, 
being almost in a sinking condition from the ravages 
of the worms. Olano persuaded the crews that 
Nicuesa had perished in the late storm, and, being 
his lieutenant, he assumed the command. Whether 
he had been perfidious or not in his motixes, his 
command was but a succession of disasters. He 
sailed from Chagres for the river of Belen, where 
the ships were found so damaged that they had to 
be broken to pieces. Most of the people constructed 
wretched cabins on the shore, where, during a sud- 
den storm, they were almost washed away by the 
swelling of the river, or swallowed up in the shifting 
sands. Several of his men were drowned in an ex- 
pedition in quest of gold, and he himself merely es- 
caped by superior swimming. Their provisions 
were exhausted, they suffered from hunger and from 
various maladies, and many perished in extreme 
miser,'. All were clamorous to abandon the coast, 
and Olano set about constructing a caravel, out of 
the wreck of the ships, for the purpose, as he said, 
of returning to Hispaniola, though many suspected 
it was still his intention to persist in the enterprise. 
Such was the state in which the four seamen had 
found Olano and his party; most of them living 
in miserable cabins and destitute of the necessaries 
of life. 

The tidings that Nicuesa was still alive put an 
end to the sway of Olano. Whether he had acted 
with truth or perfidy, he now manifested a zeal to 
relieve his commander, and immediately despatched 
a brigantine in quest of him, which, guided by the 
four seamen, arrived at the island in the way that 
has been mentioned. 



754 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



CHAPTER IV. 

NICUESA REJOINS HIS CREWS. 

When the crew of the brigantine and the com- 
panions of Nicuesa met, they embraced each other 
with tears, for the hearts, even of the rough mari- 
ners, were subdued by the sorrows they had under- 
gone ; and men are rendered kind to each other by 
a community of suffering. The brigantine had 
brought a quantity of palm nuts, and of such other 
articles of food as they had been able to procure 
along the coast. These the famished Spaniards de- 
voured with such voracity that Nicuesa was obliged 
to interfere, lest they should injure themselves. Nor 
was the supply of fresh water less grateful to their 
parched and fevered palates. 

When sufficiently revived, they all abandoned the 
desolate island, and set sail for the river Belen, ex- 
ulting as joyfully as if their trouliles were at an end. 
and they were bound to a haven of delight, instead 
of merely changing the scene of suffering and en- 
countering a new variety of horrors. 

In the mean time Lope de Olano had been dili- 
gently preparing for the approaching interview with 
his commander, by persuading his fellow officers to 
intercede in his behalf, and to place his late conduct 
in the most favourable light. He had need of their 
intercessions. Nicuesa arrived, burning with indig- 
nation. He ordered him to be instantly seized and 
punished as a traitor ; attributing to his desertion 
the ruin of the enterprise and the sufferings and 
death of so many of his brave followers. The fel- 
low captains of Olano spoke in his favour ; but 
Nicuesa turned indignantly upon them : " You do 
well," cried he, " to supplicate mercy for him ; you, 
who, yourselves, have need of pardon ! You have 
participated in his crime ; why, else have you suf- 
fered so long a time to elapse without compelling 
him to send one of the vessels in search of me ? " 

The captains now vindicated themselves by assur- 
ances of their belief in his having foundered at sea. 
They reiterated their supplications for mercy to 
Olano ; drawing the most affecting pictures of their 
past and present sufferings, and urging the impolicy 
of increasmg the horrors of their situation by acts 
of severity. Nicuesa at length was prevailed upon 
to spare his victim ; resolving to send him, by the 
first opportunity, a prisoner to Spain. It appeared, 
in truth, no time to add to the daily blows of fate 
that were thinning the number of his followers. Of 
the gallant armament of seven hundred resolute and 
effective men that had sailed with him Irom San Do- 
mingo, four hundred had already perished by various 
miseries ; and of the survivors, many could scarcely 
be said to live. 



CHAPTER V. 



SUFFERINGS OF NICUESA AND HIS MEN ON THE 
COAST OF THE ISTHMUS. 

The first care of Nicuesa, on resuming the gen- 
eral command, was to take measures for the relief 
of his people, who were perishing with famine and 
disease. All those who were in health, or who had 
strength sufficient to bear the least fatigue, were 
sent on foraging parties among the fields and vil- 
lages of the natives. It was a service of extreme 
peril ; lor the Indians of this part of the coast were 
fierce and warlike, and were the same who had 
proved so formidable to Columbus and his brother 
when they attempted to found a settlement in this 
neighbourhood. 



Many of the Spaniards were slain in these expe- 
ditions. Even if they succeeded in collecting pro- 
visions, the toil of bringing them to the harbour 
was worse to men in their enfeebled condition than 
the task of fighting for them ; for they were obliged 
to transport them on their backs, and, thus heavily 
laden, to scramble over rugged rocks, through al- 
most impervious forests, and across dismal swamps. 

Harassed by these perils and fatigues, they broke 
forth into murmurs against their commander, accuf- 
ing him, not merely of indifference to their suffer- 
ings, but of wantonly imposing severe and unneces- 
sary tasks upon them out of revenge for their having 
neglected him. 

The genial temper of Nicuesa had, in fact, been 
soured by disappointment ; and a series of harassing 
cares and evils had rendered him irritable and impa- 
tient ; but he was a cavalier of a generous and hon- 
ourable nature, and does not appear to have enforced 
any services that were not indispensable to the com- 
mon safety. In fact, the famine had increased to 
such a degree, that, we are told, thirty Spaniards, 
having on one occasion found the dead body of an 
Indian in a state of decay, they were driven by hun- 
ger to make a meal of it, and were so infected by 
the horrible repast, that not one of them sur.-ived.* 

Disheartened by these miseries, Nicuesa deter- 
mined to abandon a place which seemed destined to 
be the grave of Spaniards. Embarking the greater 
part of his men in the two brigantines and the car- 
avel which had been built by Olano, he set sail east- 
ward in search of some more favourable situation 
for his settlement. A number of the men remained 
behind to await the ripening of some maize and 
vegetables which they had sown. These he left un- 
der the command of Alonzo Nufiez, whom he nom- 
inated his Alcalde Mayor. 

When Nicuesa harl coasted about four leagues to 
the east, a Genoese sailor, who had been with 
Columbus in his last voyage, informed him that 
there was a fine harbour somewhere in that neigh- 
bourhood, which had pleased the old admiral so 
highly that he had given it the name of Puerto 
Bello. He added that they might know the harbour 
by an anchor, half buried in the sand, which Colum- 
bus had left there ; near to which was a fountain of 
remarkably cool and sweet water springing up at 
the foot of a large tree. Nicuesa ordered search to 
be made along the coast, and at length they found 
the anchor, the fountain, and the tree. It was the 
same harbour which bears the name of Portobello 
at the present day. A number of the crew were 
sent on shore in search of provisions, but were as- 
sailed by the Indians ; and, being too weak to wield 
their weapons with their usual prowess, were driven 
back to the vessels with the loss of several slain or 
wounded. 

Dejected at these continual misfortunes, Nicuesa 
continued his voyage seven leagues further, until he 
came to the harbour to which Columbus had given 
the name of Puerto de Bastimientos. or. Port of 
Provisions. It presented an advantageous situation 
for a fortress, and was surrounded by a fruitful coun- 
try. Nicuesa resolved to make it his abiding place. 
" Here," said he, " let us stop, fn el ncmbre de 
Dies/" (in the name of God). His followers, with 
the superstitious feeling with which men in adversity 
are prone to interpret every thing into omens, per- 
suaded themselves that there was favourable augury 
in his words, and called the harbour " Nombre de 
Dios." which name it afterwards retained. 

Nicuesa now landed, and, drawing his sword, took 
solemn possession in the name of the Catholic sover- 



* Herrera, Hist. Ind. D. i. and viii. c. 2. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



755 



eigns. He immediately began to erect a fortress to 
protect his people against the attacl<s of the sav- 
ages. As this was a case of exigency, he exacted 
the labour of every one capable of exertion. The 
Spaniards, thus equally distressed by famine and 
toil, forgot their favourable omen, cursed the place 
as fated to be their grave, and called down impreca- 
tions on the head of their commander, who com- 
pelled them to labour when ready to sink with hun- 
ger and debility. Those murmured no less who 
were sent in quest of food, which was only to be 
gained by fatigue and bloodshed ; for, whatever they 
collected, they had to transport from great distances, 
and they were frequently waylaid and assaulted by 
the Indians. 

When he could spare men for the purpose, Nicuesa 
despatched the caravel for those whom he had left at 
the river Belen. Many of them had perished, and 
the survivors had been reduced to such famine at 
times as to eat all kinds of reptiles, until a part of an 
alligator was a banquet to them. On mustering all 
his forces when thus united, Nicuesa found that but 
one hundred emaciated and dejected wretches re- 
mained. 

He despatched the caravel to Hispaniola, to bring 
a quantity of bacon which he had ordered to have 
prepared there, but it never returned. He ordered 
Gonzalo de Badajos, at the head of twenty men, to 
scour the country for provisions; but the Indians 
had ceased to cultivate ; they could do with little 
food and could subsist on the roots and wild fruits 
of the forest. The Spaniards, therefore, found de- 
serted villages and barren fields, but lurking enemies 
at every defile. So deplorably were they reduced 
by their sufferings, that at length there were not left 
a sufficient number in health and strength to mount 
guard at night ; and the fortress remained without 
sentinels. Such was the desperate situation of this 
once gay and gallant cavalier, and of his brilliant 
armament, which but a few months before had sal- 
lied from San Domingo, flushed with the conscious- 
ness of power and the assurance that they had the 
means of compelling the favours of fortune. 

It is necessary to leave them for a while, and turn 
our attention to other events which will ultimately 
be found to bear upon their destinies. 



CHAPTER VI. 



EXPEDITION OF THE BACHELOR ENCISO IN 
SEARCH OF THE SEAT OF GOVERNMENT OF 
OJEDA — (15IO.) 

In calling to mind the narrative of the last expedi- 
tion of Alonzo de Ojeda, the reader will doubtless 
remember the Bachelor Martin Fernandez de En- 
ciso, who was inspired by that adventurous cavalier 
with an ill-starred passion for colonizing, and freight- 
ed a vessel at San Domingo with reinforcements and 
supplies for the settlement at San Sebastian. 

When the Bachelor was on the eve of sailing, a 
number of the loose hangers-on of the colony, and 
men encumbered with debt, concerted to join his 
ship from the coast and the outports. Their cred- 
itors, however, getting notice of their intention, kept 
a close watch upon every one that went on board 
while in the harbour, and obtained an armed vessel 
from the Admiral Don Diego Columbus, to escort 
the enterprising Bachelor clear of the island. One 
man, however, contrived to elude these precautions, 
and as he afterwards rose to great importance, it is 
proper to notice him particularly. His name was 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa. He was a native of Xeres 



de los Caballeros, and of a noble though impover- 
ished family. He had been brought up in the serv- 
ice of Don Puerto Carrero, Lord of Moguer, and he 
afterwards enlisted among the adventurers who ac- 
companied Rodrigo de Bastides in his voyage of dis- 
covery. Peter Martyr, in his Latin decades, speaks 
of him by the appellation of " egregius digladiator," 
which has been interpreted by some as a skilful 
swordsman, by others as an adroit fencing master. 
He intimates, also, that he was a mere soldier of 
fortune, of loose prodigal habits, and the circum- 
stances under which he is first introduced to us jus- 
tify this character. He had fixed himself for a time 
in Hispaniola, and undertaken to cultivate a farm at 
the town of Salvatierra, on the sea coast, but in a 
little time had completely involved himself in debt. 
The expedition of Enciso presented him with an op- 
portunity of escaping from his embarrassments, and 
of indulging his adventurous habits. To elude the 
vigilance of his creditors and of the armed escort, he 
concealed himself in a cask, which was conveyed 
from his farm on the sea coast on board of the ves- 
sel, as if containing provisions for the voyage. When 
the vessel was fairly out at sea, and abandoned by 
the escort, Vasco Nuiiez emerged like an apparition 
from his cask, to the great surprise of Enciso, who 
had been totally ignorant of the stratagem. The 
Bachelor was indignant at being thus outwitted, even 
though he gained a recruit by the deception ; and in 
the first ebullition of his wrath gave the fugitive 
debtor a very rough reception, threatening to put 
him on shore on the first uninhabited island they 
should encounter. Vasco Nunez, however, succeed- 
ed in pacifying him, " for God," says the venerable 
Las Casas, " reserved him for greater things." It is 
probable the Bachelor beheld in him a man well fit- 
ted for his expedition, for Vasco Nunez was in the 
prime and vigour of his days, tall and muscular, sea- 
soned to hardships, and of intrepid spirit. 

Arriving at the main land, they touched at the 
fatal harbour of Carthagena, the scene of the san- 
guinary conflicts of Ojeda and Nicuesa with the 
natives, and of the death of the brave Juan de la 
Cosa. Enciso was ignorant of those events, having 
had no tidings from those adventurers since their 
departure from San Domingo ; without any hesita- 
tion, therefore, he landed a number of his men to 
repair his boat, which was damaged, and to procure 
water. While the men were working upon the boat, 
a multitude of Indians gathered at a distance, well 
armed, and with menacing aspect, sounding their 
shells and brandishing their weapons. The experi- 
ence they had had of the tremendous powers of the 
strangers, however, rendered them cautious of at- 
tacking, and for three days they hovered in this 
manner about the Spaniards, the latter being obliged 
to keep continually on the alert. At length two of 
the Spaniards ventured one day from the main body 
to fill a water cask Irom the adjacent river. Scarcely 
had they reached the margin of the stream, when 
eleven savages sprang from the thickets and sur- 
rounded them, bending their bows and pointing their 
arrows. In this way they stood for a moment or 
two in fearful suspense, the Indians refraining from 
discharging their shafts, but keeping them constantly 
pointed at their breasts. One of the Spaniards at- 
tempted to escape to his comrades, who were repair- 
ing the boat, but the other called him back, and un- 
derstanding something of the Indian tongue, ad- 
dressed a few amicable words to the savages. The 
latter, astonished at being spoken to in their own 
language, now relaxed a little from their fierceness, 
and demanded of the strangers who they were, who 
were their leaders, and what they sought upon their 
shores. The Spaniard replied that they were harm- 



75G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



less people who came from other lands, and merely 
touched there throiii(h necessity, and he wondered 
that they should meet them with such hostility ; he 
at the same time warned them to beware, as there 
would come many of his countrymen well armed, 
and would wreak terrible vengeance upon them for 
any mischief they might do. While they were thus 
parleying, the Bachelor Enciso, hearing that two of 
his men were surrounded by the savages, sallied in- 
stantly from his ship, and hastened with an armed 
force to their rescue. As he approached, however, 
the Spaniard who had held the parley, made him a 
signal that the natives were pacific. In fact, the 
latter had supposed that this was a new invasion of 
Ojeda and Nicuesa, and had thus arrayed them- 
selves, if not to take vengeance for past outrages, at 
least to defend their houses from a second desola- 
tion. When they were convinced, however, that 
these were a totally different band of strangers, and 
without hostile intentions, their animosity was at an 
end ; they threw by their weapons and came for- 
ward with the most confiding frankness. During 
the whole time that the Spaniards remained there, 
they treated them with the greatest friendship, sup- 
plying them with bread made from maize, with salted 
fish, and with the fermented and spirituous bever- 
ages common along that coast. Such was the 
magnanimous conduct of men who were considered 
among the most ferocious and warlike of these sav- 
age nations ; and who but recently had beheld their 
shores invaded, their villages ravaged and burnt, and 
their friends and relations butchered, without re- 
gard to age or se.i, by the countrymen of these very 
strangers. When we recall the bloody and indis- 
criminate vengeance wreaked upon this people by 
Ojeda and his followers for their justifiable resist- 
ance of invasion, and compare it with their placable 
and considerate spirit when an opportunity for re- 
venge presented itself, we confess we feel a momen- 
tary doubt whether the arbitrary appellation of sav- 
age is always applied to the right party. 



CHAPTER VII. 



Ojeda, they then determined to embark and sail for 
Hispaniola ; but here an unthought-of difficulty pre- 
sented itself: they were seventy in number, and the 
two brigantines which had been left with them were 
incapable of taking so many. They came to the for- 
lorn agreement, therefore, to remain until famine, 
sickness, and the poisoned arrows of the Indians 
should reduce their number to the capacity of the 
brigantines. A brief space of time was sufficient for 
the purpose. They then prepared for the voyage. 
Four mares, which had been kept alive as terrors to 
the Indians, were killed and salted for sea-stores. 
Then taking whatever other articles of provision re- 
mained, they embarked and made sail. One brig- 
antine was commanded by Pizarro, the other by one 
Valenzuela. 

They had not proceeded far when, in a storm, a 
sea struck the crazy vessel of Valenzuela with such 
violence as to cause it to t'ounder with all its crew. 
The other brigantine was so near that the mariners 
witnessed the struggles of their drowning compan- 
ions and heard their cries. Some of the sailors, with 
the common disposition to the marvellous, declared 
that they had beheld a great whale, or some other 
monster of the deep, strike the vessel with its tail, 
and either stave in its sides or shatter the rudder, so 
as to cause the shipwreck.* The surviving brigan- 
tine then made the best of its way to the harbour of 
Carthagena, to seek provisions. 

Such was the disastrous account rendered to the 
Bachelor by Pizarro, of his destined jurisdiction. 
Enciso, however, was of a confident mind and san- 
guine temperament, and trusted to restore all things 
to order and prosperity on his arrival. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE BACHELOR HEARS UNWELCOME TIDINGS OF 
HIS DESTINED JURISDICTION. 

Not long after the arrival of Enciso at this event- 
ful harbour he was surprised by the circumstance of 
a brigantine entering and coming to anchor. To 
encounter an European sail in these almost unknown 
seas, was always a singular and striking occurrence, 
but the astonishment of .the Bachelor was mingled 
with alarm when, on boarding the brigantine, he 
found that it was manned by a number of the men 
who had embarked with Ojeda. His first idea was, 
that they had mutinied against their commander, 
and deserted with the vessel. The feelings of the 
magistrate were aroused within him by the suspicion, 
and he determined to take his first step as Alcalde 
Mayor, by seizing them and inflicting on them the 
severity of the law. He altered his tone, however, 
on conversing with their resolute commander. This 
was no other than Francisco Pizarro, whom Ojeda 
had left as his locum tenens at San Sebastian, and 
who showed the Bachelor his letter patent, signed 
by that unfortunate governor. In fact, the little brig- 
antine contained the sad remnant of the once vaunt- 
etl colony. After the departure of Ojeda in the pirate 
ship, his followers, whom he had left behind under 
the command of Pizarro, continued in the fortress 
until the stipulated term of fifty days had expired. 
Receiving no succour, and hearing no tidings of 



CRUSADE OF THE BACHELOR ENCISO AGAINST 
THE SEPULCHRES OF ZENU. 

The Bachelor Enciso, as has been shown, was a 
man of the sword as well as of the robe ; having 
doubtless imbibed a passion for military exploit from 
his intimacy with the discoverers. Acconlingly, 
while at Carthagena, he was visited by an impulse 
of the kind, and undertook an enterprise that would 
have been worthy of his friend Ojeda. He had been 
told by the Indians that about twenty-five leagues 
to the west lay a province called Zenu, the mount- 
ains of which abounded with the finest gold. This 
was washed down by torrents during the rainy sea- 
son, in such quantities that the natives stretched nets 
across the rivers to catch the largest particles ; some 
of which were said to be as large as eggs. 

The idea of taking gold in nets captivated the 
imagination of the Bachelor, and his cupidity was 
still more excited by further accounts of this wealthy 
province. He was told that Zenu was the general 
place of sepulture of the Indian tribes throughout 
the country, whither they brought their dead, and 
buried them, according to their custom, decorated 
with their most precious ornaments. 

It appeared to him a matter of course, therefore, 
that there must be an iminense accumulation of 
riches in the Indian tombs, from the golden orna- 
ments that had been buried with the dead through a 
long series of generations. Fired with the thought, 
he determined to make a foray into this province, 
and to sack the sepulchres ! Neither did he feel any 
compunction at the idea of plundering the dead, con- 
j sidering the deceased as pagans and infidels, who 



* Herrera, Hist. Ind. d. I. I. vii. c. lo. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



757 



had forfeited even the sanctuary of the grave, by 
having bi/en buried according to the rites and cere- 
monies of their idolatrous religion. 

Enciso, accordingly, made sail from Carthagena 
and landed with his forces on the coast of Zenu. 
Here he was promptly opposed by two caciques, at 
the head of a large Isand of warriors. The Bachelor, 
though he had thus put on the soldier, retained suf- 
ficient of the spirit of his former _^calling not to enter 
into quarrel without taking care to have the law on 
his side ; he proceeded regularly, therefore, accord- 
ing to the legal form recently enjoined by the crown. 
He caused to be read and interpreted to the caciques, 
the same formula used by Ojeda, expounding the 
nature of the Deity, the supremacy of the pope, and 
the right of the Catholic so\ereigns to all these lands, 
by virtue of a grant from his holiness. The caciques 
listened to the whole very attentively and without 
interruption, according to the laws of Indian courtesy. 
They then replied that, as to the assertion that there 
was but one God, the sovereign of heaven and earth, 
it seemed to them good, and that such must be the 
case ; but as to the doctrine that the pope was regent 
of the world in place of God, and that he had made 
a grant of their countiy to the Spanish king, they 
observed that the pope must have been drunk to give 
away what was not his, and the king must have been 
somewhat mad to ask at his hands what belonged 
to others. They added, that they were lords of those 
lands and needed no other sovereign, and if this king 
should come to take possession, they would cut off 
his head and put it on a pole ; that being their mode 
of dealing with their enemies. — As an illustration of 
this custom they pointed out to Enciso the very un- 
comfortable spectacle of a row of grizzly heads im- 
paled in the neighbourhood. 

Nothing daunted either by the reply or the illus- 
tration, the Bachelor menaced them with war and 
slavery as the consequences of their refusal to be- 
lieve and submit. They replied by threatening to 
put his head upon a pole as a representative of his 
sovereign. The Bachelor, having furnished them 
with the law, now proceeded to the commentary. 
He attacked the Indians, routed them, and took one 
of the caciques prisoner, but in the skirmish two of 
his men were slightly wounded with poisoned arrows, 
and died raving with torment.* 

It does not appear, however, that his crusade 
against the sepulchres was attended with any lucra- 
tive advantage. Perhaps the experience he had re- 
ceived of the hostility of the natives, and of the fatal 
effects of their poisoned arrows, prevented his pene- 
trating into the land with his scanty force. Certain 
it is, the reputed wealth of Zenu, and the tale of its 
fishery for gold with nets, remained unascertained 
and uncontradicted, and were the cause of subse- 
quent and disastrous enterprises. The Bachelor 
contented himself with his victory, and returning to 
his ships, prepared to continue his voyage for the 
seat of government established by Ojeda in the 
Gulf of Uraba. 



• The above anecdote is related by the Bachelor Enciso himself, 
in a geographical work entitled Suma de Geographia, which he 
published in Seville, in 1519. As the reply of the poor savages 
cont.'tins something of natural logic we give a part of it as reported 
by the Bachelor. " Rcspondieron mc ; que en lo que dezia que no 
avia sino un dios y que este governaba el cielo y la tierra y que era 
senor de todo que les parecia y que asi debia ser: pero que en lo 
que dezia que el papa era senor de todo el universo en lugar de dios 
y que el avia fecho mcrced de aquella tierra al rey de Castilla ; dix- 
eron que el papa debiera estar boracho quando lo hizo pues daba lo 
que no era suyo, y que el rey que pedia y tomava tal merced debia 
ser algun loco pues pedia lo que era de otros," &c. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE B.'^CHELOR ARRIVES AT SAN SABASTIAN — HIS 
DISASTERS THERE, AND SUBSEQUENT EXPLOITS 
AT DARIEN. 

It was not without extreme difficulty, and the 
peremptory exercise of his authority as Alcalde 
Mayor, that Enciso prevailed upon the crew of 
Pizarro to return with him to the fated shores of San 
Sebastian. He at length arrived in sight of the long- 
wished-for seat of his anticipated power and author- 
ity ; but here he was doomed like his principal, 
Ojeda, to meet with nothing but misfortune. On 
entering the harbour his vessel struck on a rock on 
the eastern point. The rapid currents and tumultu- 
ous waves rent it to pieces ; the crew escaped with 
great difficulty to the brigantine of Pizarro ; a little 
Hour, cheese, and biscuit, and a small part of the 
arms were saved, but the horses, mares, swine, an.i 
all other colonial supplies were swept aw?ay, and 
the unfortunate Bachelor beheld the proceeds of 
several years of prosperous litigation swallowed up 
in an instant. 

His dream of place and dignity seemed equally on 
the point of vanishing, for, on landing, he found the 
fortress and its adjacent houses mere heaps of ruins, 
having been destroyed with fire by the Indians. 

For a few days the Spaniards maintained them- 
selves with palm nuts, and with the flesh of a kind 
of wild swine, of which they met with several herds. 
These supplies failing, the Bachelor sallied forth 
with a hundred men to forage the country. They 
were waylaid by three Indians, who discharged all 
the arrows in their quivers with incredible rapidity, 
wounded several Spaniards, and then fled with a 
swiftness that defied pursuit. The Spaniards re- 
turned to the harbour in dismay. All their dread of 
the lurking savages and their poisoned weapons 
revived, and they insisted upon abandoning a place 
iTiarked out for disaster. 

The Bachelor Enciso was himself disheartened 
at the situation of this boasted capital of San Se- 
bastian ; — but whither could he go where the same 
misfortunes might not attend him ? In this moment 
of doubt and despondency, Vasco Nunez, the same 
absconding debtor who had been smuggled on 
board in the cask, stepped forward to gi\e counsel. 
He informed the Bachelor that several years pre- 
viously he had sailed along that coast with Rodrigo 
de Bastides. They had explored the whole gulf of 
Uraba ; and he well remembered an Indian village 
situated on the western side, on the banks of a 
river which the natives called Darien. The country 
around was fertile and abundant, and was said to 
possess mines of gold ; and the natives, though a 
warlike race, never made use of poisoned weapons. 
He oftered to guide the Bachelor to this place, where 
they might get a supply of provisions, and even found 
their colony. 

The Spaniards hailed the words of Vasco Nunez 
as if revealing a land of promise. The Bachelor 
adopted his advice, and, guided by him, set sail for 
the village, determined to eject the inhabitants and 
take possession of it as the seat of government. 
Arrived at the river, he landed, put his men in 
martial array, and marched along the banks. The 
place was governed by a brave cacique named 
Zemaco. When he heard of the approach of the 
Spaniards, he sent off the women and children to a 
place of safety, and posting himself with five hun- 
dred of his warriors on a height, prepared to give 
the intruders a warm reception. The Bachelor was 
a discoverer at all points, pious, daring, and rapa- 
cious. On beholding this martial array he recom- 



75S 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mended himself and his followers to God, making a 
vow in their name to " Our Lady of Antigua," whose 
image is adored with great devotion in Seville, that 
the first church and town which they built should 
be dedicated to her, and that they would make a 
pilgrimage to Seville to oflerthe spoils of the heathen 
at her shrine. Having thus endeavoured to propi- 
tiate the favour of Heaven, and to retain the Holy 
Virgin in his cause, he next proceeded to secure the 
fidelity of his followers. Doubting that they might 
have some lurking dread of poisoned arrows, he ex- 
acted from them all an oath that they would not 
turn their backs upon the foe, whatever might 
happen. Never did warrior enter into battle with 
more preliminary forms and covenants than the 
Bachelor Enciso. All these points being arranged, 
he assumed the soldier, and attacked the enemy with 
such valour, that though they made at first a show 
of fierce resistance, they were soon put to flight, and 
many of them slain. The Bachelor entered the vil- 
lage in triumph, took possession of it by unquestion- 
able right of conquest, and plundered all the ham- 
lets and houses of the surrounding country ; collect- 
ing great quantities of food and cotton, with brace- 
lets, anklets, plates, and other ornaments of gold, to the 
value of ten thousand castellanos."^ His heart was 
wonderfully elated by his victory and his booty ; his 
followers, also, after so many hardships and dis- 
asters, gave themselves up to joy at this turn of 
good fortune, and it was unanimously agreed that 
the seat of government should be established in this 
village ; to which, in fulfilment of his vow, Enciso 
gave the name of Santa Maria de la Antigua del 
Darien. 



1 of Ojcda, could have no jurisdiction here, and his as- 
' sumed authority was a sheer usurpation. 

The Spaniards, already incensed at the fiscal regu- 
lations of Enciso, were easily convinced ; so with 
one accord they refused allegiance to him ; and the 
unfortunate Bachelor found the chair of authority to 
which he had so fondly and anxiously aspired, sud- 
denly wrested from under him, before he had well lime 
to take his seat. 



CHAPTER X. 



THE BACHELOR ENCISO UNDERT.\KES THE COM- 
MAND—HIS DOWNFALL. 

The Bachelor Enciso now entered upon the exer- 
cise of his civil functions as Alcalde Mayor, and 
Lieutenant of the absent governor, Ojeda. His first 
edict was stern and peremptory ; he forbade all 
trafficking with the natives for gold, on private ac- 
count, under pain of death. This was in conformity 
to royal command ; but it was little palatable to men 
who had engaged in the enterprise in the hopes of 
enjoying free trade, lawless liberty, and golden gains. 
They murmured among themselves, and insinuated 
that Enciso intended to reserve all the profit to 
himself. 

Vasco Nunez was the first to take advantage of 
the general discontent. He had risen to conse- 
quence among his fellow-adventurers, from having 
guided them to this place, and frjm his own intrin- 
sic qualities, being hardy, bold, and intelligent, and 
possessing the random spirit and open-handed gen- 
erosity common to a soldier of fortune, and calcu- 
lated to dazzle and delight the multitude. 

He bore no good will to the Bachelor, recollecting 
his threat of landing him on an uninhabited island, 
when he escaped in a cask from San Domingo. He 
sought, therelore, to make a party against him, and 
to unseat him from his command. He attacked 
him in his own way, with legal weapons, question- 
mg the legitimacy of his pretensions. The boundary 
line, he observed, which separated the jurisdictions 
of Ojeda and Nicuesa, ran through the centre of the 
gulf of Uraba. The village of Darien lay on the 
western side, which had been allotted to Nicuesa. 
Enciso, therefore, as Alcalde Mayor and Lieutenant 



♦Equivalent to a present sum 0153,259 dollars. 



CHAPTER XI. 



PERPLEXITIES AT THE COLONY — ARRIVAL OF 
COLMENARES. 

To depose the Bachelor had been an easy matter, 
for most men are ready to assist in pulling down ; 
but to choose a successor was a task of far more dif- 
ficulty. The people at first agreed to elect mere 
civil magistrates, and accordingly appointed Vasco 
Nunez and one Zamudio as alcaldes, together with a 
cavalier of some merit of the name of Valdivia, as 
regidor. They soon, however, became dissatisfied 
with this arrangement, and it was generally con- 
sidered advisable to vest the authority in one person. 
Who this person should be, was now the question. 
Some proposed Nicuesa, as they were within his 
province ; others W'ere strenuous for Vasco Nuiiez. 
A violent dispute ensued, which was carried on with 
such heat and obstinacy, that many, anxious for a 
quiet life, declared it would be better to reinstate 
Enciso until the pleasure of the king should be 
known. 

In the height of these factious altercations the 
Spaniards were aroused one day by the thundering 
of cannon from the opposite side of the gulf, and be- 
held columns of smoke rising from the hills. Aston- 
ished at these signals of civilized man on these wild 
shores, they replied in the same manner, and in a 
short time two ships were seen standing across the 
gulf. They proved to be an armament commanded 
by one Rodrigo de Colmenares, and were in search 
of Nicuesa with supplies. They had met with the 
usual luck of adventurers on this disastrous coast, 
storms at sea and savage foes on shore, and many 
of their number had fallen by poisoned arrows. Col- 
menares had touched at San Sebastian to learn tid- 
ings of Nicuesa; but, finding the fortress in ruins, 
had made signals, in hopes of being heard by the 
Spaniards, should they be yet lingering in the neigh- 
bourhood. 

The arrival of Colmenares caused a temporary 
suspension of the feuds of the colonists. He dis- 
tributed provisions among them and gained their 
hearts. Then, representing the legitimate right of 
Nicuesa to the command of all that part of the coast 
as a governor appointed by the king, he persuaded 
the greater part of the people to acknowledge his 
authority. It was generally agreed, therefore, that 
he should cruise along the coast in search of Nicuesa, 
and that Diego de Albitcz, and an active member of 
the law, called the Bachelor Corral, should accom- 
pany him as ambassadors, to invite that cavalier to 
come and assume the government of Darien. 



CHAPTER XH. 

COLMENARES GOES IN QUEST OF NICUESA. 

RODERIGO DE COLMENARES proceeded along the 
coast to the westward. looking into every bay and 
harbour, but for a long time without success. At 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



759 



length one day he discovered a brigantine at a small 
island in the sea. On making up to it, he found 
that it was part of the armament of Nicuesa, and 
had been sent out by him to forage for provisions. 
By this vessel he was piloted to the port of Nombre 
de Dios, the nominal capital of the unfortunate 
governor, but which was so surrounded and over- 
shadowed by forests, that he might have passed by 
without noticing it. 

The arrival of Colmenares was welcomed with 
transports and tears of joy. It was scarcely possible 
for him to recognise the once buoyant and brilliant 
Nicuesa in the squalid and dejected man before him. 
He was living in the most abject misery. Of all his 
once gallant and powerful band of followers, but 
sixty men remained, and those so feeble, yellow, 
emaciated, and woe-begone, that it was piteous to 
behold them.* 

Colmenares distributed food among them, and told 
them that he had come to convey them to a plen- 
teous country, and one rich in gold. When Nicuesa 
heard of the settlement at Darien, and that the in- 
habitants had sent for him to come and govern 
them, he was as a man suddenly revived from death. 
All the spirit and munificence of the cavalier again 
awakened in him. He gave a kind of banquet that 
very day to Colmenares and the ambassadors, from 
the provisions brought in the ship. He presided at 
his table with his former hilarity, and displayed a 
feat of his ancient office as royal carver, by holding 
up a fowl in the air and dissecting it with wonderful 
adroitness. 

Well would it have been for Nicuesa had the sud- 
den buoyancy of his feelings carried him no further, 
but adversity had not taught him prudence. In 
conversing with the envoys about the colony of 
Darien, he already assumed the tone of governor, 
and began to disclose the kind of policy with which 
he intended to rule. When he heard that great 
quantities of gold had been collected and retained 
by private individuals, his ire was kindled. He vow- 
ed to make them refund it, and even talked of pun- 
ishing them for trespassing upon the privileges and 
monopolies of the crown. This was the very error 
that had unseated the Bachelor Enciso trom his 
government, and it was a strong measure for one to 
threaten who as yet was governor but in expectation. 
The menace was not lost upon the watchful am- 
bassadors Diego de Albitez and the Bachelor Corral 
They were put still more on the alert by a conversa- 
tion which they held that very evening with Lope de 
Olano, who was still detained a prisoner for his 
desertion, but who found means to commiine with 
the envoys, and to prejudice them against his un- 
suspecting commander. " Take warning," said he, 
•' by my treatment. I sent relief to Nicuesa and 
rescued him from death when starving on a desert 
island. Behold my recompense. He repays me with 
imprisonment and chains. Such is the gratitude the 
people of Darien may look for at his hands ! " 

The subtle Bachelor Corral and his fellow envoy 
laid these matters to heart, and took their measures 
accordingly. They hurried their departure before 
Nicuesa, and setting all sail on their caravel, hasten- 
ed back to Darien. The moment they arrived they 



* The harbour of Nombre de Dios continued for a long time to 
present traces of the sufferings of the Spaniards. We are told by 
rierrera, that several years alter the time here mentioned, a band 
of eighty Spanish soldiers, commanded by Gonzalo de Bad.ijos, 
arrived at the harbour with an intention of penetrating into the in- 
terior. They found there the ruined fnrt of Nicuesa. together with 
skulls and bones, and crosses erected on heaps of stones, dismal 
mementos of his followers who had perished oi hunger ; the sight 
of which struct: such horror and dismay into the hearts of the sol- 
diers that they would have abandoned their enterprise, had not 
their intrepid captain immediately sent away the ships, and thus 
deprived tliem of the nnea.Ts of retreating. — Herrera^ d. 1 1. 1. i. 



summoned a meeting of the principal inhabitants. 
"A blessed change we have made," said they, "in 
summoning this Diego de Nicuesa to the command I 
We have called in the stork to take the rule, who 
will not rest satisfied until he has devoured us." 
They then related, with the usual exaggeration, the 
unguarded threats that had fallen from Nicuesa, and 
instanced his treatment of Olano as a proof of a 
tyrannous and ungrateful disposition. 

The words of the subtle Bachelor Corral and his 
associate produced a violent agitation among the 
people, especially among those who had amassed 
treasures which would have to be refunded. Nicuesa, 
too, by a transaction which almost destroys sympathy 
in his favour, gave time for their passions to ferment. 
On his way ^o Darien he stopped for several days 
among a group of small islands, for the purpose of 
capturing Indians to be sold as slaves. While com- 
mitting these outrages against humanity, he sent for- 
ward Juan de Cayzedo in a boat to announce his com- 
ing. His messenger had a private pique against him, 
and played him false. He assured the people of Darien 
that all they had been told by their envoys concern- 
ing the tyranny and ingratitude of Nicuesa was true. 
That he treated his followers with wanton seventy ; 
that he took from them all they won in battle, say- 
ing, that the spoils were his rightful property; and 
that it was his intention to treat the people of Darien 
in the same manner. " What folly is it in you," 
added he, " being your own masters, and in such 
free condition, to send for a tyrant to rule over 
you ! " 

The people of Darien were convinced by this con- 
curring testimony, and confounded by the over- 
whelming evil they had thus invoked upon their 
heads. They had deposed Enciso far his severity, 
and they had thrown themselves into the power of 
one who threatened to be ten times more severe ! 
Vasco Nuiiez de Balboa observed their perplexity 
and consternation. He drew them one by one apart, 
and conversed with them in private. " You are cast 
down in heart," said he, "and so you might well be, 
were the evil beyond all cure. But do not despair ; 
there is an effectual relief, and you hold it in your 
hands. If you have committed an error in inviting 
Nicuesa to Darien, it is easily remedied by not re- 
ceiving him when he comes ! " The obviousness 
and simplicity of the remedy struck every mind, and 
it was unanimously adopted. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



CATASTROPHE OF THE UNFORTUNATE NICUESA. 

While this hostile plot was maturing at Darien, 
the unsuspecting Nicuesa pursued his voyage leisurely 
and serenely, and arrived in safety at the mouth of 
the river. On approaching the shore he beheld a 
multitude, headed by Vasco Nuiiez, waiting, as he 
supposed, to receive him with all due honour. He 
was about to land when the public procurator, or 
attorney, called to him with a loud voice, warning 
him not to disembark, but advising him to return 
with all speed to his government at Nombre de Dios. 

Nicuesa remained for a moment as if thunder- 
struck by so unlooked-for a salutation. When he 
recovered his self-possession he reminded them that 
he had come at their own request ; he entreated, 
therefore, that he might be allowed to land and have 
an explanation, after which he would be ready to act 
as they thought proper. His entreaties were vain ; 
they only provoked insolent replies, and threats of 
violence should he venture to put foot on shore. 



760 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Night coming on, therefore, he was obliged to stand 
out to sea, l^ut returned the next morning, hoping to 
find this capricious people in a different mood. 

There d)d, indeed, appear to be a favourable change, 
for he was now invited to land. It was a mere strata- 
gem to get him in their power, for no sooner did he 
set foot on shore than the multitude rushed forward 
to seize him. Among his many bodily endowments, 
Nicuesa was noted for swiftness of foot. He now 
trusted to it for safety, and, throwing off the dignity 
of governor, tied for his life along the shore, pursued 
by the rabble. He soon distanced his pursuers and 
took refuge in the woods. 

Vasco Nunez de Balboa, who was himself a man 
of birth, seeing this high-bred cavalier reduced to 
such extremity, and at tlie mercy of a violent rabble, 
repented of what he had done. He had not antici- 
pated such popular fury, and endeavoured, though 
too late, to allay the tempest he had raised. He 
succeeded in preventing the people from pursuing 
Nicuesa into the forest, and then endeavoured to 
mollify the vindictive rage of his tellow Alcalde, 
Zamudio, whose hostility was quickened by the dread 
of losing his office, should the new governor be re- 
ceived ; and who was supported in his boisterous 
conduct by the natural love of the multitude for what 
are called " strong measures." Nicuesa now held a 
parley with the populace, through the mediation of 
Vasco Nunez. He begged that, if they would not 
acknowledge him as governor, they would at least 
admit him as a companion. This they refused, saj'ing, 
that if they admitted him in one capacity, he would 
end by attaining to the other. He then implored, 
that if he could be admitted on no other terms, they 
would treat him as a prisoner, and put him in irons, 
for he would rather die among them than return to 
Nombre de Dios, to perish of (amine, or by the ar- 
rows of the Indians. 

It was in vain that Vasco Nunez exerted his 
eloquence to obtain some grace for this unhappy 
cavalier. His voice was drowned by the vocifera- 
tions of the multitude. Among these was a noisy 
swaggering fellow named Francisco Benitez, a great 
talker and jester, who took a vulgar triumph in the 
distresses of a cavalier, and answered every plea in 
his behalf with scoffs and jeers. He was an adherent 
of the Alcalde Zamudio, and under his patronage 
felt emboldened to bluster. His voice was even up- 
permost in the general clamour, until, to the expos- 
tulations of Vasco Nunez, he replied by merely bawl- 
ing with great vociferation, "No, no, no ! — we will 
receive no such a fellow among us as Nicuesa I '' 
The patience of Vasco Nuiiez was exhausted ; he 
availed himself of his authority as Alcalde, and sud- 
denly, before his fellow magistrate could interfere, 
ordered the brawling ruffian to be rewarded with a 
hundred lashes, which were taled out roundly to him 
upon the shoulders.* 

Seeing that the fury of the populace was not to be 
pacified, he sent word to Nicuesa to retire to his 
brigantine, and not to venture on shore until advised 
by him to do so. The counsel was fruitless. Nicu- 
esa, above deceit himself, suspected it not in others. 
He retired to iiis brigantine, it is true, but suffered 
himself to be inveigled on shore by a deputation 
professing to come on the part of the public, with 
offers to reinstate him as governor. He had scarcely 
landed when he was set upon by an armed band, 
headed by the base-minded Zamudio, who seized 
him and compelled him, by menaces of death, to 
swear that he would immediately depart, and make 
no delay in any place until he had presented himself 
before the king and council in Castde. 



* Las Casa.s, Hist. Ind. 1. ii. c. 68. 



It was in vain that Nicuesa reminded them that 
he was governor of that territory and representative 
of the king, and that they were guilty of treason in 
thus opposing him ; it was in vain that he appealed 
to their humanity, or protested before God against 
their cruelty and persecution. The people were in 
that state of tumult when they are apt to add cruelty 
to injustice. Not content with expelling the dis- 
carded governor from their shores, they allotted him 
the worst vessel in the harbour ; an old crazy brig- 
antine totally unfit to encounter the perils and labours 
of the sea. 

Seventeen followers embarked with him ; some 
being of his household and attached to his person ; 
the rest were volunteers who accompanied him out 
of respect and sympathy. The frail bark set sail on 
the first of March, 1 51 1, and steered across the 
Caribbean sea for the island of Hispaniola, but was 
never seen or heard of more ! 

Various attempts have been made to penetrate 
the mystery that covers the fate of the brigantine 
and its crew. A rumour prevailed soriie years after- 
wards that several Spaniards, wandering along the 
shore of Cuba, found the following inscription carved 
on a tree : 

Aqui feneci6 el desdicado Nicuesa. 
tHere perished the unfortunate Nicuesa.) 

Hence it was inferred that he and his followers 
had landed there, and been massacred by the In- 
dians. Las Casas, however, discredits this story. 
He accompanied the first Spaniards who took pos- 
session of Cuba, and heard nothing of the fact, as 
he most probably would have done had it really oc- 
curred. He imagines, rather, that the crazy bark 
was swallowed up by the storms and currents of the 
Caribbean sea, or that the crew perished with 
hunger and thirst, having been but scantily supplied 
with provisions. The good old bishop adds, with 
the superstitious feeling prevalent in that age, that 
a short time before Nicuesa sailed from Spain on his 
expedition, an astrologer warned him not to depart 
on the day he had appointed, or under a certain 
sign ; the cavalier replied, however, that he had less 
confidence in the stars than in God who made 
them. " I recollect, moreover," adds Las Casas, 
" that about this time a comet was seen over this 
island of Hispaniola, which, if I do not forget, was 
in the shape of a sword ; and it was said that a 
monk warned several of those about to embark with 
Nicuesa, to avoid that captain, for the heavens fore- 
told he was destined to be lost. The same, how- 
ever," he concludes, " might be said of Alonzo de 
Ojeda, who sailed at the same time, yet returned to 
San Domingo and died in his bed."* 



VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA. 

DISCOVERER OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 



CHAPTER I. 

FACTIONS AT DARIEN — VASCO NUNEZ ELECTED 
TO THE COM.MAND. 

We have traced the disastrous fortunes of Alonzo 
de Ojeda and Diego de Nicuesa ; we have now to re- 
cord the story of Vasco Nuiiez de Balboa, an ad- 
venturer equally daring, far more renowned, and 
not less unfortunate, who, in a manner, rose upon 
their ruins. 



* Las Casas, ut sup, c. 68. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



761 



When the bark disappeared from view which 
bore the ill-starred Nicuesa from the shores of 
Darien, the community relapsed into factions, as to 
who should have the rule. The Bachelor Enciso in- 
sisted upon his claims as paramount, but he met 
with a powerful opponent in Vasco Nufiez, who had 
become a great favourite with the people, from his 
frank and fearless character, and his winning affa- 
bility. In fact, he was peculiarly calculated to man- 
age the fiery and factious, yet generous and suscepti- 
ble nature of his countrymen ; for the Spaniards, 
though proud and resentful, and impatient of indig- 
nity or restraint, are easily dazzled by valour, and 
won by courtesy and kindness. Vasco Nunez had 
the external requisites also to captivate the multitude. 
He was now about thirty-five years of age ; tall, well 
formed, and vigorous, with reddish hair, and an 
open jirepossessing countenance. His office of Al- 
calde, while it clothed him with influence and impor- 
tance, tempered those irregular and dissolute habits 
he might have indulged while a mere soldier of for- 
tune ; and his superior talent soon gave him a com- 
plete ascendancy over his official colleague Zamu- 
dio. He was thus enabled to set on foot a vigorous 
opposition to Enciso. Still he proceeded according 
to the forms of law, and summoned the Bachelor 
to trial, on the charge of usurping the powers of Al- 
calde Mayor, on the mere appointment of Alonzo 
de Ojeda, whose jurisdiction did not extend to this 
province. 

Enciso was an able lawyer, and pleaded his cause 
skilfully ; but his claims were, in fact, fallacious, and, 
had they not been so, he had to deal with men who 
cared little for law, who had been irritated by his 
legal exactions, and who were disposed to be gov- 
erned by a man of the sword rather then of the robe. 
He was readily lound guilty, therefore, and thrown 
into prison, and all his property was confiscated. This 
was a violent verdict, and rashly executed ; but 
justice seemed to grow fierce and wild when trans- 
planted to the wilderness of the new world. Still 
there is no place where wrong can be committed 
with impunity ; the oppression of the Bachelor En- 
ciso, though e.xercised under the forms of law, and 
in a region remote from the pale of civilized life, re- 
dounded to the eventual injury of Vasco Nufiez, and 
contributed to blast the fruits of that ambition it 
was intended to promote. 

The fortunes of the enterprising Bachelor had in- 
deed run strangely counter to the prospects with 
which he had embarked at San Domingo ; he had 
become a culprit at the bar instead of a judge upon 
the bench ; and now was left to ruminate in a prison 
on the failure of his late attempt at general command. 
His friends, however, interceded warmly in his behalf, 
and at length obtained his release from confinement, 
and permission for him to return to Spain. Vasco 
Nufiez foresaw that the lawyer would be apt to plead 
his cause more effectually at the court of Castile than 
he had done before the partial and prejudiced tribu- 
nal of Darien. He prevailed upon his fellow Alcalde 
Zamudio, therefore, who was implicated with him in 
the late transactions, to return lo Spain in the same 
vessel with the Bachelor, so as to be on the spot to 
answer his charges, and to give a favourable report 
of the case. He was also instructed to set forth the 
services of Vasco Nunez, both in guiding the colo- 
nists to this place, and in managing the aftairs of the 
settlement ; and to dwell with emphasis on the symp- 
toms of great riches in the surrounding country. 

The Bachelor and the Alcalde embarked in a small 
caravel ; and, as it was to touch at Hispaniola, Vasco 
Nunez sent his confidential friend, the Regidor Val- 
divia, to that island to obtain provisions and recruits. 
He secretly put into his hands a round sum of gold 



as a present to Miguel de Pasamonte, the royal treas- 
urer of Hispaniola, whom he knew to have great 
credit with the king, and to be invested with exten- 
sive powers, craving at the same time his protection 
in the new world and his influence at court. 

Having taken these shrewd precautions, \'asco 
Nunez saw the caravel depart without dismay, though 
bearing to Spain his.most dangerous enemv ; he con- 
soled himself, moreover, with the reflection that it 
likewise bore off his fellow Alcalde, Zamudio, and thus 
left him in sole command of the colony. 



CHAPTER n. 



EXPEDITION TO COYBA — VASCO NUSEZ RECEIVES 
THE DAUGHTER OF A CACIQUE AS HOSTAGE. 

Vasco NuSez now exerted himself to prove his 
capacity for the government to which he had aspired ; 
and as he knew that no proof was more convincing 
to King Ferdinand than ample remittances, and that 
gold covered all sins in the new world, his first ob- 
ject was to discover those parts of the country which 
most abounded in the precious metals. Hearing ex- 
aggerated reports of the riches of a province about 
thirty leagues distant, called Coyba, he sent Francis- 
co Pizarro with six men to explore it. 

The cacique Zemaco, the native lord of Darien, 
who cherished a bitter hostility against the European 
intruders, and hovered with his warriors about the 
settlement, received notice of this detachment from 
his spies, and planted himself in ambush to naylay 
and destroy it. The Spaniards had scarcely pro- 
ceeded three leagues along the course of the river 
when a host of savages burst upon them from the 
surrounding thickets, uttering frightful yells, and dis- 
charging showers of stones and arrows. Pizarro 
and his men, though sorely bruised and wounded, 
rushed into the thickest of the foe, slew many, 
wounded more, and put the rest to flight ; but, fear- 
ing another assault, they made a precipitate retreat, 
leaving one of their companions, Francisco Hernan, 
disabled on the field. They arrived at the settlement 
crippled and bleeding ; but when Vasco Nufiez heard 
the particulars of the action, his anger was roused 
against Pizarro, and he ordered him, though wound- 
ed, to return immediately and recover the disabled 
man. " Let it not be said, for shame," said he, "that 
Spaniards fled before savages, and left a comrade in 
their hands ! " Pizarro'felt the rebuke, returned to 
the scene of combat and brought off Francisco Her- 
nan in safety. 

Nothing having been heard of Nicuesa since his 
departure, Vasco Nunez despatched two brigantines 
for those followers of that unfortunate adventurer 
who had remained at Nombre de Dios. They were 
overjoyed at being rescued from their forlorn situa- 
tion, and conveyed to a settlement where there was 
some prospect of comfortable subsistence. The brig- 
antines, in coasting the shores of the Isthmus, picked 
up two Spaniards, clad in painted skins, and looking 
as wild as the native Indians. These men, to escape 
some punishment, had fled from the ship of Nicuesa 
about a year and a half before, and had taken refuge 
with Careta, the cacique of Coyba. The savage 
chieftain had treated them with hospitable kindness ; 
their first return for which, now that they found 
themselves safe among their countrymen, was to ad- 
vise the latter to invade the cacique in his dwelling, 
where they assured them they would find immense 
booty. Finding their suggestion listened to, one of 
them proceeded to Darien, to serve as a guide to any 
expedition that might be set on foot ; the other re- 
turned to the cacique, to assist in betraying him. 



762 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Vasco Nunez was elated by the intelligence re- 
ceived through these vagabonds of the wilderness. 
He chose a hundred and thirty well armed and reso- 
lute men, and set off for Coyba, the dominions of 
Careta. The cacique received the Spaniards in his 
mansion with the accustomed hospitality of a savage, 
setting before them meat and drink, and whatever 
his house afforded ; but when Vasco Nuiiez asked 
for a large supply of provisions for the colony, he de- 
clared that he had none to spare, his people having 
been prevented from cultivating the soil by a war 
which he was waging with the neighbouring cacique 
of Ponca. The Spanish traitor, who had remained to 
betray his benefactor, now took Vasco Nunez aside, 
and assured him that the cacique had an abundant 
hoard of provisions in secret ; he advised him, how- 
ever, to seem to believe his words, and to make a 
pretended departure for Darien with his troops, but 
to return in the night and take the village by sur- 
prise. Vasco Nuiiez adopted the advice of the traitor. 
He took a cordial leave of Careta, and set off for the 
settlement. In the dead of the night, however, when 
the savages were buried in deep sleep, Vasco Nunez 
led his men into the midst of the village, and, before 
the mhabitauts could rouse themselves to resistance, 
made captives of Careta, his wives, and children, and 
many of his people. He discovered also the hoard 
of provisions, with which he loaded two brigantines, 
and returned with his booty and his captives to 
Darien. 

When the unfortunate cacique beheld his family 
in chains, and in the hands of strangers, his heart 
was wrung with despair ; " What have I done to 
thee," said he to Vasco Nunez, " that thou shouldst 
treat me thus cruelly? None of thy people ever 
came to my land that were not fed and sheltered 
and treated with loving- kindness. When thou 
earnest to my dwelling, did 1 meet thee with a jave- 
lin in my hand .' Did i not set meat and drink be- 
tore thee and welcome thee as a brother ? Set me 
free, therefore, with my family and people, and we 
will remain thy friends. We will supply thee with 
provisions, and reveal to thee the riches of the land. 
Dost thou doubt my faith .' Behold my daughter, I 
give her to thee as a pledge of friendship. Take her 
for thy wife, and be assured of the fidelity of her 
family and her people I " 

Vasco Nuiiez felt the force of these words and 
knew the importance of forming a strong alliance 
among the natives. The captive maid, also, as she 
stood trembling and dejected before him, found 
great favour in his eyes, for she was young and 
beautiful. He granted, therefore, the prayer of the 
cacique, and accepted his daughter, engaging, 
moreover, to aid the father against his enemies, on 
condition of his furnishing provisions to the colony. 

Careta remained three days at Darien, during 
which time he was treated with the utmost kind- 
ness. Vasco Nuiiez took him on board of his ships 
and showed him every part of them. He displayed 
before him also the war-horses, with their armour 
and rich caparisons, and astonished him with the 
thunder of artillery. Lest he should be too much 
daunted by these warlike spectacles, he caused the 
musicians to perform a harmonious concert on their 
instruments, at which the cacique was lost in admira- 
tion. Thus having impressed him with a wonderful 
idea of the power and endowments of his new al- 
lies, he loaded him with presents and permitted him 
to depart.* 

Careta returned joyfully to his territories, and his 
daughter remained with Vasco Nunez, willingly, for 
his sake, giving up her family and native home. 



* P. Martyr, D. 3. c. vi. 



They were never married, but she considered her- 
self his wife, as she really was, according to the 
usages of her own country, and he treated her with 
fondness, allowing her gradually to acquire great in- 
fluence over him. To his affection for this damsel 
his ultimate ruin is in some measure to be ascribed. 



CHAPTER HI. 



VASCO nuSez hears of a sea beyond the 

MOUNTAINS. 

Vasco NuSez kept his word with the father of 
his Indian beauty. Taking with him eighty men 
and his companion-in-arms, Rodrigo Knriquez de 
Colmenares, he repaired by sea to Coyba, the prov- 
ince of the cacique. Here landing, he invaded tht 
territories of Ponca, the great adversary of Careta, 
and obliged him to take refuge in the mountains. 
He then ravaged his lands and sacked his villages, 
in which he found considerable booty. Returning 
to Coyba, where he was joyfully entertained by 
Careta, he next made a friendly visit to the adjacent 
province of Comagre, which was under the sway of 
a cacique of the same name, who had 3,000 fighting 
men at his command. 

This province was situated at the foot of a lofty 
mountain in a beautiful plain twelve leagues in ex- 
tent. On the approach of Vasco Nunez, the cacique 
came forth to meet him attended by seven sons, all 
fine young men, the offspring of his various wives. 
He was followed by his principal chiefs and war- 
riors, and by a multitude of his people. The Span- 
iards were conducted with great ceremony to the 
village, where quarters were assigned them, and 
they were furnished with abundance of provisions, 
and men and women were appointed to attend upon 
them. 

The dwelling of the cacique surpassed any they 
had yet seen for magnitude and for the skill and so- 
lidity of the architecture. It was one hundred and 
fifty paces in length and eighty in breadth, founded 
upon great logs surrounded with a stone wall ; while 
the upper part was of wood-work, curiously inter- 
woven and wrought with such beauty, as to fill the 
Spaniards with surprise and admiration. It con- 
tained many commodious apartments. There were 
store-rooms also ; one filled with bread, with veni- 
son, and other provisions; another with various 
spirituous beverages, which the Indians made from 
maize, from a species of the palm, and from roots 
of different kinds. There was also a great hall in a 
retired and secret part of the building, wherein 
Comagre preserved the bodies of his ancestors and 
relatives. These had been dried by the fire, so as 
to free them from corruption, and afterwards 
wrapped in mantles of cotton, richly wrought and 
interwoven with pearls and jewels of gold, and with 
certain stones held precious by the natives. They 
were then hung about the hall with cords of cotton, 
and regarded with great reverence, if not a species 
of religious devotion. 

Among the sons of the cacique, the eldest was of 
a lofty and generous spirit, and distinguished above 
the rest by his superior intelligence and sagacity. 
Perceiving, says old Peter Martyr, that the Span- 
iards were a "wandering kind of men, living only 
by shifts and spoil," he sought to gain favour lor ^ 
himself and family by gratifying their avarice. He 
gave Vasco Nuiiez and Colmenares, therefore, 4,000 
ounces of gold, wrought into various ornaments, to- 
gether with sixty slaves, being captives that he had 
taken in the wars. Vasco Nunez ordered one-fifth 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



763 



of the gold to be weighed out and set apart for the 
crown, and the rest to be shared among his fol- 
lowers. 

Tlie division of the gold took place in the porch 
of the dwelling of Comagre, in the presence of the 
youlhlul cacique who had made the gift. As the 
Spaniards were weighing it out, a violent quarrel 
arose among them as to the size and value of the 
pieces which fell to their respective shares. The 
high-minded savage w'as disgusted at this sordid 
brawl among beings whom he had regarded with 
such reverence. In the first impulse of his disdain, 
he struck the scales with his fist and scattered the 
glittering gold about the porch. Before the Span- 
iards could recover from their astonishment at this 
sudden act, he thus addressed them, " Why should 
you quarrel for such a trifle.' If this gold is indeed 
so precious in your eyes that for it alone you aban- 
don your homes, invade the peaceful land of others, 
and expose yourselves to such sufferings and perils, 
I will tell you of a region where you may gratify 
your wishes to the utmost. Behold those lofty 
mountains," continued he, pointing to the south. 
" Beyond these lies a mighty sea, which may be dis- 
cerned from their summit. It is navigated by peo- 
ple who have vessels almost as large as yours, and 
furnished, like them, with sails and oars. All the 
streams which flow down the southern side of those 
mountains into that sea abound in gold, and the 
kings who reign upon its borders eat and drink out 
of golden vessels. Gold, in fact, is as plentiful and 
common among those people of the south as iron is 
among you Spaniards." 

Struck with this intelligence, Vasco Nuflez in- 
quired eagerly as to the means of penetrating to this 
sea and to the opulent regions on its shores. " The 
task," replied the prince, "is difficult and danger- 
ous. You must pass through the territories of many 
powerful caciques, who will oppose you with hosts 
of warriors. Some parts of the mountains are in- 
fested by tierce and cruel cannibals — a wandering, 
lawless race ; but, above all, you will have to en- 
counter the great cacique, Tubanama, whose terri- 
tories are at the distance of six days' journey, and 
more rich in gold than any other province ; this ca- 
cique will be sure to come forth against you with a 
mighty force. To accomplish your enterprise, there- 
fore, will require at least a thousand men armed like 
those who follow you." 

The youthful cacique gave him further information 
on the subject, collected from various captives whom 
he had taken in battle, and from one of his own na- 
tion, who had been for a long time in captivity to 
Tubanama, the powerful cacique of the golden realm. 
The prince, moreover, offered to prove the sincerity 
of his words by accompanying Vasco Nunez in any 
expedition to those parts at the head of his father's 
warriors. 

Such was the first intimation received by Vasco 
Nunez of the Pacific Ocean and its golden realms, 
and it had an immediate effect upon his whole char- 
acter and conduct. This hitherto wandering and 
desperate man had now an enterprise opened to his 
ambition, which, if accomplished, would elevate him 
to fame and fortune, and entitle him to rank among 
the great captains and discoverers of the earth. Hencer 
forth the discovery of the sea beyond the mountains 
was the great object of his thoughts, and his whole 
spirit seemed roused and ennobled by the idea. 

He hastened his return to Darien, to make the 
necessary preparations for this splendid enterprise. 
Before departing from the province of Comagre he 
baptized that cacique by the name of Don Carlos, 
and performed the same ceremony upon his sons and 
several of his subjects ; — thus singularly did avarice 



and religion go hand in hand in the conduct of the 
Spanish discoverers. 

Scarcely had Vasco Nunez returned to Darien 
w-hen the Regidor Valdivia arrived there from His- 
paniola, but with no more provisions than could be 
brought in his small caravel. These were soon con- 
sumed, and the general scarcity continued. It w-as 
heightened also by a violent tempest of thunder, light- 
ning, and rain, which brought such torrents from the 
mountains that the river swelled and overflowed its 
banks, laying waste all the adjacent fields that had 
been cultivated. In this extremity Vasco Nunez de- 
spatched Valdivia a second time to Hispaniola for 
provisions. Animated also by the loftier views of his 
present ambition, he wrote to Don Diego Columbus, 
who governed at San Domingo, informing him ot the 
intelligence he had received of a great sea and opu- 
lent realms beyond the mountains, and entreating 
him to use his influence with the king that one 
thousand men might be immediately furnished him 
tor the prosecution of so grand a discovePi". He sent 
him also the amount of fifteen thousand crowns in 
gold, to be remitted to the king as the royal fifths of 
what had already been collected under his jurisdic- 
tion. Many of his followers, also, forwarded sums 
of gold to be remitted to their creditors in Spain. In 
the mean time, Vasco Nunez prayed the admiral to 
yied him prompt succour to enable him to keep his 
footing in the land, representing the difficulty he had 
in maintaining, with a mere handful of men, so vast 
a country in a state of subjection. 



CHAPTER IV. 



EXPEDITION OF V.\SCO NUJlEZ IN QUEST OF THE 
GOLDEN TEMPLE OF DOB.\YB.\. — (1512.) 

While Vasco Nunez awaited the result of this 
mission of Valdivia, his active disposition prompted 
him to undertake foraging excursions into the sur- 
rounding country. 

Among various rumours of golden realms in the 
interior of this unknown land, was one concerning a 
province called Dobayba, situated about forty leagues 
distant, on the banks of a great river which emptied 
itself, by several mouths, into a corner of the Gulf 
of Uraba. 

This province derived its name, according to In- 
dian tradition, from a mighty female of the olden 
time, the mother of the god who created the sun and 
moon and all good things. She had power over the 
elements, sending thunder and lightning to lay waste 
the lands of those who displeased her, but showering 
down fertility and abundance upon the lands of her 
faithful worshippers. Others described her as hav- 
ing been an Indian princess who once reigned 
amongst the mountains of Dobayba, and was re- 
nowned throughout the land for her supernatural 
power and wisdom. After her death, divine hon- 
ours were paid her, and a great temple was erected 
for her worship. Hither the natives repaired from 
far and near, on a kind of pilgrimage, bearing offer- 
ings of their most valuable effects. The caciques 
who ruled over distant territories, also sent golden 
tributes, at certain times of the year, to be deposited 
in this temple, and slaves to be sacrificed at its 
shrine. At one time, it was added, this worship fell 
into disuse, the pilgrimages were discontinued, and 
the caciques neglected to send their tributes ; where- 
upon the deity, as a punishment, inflicted a drought 
upon the country. The springs and fountains failed, 
the rivers were dried up ; the inhabitants of the 
mountains were obliged to descend into the plains, 



764 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



where they digged pits and wells, but these likewise 
failing, a great part of the nations perished with 
thirst. The remainder hastened to propitiate the 
deity by tributes and sacrifices, and thus succeeded 
in averting her displeasure. In consequence of offer- 
ings of the kind, made for generations from all parts 
of the country, the temple was said to be filled with 
treasure, and its walls to be covered with golden 
gifts.* In addition to the tale of this temple, the 
Indians gave marvellous accounts of the general 
wealth of this province, declaring that it abounded 
with mines of gold, the veins of which reached from 
the dwelling of the cacique to the borders of his 
dominions. 

To penetrate to this territory, and above all to se- 
cure the treasures of the golden temple, was an enter- 
prise suited to the adventurous spirit of the S])aniards. 
Vasco Nunez chose one hundred and seventy of his 
hardiest men for the purpose. Embarking them in 
two brigantines and a number of canoes, he set sail 
from Darien, and, after standing about nine leagues 
to the east, came to the mouth of the Rio Grande de 
San Juan, or the Great River of St. John, also called 
the Atrato, which is since ascertained to be one of 
the branches of the river Darien. Here he detached 
Rodrigo Enriquez de Colmenares with one-third of 
his forces to explore the stream, while he himself 
proceeded with the residue to another branch of the 
river, which he was told flowed from the province of 
Dobayba, and which he ascended, flushed with san- 
guine expectations t 

His old enemy Zemaco, the cacique of Darien, 
however, had discovered the object of his expedition, 
and had taken measures to disappoint it : repairing 
to the province of Dobayba, he had prevailed upon 
its cacique to retire at the approach of the Spaniards, 
leaving his country deserted. 

Vasco Nunez found a village situated in a marshy 
neighbourhood, on the banks of the river, and mis- 
took it for the residence of the cacique : it was silent 
and abandoned. There was not an Indian to be 
met with from whom he could obtain any informa- 
tion about the country, or who could guide him to 
the golden temple. He was disappointed, also, in 
his hopes of obtaining a supply of provisions, but he 
found weapons of various kinds hanging in the de- 
serted houses, and gathered jewels and pieces of gold 
to the value of seven thousand castellanos. Dis- 
couraged by the savage look of the surrounding wil- 
derness, which was perplexed by deep morasses, and 
having no guides to aid him in exploring it, he put 
all the booty he had collected into two large canoes, 
and made his way back to the Gulf of Uraba. Here 
he was assailed by a violent tempest, which nearly 
wrecked his two brigantines, and obliged him to 
throw a great part of their cargoes overboard. The 
two canoes containing the booty were swallowed up 
by the raging sea, and all their crews perished. 

Thus baffled and tempest-tost, Vasco Nunez at 
length succeeded in getting into what was termed 
the Grand River, which he ascended, and rejoined 
Colmenares and his detachment. They now extend- 
ed their e.xcursions up a stream which emptied into 



♦ P. Martyr, decad. 3. c. vi. Idem. d. 7. c. x. 

t In recording this expedition, the author has followed the old 
Spanish narratives, written when the face of the country was but 
little known, and he was much perplexed to reconcile the accounts 
given of numerous streams with the rivers laid down on modern 
maps. By a clear and judicious explanation, given in the recent 
work of Don Manuel Josef Quintana. it appears that the different 
streams explored by Vasco Nunez and Colmenares were all br;inches 
of one grand river, which, descending from the mountains of the 
interior, winds about in crystal streams among the plains and mo- 
rasses bordering the bottom of the great gulf of Darien, and dis- 
charges itself by various mouths into the gulf. In fact, the stream 
which ran by the infant city of Santa Maria de la Antigua was but 
one of its branches, a fact entirely unknown to Vasco Nunez and 
his companions. 



the Grand River, and which, from the dark hue of 
its waters, they called Rio Negro, or the Black 
River. They also explored certain other tributary 
.streams branching from it, though not without occa- 
sional skirmishes with the natives. 

Ascending one of these minor rivers with a part 
of his men, Vasco Nuiiez came to the territories of a 
cacique named Abibeyba, who reigned over a region 
of marshes and shallow lakes. The habitations of 
the natives were built amidst the branches of im- 
mense and lofty trees. They were large enough to 
contain whole family connexions, and were con- 
structed partly of wood, partly of a kind of wicker 
work, combining strength and pliability, and yielding 
uninjured to the motion of the branches when agi- 
tated by the wind. The inhabitants ascended to 
them with great agility by light ladders, formed of 
great reeds split through the middle, for the reeds 
on this coast grow to the thickness of a man's body. 
These ladders they drew up after them at night, or 
in case of attack. These habitations were well 
stocked with provisions ; but the fermented bever- 
ages, of which these people had always a supply, 
were buried in vessels in the earth at the foot of the 
tree, lest they should be rendered turbid by the rock- 
ing of the houses. Close by, also, were the canoes 
with which they navigated the rivers and ponds of 
their marshy country and followed their main occu- 
pation of fishing. 

On the approach of the Spaniards, the Indians 
took refuge in their tree-built castles and drew up 
the ladders. The former called upon them to de- 
scend and to fear nothing. Upon this the cacique 
replied, entreating that he might not be molested, 
seeing he had done them no injury. They threat- 
ened, unless he came down, to fell the trees or to set 
fire to them and burn him and his wives and chil- 
dren. The cacique was disposed to consent, but 
was prevented by the entreaties of his people. Upon 
this the Spaniards prepared to hew down the trees, 
but were assailed by showers of stones. They cov- 
ered themselves, however, with their bucklers, as- 
sailed the trees vigorously w-ith their hatchets, and 
soon compelled the inhabitants to capitulate. The 
cacique descended with his wife and two of his chil- 
dren. The first demand of the Spaniards was for 
gold. He assured them he had none ; for, having no 
need of it, he had never made it an object of his 
search. Being importuned, however, he assured 
them that if he were permitted to repair to certain 
mountains at a distance, he would in a few days 
return and bring them what they desired. They 
permitted him to depart, retaining his wife and chil- 
dren as hostages, but they saw no more of the ca- 
cique. After remaining here a few days and regal- 
ing on the provisions which they found in abun- 
dance, they continued their foraging expeditions, 
often opposed by the bold and warlike natives, and 
suffering occasional loss, but inflicting great havoc 
on their opposers. 

Having thus overrun a considerable extent of 
country, and no grand object presenting to lure him 
on to further enterprise, Vasco Nuiiez at length re- 
turned to Darien with the spoils and captives he had 
taken, leaving Bartolome Hurtado with thirty men 
in an Indian village on the Rio Negro, or Black 
Kiver, to hold the country in subjection. Thus ter- 
minated the first expedition in quest of the golden 
temple Dobayba, which for some time continued to 
be a favourite object of enterprise among the adven- 
turers of Darien. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



765 



CHAPTER V. 

DISASTER ON THE BLACK RIVER— INDIAN PLOT 
AGAINST DARIEN. 

Bartolome HurtadO being left to his own dis- 
cretion on the banks of the Black River, occupied 
himself occasionally in hunting the scattered natives 
who straggled about the surrounding forests. Hav- 
ing in this way picked up twenty-four captives, he 
put them on board of a large canoe, like so much 
live stock, to be transported to Darien and sold as 
slaves. Twenty of his followers who were infirm, 
either from wounds or the diseases of the climate, 
embarked also in the canoe, so that only ten men 
remained witli Hurtado. 

The great canoe, thus heavily freighted, descended 
the Black River slowly, between banks overhung 
with forests. Zemaco, the indefatigable cacique of 
Darien, was on the watch, and waylaid the ark with 
four canoes filled with warriors armed with war 
clubs, and lances hardened in the fire. The Span- 
iards being sick, could make but feeble resistance ; 
some were massacred, others leaped into the river 
and were drowned. Two only escaped, by clinging 
to two trunks of trees that were floating down the 
river and covering themselves with the branches. 
Reaching the shore in safety, they returned to Bar- 
tolome Hurtado with the tragical tidings of the death 
of his followers. Hurtado was so disheartened by 
the news, and so dismayed at his own helpless situ- 
ation, in the midst of a hostile country, that he re- 
solved to abandon the fatal shores of the Black River 
and return to Darien. He was quickened in this 
resolution by receiving intimation of a conspiracy 
forming among the natives. The implacable Zemaco 
had drawn four other caciques into a secret plan to 
assemble their vassals and make a sudden attack 
upon Darien. Hurtado hastened with the remnant 
of his followers to carry tidings to the settlement of 
this conspiracy. Many of the inhabitants were 
alarmed at his intelligence ; others treated it as a 
false rumour of the Indians, and no preparations 
were made against what might be a mere imaginary 
danger. 

Fortunately for the Spaniards, among the female 
captives owned by Vasco Nunez was an Indian dam- 
sel named Fulvia, to whom, in consequence of her 
beauty, he had shown great favour, and who had 
become strongly attached to him. She had a brother 
among the warriors of Zemaco, who often visited her 
in secret. In one of his visits he informed her that 
on a certain night the settlement would be attacked 
and every Spaniard destroyed. He charged her, 
therefore, to hide herself that night in a certain place 
until he should come to her aid, lest she should be 
slain in the confusion of the massacre. 

When her brother was gone a violent struggle 
took place in the bosom of the Indian girl, between 
her feeling for her family and her people and her af- 
fection for Vasco Nunez. The latter at length pre- 
vailed, and she revealed all that had been told to 
her. Vasco Nunez prevailed upon her to send for 
her brother under pretence of aiding her to escape. 
Having him in his power, he extorted from him all 
that he knew of the designs of the enemy. His con- 
fessions showed what imminent danger had been 
lurking round Vasco Nufiez in his most unsuspecting 
moments. The prisoner informed him that he had 
been one of forty Indians sent some time before by 
the cacique Zemaco to Vasco Nunez, in seeming 
friendship, to be employed by him in cultivating the 
fields adjacent to the settlement. They had secret 
orders, however, to take an opportunity when Vasco 
Nunez should come forth to inspect their work, to set 



upon him in an unguarded mom.ent and destroy him. 
Fortunately, Vasco Nunez always visited the fields 
mounted on his war horse and armed with lance and 
target. The Indians were therefore so awed by his 
martial appearance, and by the teiTible animal he 
bestrode, that they dared not attack him. 

Foiled in this and other attempts of the kind, Ze- 
maco resorted to the conspiracy with the neigh- 
bouring caciques with which the settlement was 
menaced. 

Five caciques had joined in the confederacy ; they 
had prepared a hundred canoes, had amassed pro- 
visions for an army, and had concerted to assemble 
five thousand picked warriors at a certain time and 
place ; with these they were to make an attack on 
the settlement by land and water in the middle of 
the night and to slaughter every Spaniard. 

Having learnt where the confederate chiefs were 
to be found, and where they had deposited their pro- 
visions, Vasco Nunez chose seventy of his best men, 
well-armed, and made a circuit by land, while Col- 
menares, with sixty men, sallied forth secretly in 
four canoes guided by the Indian prisoner. In this 
way they surprised the general of the Indian army 
and several of the principal confederates, and got 
possession of all their provisions, though they failed 
to capture the formidable Zemaco. The Indian gen- 
eral was shot to death with arrows, and the leaders 
of the conspiracy were hanged in presence of their 
captive followers. The defeat of this deep-laid plan 
and the punishment of its devisers, spread terror 
throughout the neighbouring provinces and pre- 
vented any further attempt at hostilities. Vasco 
Nunez, however, caused a strong fortress of wood 
to be immediately erected to guard against any fu- 
ture assaults of the savages. 



CHAPTER VI. 



further factions IN the colony — ARRO- 
GANCE OF ALONZO PEREZ AND the BACHELOR 
CORRAL. — (1512). 

A CONSIDERABLE time had now elapsed since the 
departure of Valdivia for Hispaniola, yet no tidings 
had been received from him. iVIany began to fear 
that some disaster had befallen nim ; while others 
insinuated that it was possible both he and Zamudio 
might have neglected the objects of their mission, 
and, having appropriated to their own use the gold 
with which they had been entrusted, might have 
abandoned the colony to its fate. 

Vasco Nunez himself was harassed by these sur- 
mises, and by the dread lest the Bachelor Enciso 
should succeed in prejudicing the mind of his sover- 
eign against him. Impatient of this state of an.\- 
ious suspense, he determined to repair to Spain to 
communicate in person all that he had heard con- 
cerning the Southern Sea, and to ask for the troops 
necessary for its discover^'. 

Every one, however, both friend and foe, exclaimed 
against such a measure, representing his presence as 
indispensable to the safety of the colony, from his 
great talents as a commander and the fear enter- 
tained of him by the Indians. 

After much debate and contention, it was at 
length agreed that Juan de Cayzedo and Rodrigo 
Enriquez de Colmenares should go in his place, in- 
structed to make all necessary representations to the 
king. Letters were written also containing the most 
extravagant accounts of the riches of the country, 
partly dictated by the sanguine hopes of the writers, 
I and partly by the fables of the natives. The ru- 



766 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



mouretl wealth of the province of Dobayba and the 
treasures of its golden temple were not forgotten ; 
and an Indian was taken to Spain hy the commis- 
sioners, a native of the province of Zenu, where 
gold was said to be gathered in nets stretched 
across the mountain streams. To give more weight 
to all these stories, every one contributed some por- 
tion of gold from his private hoard to be presented 
to the king in addition to the amount arising from 
his fifths. 

But little time elapsed after the departure of the 
commissioners when new dissensions broke out in 
the colony. It was hardly to be expected that a for- 
tuitous assemblage of adventurers could remain long 
tranquil during a time of suffering under rulers of 
questionable authority. Vasco Nufiez, it is true, had 
risen by his courage and abilities ; but he had risen 
from among their ranks ; he was, in a manner, of 
their own creation ; and they had not become suffi- 
ciently accustomed to him as a governor to forget 
that he was recently but a mere soldier of fortune 
and an absconding debtor. 

Their factious discontent, however, was directed 
at first against a favourite of Vasco Nunez, rather 
than against himself He had invested Bartolome 
Hui'tado, the commander of the Black River, with 
considerable authority in the colony, and the latter 
gave great oftence by his oppressive conduct. Hur- 
tado had particularly aggrieved by his arrogance one 
Alonzo Perez de la Rua, a touchy cavalier, jealous 
of his honour, who seems to have peculiarly pos- 
sessed the sensitive punctilio of a Spaniard. Firing 
at some indignity, whether real or fancied, Alonzo 
Perez threw himself into the ranks of the dis- 
affected, and was immediately chosen as their 
leader. Thus backed by a faction, he clamoured 
loudly for the punishment of Hurtado ; and, finding 
his demands unattended to, threw out threats of de- 
posing Vasco Nunez. The latter no sooner heard 
of these menaces, than with his usual spirit and 
promptness, he seized upon the testy Alonzo Perez 
and threw him in prison to digest his indignities and 
cool his passions at leisure. 

The conspirators flew to arms to liberate their 
leader. The friends of Vasco Nunez were equally 
on the alert. The two parties drew out in battle ar- 
ray in the public square, and a sanguinary conflict 
was on the point of taking place. Fortunately there 
were some cool heads left in the colony. These 
interfered at the critical moment, representing to the 
angry adversaries that if they fought among them- 
selves, and diminished their already scanty numbers, 
even the conquerors must eventually fall a prey to 
the Indians. 

Their remonstrances had effect. A parley ensued, 
and, after much noisy debate, a kind of compromise 
was made. Alonzo Perez was liberated, and the 
mutineers dispersed quietly to their homes. The 
next day, however, they were again in arms, and 
seized upon Bartolome Hurtado ; but after a little 
while were prevailed upon to set him free. Their 
factious views seemed turned to a higher object. 
They broke forth into loud murmurs against Vasco 
Nunez, complaining that he had not made a fair di- 
vision of the gold and slaves taken in the late expe- 
ditions, and threatening to arrest him and bring him 
to account. Above all, they clamoured for an im- 
mediate distribution of ten thousand castellanos in 
gold, which yet remained unshared. 

Vasco Nunez understood too well the riotous nat- 
ure of the people under him, and his own precarious 
hold on their obedience, to attempt to cope with 
them in this moment of turbulence. He shrewdly 
determined, therefore, to withdraw from the sight of 
the multitude, and to leave them to divide the spoil 



among themselves, trusting to their own strife for 
his security. That very night he sallied forth into 
the country, under pretence of going on a hunting 
expedition. 

The next morning the mutineers found themselves 
in possession of the field. Alonzo Perez, the prag- 
matical ringleader, immediately assumed the com- 
mand, seconded by the Bachelor Corral. Their first 
measure was to seize upon the ten thousand castel- 
lanos, and to divide them among the multitude, by 
way of securing their own popularity. The event 
proved the sagacity and forethought of Vasco Nuiiez. 
Scarcely had these hot-headed intermeddlers entered 
upon the partition of the gold, than a furious strife 
arose. Every one was dissatisfied with his share, 
considering his merits entitled to peculiar recom- 
pense. Every attempt to appease the rabble only 
augmented their violence, and in their rage they 
swore that Vasco Nuiiez had always shown more 
judgment and discrimination in his distributions to 
men of merit. 

The adherents of the latter now ventured to lift 
up their voices; "Vasco Nuiiez," said they, "won 
the gold by his enterprise and valour, and would 
have shared it with the brave and the desen'ing; but 
these men have seized upon it by factious means, and 
would squander it upon their minions." The multi- 
tude, who, in fact, admired the soldier-like qur.lities 
of Vasco Nuiiez, displayed one of the customary re- 
verses of popular feeling. The touchy Alonzo Perez, 
his coadjutor the Bachelor Corral, and several other 
of the ringleaders were seized, thrown in irons, and 
confined in the fortress; and Vasco Nuiiez was re- 
called with loud acclamations to the settlement. 

How long this pseudo commander might have 
been able to manage the unsteady populace it is im- 
possible to say, but just at this juncture two ships 
arrived from Hispaniola, freighted with supplies, and 
bringing a reinforcement of one hundred and fifty 
men. They brought also a commission to Vasco 
Nuiiez, signed by Miguel de Pasamonte, the royal 
treasurer of Hispaniola, to whom he had sent a pri- 
vate present of gold, constituting him captain-gen- 
eral of the colony. It is doubtful whether Pasamonte 
possessed the power to confer such a commission, 
though it is affirmed that the king had clothed him 
with it, as a kind of check upon the authority of the 
admiral Don Diego Columbus, then Governor of 
Hispaniola, of whose extensive sway in the new 
world the monarch was secretly jealous. At any 
rate, the treasurer appears to have acted in full con- 
fidence of the ultimate approbation of his sovereign. 

Vasco Nuiiez was rejoiced at receiving a commis- 
sion which clothed him with at least the semblance 
of royal sanction. Feeling more assured in his situa- 
tion, and being naturally of a generous and forgiving 
temper, he was easily prevailed upon, in his moment 
of exultation, to release and pardon Alonzo Perez, 
the Bachelor Corral, and the other ringleaders of the 
late commotions, and for a time the feuds and fac- 
tions of this petty community were lulled to repose. 



CHAPTER VII. 



VASCO nuSez determines to seek the sea 

BEYOND THE MOUNTAINS. — (1513.) 

The temporary triumph of Vasco Nuiiez was soon 
overcast by tidings received from Spain. His late 
colleague, the Alcalde Zamudio, wrote him word 
that the Bachelor Enciso had carried his complaints 
to the foot of the throne, and succeeded in rousing 
the indignation of the king, and had obtained a sen- 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



767 



tence in his favour, condemning Vasco Nunez in 
costs and damages. Zamudio informed liim in ad- 
dition, that he would be immediately summoned to 
repair to Spain, and answer in person the criminal 
charges advanced against him on account of the 
harsh treatment and prohable death of the unfortu- 
nate Nicuesa. 

Vasco Nunez was at first stunned by this intelli- 
gence, which seemed at one blow to annihilate all 
his hopes and fortunes. He was a man, however, 
of prompt decision and intrepid spirit. The infor- 
mation received from Spain was private and infor- 
mal, no order had yet arrived from the king, he was 
still master of his actions, and had control over the 
colony. One brilliant achievement might atone for 
all the past, and fix him in the favour of the monarch. 
Such an achievement was within his reach — the dis- 
covery of the southern sea. It is true, a thousand 
soldiers had been required for the expedition, but 
were he to wait for their arrival from Spain, his day 
of grace would be past. It was a desperate thing to 
undertake the task with the handful of men at his 
command, but the circumstances of the case were 
desperate. Fame, fortune, life itself, depended upon 
the successful and the prompt execution of the enter- 
prise. To linger was to be lost. 

Vasco Nunez looked round upon the crew of 
daring and reckless adventurers that formed the 
colony, and chose one hundred and ninety of the 
most resolute and vigorous, and of those most de- 
voted to his person. These he armed with swords, 
targets, cross-bows, and arquebusses. He did not 
conceal from them the peril of the enterprise into 
which he was about to lead them ; but the spirit of 
these Spanish adventurers was always roused by the 
idea of perilous and extravagant exploit. To aid his 
slender forces, he took with him a number of blood- 
hounds, which had been found to be terrific allies in 
Indian warfare. 

The Spanish writers make particular mention of 
one of those animals, named Leoncico, which was a 
constant companion, and, as it were, body-guard of 
Vasco Nunez, and describe him as minutely as they 
would a favourite warrior. He was of a middle 
size, but immensely strong : of a dull yellow or red- 
dish colour, with a black muzzle, and his body was 
scarred all over with wounds received in innumera- 
ble battles with the Indians. Vasco Nunez always 
took him on his expeditions, and sometimes lent 
him to others, receiving for his services the same 
share of booty allotted to an armed man. In this 
way he gained by him, in the course of his cam- 
paigns, upwards of a thousand crowns. The In- 
dians, it is said, had conceived such terror of this 
animal, that the very sight of him was sufficient to 
put a host of them to flight.* 

In addition to these forces, Vasco Nunez took with 
him a number of the Indians of Darien, whom he 
had won to him by kindness, and whose services 
were important, from their knowledge of the wilder- 
ness, and of the habits and resources of savage life. 
Such was the motley armament that set forth from 
the little colony of Darien, under the guidance of a 
daring, if not desperate commander, in quest of the 
great Pacific Ocean. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

EXPEDITION IN QUEST OF THE SOUTHERN SEA. 

It was on the first of September that Vasco Nunez 
embarked with his followers in a brigantine and nine 



• Oviedo, Hist. Indies, p. 2. c. 3. MS. 



large canoes or pirogues, followed by the cheers 
and good wishes of those who remained at the set- 
tlement. Standing to the north-westward, he ar- 
rived without accident at Coyba. the dominions of 
the cacique Careta, whose daughter he had received 
as a pledge of amity. That Indian beauty had ac- 
quired a great influence over Vasco Nunez, and 
appears to have cemented his friendship with her 
father and her people. He was received by the 
cacique with open arms, and furnished with guide? 
and warriors to aid him in his enterprise. 

Vasco Nunez left about half of his men at Coyba 
to guard the brigantine and canoes, while he should 
penetrate the wilderness with the residue. The im- 
portance of his present expedition, not merely as 
affecting his own tbrtunes, but as it were unfolding 
a mighty secret of nature, seems to have impressed 
itself upon his spirit, and to have given correspondent 
solemnity to his conduct. Before setting out upon 
his march, he caused mass to be performed, and 
offered up prayers to God for the success of his 
perilous undertaking. 

It was on the sixth of September, that he struck 
off for the mountains. The march was difficult and 
toilsome in the extreme. The Spaniards, encumber- 
ed with the weight of their armour and weapons, 
and oppressed by the heat of a tropical climate, were 
obliged to climb rocky precipices, and to struggle 
through close and tangled forests. Their Indian 
allies aided them by carrj'ing their ammunition and 
provisions, and by guiding them to the most prac- 
ticable paths. 

On the eighth of September they arrived at the 
village of Ponca, the ancient enemy of Careta. The 
village was lifeless and abandoned ; the cacique 'and 
his people had fled to the fastnesses of the mountains. 
The Spaniards remained here several days to recruit 
the health of some of their number who had fallen ill. 
It was necessary also to procure guides acquainted 
with the mountain wilderness they were approach- 
ing. The retreat of Ponca was at length discovered, 
and he was prevailed upon, though reluctantly, to 
come to Vasco Nuiiez. The latter had a peculiar 
facility in winning the confidence and friendship of 
the natives. The cacique was soon so captivated by 
his kindness, that he revealed to him in secret all he 
knew of the natural riches of the countiy. He as- 
sured him of the truth of what had been told him 
about a great pechry or sea beyond the mountains, 
and gave him several ornaments ingeniously wrought 
of fine gold, which had been brought from the coun- 
tries upon its borders. He told him, moreover, that 
when he had attained the summit of a lofty ridge, to 
which he pointed, and which seemed to rise up to 
the skies, he would behold that sea spread out far 
below him. 

Animated by the accounts, Vasco Nunez procured 
fresh guides from the cacique, and prepared to ascend 
the mountains. Numbers of his men having fallen 
ill from fatigue and the heat of the climate, he order- 
ed them to return slowly to Coyba, taking with 
him none but such as were in robust and vigorous 
health. 

On the 2oth of September, he again set tbrward 
through a broken rocky country, covered with a 
matted forest, and intersected by deep and turbulent 
streams, many of which it was necessary to cross 
upon rafts. 

So toilsome was the journey, that in four days 
they did not advance above ten leagues, and in the 
mean time they suffered excessively from hunger. 
At the end of this time they arrived at the province 
of a warlike cacique, named Quaraqua, who was at 
war with Ponca. 

Hearing- that a band of strangers were entering 



7G8 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



his territories, guided by tlie subjects of his inveterate 
foe, the cacique took the field with a large number 
of warriors, some armed with bows and arrows, 
others with long spears, or with double-handed 
maces of palm-wood, almost as heav'y and hard as 
iron. Seeing the inconsiderable number of the 
Spaniards, they set upon them with furious yells, 
thinking to overcome them in an instant. The first 
discharge of fire-arms, however, struck them with 
dismay. They thought they were contending with 
demons who vomited forth thunder and lightning, 
especially when they saw their companions fall 
bleeding and dead beside them, without receiving 
any apparent blow. They took to headlong flight, 
and were hotly pursued by the Spaniards and their 
bloodhounds. Some were transfixed with lances, 
others hewn down with swords, and many were 
torn to pieces by the dogs, so that Ouaraqua and 
six hundred of his warriors were left dead upon the 
field. 

A brother of the cacique and several chiefs were 
taken prisoners. They were clad in robes of white 
cotton. Either from their effeminate dress, or from 
the accusations of their enemies, the Spaniards were 
induced to consider them guilty of unnatural crimes, 
and, in their abhorrence and disgust, gave them to 
be torn to pieces by the bloodhounds.* 

it is also affirmed, that among the prisoners were 
several negroes, who had l)een slaves to the cacique. 
The Spaniards, we are told, were informed by the 
other captives, that these black men came from a 
region at no great distance, where there was a 
people of that colour with whom they were fre- 
quently at war. " These," adds the Spanish writer, 
" were the first negroes ever found in the New 
World, and I believe no others have since been dis- 
covered. "t 

After this sanguinary triumph, the Spaniards 
marched to the village of Quaraqua, where they 
found considerable booty in gold and jewels. Of 
this Vasco Nuiiez reserved one-fifth for the crown, 
and shared the rest liberally among his followers. 
The village was at the foot of the last mountain that 
remained for them to climb : several of the Span- 
iards, however, were so disabled by the wounds they 
had received in battle, or so exhausted by the fatigue 
and hunger they had endured, that they were unable 
to proceed. They were obliged, therefore, reluctantly 
to remain in the village, within sight of the mountain- 
top that commanded the long-sought prospect. Vasco 
Nunez selected fresh guides from among his prison- 
ers, who were natives of the province, and sent back 
the subjects of Ponca. Of the band of Spaniards 
who had set out with him in this enterprise, sixty- 
seven alone remained in sufficient health and spirits 
for this last effort. These he ordered to retire early 
to repose, that they might be ready to set off at the 
cool and fresh hour of day-break, so as to reach the 
summit of the mountain before the noon-tide heat. 



CHAPTER IX. 

DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 

The day had scarcely dawned, when Vasco Nunez 
and his followers set forth from the Indian village 
and began to climb the height. It was a severe and 



Herrera, Hist. Ind. d. i, I. x. c i. 
t Peter Martyr, in his third Decade, makes mention of these 
negroes in the following words; — "About two days journey dis- 
tant from Quaraqua is a region inhabited only by blacic Moors, ex- 
ceeding fierce and cruel. It is supposed that in time past certain 



rugged toil for men so wayworn, but they were filled 
with new ardour at the idea of the triumphant scene 
that was so soon to repay them for all their hard- 
ships. 

About ten o'clock in the morning they emerged 
from the thick forests through which they had hith- 
erto struggled, and arrived at a lofty and airy region 
of the mountain. The bald summit alone remained 
to be ascended, and their guides pointed to a mod- 
erate eminence from which they said the southern 
sea was visible. 

Upon this Vasco Nunez commanded his followers 
to halt, and that no man should stir from his place. 
Then, with a palpitating heart, he ascended alone 
the bare mountain-top. On reaching the summit 
the long-desired prospect burst upon his view. It 
was as if a new world were unfolded to him, sepa- 
rated from all hitherto known by this mighty barrier 
of mountains. Below him extended a vast chaos of 
rock and forest, and green savannahs and wander- 
ing streams, while at a distance the waters of the 
promised ocean glittered in the morning sun. 

At this glorious prospect Vasco Nunez sitnk upon 
his knees, and poured out thanks to God for being 
the first European to whom it was given to make 
that great discovery. He then called his people to 
ascend : " Behold, my friends," said he, " that glori- 
ous sight which we have so much desired. Let us 
give thanks to (".od that he has granted us this great 
honour and advantage. Let us pray to him that he 
will guide and aid us to conquer the sea and land 
which we have discovered, and in whicli Christian 
has never entered to preach the holy doctrine of the 
Evangelists. As to yourselves, be as you have hith- 
erto been, faithful and true to me, and by the favour 
of Christ you will become the richest Spaniards that 
have ever come to the Indies ; you will render the 
greatest services to your king that ever vassal ren- 
dered to his lord ; and you will have the eternal 
glory and advantage of all that is here discovered, 
conquered, and converted to our holy Catholic faith." 

The Spaniards answered this speech by embracing 
Vasco Nunez and promising to follow him to death. 
Among them was a priest, named Andres de Vara, 
who lifted i:p his voice and chanted Tc Dciim Lit /a- 
nius — the usual anthem of Spanish discoverers. The 
people, kneeling down, joined in the strain with 
pious enthusiasm and tears of joy ; and never did a 
more sincere oblation rise to the Deity from a sanc- 
tified altar than from that wild mountain summit. It 
was indeed one of the most sublime discoveries that 
had yet been made in the New World, and must 
have opened a boundless field of conjecture to the 
wondering Spaniards. The imagination delights to 
picture forth the splendid confusion of their thoughts. 
Was this the great Indian Ocean, studded with pre- 
cious islands, abounding in gold, in gems, and spices, 
and bordered by the gorgeous cities and wealthy 
marts of the East } Or was it some lonely sea locked 
up in the embraces of savage uncultivated continents, 
and never traversed by a bark, excepting the light 
pirogue of the Indian? The latter could hardly be 
the case, for the natives had told the Spaniards of 
golden realms, and populous and powerful and lux- 
urious nations upon its shores. Perhaps it might be 
bordered by various people, civilized in fact, but 
differing from Europe in their civilization ; who 
might have peculiar laws and customs and arts and 
sciences; who might form, as it were, a world of 



shipwreck, or some other chance, they were driven to these mount- 
ains." .\s Martyr lived and wrote at the time, he of course related 
the mere rumour of the day. which all subsequent accounts have 
disproved. The other historians who mentioned the circumstance, 
have probably repeated it from him. It must have risen fri>m 



black Moors sailed thither out of Ethiopia, to rob, and that by [ some misrepresentation, and is not entitled to credit. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



769 



their own, intercommuning' by this mighty sea, and 
carrying on commerce between their own islands 
and continents ; but who miglit exist in total igno- 
rance and independence o( the other hemisphere. 

Such may naturally have been the ideas suggested 
by the sight of this unknown ocean. It was the 
prevalent belief of the Spaniards, however, that they 
were the first Christians who had made the discovery. 
Vasco Nunez, therefore, called upon all present to 
witness that he took possession of that sea, its islands, 
and surrounding lands, in the name of the sovereigns 
of Castile, and the notary of the expedition made a 
testimonial of the same, to which all present, to the 
number of sixty-seven men, signed their names. He 
then caused a fair and tall tree to be cut down and 
wrought into a cross, which was elevated on the 
spot from whence he had at first beheld the sea. A 
mound of stones was likewise piled up to serve as a 
monument, and the names of the Castilian sovereigns 
were carved on the neighbouring trees. The Indians 
beheld all these ceremonials and rejoicings in silent 
wonder, and, while they aided to erect the cross and 
pile up the mound of stones, marvelled exceedingly 
at the meaning of these monuments, little thinking 
that they marked the subjugation of their land. 

The memorable event here recorded took place on 
the 26th of September, 1513; so that the Spaniards 
had been twenty days performing the journey from 
the province of Careta to the summit of the mount- 
ain, a distance which at present, it is said, does not 
require more than six days' travel. Indeed the 
isthmus in this neighbourhood is not more than 
eighteen leagues in breadth in its widest part, and in 
some places merely seven ; but it consists of a ridge 
of extremely high and rugged mountains. When 
the discoverers traversed it, they had no route but 
the Indian paths, and often had to force their way 
amidst all kinds of obstacles, both from the savage 
country and its savage inhabitants. In fact, the de- 
tails of this narrative sufficiently account for the 
slowness of their progress, and present an array of 
difficulties and perils which, as has been well ob- 
served, none but those " men of iron " could have 
subdued and overcome.* 



CHAPTER X. 



v.\sco nuNez marches to the shores of the 

SOUTH SEA. 

Having taken possession of the Pacific Ocean 
and all its realms from the summit of the mountain, 
Vasco Nuiiez now descended with his little band to 
seek the regions of reputed wealth upon its shores. 
He had not proceeded far when he came to the prov- 
ince of a warlike cacique, named Cheapes, who, issu- 
ing forth at the head of his warriors, looked with 
scorn upon the scanty number of straggling Span- 
iards, and forbade them to set foot within his terri- 
tories. Vasco Nunez depended for safety upon his 
power of striking terror mto the ignorant savages. 
Ordering his arquebusiers to the front, he poured a 
volley into the enemy, and then let loose the blood- 
hounds. The flash and noise of the fire-arms, and 
the sulphurous smoke which was carried by the wind 
among the Indians, overwhelmed them with dismay. 
Some fell down in a panic as though they had been 
struck by thunderbolts, the rest betook themselves 
to headlong flight. 

Vasco Nunez commanded his men to refrain from 
needless slaughter. He made many prisoners, and 

* Vidas de Espanolcs C^lebrcs, por Don Manuel Josef Quintana. 
Tom. ii. p. ^o. 

49 



on arriving at the village, sent some of them in search 
of their cacique, accompanied by several of his Indian 
guides. The latter informed Cheapes of the super- 
natural power of the Spaniards, assuring him that 
they exterminated with thunder and lightning all 
who dared to oppose them, but loaded all such as 
submitted to them with benefits. They advised him, 
therefore, to throw himself upon their mercy and seek 
their friendship. 

The cacique listened to their advice, and came 
trembling to the Spaniards, bringing with him five 
hundred pounds weight of wrought gold as a peace 
offering, for he had already learnt the value they set 
upon that metal. Vasco Nunez received him with 
great kindness, and graciously accepted his gold, for 
which he gave him beads, hawks' bells, and look- 
ing-glasses, making him, in his own conceit, the 
richest potentate on that side of the mountains. 

Friendship being thus established between them, 
Vasco Nunez remained at the village for a few days, 
sending back the guides who had accompanied him 
from Ouaraqua, and ordering his people, whom he 
had left at that place, to rejoin him. In the mean 
time he sent out three scouting parties, of twelve 
men each, under Francisco Pizarro, Juan de Escary, 
and Alonzo Martin de Don Benito, to explore the 
surrounding country and discover the best route to 
the sea. Alonzo Martin was the most successful. 
Alter two days' journey he came to a beach, where 
he found two large canoes lying high and dry, with- 
out any water being in sight. While the Spaniards 
were regarding these canoes, and wondering why 
they should be so far on land, the tide, which rises 
to a great height on that coast, came rapidly in and 
set them afloat ; upon this, Alonzo Martin stepped 
into one of them, and'called his companions to bear 
witness that he was the first European that embarked 
upon that sea ; his example was followed by one 
Bias de Etienza, who called them likewise to testify 
that he was the second.* 

We mention minute particulars of the kind as being 
characteristic of these extraordinary enterprises, and 
of the extraordinai"y people who undertook them. 
The humblest of these Spanish adventurers seemed 
actuated by a swelling-and ambitious spirit, that rose 
superior at times to mere sordid considerations, and 
aspired to share the glory of these great discoveries. 
The scouting party having thus explored a direct 
route to the sea coast, returned to report their suc- 
cess to their commander. 

Vasco Nunez being rejoined by his men from 
Quaraqua, now left the greater part of his followers 
to repose and recover from their sickness and fatigues 
in the village of Cheapes, and, taking with him twenty- 
six Spaniards, well armed, he set out, on the twenty- 
ninth of September, tor the sea coast, accompanied 
by the cacique and a number of his warriors. The 
thick forest which covered the mountains descended 
to the very margin of the sea, surrounding and over- 
shadowing the wide and beautiful bays that pene- 
trated far into the land. The whole coast, as far as 
the eye could reach, was perfectly wild, the sea with- 
out a sail, and both seemed never to have been under 
the dominion of civilized man. 

Vasco Nunez arrived on the borders of one of those 
vast bays, to which he gave the name of Saint 
Michael, it being discovered on that saint's day. The 
tide was out, the water was above half a league dis- 
tant, and the intervening beach was covered with 
mud ; he seated himself, therefore, under the shade 
of the forest trees until the tide should rise. After 
awhile the water came rushing in with great impetu- 
osity, and soon reached nearly to the place where 



♦ Herrera, His. Ind. d. i. 1. x. c. 2. 



770 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



the Spaniards were reposing. Upon this, Vasco 
Nufiez rose and tool< a banner, on which were painted 
the Virgin and child, and under them the arms of 
Castile and Leon ; then drawing his sword and throw- 
ing his buckler on his shoulder, he marched into the 
sea until the water reached above his knees, and 
waving his banner, exclaimed, with a loud voice, 
" Long live the high and mighty monarchs, Don Fer- 
dinand and Donna Juanna, sovereigns of Castile, of 
Leon, and of Arragon, in whose name, and for the 
royal crown of Castile, I take real, and corporal, and 
actual possession of these seas, and lands, and coasts, 
and ports, and islands of the South, and all thereunto 
annexed ; and of the kingdoms and provinces which 
do or may appertain to them in whatever manner, or 
by whatever right or title, ancient or modern, in 
times past, present, or to come, without any contra- 
diction ; and if other prince or captain, christian or 
infidel, or of any law, sect, or condition whatsoever, 
shall pretend any right to these lands and seas, 1 am 
ready and prepared to maintain and defend them in 
the name of the Castilian sovereigns, present and 
future, whose is the empire and dominion over these 
Indias, islands, and terra firma, northern and 
southern, with all their seas, both at the arctic and 
antarctic poles, on either side of the equinoxial line, 
whether within or without the tropics of Cancer and 
Capricorn, both now and in all times, as long as the 
world endures, and until the final day of judgment 
of all mankind." 

This swelling declaration and defiance being utter- 
ed with a loud voice, and no one appearing to dis- 
pute his pretensions, Vasco Nunez called upon his 
companions to bear witness of the fact of his hav- 
ing duly taken possession. They all declared them- 
selves ready to defend his claim to the uttermost, as 
became true and loyal vassals to the Castilian sover- 
eigns ; and the notary having drawn up a document 
for the occasion, they all subscribed it with their 
names. 

This done, they advanced to the margin of the 
sea, and stooping down tasted its waters. When 
they found, that, though severed by intervening 
mountains and continents, they were salt like the 
seas of the north, they felt assured that they had in- 
deed discovered an ocean, and again returned thanks 
to God. 

Having concluded all these ceremonies, Vasco 
Nunez drew a dagger from his girdle and cut a 
cross on a tree which grew within the water, and 
made two other crosses on two adjacent trees in 
honour of the Three Persons of the Trinity, and in 
token of possession. His followers likewise cut 
crosses on many of the trees of the adjacent forest, 
and lopped off branches with their swords to bear 
away as trophies.* 

Such was the singular medley of chivalrous and 
religious ceremonial, with which these Spanish ad- 
venturers took possession of the vast Pacific Ocean, 
and all its lands — a scene strongly characteristic of 
the nation and the age. 



CHAPTER XL 



ADVENTURES OF VASCO NUNEZ ON THE BOR- 
DERS OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 

While he made the village of Chiapes his head- 
quarters, Vasco Nufiez foraged the adjacent country 
and obtained a considerable quantity of gold from the 



* Many of tlie foregoing particulars are from the unpublished 
volume of Oviedo's History of the Indias. 



natives. Encouraged by his success, he undertook 
to explore by sea the borders of a neighbouring 
gulf of great extent, which penetrated far into the 
land. The cacique Chiapes warned him of the 
danger of venturing to sea in the stormy season, 
which comprises the months of October, November, 
and December, assuring him that he had beheld 
many canoes swallowed up in the mighty waves and 
whirlpools, which at such times render the gulf al- 
most unnavigable. 

These remonstrances were unavailing : Vasco 
Nunez expressed a confident belief that God would 
protect him, seeing that his voyage was to redound 
to the propagation of the faith, and the augmenta- 
tion of the power of the Castilian monarchs over the 
infidels ; and in truth this bigoted reliance on the 
immediate protection of heaven seems to have been 
in a great measure the cause of the extravagant dar- 
ing of the Spaniards in their expeditions in those 
days, whether against Moors or Indians. 

Seeing his representations of no effect, Chiapes 
volunteered to take part in this perilous cruise, lest 
he should appear wanting in courage, or in good- 
will to his guest. Accompanied by the cacique, 
therefore, Vasco Nuiiez embarked on the 17th of 
October with sixty of his men in nine canoes, man- 
aged by Indians, leaving the residue of his followers 
to recruit their health and strength in the village of 
Chiapes. 

Scarcely, however, had they put forth on the 
broad bosom of the gulf when the wisdom of the 
cacique's advice was made apparent. The wind be- 
gan to blow freshly, raising a heavy and tumultuous 
sea, which broke in roaring and foaming surges on the 
rocks and reefs, and among the numerous islets 
with which the gulf was studded. The light canoes 
were deeply laden with men unskilled in their man- 
agement. It was frightful to those in one canoe to 
behold their companions, one instant tossed on 
high on the breaking crest of a wave, the next plung- 
ing out of sight, as if swallowed in a watery abyss. 
The Indians themselves, though almost amphibious 
in their habits, showed signs of consternation ; for 
aiTiidst these rocks and breakers even the skill of the 
expert swimmer would be of little avail. At length 
the Indians succeeded in tying the canoes in pairs, 
side by side, to prevent their being overturned, and 
in this way they kept afloat, until towards evening 
they were enabled to reach a small island. Here they 
landed, and fastening the canoes to the rocks, or to 
small trees that grew upon the shore, they sought an 
elevated dry place, and stretched themselves to take 
repose. They had but escaped from one danger to 
encounter another. Having been for a long time 
accustomed to the sea on the northern side of the 
isthmus, where there is little, if any, rise or fall of 
the tide, they had neglected to take any precaution 
against such an occurrence. In a little while they 
were awakened from their sleep by the rapid rising 
of the water. They shifted their situation to a higher 
ground, but the waters continued to gain upon them, 
the breakers rushing and roaring and foaming upon 
the beach like so many monsters of the deep seeking 
for their prey. Nothing, it is said, can be more dis- 
mal and appalling than the sullen bellowint;' of the 
sea among the islands of that gulf at the rising and 
falling of the tide. By degrees, rock after rock, and f 
one sand bank after another disappeared, until the 
sea covered the whole island, and rose almost to the , 
girdles of the Spaniards. Their situation was now 
agonizing. A little more and the waters would 
overwhelm them : or, even as it was, the least surgr 
might break over them and sweep them from then 
unsteady footing. Fortunately the wind had lulled 
and the sea, having risen above the rocks which hat 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



771 



fretted it, was calm. The tide had reached its 
height and began to subside, and after a time they 
lieard the retiring waves beating against the roclvs 
below them. 

When the day dawned they sought their canoes ; 
but here a s.ad spectacle met their eyes. Some were 
broken to pieces, others yawning open in many parts. 
The clothing and food left in them had been washed 
away, and replaced by sand and water. The Span- 
iards gazed on the scene in mute despair; they were 
faint and weary, and needed food and repose, but 
famine and labour awaited them, even if they should 
escape with their lives. Vasco Nunez, however, 
rallied their spirits, and set them an example by his 
own cheerful exertions. Obeving his directions, they 
set to work to repair, in the best manner they were 
able, the damages of the canoes. Such as were not 
too much shattered they bound and braced up with 
their girdles, with slips of the bark of trees, or with 
the tough long stalks of certain sea-weeds. They 
then peeled off the bark from the small sea plants, 
pounded it between stones, and mixed it with grass, 
and with this endeavoured to caulk the seams and 
stop the leaks that remained. When they re-em- 
barked, their numbers weighed down the canoes 
almost to the water's edge, and as they rose and 
sank with the swelling waves there was danger of 
their being swallowed up. All day they laboured 
with the sea, suffering excessively from the pangs of 
hunger and thirst, and at nightfall they landed in a 
corner of the 8"ulf, near the abode of a cacique named 
Tilmaco. Leaving a part of his men to guard the 
canoes, Vasco Nunez set out with the residue for 
the Indian town. He arrived there about midnight, 
but the inhabitants were on the alert to defend their 
habitations. The fire-arms and dogs soon put them 
to flight, and the Spaniards pursuing them with their 
swords, drove them howling into the woods. In the 
village were found provisions in abundance, beside a 
considerable amount of gold and a great quantity 
of pearls, many of them of a large size. In the 
house of the cacique were several huge shells of 
mother-of-pearl, and four pearl oysters quite fresh, 
which showed that there was a pearl fishery in the 
neighbourhood. Eager to learn the sources of this 
wealth, Vasco Nunez sent several of the Indians of 
Chiapes in search of the cacique, who traced him to 
a wild retreat among the rocks. By their persua- 
sions Tiimaco sent his son, a fine young savage, as 
a mediator. The latter returned to liis father loaded 
with presents, and extolling the benignity of these 
superhuman beings, who had shown themselves so 
terrible in battle. By these means, and by a mutual 
exchange of presents, a friendiv intercourse was soon 
established. Among other things the cacique gave 
Vasco Nuiiez jewels of gold weighing six hundred 
and fourteen crowns, and two hundred pearls of 
great size and beauty, excepting that they were 
somewhat discoloured in consequence of the oysters 
having been opened by fire. 

The cacique seeing the value which the Spaniards 
set upon the pearls, sent a number of his men to fish 
for them at a place about ten miles distant. Certain 
of the Indians were trained from their youth to this 
purpose, so as to become expert divers, and to acquire 
the power of remaining a long time beneath the 
water. The largest pearls are generally found in the 
deepest water, sometimes in three and four fathoms, 
and are only sought in calm weather; the smaller 
sort are found at the depth of two and three feet, 
and the oysters containing them are often driven in 
quantities on the beach during violent storms. 

The party of pearl divers sent by the cacique con- 
sisted of thirty Indians, with whom Vasco Nufiez 
sent si.x Spaniards as eye-witnesses. The sea, how- 



ever, was so furious at that stormy season that the 
divers dared not venture into the deep water. Such 
a number of the shell-fish, however, had been driven 
on shore, that they collected enough to yield pearls 
to the value of twelve marks of gold. They were 
small, but exceedingly beautiful, being newly taken 
and uninjured by fire. A number of these shell-fish 
and their pearls were selected to be sent to Spain as 
specimens. 

In reply to the inquiries of Vasco Nuiiez, the ca- 
cique informed him that the coast which he saw 
stretching to the west continued onwards without 
end, and that far to the south there was a country 
abounding in gold, where the inhabitants made use 
of certain quadrupeds to carry burthens. He mould- 
ed a figure of clay to represent these animals, which 
some of the Spaniards supposed to be a deer, others 
a camel, others a tapir, for as yet they knew nothing 
of the lama, the native beast of burthen of South 
America. This was the second intimation received 
by Vasco Nufiez of the great empire of Peru ; and, 
while it confirmed all that had been told him by the 
son of Comagre, it filled him with glowing anticipa- 
tions of the glorious triumphs that awaited him. 



CHAPTER XII. 



farther adventures and exploits of vasco 
nuNez on the borders of the pacific 

OCEAN. 

Lest any ceremonial should be wanting to secure 
this grand discovery to the crown of Spain, Vasco 
Nunez determined to sally from the gulf and take 
possession of the main land beyond. The cacique 
Tumaco furnished him with a canoe of state, formed 
from the trunk of an enormous tree, and managed 
by a great number of Indians. The handles of the 
paddles were inlaid with small pearls, a circum- 
stance which Vasco Nunez caused his companions 
to testify before the notary, that it might be reported 
to the sovereigns as a proof of the wealth of this 
newly discovered sea.* 

Departing in the canoe on the 29th of October, he 
was piloted cautiously by the Indians along the 
borders of the gulf over drowned lands where the 
sea was frmged by inundated forests and as still as a 
pool. Arrived at the point of the gulf, Vasco Nufiez 
landed on a smooth sandy beach, laved by the waters 
of the broad ocean, and, with buckler on arm, 
sword in hand, and banner displayed, again march- 
ed into the sea and took possession of it, with 
like ceremonials to those observed in the Gulf of St. 
Michael's. 

The Indians now pointed to a line of land rising 
above the horizon about four or five leagues distant, 
which they described as being a great island, the 
principal one of an archipelago. The whole group 
abounded with pearls, but those taken on the coasts 
of this island were represented as being of immense 
size, many of them as large as a man's eye, and 
found in shell-fish as big as bucklers. This island 
and the surrounding cluster of small ones, they 
added, were under the dominion of a tyrannical and 
puissant cacique, w-ho often, during the calm sea- 
sons, made descents upon the main land with fleets 
of canoes, plundering and desolating the coasts, and 
carrying the people into captivity. 

Vasco Nufiez gazed with an eager and wistful 
eye at this land of riches, and would have immedi- 
ately undertaken an expedition to it, had not the In- 



l* Oviedo, Hist. Gen. p. 2. MS. 



772 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



dians represented the danger of venturing on such a 
voyage in that tempestuous season in their frail 
canoes. His own recent experience convinced him 
of the wisdom of their remonstrances. He post- 
poned his visit, therefore, to a future occasion, when, 
he assured liis allies, he would avenge them upon 
this tyrant invader, and deliver their coasts from 
his maraudings. In the mean time he gave to this 
island the name of Isla Rica, and the little archi- 
pelago surrounding it the general appellation of the 
Pearl Islands. 

On the third of November Vasco Nuiiez departed 
from the province of Tumaco, to visit other parts 
of the coast. He embarked with his men in "the 
canoes, accompanied by Chiapes and his Indians, 
and guided by the son of Tumaco, who had become 
strongly attached to the Spaniards. The young 
man piloted them along an arm of the sea, wide in 
some places, but in others obstructed by groves of 
mangrove trees, which grew within the water and 
interlaced their branches from shore to shore, so 
that at times the Spaniards were obliged to cut a 
passage with their swords. 

At length they entered a great and turbulent river, 
which they ascended with difficulty, and early the 
next morning surprised a village on its banks, mak- 
ing the cacique Teaochan prisoner ; who purchased 
their favour and kind treatment by a quantity of 
gold and pearls, and an abundant supply of pro- 
visions. As it was the intention of Vasco Nunez to 
abandon the sliores of the Southern Ocean at this 
place, and to strike across the mountains for Darien, 
he took leave of Chiapes and of the youthful son of 
Tumaco, who were to return to their houses in the 
canoes. He sent at the same time, a message to his 
men, whom he had left in the village of Chiapes, 
appointing a place in the mountains where they were 
to rejoin him on his way back to Darien. 

The talent of Vasco Nunez for conciliating and 
winning the good-will of the savages is often men- 
tioned, and to such a degree had he exerted it in 
the present instance, that the two chieftains shed 
tears at parting. Their conduct had a favourable 
effect upon the cacique Teaochan ; he entertained 
Vasco Nunez with the most devoted hospitality dur- 
ing three days that he remained in his village ; when 
about to depart he furnished him with a stock of 
provisions sufficient for several days, as his route 
would lay over rocky and sterile mountains. He 
sent also a numerous band of his subjects to carry 
the burthens of the Spaniards. These he placed 
under the command of his son, whom he ordered 
never to separate from the strangers, nor to permit 
any of his men to return without the consent of 
Vasco Nunez. 



CHAPTER XIH. 



VASCO nuSez sets out on his return across 

THE MOUNTAINS — HIS CONTESTS WITH THE 
.SAVAGES. 

Turning their backs upon the Southern Sea, the 
Spaniards now began painluUy to clamber the ragged 
mountains on their return to Darien. 

In the early part of their route an unlooked-for 
suffering awaited them : there was neither brook nor 
fountain nor standing pool. The burnmg heat, which 
produced intolerable thirst, had dried up all the 
mountain torrents, and they were tantalized by the 
sight of naked and dusty channels where water had 
once flowed in abundance. Their sufferings at length 
increased to such a height that many threw them- 



selves fevered and panting upon the earth, and «ere 
ready to give up the ghost. The Indians, however, 
encouraged them to proceed, by hopes of speedy re- 
lief, and after a while, turning aside from the direct 
course, led them into a deep and narrow glen, re- 
freshed and cooled by a fountain which bubbled out 
of a cleft of the rocks. 

While refreshing themselves at the fountain, and 
reposing in the little valley, they learnt from their 
guides that they were in the territories of a powerful 
chief named Poncra, famous for his riches. The 
Spaniards had already heard of the golden stores of 
this Croesus of the mountains, and being now re- 
freshed and invigorated, pressed forward with eager- 
ness for his village. 

The cacique and most of his people fled at their 
approach, but they found an earnest of his wealth in 
the deserted houses, amounting to the value of three 
thousand crowns in gold. Their avarice thus whet- 
ted, they despatched Indians in search of Poncra. 
who found him trembling in his secret retreat, and 
partly by threats, partly by promises, prevailed upon 
him and three of his principal subjects to come to 
Vasco Nufiez. He was a savage, it is said, so hate- 
ful of aspect, so misshapen in body and deformed in 
all his members, that he was hideous to behold. The 
Spaniards endeavoured by gentle means to draw from 
him information of the places from whence he had 
procured his gold. He professed utter ignorance in 
the matter, declaring that the gold found in his vil- 
lage had been gathered by his predecessors in times 
long past, and that as he himself set no value on the 
metal, he had never troubled himself to seek it. The 
Spaniards resorted to menaces, and even, it is said, 
to tortures, to compel him to betray his reputed 
treasures, but with no better success. Disappointed 
in their expectations, and enraged at his supposed 
obstinacy, they listened too readily to charges ad- 
vanced against him by certain caciques of the neigh- 
bourhood, who represented him as a monster of 
cruelty, and as guilty of crimes repugnant to nature ;* 
whereupon, in the heat of the moment, they gave him 
and his three companions, v/ho were said to be equal- 
ly guilty, to be torn in pieces by the dogs. — A rash 
and cruel sentence, given on the evidence of avowed 
enemies ; and which, however it may be palliated by 
the alleged horror and disgust of the Spaniards at 
the imputed crimes of the cacique, bears too much 
the stamp of haste and passion, and remains a foul 
blot on the character of V'asco Nunez. 

The Spaniards remained for thirty days reposing in 
the village of the unfortunate Poncra, during which 
time they were rejoined by their companions, who 
had been left behind at the village of Chiapes. They 
were accompanied by a cacique of the mountains, 
who had lodged and fed them, and made them pres- 
ents of the value of two thousand crowns in gold. 
This hospitable savage approached Vasco Nunez 
with a serene countenance, and taking him by the 
hand, " Behold," said he, " most variant and power- 
ful chief, I bring thee thy companions safe and well, 
as they entered under my roof. May he who made 
the thunder and lightning, and who gives us the 
fruits of the earth, preserve thee and thine in safety ! " 
So saying, he raised his eyes to the sun, as if he wor- 
shipped that as his deity and the dispenser of all 
temporal blessings. t 

Departing from this village, and being still accom- 
panied by the Indians of Teaochan, the Spaniards 
now bent their course along the banks of the river 
Comagre, which descends the northern side of the 
Isthmus, and flows through the territories of the 
cacique of the same name. This wild stream, which 



* P. Martyr, d. iii. c. 2. 



i Herrera, d. i. 1. x. c. 4. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



773 



in the course of ages had worn a channel through 
the deep clefts and ravines of the mountains, was 
bordered by precipices, or overhung by shagged for- 
ests ; they soon abandoned it, therefore, and wan- 
dered on without any path, but guided by the Indians. 
They had to climb terrible precipices, and to de- 
scend into deep valleys, darkened by thick forests 
and beset by treacherous morasses, where, but for 
their guides, they might have been smothered in the 
mire. 

In the course of this rugged journey they suffered 
excessively in consequence of their own avarice. 
They had been warned of the sterility of the country 
thev were about to traverse, and of the necessity of 
providing amply for the journey. When they came 
to lade the Indians, however, who bore their burdens, 
their only thought was how to convey the most 
treasure ; and they grudged even a slender supply of 
provisions, as taking up the place of an equal weight 
of gold. The consequences were soon felt. The In- 
dians could carry but small burthens, and at the same 
time assisted to consume the scanty stock of food 
which formed part of their load. Scarcity and fam- 
ine ensued, and relief was rarely to be procured, for 
the villages on this elevated part of the mountains 
were scattered and poor, and nearly destitute of pro- 
visions. They held no communication with each 
other ; each contenting itself with the scanty pro- 
duce of its own fields and forest. Some were entire- 
ly deserted ; at other places, the inhabitants, forced 
from their retreats, implored pardon, and declared 
they had hidden themselves through shame, not hav- 
ing the means of properly entertaining such celestial 
visitors. They brought peace-offerings of gold, but 
no provisions. For once the Spaniards found that 
even their darling gold could fail to cheer their 
drooping spirits. Their sufferings from hunger be- 
came intense, and many of their Indian companions 
sank down and perished by the way. At length they 
reached a village where they were enabled to obtain 
supplies, and where they remained thirty days, to 
recruit their wasted strength. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



ENTERPRISE AGAINST TUBANAMA, THE WARLIKE 
CACIQUE OF THE MOUNTAINS — RETURN TO 
DARIEN. 

The Spaniards had now to pass through the ter- 
ritories of Tubanama, the most potent and warlike 
cacique of the mountains. This was the same chief- 
tain of whom a formidable character had been given 
by the young Indian prince, who first informed Vasco 
Nunez of the southern sea. He had erroneously rep- 
resented the dominions of Tubanama as Iving be- 
yond the mountains; and, when he dwelt upon the 
quantities of gold to be found in them, had magni- 
fied the dangers that would attend any attempt to 
pass their borders. The name of thisVedoubtable 
cacique was, in fact, a terror throughout the coun- 
try ; and, when Vasco Nunez looked round upon his 
handful of pale and emaciated followers, he doubted 
whether even the superiority of their weapons and 
their military skill would enable them to cope with 
Tubanama and his armies in open contest. He re- 
solved, therefore, to venture upon a perilous strata- 
gem. When he made it known to his men, every 
one pressed forward to engage in it. Choosing sev- 
enty of the most vigorous, he ordered the rest to 
maintain their post in the village. 

As soon as night had fallen, he departed silently 
and secretly with his chosen band and made his way 



with such rapidity through the labyrinths of the for- 
ests and the defiles of the mountains that he arrived 
in the neighbourhood of the residence of Tubanama 
by the following evening, though at the distance of 
two regular days' journey. 

There, waiting until midnight, he assailed the vil- 
lage suddenly and with success, so as to surprise and 
capture the cacique and his whole family, in which 
were eighty females. When Tubanama found him- 
self a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards, he lost 
all presence of mind and wept bitterly. The Indian 
allies of Vasco Nunez, beholding their once-dreaded 
enemy thus fallen and captive, now urged that he 
should be put to death, accusing him of various 
crimes and cruelties. Vasco Nunez pretended to 
listen to their prayers, and gave orders that his cap- 
tive should be tied hand and foot and given to the 
dogs. The cacique approached him trembling, and 
laid his hand upon the pommel of his sword. "Who 
can pretend," said he, " to strive with one who 
bears this weapon, which can cleave a man asunder 
with a blow } Ever since thy fame has reached 
among these mountains have 1 reverenced thy val- 
our. Spare my life and thou shalt have all the gold 
I can procure." 

Vasco Nunez, whose anger was assumed, was 
readily pacified. As soon as the day dawned the 
cacique gave him armlets and other jewels of gold 
to the value of three thousand crowns, and sent 
messengers throughout his dominions ordering his 
subjects to aid in pa)ing his ransom. The poor In- 
dians, with their accustomed loyalty, hastened m 
crowds, bringing their golden ornaments, until, in 
the course of three days, they had produced an 
amount equal to six thousand crowns. This done, 
Vasco Nufiez set the cacique at liberty, bestowing 
on him several European trinkets, with which he 
considered himself richer than he had been with all 
his gold. Nothing would draw from him, however, 
the disclosure of the mines from whence this treas- 
ure was procured. He declared that it came from 
the territories of his neighbours, where gold and 
pearls were to be found in abundance ; but that his 
lands produced nothing of the kind. Vasco Nunez 
doubted his sincerity, and secretly caused the brooks 
and rivers in his dominions to be searched, where 
gold was found in such quantities, thai he deter- 
mined at a future time to found two settlements in 
the neighbourhood. 

On parting with Tubanama, the cacique sent hi? 
son with the Spaniards to learn their language and 
religion. It is said, also, that the Spaniards carried 
off his eighty women ; but of this particular fact, 
Oviedo, who writes with the papers of Vasco Nunez 
before him, says nothing He affirms generally, 
however, that the Spaniards, throughout this expedi- 
tion, were not scrupulous in their dealings with the 
wives and daughters of the Indians ; and adds that 
in this their commander set them the example.* 

Having returned to the village, where he had left 
the greater part of his men, Vasco Nunez resumed 
his homeward march. His people were feeble and 
exhausted and several of them sick, so that soine 
had to be carried and others led by the arms. He 
himself was part of the time afflicted by a fever, and 
had to be borne in a hammock on the shoulders of 
the Indians. 

Proceeding thus slowly and toilfully, they at 
length arrived on the northern sea-coast, at the 
territories of their ally, Comagre. The old cacique 
was dead and had been succeeded by his son, the 
same intelligent youth who had first given informa- 
tion of the southern sea and the kingdom of Peru. 



* Oviedo, Hist. Gen. Part II. c. 4. MS. 



774 



AVORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The young chief, who had embraced Christianity, 
received them witli g'reat hospitality, making them 
presents of gold. Vasco Nunez gave him trinkets 
in return and a shirt and a soldier's cloak ; with 
which, says Peter IVlartyr, he thought himself half a 
god among his naked countrymen. After having 
reposed for a few days, Vasco Nuiiez proceeded to 
Ponca, where he heard that a ship and caravel had 
arrived at Darien from Hispaniola with reinforce- 
ments and supplies. Hastening, therefore, to Coy- 
ba, the territories of his ally, Careta, he embarked 
on the l8th of January, 1514, with twenty of his 
men, in the brigantine which he had left there, and 
arrived at Santa Maria de la Antigua in the river of 
Darien on the following day. All the inhabitants 
came forth to receive him ; and, when they heard 
the news of the great southern sea, and of his re- 
turning from its shores laden with pearls and gold, 
there were no bounds to their joy. He immediately 
despatched the ship and caravel to Coyba for the 
companions he had left behind, who brought with 
them the remaining booty, consisting of gold and 
pearls, mantles, hammocks, and other articles of 
cotton, and a great number of captives of both 
sexes. A fifth of the spoil was set apart for the 
crown; the rest was shared, in just proportions, 
among those who had been in the expedition and 
those who had remained at Darien. All were con- 
tented with their allotment, and elated with the 
prospect of still greater gain from future enterprises. 

Thus ended one of the most remarkable expedi- 
tions of the early discoverers. The intrepidity of 
Vasco Nuiiez in penetrating with a handful of men 
far into the interior of a wild and mountainous 
country, peopled by warlike tribes: his skill in man- 
aging his band of rough adventurers, stimulating 
their valour, enforcing their obedience, and attach- 
ing their affections, show him to have possessed 
great qualities as a general. We are told that he 
was always foremost in peril and the last to quit the 
field. He shared the toils and dangers of the mean- 
est of his followers, treating them with frank affa- 
bility; watching, fighting, fasting, and labouring 
with them ; visiting and consoling such as were sick 
or infirm, and dividing all his gains with fairness and 
liberality. He was chargeable at times with acts of 
bloodshed and injustice, but it is probable that these 
were often called for as measures of safety and pre- 
caution ; he certainly offended less against humanity 
than most of the early discoverers ; and the un- 
bounded amity and confidence reposed in him by 
the natives, when they became intimately ac- 
quainted with his character, speak strongly in fav- 
our of his kind treatment of them. 

The character of Vasco Nunez had, in fact, risen 
with his circumstances, and now assumed a noble- 
ness and grandeur from the discovery he had made, 
and the nnportant charge it had devolved upon 
him. He no longer felt himself a mere soldier of 
fortune, at the head of a band of adventurers, but a 
great commander conducting an immortal enter- 
prise. " Behold," says old Peter Martyr, " Vasco 
Nunez de Balboa, at once transformed from a rash 
royster to a politic and discreet captain :" and thus 
it is that men are often made by their fortunes ; that 
is to say, their latent qualities are brought out, and 
shaped and strengthened by events, and by the ne- 
cessity of every exertion to cope with the greatness 
of their destiny. 



CHAPTER XV. 

TRANSACTIONS IN SPAIN — PEDRARIAS DAVILA 
APPOINTED TO THE COMMAND OF DARIEN— 
TIDINGS RECEIVED IN SPAIN OF THE DISCOV- 
ERY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 

Vasco NuSez de Balboa now flattered himself 
that he had made a discovery calculated to silence 
all his enemies at court, and to elevate him to the 
highest favour with his sovereign. He wrote letters 
to the king, giving a detail of his expedition, and 
setting forth all that he had seen or heard of this 
Southern Sea, and of the rich countries upon its bor- 
ders. Beside the royal fifths of the profits of the 
expedition, he prepared a present for the sovereign, 
in the name of himself and his companions, consist- 
ing of the largest and most precious pearls they had 
collected. As a tnisty and intelligent envoy to bear 
these tidings, he chose Pedro de Arbolancha, an old 
and tried friend, who had accoinpanied him in his 
toils and dangers, and was well acquainted with all 
his transactions. 

The fate of Vasco Nuiiez furnishes a striking in- 
stance how prosperity and adversity, how even life 
and death hang balanced upon a point of time, and 
are affected by the improvement or neglect ol mo- 
ments. Unfortunately, the ship which was to con-- 
vey the messenger to spain lingered in port until the 
beginning of March ; a delay which had a fatal in- 
fluence on the fortunes of Vasco Nunez. It is nec- 
essary here to cast an eye back upon the events which 
had taken place in Spain while he was employed in 
lljs conquests and discoveries. 

The Bachelor Enciso had arrived in Castile full 
of his wrongs and indignities. He had friends at 
court, who aided him in gaining a ready hearing, 
and he lost not a moment in availing himself of it. 
He declaimed eloquently upon the alleged usurpa- 
tion of Vasco Nunez, and represented him as gov- 
erning the colony by force and fraud. It was in vain 
that the Alcalde Zamudio, the ancient colleague and 
the envoy of Vasco Nunez, attempted to speak in 
his defence ; he was unable to cope with the facts 
and arguments of the Bachelor, who was a pleader 
by profession, and now pleaded his own cause. The 
king determined to send a new governor to Darien, 
with power to inquire into and remedy all abuses. 
For this office he chose Don Pedro Arias Davila, 
commonly called Pedrarias.* He was a native of 
Segovia, who had been brought up in the royal 
household, and had distinguished himself as a brave 
soldier, both in the war in Granada and at the tak- 
ing of Oran and Bugia in .A.frica. He possessed 
those personal accomplishments which captivate the 
soldier)', and was called el Galan, for his gallant ar- 
ray and courtly demeanour, and el "Justador, or the 
Titter, for his dexterity in jousts and tournaments. 
These, it must be admitted, were not the qualifica- 
tions most adapted for the government of rude and 
factious colonics in a wilderness ; but he had an all- 
powert'ul friend in the Bishop Fonseca. The Bishop 
was as thoroughgoing in patronage as in persecu- 
tion. He assured the king that Pedrarias had un- 
derstanding equal to his valour ; that he was as ca- 
pable of managing the affairs of peace as of war, 
and that, having been brought up in the royal house- 
hold, his loyalty might be implicitly relied on. 

Scarcely had Don Pedrarias been appointed, 
when Cayzedo and Colmenares arrived on their mis- 
sion from Darien, to coinmunicite the intelligence 
received from the son of the cacique Comagre, of 
the Southern Sea beyond the mountains, and to ask 



* By the English historians he has generally been called Davila, 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



775 



one thousand men to enable Vasco Nuiiez to make 
the discovery. 

The avarice and ambition of Ferdmand were in- 
flamed by the tidings. He rewarded the bearers of 
tlie intelligence, and, after consulting with Bishop 
Fonseca, resolved to despatch immediately a power- 
ful armada, with twelve hundred men, under the 
command of Pedrarias, to accomplish the enter- 
prise. 

Just about this time the famous Gonsalvo Her- 
nandez de Cordova, commonly called the Great 
Captain, was preparing to return to Naples, where 
the allies of Spain had experienced a signal defeat, 
and had craved the assistance of this renowned gen- 
eral to retrieve their fortunes. The chivalry of Spain 
thronged to enlist under the banner of Gonsalvo. 
The Spanish nobles, with their accustomed prodi- 
gality, sold or mortgaged their estates to buy gor- 
geous armour, silks, brocades, and other articles of 
martial pomp and lu.xury, that they might figure, 
with becoming magnificence, in the campaigns of 
Italy. The armament was on the point of sailing 
for Naples with this host of proud and gallant spir- 
its, when the jealous mind of Ferdinand took offence 
at the enthusiasm thus shown towards his general, 
and he abruptly countermanded the expedition. The 
Spanish cavaliers were overwhelmed with disappoint- 
ment at having their dreams of glory thus suddenly 
dispelled ; when, as if to console them, the enter- 
prise of Pedrarias was set on foot, and opened a dif- 
ferent career of adventure. The very idea of an 
unknown sea and splendid empire, where never Eu- 
ropean ship had sailed or foot had trodden, broke 
upon the imagination with the vague wonders of an 
Arabian tale. Even the countries already known, 
in the vicinity of the settlement of Darien, were de- 
scribed in the usual terms of exaggeration. Gold 
was said to lie on the surface of the ground, or to 
be gathered with nets out of the brooks and rivers ; 
insomuch that the region hitherto called Terra 
Firma, now received the pompous and delusive ap- 
pellation of Castilla del Oro, or Golden Castile. 

Excited by these reports, many of the youthful 
cavaliers, who had prepared for the Italian campaign, 
now offered themselves as volunteers to Don Pedra- 
rias. He accepted their services, and appointed 
Seville as the place of assemblage. The streets of 
that ancient city soon swarmed with young and no- 
ble cavaliers splendidly arrayed, full of spirits, and 
eager for the sailing of the Indian armada. Pedra- 
rias, on his arrival at Seville, made a general review 
of his forces, and was embarrassed to find that the 
number amounted to three thousand. He had been 
limited in his first armament to twelve hundred ; on 
representing the nature of the case, however, the 
number was extended to fifteen hundred ; but through 
influence, entreaty, and stratagem, upwards of two 
thousand eventually embarked.* Happy did he think 
himself who could in any manner, and by any means, 
get admitted on board of the squadron. Nor was 
this eagerness for the enterprise confined merely to 
young and buoyant and ambitious adventurers ; we 
are told that there were many covetous old men, 
who offered to go at their own expense, without 
seeking any jiay from the king. Thus every eye was 
turned with desire to this squadron of modern Ar- 
gonauts, as it lay anchored on the bosom of the 
Guadalquiver. 

The pay and appointments of Don Pedrarias 
Davila were on the most liberal scale, and no ex- 
pense was spared in fitting out the armament ; for 
the object of the expedition were both colonization 
and conquest. Artillery and powder were procured 



* Oviedo, I. ii., c. 7. MS. 



from Malaga. Beside the usual weapons, such as 
muskets, cross-bows, swords, pikes, lances, and Nea- 
politan targets, there was armour devised of quilted 
cotton, as being light and better adapted to the cli- 
mate, and sufficiently proof against the weapons of 
the Indians ; and wooden bucklers from, the Canary 
Islands, to ward off the poisoned arrows of the 
Caribs. 

Santa Maria de la Antigua was, by royal ordi- 
nance, elevated into the metropolitan city of Golden 
Castile, and a Franciscan friar, named Juan de 
Ouevedo, was appointed as bishop, with powers to 
decide in all cases of conscience. A number of 
friars were nominated to accompany him, and he 
was provided with the necessary furniture and ves- 
sels for a chapel. 

Among the various regulations made for the good 
of the inlant colony, it was ordained that no lawyers 
should be admitted there, it having been found at 
Hispaniola and elsewhere, that they were detriment- 
al to the welfare of the settlements, by fomenting 
disputes and litigations. The judicial affairs were 
to be entirely confided to the Licentiate Caspar de 
Espinosa, who was to officiate as Alcalde Mayor or 
chief judge. 

Don Pedrarias had intended to leave his wife in 
Spain. Her name was Doiia Isabella de Bobadilla ; 
she was niece to the Marchioness de Moya, a great 
favourite of the late Queen Isabella, who had been 
instrumental in persuading her royal mistress to 
patronize Columbus* Her niece partook of her 
high and generous nature. She refused to remain 
behind in selfish security, but declared that she 
would accompany her husband in every peril, whether 
by sea or land. This self-devotion is the more re- 
markable when it is considered that she was past 
the romantic period of youth ; and that she had a 
family of four sons and four daughters, whom she 
left behind her in Spain. 

Don Pedrarias was instructed to use great indul- 
gence towards the people of Darien, wha had been 
the followers of Nicuesa, and to remit the royal tithe 
of all the gold they might have collected previous to 
his arrival. Towards Vasco Nufiez de Balboa alone 
the royal countenance was stern and severe. Pe- 
drarias was to depose him from his assumed author- 
ity, and to call him to strict account before the Al- 
calde Mayor, Caspar de Espinosa, for his treatment 
of the Bachelor Enciso. 

The splendid fleet, consisting of fifteen sail, weighed 
anchor at St. Lucar on the 12th of April, 1514, 
and swept proudly out of the Guadalquiver, thronged 
with the chivalrous adventurers for Golden Castile. 
But a short time had elapsed after its departure, 
when Pedro Arbolancho arrived with the tardy mis- 
sions of Vasco Nunez. Had he arrived a few days 
sooner, how different might have been the fortunes 
of his friend ! 

He was immediately admitted to the royal pres- 
ence, where he announced the adventurous and suc- 
cessful expedition of Vasco Nuiiez, and laid before 
the kmg the pearls and golden ornaments which he 
had brought as the first fruits of the discovery. King 
Ferdinand listened with charmed attention to this 
tale of unknown seas and wealthy realms added to 
his empire. It filled, in fact, the imaginations of 
the most sage and learned with golden dreams, and 
anticipations of unbounded riches. Old Peter Martyr, 
who received letters from his friends in Darien, and 
communicated by word of mouth with those who 
came from thence, writes to Leo the Tenth in exult- 



* This was the s.ime Marchioness de Moya, who during the Wiu 
of Granada, while the court and royal army were encamped before 
^lalaga, was mistaken for the queen by a Moorish fanatic, and had 
nearly fallen beneath his dagger. 



776 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ing terms of this event. "Spain," says he, "will 
herealter be able to satisfy with pearls the greedy 
appetite of such as in wanton pleasures are like unto 
Cleopatra and /Esopus ; so that henceforth we shall 
neither envy nor reverence the nice fruitfulness of 
Trapoban or the Red Sea. The Spaniards will not 
need hereafter to mine and dig far into the earth, 
nor to cut asunder mountains in quest of gold, but 
will find it plentifully, in a manner, on the upper 
crust of the earth, or in the sands of rivers dried up 
by the heats of summer. Certainly the reverend an- 
tiquity obtained not so great a benefit of nature, nor 
even aspired to the knowledge thereof, since never 
man before, from the known world, penetrated to 
these unknown regions."* 

The tidings of this discovery at once made all 
Spain resound with the praises of Vasco Nunez ; 
and, from being considered a lawless and desperate 
adventurer, he was lauded to the skies as a worthy 
successor to Columbus. The king repented of the 
harshness of his late measures towards him, and 
ordered the Bishop Fonseca to devise some mode of 
rewarding his transcendent services. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



ARRIVAL AND GRAND ENTRY OF DON PEDRARIAS 
DAVILA INTO DARIEN. 

While honours and rewards were preparing in 
Europe for Vasco Nunez, that indefatigable com- 
mander, inspired by his fortunes, with redoubled zeal 
and loftier ambition, was exercising the paternal 
forethought and discretion of a patriotic governor 
over the country subjectetl to his rule. His most 
strenuous exertions were directed to bring the neigh- 
bourhood of Darien into such a state of cultivation 
as might render the settlement independent of Europe 
for supplies. The town was situated on the banks 
of a river, and contained upwards of two hundred 
houses and cabins. Its population amounted to five 
hundred and fifteen Europeans, all men, and fifteen 
hundred Indians, male and female. Orchards and 
gardens had been laid out, where European as well 
as native fruits and vegetables were cultivated, and 
already gave promise of future abundance. Vasco 
Nunez devised all kinds of means to keep up the 
spirits of his people. On holidays they had their 
favourite national sports and games, and particularly 
tilting matches, of which chivalrous amusement the 
Spaniards in those days were extravagantly fond. 
Sometimes he gratified their restless and roving 
habits by sending them on expeditions to various 
parts of the country, to acquire a knowledge of its 
resources, and to strengthen his sway over the na- 
tives. He was so successful in securing the amity 
or exciting the awe of the Indian tribes, that a Span- 
iard might go singly about the land in perfect safety; 
while his own followers were zealous in their devo- 
tion to him, both from admiration of his past exploits 
and from hopes of soon being led by him to new dis- 
coveries and conquests. Peter Martyr, in his letter 
to Leo the Tenth, speaks in high terms of these " old 
soldiers of Darien," the remnants of those well-tried 
adventurers who had followed the fortunes of Ojeda, 
Nicuesa, and Vasco Nunez. " They were hardened," 
says he, " to abide all sorrows, and were exceedingly 
tolerant of labour, heat, hunger, and watching, inso- 
much that they merrily make their boast that they 
have observed a longer and sharper Lent than ever 
■your Holiness enjoined, since, for the space of four 



*P. Martyr, decad. 3, chap. iii. Lok's translation. 



years, their food has been herbs and fruits, with now 
and then fish, and veiy seldom fiesh."* 

Such were the hardy and well-seasoned veterans 
that were under the sway of Vasco Nunez ; and the 
colony gave signs of rising in prosperity under his 
active and fostering management, when in the month 
of June, the fleet of Don Pedrarias Davila arrived in 
the Gulfof Uraba. 

The Spanish cavaliers who accompanied the new 
governor were eager to get on shore, and to behold 
the anticipated wonders of the land ; but Pedrarias, 
knowing the resolute character of Vasco Nunez, and 
the devotion of his followers, apprehended some 
difficulty in getting possession of the colony. Anchor- 
ing, therefore, about a league and a half from the 
settlement, he sent a messenger on shore to an- 
nounce his arrival. The envoy, having heard so 
much in Spain of the prowess and exploits of Vasco 
Nunez and the riches of Golden Castile, expected, no 
doubt, to find a blustering warrior, maintaining bar- 
baric state in the government which he had usurped. 
Great was his astonishment, therefore, to find this 
redoubtable hero a plain, unassuming man, clad in a 
cotton frock and drawers, and hempen sandals, di- 
recting and aiding the labour of several Indians who 
were thatching a cottage in vvhich he resided. 

The messenger approached him respectfully, and 
announced the arrival of Don Pedrarias Davila as 
governor of the country. 

Whatever Vasco Nunez may have felt at this in- 
telligence, he suppressed his emotions, and an- 
swered the messenger with great discretion : " Tell 
Don Pedrarias Davila," said he, " that he is wel- 
come, that I congratulate him on his safe arrival, 
and am ready, with all who are here, to obey his 
orders." 

The little community of rough and daring advent- 
urers was immediately in an uproar when they found 
a new governor had arrived. Some of the most 
zealous adherents of Vasco Nunez were disposed to 
sally forth, sword in hand, and repel the intruder; 
but they were restrained by their more considerate 
chieftain, who prepared to receive the new governor 
with all due submission. 

Pedrarias disembarked on the thirtieth of June, 
accompanied by his heroic wife. Dona Isabella ; 
who, according to old Peter Martyr, had sustained 
the roarings and rages of the ocean with no less 
stout courage than either her husband or even the 
mariners who had been brought up among the surges 
of the sea. 

Pedrarias set out for the embryo city at the head 
of two thousand men, all well armed. He led his wife 
by the hand, and on the other side of him was the 
bishop of Darien in his robes ; while a brilliant train 
of youthful cavaliers, in glittering armour and bro- 
cade, formed a kind of body-guard. 

All this pomp and splendour formed a striking 
contrast with the humble state of Vasco Nunez, who 
came forth unarmed, in simjjle attire, accompanied 
by his councillors and a handful of the " old soldiers 
of Darien," scarred and battered, and grown half 
wild in Indian w-arfare, but without weapons, and in 
garments much the worse for wear. 

Vasco Nunez saluted Don Pedrarias Davila with 
profound reverence, and promised him implicit obedi- 
ence, both in his own name and in the name of the 
community. Having entered the town, he conduct- 
ed his distinguished guests to his straw-thatched 
habitation, where he had caused a repast to be pre- 
pared of such cheer as his means afforded, consist- 
nig of roots and fruits, maize and casava bread, with 
no other beverage than water from the river ; a sorry 



* P. Martyr, decad. 3, c. iii. Lok's translation. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



777 



palace and .1 meagre banquet in the eyes of the gay 
cavaliers, who had anticipated far other things from 
the usurper of Golden Castile. Vasco Nufiez, how- 
ever, acquitted himself in his humble wigwam with 
the courtesy and hospitality of a prince, and showed 
that the dignity of an entertainment depends more 
upon the giver than the feast. In the mean time a 
plentiful supply of European provisions was landed 
from the fleet, and a temporary abundance was 
diffused through the colony. 



CHAPTER XVI 1. 



PERFIDIOUS CONDUCT OF DON PEDRARIAS TO- 
WARDS VASCO NUNEZ. 

On the day after his entrance into Darien, Don 
Pedrarias held a private conference with Vasco 
Nufiez in presence of the historian Oviedo, who had 
come out from Spain as the public notary of the 
colony. The governor commenced by assuring him 
that he was instructed by the king to treat him with 
great favour and distinction, to consult him about 
the affairs of the colony, and to apply to him for in- 
formation relative to the surrounding country. At 
the same time he professed the most amicable feel- 
ings on his own part, and an intention to be guided 
by his counsels in all public measures. 

Vasco Nufiez was of a frank, confiding nature, and 
was so captivated by this unexpected courtesy and 
kindness, that he threw off all caution and reserve, 
and opened his whole soul to the politic courtier. 
Pedrarias availed himself of this communicative mood 
to draw from him a minute and able statement in 
writing, detailing the circumstances of the colony, 
and the information collected respecting various 
parts of the country ; the route by which he had 
traversed the mountains ; his discovery of the South 
Sea ; the situation and reputed wealth of the Pearl 
Islands ; the rivers and ravines most productive of 
gold ; together with the names and territories of 
the various caciques with whom he had made treat- 
ies. 

When Pedrarias had thus beguiled the unsuspect- 
ing soldier of all the information necessary for his 
purposes, he dropped the mask, and within a few 
days proclanned a judicial scrutiny into tlie conduct 
of Vasco Nunez and his officers. It was to be con- 
ducted by the Licentiate Caspar de Espinosa, who had 
come out as Alcalde Mayor, or chief judge. The 
Licentiate was an inexperienced lawyer, having but 
recently left the university of Salamanca. He ap- 
pears to have been somewhat flexible in his opinions, 
and prone to be guided or governed by others. At 
the outset of his career he was much under the in- 
fluence of Ouevedo, the Bishop of Darien. Now, as 
Vasco Nunez knew the importance of this prelate 
in the colony, he had taken care to secure him to his 
interests by paying him the most profound deference 
and respect, and by giving him a share in his agri- 
cultural enterprises and his schemes of traffic. In 
fact, the good bishop looked upon him as one emi- 
nently calculated to promote his temporal prosperity, 
to which he was by no means insensible. Under the 
influence of the prelate, therefore, the Alcalde com- 
menced his investigation in the most favourable 
manner. He went largely into an exammation of 
the discoveries of Vasco Nunez, and of the nature 
and exterit of his various services. The governor 
was alarmed at the course which the inquiry was 
taking. If thus conducted, it would but serve to il- 
lustrate the merits and elevate the reputation of the 
man whom it was his interest and intent to ruin. 



To counteract it he immediately set on foot a secret 
and invidious course of interrogatories of the follow- 
ers of Nicuesa and Ojeda, to draw from them testi- 
mony which might support the charge against Vasco 
Nufiez of usurpation and tyrannical abuse of power. 
The bishop and the Alcalde received information of 
this inquisition, carried on thus secretly, and without 
their sanction. They remonstrated warmly against 
it, as an infringement of their rights, being coadjutors 
in the government ; and they spurned the testimony 
of the followers of Ojeda and Nicuesa, as being dic- 
tated and discoloured by ancient enmity. Vasco 
Nunez was, therefore, acquitted by them of the 
criminal charges made against him, though he re- 
mained involved in difficulties from the suits brought 
against him by individuals, for losses and damages 
occasioned by his measures. 

Pedrarias was incensed at this acquittal, and in- 
sisted upon the guilt of Vasco Nunez, which he pre- 
tended to have established to his conviction by his 
secret investigations ; and he even determined to 
send him in chains to Spain, to be tried for the death 
of Nicuesa, and for other imputed offences. 

It was not the inclination or the interest of the 
bishop that Vasco Nunez should leave the colony ; 
he therefore managed to awaken the jealous appre- 
hensions of the governor as to the effect of his pro- 
posed measure. He intimated that the arrival of 
Vasco Nunez in Spain would be signalized by 
triumph rather than disgrace. By that time his 
grand discoveries would be blazoned to the world, 
and would atone for all his faults. He would be 
received with enthusiasm by the nation, with favour 
by the king, and would probably be sent back to the 
colony clothed with new dignity and power. 

Pedrarias was placed in a perplexing dilemma by 
these suggestions ; his violent proceedings .against 
Vasco Nuflez were also in some measure restrained 
by the influence of his wife. Dona Isabel de Boba- 
diUa, who felt a great respect and sympathy for the 
discoverer. In his perplexity, the wily governor 
adopted a middle course. He resolved to detain 
Vasco Nufiez at Darien under a cloud of imputation, 
which would gradually impair his popularity ; while 
his patience and means would be silently consumed 
by protracted and expensive litigation. In the mean 
time, however, the property which had been seques- 
trated was restored to him. 

While Pedrarias treated Vasco Nunez with this 
severity, he failed not to avail himself of the plans 
of that able commander. The first of these was to 
establish a line of posts across the mountains be- 
tween Darien and the South Sea. It was his eager 
desire to execute this before any order should arrive 
from the king in favour of his predecessor, in order 
that he might have the credit of having colonized 
the coast, and Vasco Nunez merely that of having 
discovered and visited it.* Before he could com- 
plete these arrangements, however, unlooked-for 
calamities fell upon the settlement, that lor a time 
interrupted every project, and made every one turn 
his thoughts merely to his own security. 



CHAPTER XVllI. 



CALAMITIES OF THE SPANISH CAVALIERS AT 
DARIEN. 

The town of Darien was situated in a deep valley 
surrounded by lofty hills, which, while they kept off 
the breezes so grateful in a sultry climate, reflected 



* Oviedo, Hist. Ind. p. 2. c. 8. 



778 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



and concentrated the rays of the sun, insomuch that 
at noontide the heat was insupportable ; the river 
which passed it was shallow, with a muddy channel 
and bordered by marshes ; overhanginjj forests 
added to the general humidity, and the very soil on 
W'hich the town was built was of such a nature, that 
on digging- to the depth of a foot there would ooze 
forth brackish water.* 

It is not matter of surprise that a situation of this 
kind, in a tropical climate, should be fatal to the 
health of Europeans. Many of those who had re- 
cently arrived were swept off speedily ; Pedrarias 
himself fell sick and was removed, with most of his 
people, to a healthier spot on the river Corobari ; 
the malady, however, continued to increase. The 
provisions which had been brought out in the ships 
had been partly damaged by the sea, the residue 
grew scanty, and the people were put upon short 
allowance ; the debility thus produced increased the 
ravages of the disease ; at length the provisions 
were exhausted and the horrors of absolute famine 
ensued. 

Every one was more or less affected by these 
calamities ; even the veterans of the colony quailed 
beneath them ; but to none were they more fatal 
than to the crowd of youthful cavaliers who had once 
glittered so gaily about the streets of Seville, and 
had come out to the new world elated with the most 
sanguine expectations. From the very moment of 
their landing they had been disheartened at the 
savage scenes around them, and disgusted with the 
squalid life they were doomed to lead. They 
shrunk with disdain from the labours with which 
alone wealth was to be procured in this land of gold 
and pearls, and were impatient of the humble exer- 
tions necessary for the maintenance of existence. As 
the famine increased, their case became desperate ; 
for they were unable to help themselves, and their 
rank and dignity commanded neither deference nor 
aid at a time when common misery made every 
one selfish. Many of them, who had mortgaged 
estates in Spain to fit themselves out sumptuously 
for their Italian campaign, now perished for lack of 
food. Some would be seen bartering a robe of crim- 
son silk, or some garment of rich brocade, for a 
pound of Indian bread or European biscuit ; others 
sought to satisfy the cravings of hunger with the 
herbs and roots of the field, and one of the principal 
cavaliers absolutely expired of hunger in the public 
streets. 

In this wretched way, and in the short space of 
one month, perished seven hundred of the little army 
of youthful and buoyant spirits who had embarked 
with Pedrarias. The bodies of some remained for a 
day or two without sepulture, their friends not hav- 
ing sufficient strength to bury them. Unable to 
remedy the evil, Pedrarias gave permission for his 
men to flee from it. A ship-load of starving ad- 
venturers departed for Cuba, where some of them 
joined the standard of Diego Velasquez, who was 
colonizing that island ; others made their way back 
to Spain, where they arrived broken in health, in 
spirits, and in fortune. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

FRUITLESS E.KPEDITION OF PEDRARIAS. 

The departure of so many hungry mouths was 
some temporary relief to the colony ; and Pedrarias, 
having recovered from his malady, bestirred hini- 



*P. Martyr, decad 3, c. vi. 



self to send expeditions in various directions for the 
|)urpose of foraging the country and collecting the 
treasure. 

These expeditions, however, were entrusted to his 
own favourites and partisans : while Vasco Nuiiez, 
the man most competent to carry them into effect, 
remained idle and neglected. A judicial inquiry, 
tardily carried on, overshadowed him, and though it 
substantiated nothing, served to embarrass his ac- 
tions, to cool his friends, and to give him the air of a 
public delinquent. Indeed, to the other evils of the 
colony was now added that of excessive litigation, 
arising out of the disputes concerning the govern- 
ment of Vasco Nunez, and which increased to such 
a degree, that according to the report of the Alcalde 
Espinosa, if the law-suits should be divided among 
the people, at least forty would fall to each man's 
share.* This too was in a colony into which the 
government had commanded that no lawyer should 
be admitted. 

Wearied and irritated by the check which had 
been given to his favourite enterprises, and confi- 
dent of the ultimate approbation of the king, Vasco 
Nufiez now determined to take his fortunes in his 
own hands, and to prosecute in secret his grand pro- 
ject of exploring the regions beyond the mountains. 
For this purpose he privately despatched one Andres 
Garabito to Cuba to enlist men, and to make the 
requisite provisions for an expedition across the 
isthmus, from Nombre de Dios, and for the founding 
a colony on the shores of the Southern Ocean, from 
whence he proposed to extend his discoveries by 
sea and land. 

While Vasco Nunez awaited the return of Gara- 
bito, he had the mortification of beholding various 
of his colonizing plans pursued and marred by Pedra- 
rias. Among other enterprises, the governor des- 
patched his lieutenant-general, Juan de Ayora, at 
the head of four hundred men, to visit the provinces 
of those caciques with whom Vasco Nunez had so- 
journed and made treaties on his expedition to the 
Southern Sea. Ayora partook of the rash and domi- 
neering spirit of Pedrarias, and harassed and devas- 
tated the countries which he pretended to explore. 
He was received with amity and confidence by vari- 
ous caciques w'ho had formed treaties with Vasco 
Nufiez ; but he repaid their hospitality with the 
basest ingratitude, seizing upon their property, taking 
from them their wives and daughters, and often tor- 
turing them to make them reveal their hidden or 
supposed treasures. Among those treated with this 
perfidy, we grieve to enumerate the youthful cacique 
who first gave Vasco Nuriez information of the sea 
beyond the mountains. 

The enormities of Ayora and of other captains of 
Pedrarias produced the usual effect ; the natives 
were roused to desperate resistance ; caciques who 
had been faithful friends, were converted into furious 
enemies, and the expedition ended in disappoint- 
ment and disaster. 

The adherents of Vasco Nunez did not fail to con- 
trast these disastrous enterprises with those which 
had been conducted with so much glory and advan- 
tage by their favourite commander ; and their sneers 
and reproaches had such an effect upon the jealous 
and irritable disposition of Pedrarias, that he deter- 
mined to employ their idol in a service that would 
be likely to be attended with defeat and to impair 
his popularity. None seemed more fitting for the 
purpose than an expedition to Dobayba, where he 
had once already attempted in vain to penetrate, and 
where so many of his followers had fallen victims to 
the stratagems and assaults of the natives. 



• Herrera, decad. 2. 1. i. c. 1. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



779 



CHAPTER XX. 

SECOND EXPEDITION OF VASCO NUSEZ IN QUEST 
OF THE GOLD TEMPLE OF DOBAYBA. 

The rich mines of Dobayba and the treasures of 
its golden temple had continued to form a favourite 
theme with the Spanish adventurers. It was ascer- 
tained that Vasco Nunez had stopped short of the 
wealthy region on his former expedition, and had 
mistaken a frontier village for the residence of the 
cacique. The enterprise of the temple was therefore 
still to be achieved ; and it was solicited by several 
of the cavaliers in the train of Pedrarias with all the 
chivalrous ardour of that romantic age. Indeed, 
common report had invested the enterprise with dif- 
ficulties and danger sufiicient to stimulate the ambi- 
tion of the keenest seeker of adventure. The sav- 
ages who inhabited that part of the country were 
courageous and adroit. They fought by water as 
well as by land, forming ambuscades with their ca- 
noes in the bays and rivers. The country was inter- 
sected by dreary fens and morasses, infested by all 
kinds of reptiles. Clouds of gnats and musquitoes 
filled the air ; there were large bats also, supposed 
to have the baneful properties of the vampire ; alli- 
gators lurked in the waters, and the gloomy recesses 
of the fens were said to be the dens of dragons I * 

Besides these objects of terror, both true and fab- 
ulous, the old historian, Peter Martyr, makes inen- 
tion of another monstrous animal said to inlest this 
golden region, and which deserves to be cited, as 
showing the miaginary dangers with which the act- 
ive minds of the discoverers peopled the une.xplored 
wilderness around them. 

According to the tales of the Indians, there had 
occurred shortly before the arrival of the Spaniards 
a violent tempest, or rather hurricane, in the neigh- 
bourhood of Dobayba, which demolished houses, 
tore up trees by the roots, and laid waste whole for- 
ests. When the tempest had subsided, and the 
affrighted inhabitants ventured to look abroad, they 
found that two monstrous animals had been brought 
into the country by the hurricane. According to 
their accounts, they were not unlike the ancient har- 
pies, and one being smaller than the other was sup- 
posed to be its young. They had the faces of women, 
with the claws and wings of eagles, and were of such 
prodigious size that the very boughs of the trees on 
which they alighted broke beneath them. They 
would swoop down and carry off a man as a hawk 
would bear off a chicken, flymg with him to the tops 
of the mountains, where they would tear him in 
pieces and devour him. For some time they were 
the scourge and terror of the land, until the Indians 
succeeded in killing the old one by stratagem, and 
hanging her on their long spears, bore her through 
all the towns to assuage the alarm of the inhabitants. 
The younger harpy, says the Indian tradition, was 
never seen afterwards.! 

Such were some of the perils, true and fabulous, 
with which the land of Dobayba was said to abound ; 
and, in fact, the very Indians had such a dread of its 
dark and dismal morasses, that in their journeyings 
they carefully avoided them, preferring the circuitous 
and rugged paths of the mountains. 

Several of the youthful cavaliers, as hasbeen ob- 
ser\'ed, were stimulated, rather than deterred, by 
these dangers, and contended for the honour of the 
expedition ; but Pedrarias selected his rival for the 
task, hoping, as has been hinted, that it would in- 
volve hull in disgrace. Vasco Nunez promptly ac- 
cepted the enterprise, for his pride was concerned 



in its success. Two hundred resolute men were 
given to him for the purpose ; but his satisfaction 
was diminished when he found that Luis Carrillo, an 
officer of Pedrarias, who had failed in a perilous en- 
terprise, was associated with him in the command. 

Few particulars remain to us of the events of this 
affair. They embarked in a fleet of canoes, and, trav- 
ersing the gulf, arrived at the river which flowed 
down from the region of Dobayba. They were not 
destined, however, to achieve the enterprise of the 
golden temple. As they were proceeding rather 
confidently and unguardedly up the river, they were 
suddenly surprised and surrounded by an immense 
swarm of canoes, filled with armed savages, which 
darted out from lurking places along the shores. 
Some of the Indians assailed them with lances, oth- 
ers with clouds of arrows, while some, plunging into 
the water, endeavoured to overturn their canoes. In 
this way one-half of the Spaniards were killed or 
drowned. Among the number fell Luis Carrillo, 
pierced through the breast by an Indian lance. 
Vasco Nunez himself was wounded, and had great 
difficulty in escaping to the shore with the residue of 
his forces. 

The Indians pursued him and kept up a skirmish- 
ing attack, but he beat them off until the night, when 
he silently abandoned the shore of the river, and di- 
rected his retreat towards Darien. It is easier to 
imagine than to describe the toils and dangers and 
horrors which beset him and the remnant of his 
men, as they traversed rugged mountains or strug- 
gled through these fearful morasses, of which they 
had heard such terrific tales. At length they suc- 
ceeded in reaching the settlement of Darien. 

The partisans of Pedrarias exulted in seeing Vasco 
Nunez return thus foiled and wounded, and taunted 
his adherents with their previous boastings. The 
latter, however, laid all the blame upon the unfortu- 
nate Carrillo. " Vasco Nunez," said they, " had al- 
ways absolute command in his former enterprises, 
but in this he has been embarrassed by an associate. 
Had the expedition been confided to him alone, the 
event had been far different." 



CHAPTER XXI. 



• P. Martyr. 



t P. MartjT, decad. 7, c. lo, 



LETTERS FROM THE KING IN FAVOUR OF VASCO 
NUSEZ — ARRIVAL OF GARABITO — ARREST OF 

VASCO nuSez — (1 5 1 5.) 

About this time despatches arrived from Spain 
that promised to give a new turn to the fortunes of 
Vasco Nunez and to the general affairs of the colony. 
They were written alter the tidings of the discovery 
of the South Sea, and the subjugation of so many 
important provinces of the Isthmus. In a letter ad- 
dressed to Vasco Nunez, the king expressed his high 
sense of his merits and services, and constituted him 
Adelantado of the South Sea, and Governor of the 
provinces of Panama and Coyba, though subordinate 
to the general command of Pedrarias. A letter was 
likewise written by the king to Pedrarias, informing 
him of this appointment, and ordering him to con- 
sult Vasco Nuiiez on all public affairs of importance. 
This was a humiliating blow to the pride and conse- 
quence of Pedrarias, but he hoped to parry it. In 
the mean time, as all letters from Spain were first 
delivered into his hands, he withheld that intended 
for Vasco Nunez, until he should determine what 
course of conduct to adopt. The latter, however, 
heard of the circumstance, as did his friend the 
Bishop of Darien. The prelate made loud com- 
plaints of this interruption of the royal correspond- 



780 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



eiice, which he denounced, even from the pulpit, as 
an outrage upon the rights of the subject, and an act 
of disobethence to the sovereign. 

Upon this the govejnor called a council of his pub- 
lic officers ; and, after imparting the contents of his 
letter, requested their opinion as to the propriety of 
investing Vasco Nunez with the dignities thus granted 
to him. The Alcalde Mayor, Espinosa, had left the 
party of the bishop, and was now devoted to the gover- 
nor. He insisted, vehemently, that the offices ought 
in no wise to be given to Vasco Nunez, until the king 
should be informed of the result of the inquest which 
was still going on against him. In this he was 
warmly supported by the treasurer and the account- 
ant. The bishop replied, indignantly, that it was 
presumptuous and disloyal in them to dispute the 
commands of the king, and to interfere with the re- 
wards conscientiously given by him to a meritorious 
subject. In this way, he added, they were defeating, 
by their passions, the grateful intentions of their sov- 
ereign. The governor was overawed by the honest 
warmth of the bishop, and professed to accord with 
him in opinion. The council lasted until midnight ; 
and it was finally agreed that the titles and dignities 
should be conferred on Vasco Nunez on the following 
day.* 

Pedrarias and his officers reflected, however, that 
if the jurisdiction implied by these titles were abso- 
lutely vested in Vasco Nunez, the government of 
Darien and Castilla del Oro would virtually be re- 
duced to a trifling matter ; they resolved, therefore, 
to adopt a middle course ; to grant him the empty ti- 
tles, but to make him give security not to enter upon 
the actual government of the territories in question, 
until Pedrarias should give him permission. The 
bishop and Vasco Nufiez assented to this arrange- 
ment ; satisfied, for the present, with securing the 
titles, and trusting to the course of events to get do- 
minion over the territories.t 

The new honours of Vasco Nunez were now pro- 
mulgated to the world, and he was every where ad- 
dressed by the title of Adelantado. His old friends 
lifted up their heads with exultation, and new ad- 
herents flocked to his standard. Parties began to 
form for him and for Pedrarias, for it was deemed 
impossible they could continue long in harmony. 

The jealousy of the governor was excited by these 
circumstances ; and he regarded the newly created 
Adelantado as a dangerous rival and an insidious 
loe. Just at this critical juncture, Andres Garabito, 
the agent of Vasco Nunez, arrived on the coast in a 
vessel which he had procured at Cuba, and had 
freighted with arms and ammunition, and seventy 
resolute men, for the secret expedition to the shores 
of the Pacific Ocean. He anchored six leagues from 
the harbour, and sent word privately to Vasco Nunez 
of his arrival. 

Information was immediately carried to Pedrarias, 
that a mysterious vessel, full of armed men, was hov- 
ering on the coast, and holding secret comiliunication 
with his rival. The suspicious temper of the gover- 
nor immediately took the alarm. He fancied some 
treasonable plot against his authority ; his passions 
mingled with his fears ; and, in the first burst of his 
fury, he ordered that Vasco Nunez should be seized 
and confined in a wooden cage. The Bishop of 
Darien interposed in time to prevent an indignity 
which it might have been impossible to expiate. He 
prevailed 'upon the passionate governor, not merely 
to retract the order respecting the cage, but to exam- 
ine the whole matter with coolness and deliberation. 



The result proved that his suspicions had been erro- 
neous ; and that the armament had been set on foot 
without any treasonable intent. Vasco Nunez was 
therefore set at liberty, after having agreed to certain 
precautionary conditions ; but he remained cast down 
in spirit and impoverished in fortune, by the harass- 
ing measures of Pedrarias. 



• Oviedo. part 2, c. 9. MS. Oviedo, the historian, was present 
at this consultation, and says that he wrote down the opinions given 
on the occasion, *hich the parlies signed with their proper hands. 

t Oviedo, part 2, c. g. MS. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

EXPEDITION OF MORALES AND PIZARRO TO THE 
SHORES OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN — THEIR VISIT 
TO THE PEARL ISLANDS — -THEIR DISASTROUS 
RETURN ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS. 

The Bishop of Darien, encouraged by the success 
of his intercession, endeavoured to persuade the gov- 
ernor to go still further, and to permit the departure 
of Vasco Nuiiez on his expedition to the South Sea. 
The jealousy of Pedrarias, however, was too strong 
to permit him to listen to such counsel. He was 
aware of the importance of the expedition, and was 
anxious that the Pearl Islands should be explored, 
which promised such abundant treasures ; but he 
feared to increase the popularity of Vasco Nunez, by 
adding such an enterprise to the number of his 
achievements. Pedrarias. therefore, set on foot an 
expedition, consisting of sixty men, but gave the 
command to one of his own' relations, named Caspar 
Morales. The latter was accompanied by Francisco 
Pizarro, who had already been to those parts in the 
train of Vasco Nuiiez, and who soon rose to impor- 
tance in the present enterprise by his fierce courage 
and domineering genius. 

A brief notice of the principal incidents of this 
expedition is all that is necessary for the present 
narration. 

Morales and Pizarro traversed the mountains of the 
isthmus by a shorter and more expeditious route than 
that which had been taken by Vasco Nuiiez, and ar- 
rived on the shores of the South Sea at the territo- 
ries of a cacique named Tutibra, by whom they were 
amicably entertained. Their great object was to visit 
the Pearl Islands : the cacique, however, had but 
four canoes, which were insufficient to contain their 
whole party. One-half of their number, therefore, 
remained at the village of Tutibra, under the com- 
mand of a captain named Penalosa ; the residue em- 
barked in the canoes with Morales and Pizarro. 
After a stormy and perilous voyage, they landed on 
one of the smaller islands, where they had some 
skirmishing with the natives, and thence made their 
way to the principal island of the Archipelago, to 
which, from the report of its great pearl fishery, Vasco 
Nunez had given the name of Isla Rica. 

The cacique of this island had long been the terror 
of the neighbouring coasts, invading the main land 
with fleets of canoes, and carrying off the inhabitants 
into captivity. His reception of the Spaniards was 
worthy of his fame. Four times did he sally forth to 
defend his territor\', and as often was he repulsed 
with great slaughter. His warriors were overwhelm- 
ed with terror at the fire-arms of the Spaniards, and 
at their ferocious bloodhounds. Finding all resist- 
ance unavailing, the cacique was at length compelled 
to sue for peace. His prayers being granted, he re- 
ceived the conquerors into his habitation, which was 
w'ell built, and of immense size. Here he brought 
them, as a peace-offering, a basket curiously wrought, 
and filled with pearls of great beauty. Among these 
were two of extraordinary size and value. One 
weighed twenty-five carats ; the other was of the 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



rsi 



size of a Muscadine pear, weighing' upwards of three 
drachms, and of oriental colour and lustre. The 
cacique considered himself more than repaid by a 
present of hatchets, beads, and hawks'-bells : and, on 
the Spaniards smiling at his joy, observed, "These 
things I can turn to useful pui-pose, but of what value 
are those pearls to me ? " 

Finding, however, that these baubles were precious 
in the eyes of the Spaniards, he tool< Morales and 
Pizarro to the summit of a wooden tower, command- 
ing an unbounded prospect. " Behold, before you," 
said he, " the infinite sea, which extends even be- 
yond the sun-beams. As to these islands which lie 
to the right and left, they are all subject to my sway. 
They possess but little gold, but the deep places of 
the sea around them are full of pearls. Continue to 
be my friends, and you shall have as many as you 
desire ; for I value your friendship more than pearls, 
and, as far as in me lies, will never forfeit it." 

He then pointed to the main land, where it stretch- 
ed towartls the east, mountain beyond mountain, 
until the summit of the last faded in the distance, 
and was scarcely seen above the watery horizon. In 
that direction, he said, there lay a vast country of 
inexhaustible riches, inhabited by a mighty nation. 
lie went on to repeat the vague but wonderful ru- 
mours which the Spaniards had frequently heard 
about the great Icingdom of Peru. Pizarro listened 
greedily to his words, and while his eye followed the 
finger of the cacique, as it ranged along the line 
of shadowy coast, his daring mind kindled with the 
thought of seeking this golden empire beyond the 
waters.* 

Before leaving the island, the two captains im- 
pressed the cacique with so great an idea of the 
power of the king of Castile, that he agreed to be- 
come his vassal, and to render him an annual tribute 
of one hundred pounds weight of pearls. 

The party having returned in safety to the main 
land, though to a different place from that where 
they had embarked, Caspar Morales sent his rela- 
tion, Bernardo Morales, with ten men in quest of 
Pefialosa and his companions, who had remained in 
the village of Tutibra. 

Unfortunately for the Spaniards, during the ab- 
sence of the commanders, this Pehalosa had so 
exasperated the natives by his misconduct, that a 
conspiracy had been formed by the caciques along 
the coast to massacre the whole of the strangers, 
when the party should return from the islands. 

Bernardo Morales and his companions, on their 
way in quest of Pefialosa, put up for the night in the 
village of a cacique named Chuchama, who was one 
of the conspirators. They were entertained with 
pretended hospitality. In the dead of the night, 
however, the house in which they were sleeping 
was wrapped in flames, and most of them were 
destroyed. Chuchama then prepared with his con- 
federates to attack the main body of the Spaniards 
who remained with Morales and Pizarro. 

Fortunately for the latter, there was among the 
Indians who had accompanied them to the islands a 
cacique named Chiruca, who was in secret corre- 
spondence with the conspirators. Some circum- 
stances in his conduct excited their suspicions ; they 
put him to the torture and drew- from him a relation of 
the massacre of their companions, and of the attack 
with wliich they were menaced. 

Morales and Pizarro were at first appalled by the 
overwhelming danger which surrounded them. Con- 
cealing their agitation, however, they compelled 
Chiruca to send a message to each of the confederate 
caciques, inviting him to a secret conference, under 



* Heirera, d. 2. \. i. c. iv. P. Martyr, d. 3. c. x. 



pretence of giving him important information. The 
caciques came at the summons : they were thus taken 
one by one to the number of eighteen, and put in 
chains. Just at this juncture Pehalosa arrived with 
the thirty men who had remained with him at Tuti- 
bra. Their arrival was hailed with joy by their 
comrades, who had given them up for lost. En- 
couraged by this unexpected reinforcement, the 
Spaniards now attacked by surprise the main body 
of confederate Indians, who, being ignorant of the 
discovery of their plot, and capture of their caciques, 
were awaiting the return of the latter in a state of 
negligent security. 

Pizarro led the van, and set upon the enemy at 
daybreak with the old Spanish war-cry of Santiago ! 
It was a slaughter rather than a battle, for the In- 
dians were unprepared for resistance. Before sun- 
rise, seven hundred lay dead upon the field. Return- 
ing from the massacre, the commanders doomed the 
caciques who were in chains to be torn in pieces by 
the bloodhounds ; nor was even Chiruca spared 
from this sanguinary sentence. Notwithstanding 
this bloody revenge, the vindictive spirit of the com- 
manders was still unappeased, and they set off to 
surprise the village of a cacique named Biru, who 
dwelt on the eastern side of the Gulf of St. Michael. 
He was famed for valour and for cruelty : his dwell- 
ing was surrounded by the weapons and other tro- 
phies of those whom he had vanquished ; and he 
was said never to give quarter. 

The Spaniards assailed his village before daybreak 
with fire and sword, and made dreadful havoc. Biru 
escaped from his burning habitation, rallied his 
people, kept up a galling fight throughout the great- 
er part of that day, and handled the Spaniards so 
roughly, that, when he drew off at night, they did 
not venture to pursue him, but returned right gladly 
from his territory. According to some of the Span- 
ish writers, the kingdom of Peru derived its name 
from this warlike cacique, through a blunder of the 
early discoverers ; the assertion, however, is believed 
to be erroneous. 

The Spaniards had pushed their bloody revenge 
to an extreme, and were now doomed to suffer from 
the recoil. In the fury of their passions, they had 
forgotten that they were but a handful of men sur- 
rounded by savage nations. Returning wearied and 
disheartened from the battle with Biru, they were 
waylaid and assaulted by a host of Indians led on by 
the son of Chiruca. A javelin from his hand pierced 
one of the Spaniards through the breast and came 
out between the shoulders ; several others were 
wounded, and the remainder were harassed by 
a galling fire kept up from among rocks and 
bushes. 

Dismayed at the implacable vengeance they had 
aroused, the Spaniards hastened to abandon these 
hostile shores and make the best of their way back 
to Darien. The Indians, however, were not to be 
appeased by the mere departure of the intruders. 
They followed them perseveringly for seven days, 
hanging on their skirts, and harassing them by con- 
tinual alarms. Morales and Pizarro, seeing tnc 
obstinacy of their pursuit, endeavoured to gain a 
march upon them by stratagem. Making large 
fires as usual one night about the place of their 
encampment, they left them burning to deceive the 
enemy while they made a rapid retreat. Among 
their number was one poor fellow named Velasquez, 
who was so grievously wounded that he could not 
walk. Unable to accompany his countiymen in 
their flight, and dreading to fall into the merciless 
hands of the savages, he determined to hang him- 
self, nor could the prayers and even tears of his 
comrades dissuade him from his purpose. 



782 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The stratag-em of the Spaniards, however, was 
unavailing, 'fheir retreat was perceived, and at 
daybreal<, to their dismay, they found themselves 
surrounded by three squadrons of savages. Unable, 
in their haggard state, to make head against so 
many foes, they remained drawn up all day on the 
defensive, some watching while others reposed. At 
night they lit their fires and again attempted to 
make a secret retreat. The Indians, however, were 
as usual on their traces, and wounded several with 
arrows. Thus pressed and goaded, the Spaniards 
became desperate, and fought like madmen, rushing 
upon the very darts of the enemy. 

Morales now resorted to an inhuman and fruitless 
expedient to retard his pursuers. He caused several 
Indian prisoners to be slain, hoping that their friends 
would stop to lament over them ; but the sight of 
their mangled boflies only increased the fury of the 
savages and the obstinacy of their pursuit. 

For nine days were the Spaniards hunted in this 
manner about the woods and mountains, the swamps 
and fens, wandering they knew not whither, and re- 
turning upon their steps, until, to their dismay, they 
found themselves in the very place where, several 
days previously, they had been surrounded by the 
three squadrons. 

Many now began to despair of ever escaping with 
life from this trackless wilderness, thus teeming with 
deadly foes. It was with difficulty their commanders 
could rally their spirits, and encourage them to per- 
severe. Entering a thick forest they were again as- 
sailed by a band of Indians, but despair and fury 
gave them strength : they fought like wild beasts 
rather than like men, and routed the foe with dread- 
ful carnage. They had hoped to gain a brea'hing 
tim.e by this victory, but a new distress attended 
them. They got entangled in one of those deep and 
dismal marshes which abound on those coasts, and 
in which the wanderer is often drowned or suffocated. 
For a whole day they toiled through brake and 
bramble, and miry fen, with the water reaching to 
their girdles. At length they extricated themselves 
from the swamp, and arrived at the sea shore. The 
tide was out, but was about to return, and on this 
coast it rises rapidly to a great height. Fearing to 
be overwhelmed by the rising surf, they hastened to 
climb a rock out of reach of the swelling waters. 
Here they threw themselves on the earth, panting 
with fatigue and abandoned to despair. A savage 
wilderness filled with still more savage foes, was on 
one side, on the other the roaring sea. How were 
they to extricate themselves from these surrounding 
perils ? While reflecting on their desperate situation, 
they heard the voices of Indians. On looking cau- 
tiously round, they beheld four canoes entering a 
neighbouring creek. A party was immediately des- 
patched who came upon the savages by surprise, 
drove them into the woods, and seized upon the 
canoes. In these frail barks the Spaniards escaped 
from their perilous neighbourhood, and, traversmg 
the Gulf of St. Michael, landed in a less hostile part, 
from whence they set out a second time, across the 
mountains. 

It is needless to recount the other hardships they 
endured, and their further conflicts with the Indians ; 
suffice it to say, after a series of almost incredible 
sufferings and disasters, they at length arrived 
in a battered and emaciated condition at Darien. 
Throughout all their toils and troubles, however, 
they had managed to preserve a part of the treasure 
they had gained in the islands ; especially the pearls 
given them by the cacique of Isla Rica. These were 
objects of universal admiration. One of them was 
put up at auction, and bought by Pedrarias, and 
was afterwards presented by his wife Dona Isabella 



de Bobadilla to the Empress, who, in return, gave 
her four thousand ducats.* 

Such was the cupidity of the colonists, that the 
sight of these pearls and the reputed wealth of the 
islands of the Southern .Sea, and the kingdoms on its 
borders, made far greater impression on the public 
mind, than the tale told by tlie adventurers of all the 
horrors they had past ; and every one was eager to 
seek these wealthy regions beyond the mountains. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



UNFORTUNATE ENTERPRISES OF THE OFFICERS 
OF PEDRARIAS — .MATRIMONIAL COMPACT BE- 
TWEEN THE GOVERNOR AND VASCO NUNEZ. 

In narrating the preceding expedition of Morales 
and Pizarro, we have been tempted into what may 
almost be deemed an episode, though it serves to 
place in a proper light the lurking difficulties and 
dangers which beset the expeditions of Vasco Nunez 
to the same regions, and his superior prudence and 
management in avoiding them. It is not the object 
of this narrative, however, to record the general 
events of the colony under the administration of 
Don Pedrarias Davila. We refrain, therefore, from 
detailing various expeditions set on foot by him to 
explore and subjugate the surrounding country ; and 
which, being ignorantly or rashly conducted, too 
often ended in misfortune and disgrace. One of 
these was to the province of Zenu, where gold was 
supposed to be taken in the rivers in nets; and 
where the Bachelor Enciso once undertook to invade 
the sepulchres. A captain named Francisco Becerra 
penetrated into this counti-j' at the head of one hun- 
dred and eighty men, well armed and equipped, and 
provided with three pieces of artillery ; but neither 
the commander nor anv of his men returned. An 
Indian boy who accompanied them was the only one 
who escaped, and told the dismal tale of their having 
fallen victims to the assaults and stratagems and 
poisoned arrows of the Indians. 

Another band was defeated by Tubanama, the 
ferocious cacique of the mountains, who bore as ban- 
ners the bloody shirts of the Spaniards he had slain 
in former battles. In fine, the colony became so 
weakened by these repeated losses, and the savages 
so emboldened by success, that the latter beleaguered 
it with their forces, harassed it by assaults and airi- 
buscades, and reduced it to great extremity. Such 
was the alarm in Darien, says the .Bishop Las Casas, 
that the people feared to be burnt in their houses. 
They kept a watchful eye upon the mountains, the 
plains, and the very branches of the trees. Their 
imaginations were infected by their fears. If they 
looked toward the land, the long, waving grass of the 
savannahs appeared to them to-be moving hosts of 
Indians. If they looked towards the sea, they fancied 
they beheld fleets of canoes in the distance. Pedra- 
rias endeavoured to prevent all rumours from abroad 
that might increase this levered state of alarm ; at 
the same time he ordered the snielting-house to be 
closed, which was never done but in time of war. 
This was done at the suggestion of the Bishop, who 
caused prayers to be put up, and fasts proclaimed, to 
avert the impending calamities. 

While Pedrarias was harassed and perplexed by 
these complicated evils, he was haunted by continual 
apprehensions of the ultimate ascendency of Vasco 
Nufiez. He knew him to be beloved by the people, 
and befriended by the Bishop ; and he had received 



* Herrera, Hist. Ind. d. 2, 1, i. c. 4. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



783 



proofs that his services were highly appreciated by 
the king. He knew also that representations had 
been sent home by him and his partisans, of the evils 
and abuses of the colony under the present rule, and 
of the necessity of a more active and efficient gov- 
ernor. He dreaded lest these representations should 
ultimately succeed ; that he should be undermined 
in the royal favour, and Vasco Nufiez be elevated 
upon his ruins. 

The politic bishop perceived the uneasy state of 
the governor's mind, and endeavoured, by means of 
his apprehensions, to effect that reconciliation which 
he had sought in vain to produce through more 
generous motives. He represented to him that his 
treatment of Vasco Nufiez was odious in the eyes of 
the people, and must eventually draw on him the 
displeasure of his sovereign. " But why persist," 
added he, ''in driving a man to become your dead- 
liest enemy, whom you may grapple to your side as 
your firmest friend ? You have several daughters — 
give him one in marriage ; you will then have for a 
son-in-law a man of merit and popularity, who is a 
hidalgo by birth, and a favourite of the king. You 
are advanced in life and infirm ; he is in the prime 
and vigour of his days, and possessed of great activ- 
ity. You can make him your lieutenant ; and while 
you repose from your toils, he can carry on the af- 
fairs of the colony with spirit and enterprise ; and 
all his achievements will redound to the advance- 
ment of your family and the splendour of your ad- 
ministration." 

The governor and his lady were won by the elo- 
quence of the bishop and readily listened to his sug- 
gestions ; and Vasco Nufiez was but too happy to 
effect a reconciliation on such flattering terms. 
Written articles were accordingly drawn up and e.v- 
changed, contracting a marriage between him and 
the eldest daughter of Pedrarias. The young lady 
was then in Spain, but was to be sent for, and the 
nuptials were to be celebrated on her arrival at 
Darien. 

Having thus fulfilled his office of peace-maker, and 
settled, as he supposed, all feuds and jealousies on 
the sure and permanent foundation of family alliance, 
the worthy bishop departed shortly afterwards for 
Spain. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



VASCO NU5fEZ TRANSPORTS SHIPS ACROSS THE 
MOUNTAINS TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN. — (1516.) 

Behold Vasco Nunez once more in the high 
career of prosperity ! His most im]ilacable enemy 
had suddenly been converted into his dearest friend ; 
for the governor, now that he looked upon him as 
his son-in-law, loaded him with favours. Above all, 
he authorized him to build brigantines and make all 
the necessary preparations for his long-desired ex- 
pedition to explore the Southern Ocean. The place 
appointed for these purposes was the port of Careta, 
situated to the west of Darien ; from whence there 
was supposed to be the most convenient route across 
the mountains. A town called Ada had been found- 
ed at this port ; and the fortress was already erected, 
of which Lope de Olano was Alcalde ; Vasco Nunez 
was now empowered to continue the building of the 
town. Two hundred men were placed under his 
command to aid him in carrying his plans into exe- 
cution, and a sum of money was advanced to him 
out of the royal treasury. His supply of funds, how- 
ever, was not sufficient ; but he received assistance 
from a private source. There was a notary at Darien, 
named Hernando de Arguello, a man of some con- 



sequence in the community, and who had been one 
of the most furious opponents of the unfortunate 
Nicuesa. He had amassed considerable property, 
and now embarked a great part of it in the proposed 
enterprise, on condition, no doubt, of sharing largely 
in its anticipated profits. 

On arriving at Ada, Vasco Nuiiez set to work to 
prepare the materials of four brigantines that were 
to be launched into the South Sea. The timber was 
felled on the Atlantic seaboard ; and was then, with 
the anchors and rigging, transported across the lofty 
ridge of mountains to the opposite shores of the Isth- 
mus. Several Spaniards, thirty Negroes, and a great 
number of Indians were employed for the purpose. 
They had no other roads but Indian paths, strag- 
gling through almost impervious forests, across tor- 
rents, and up rugged defiles, broken by rocks and 
precipices. In this way they toiled like ants up the 
mountains, with their ponderous burthens, under the 
scorching rays of a tropical sun. Many of the poor 
Indians sank by the way and perished under this 
stupendous task. The Spaniards and Negroes, be- 
ing of hardier constitutions, were better able to cope 
with the incredible hardships to which they were 
subjected. On the summit of the mountains a house 
had been provided for their temporary repose. After 
remaining here a little time to refresh themselves 
and gain new strength, they renewed their labours, 
descending the opposite side of the mountains until 
they reached the navigable part of a river, which 
they called the Balsas, and which flowed into the 
Pacific. 

Much time and trouble and many lives were ex- 
pended on this arduous undertaking, before they had 
transported to the river sufficient timber for two 
brigantines ; while the timber for the other two, and 
the rigging and munitions for the whole, yet re- 
mained to be brought. To add to their difficulties, 
they had scarcely begun to work upon the timber be- 
fore they discovered that it was totally useless, being 
subject to the ravages of the worms from having 
been cut in the vicinity of salt water. They were 
obliged, therefore, to begin anew, and fell trees on 
the border of the river. 

Vasco Nufiez maintained his patience and perse- 
verance, and displayed admirable management under 
these delays aad difficulties. Their supply of food 
being scanty, he divided his people, Spaniards, 
Negroes, and Indians, into three bands ; one was to 
cut and saw the wood, another to bring the rigging 
and iron-work from Ada, which was twenty-two 
leagues distant ; and the third to forage the neigh- 
bouring country for provisions. 

Scarcely was the timber felled and shaped for use 
when the rains set in. and the river swelled and over- 
flowed its banks so suddenly, that the workmen 
barely escaped with their lives by clambering into 
the trees ; while the wood on which they had been 
working was either buried in sand or slime, or 
swept away by the raging torrent. Famine was soon 
added to their other distresses. The foraging party 
was absent and did not return with food : and the 
swelling of the river cut them off from that part of 
the country from whence they obtained their sup- 
plies. They were reduced, therefore, to such scar- 
city, as to be fain to assuage their hunger with such 
roots as they could gather in the forests. 

In this extremitv the Indians bethought themselves 
of one of their rude and simple expedients. Plung- 
ing into the river they fastened a number of logs to- 
gether with withes, and connected them with the op- 
posite bank, so as to make a floating bridge. On 
this a party of the Spaniards crossed with great 
difficulty and peril, from the violence of the current, 
and the flexibility of the bridge, which often sank 



784 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



beneath them until the water rose above their girdles. 
On being- safely landed, they foraged the neighbour- 
hood, and procured a supply of provisions sufficient 
for the present emergency. 

When the river subsided the workmen again re- 
sumed their labours ; a number of recruits arrived 
from Ada, bringing various supplies, and the busi- 
ness of the enterprise was pressed with redoubled 
ardour, until, at length, after a series of incredible 
toils and hardships, Vasco Nunez had the satisfac- 
tion to behold two of his briganliiies floating on the 
river Balsas. As soon as they could be equipped 
for sea, he embarked in them with as many Span- 
iards as they could carry ; and, issuing forth Irom 
the river, launched triumphantly on the great ocean 
he had discovered. 

We can readily imagine the exultation of this in- 
trepid adventurer, and how amply he was repaid for 
all his sufferings when he first spread a sail upon 
that untraversed ocean and felt that the range of an 
unknown world was open to him. 

There are points in the history of these Spanish 
discoveries of the western hemisphere that make us 
pause with v/onder and admiration at the daring 
spirit of the men who conducted them and the ap- 
palling difficulties surmounted by their courage and 
perseverance. We know few instances, however, 
more striking than this piecemeal transportation 
across the mountains of Darien of the first Euro- 
pean ships that ploughed the waves of the Pacific; 
and we can readily excuse the boast of the old Cas- 
tilian writers when they exclaim "that none but 
.Spaniards could ever have conceived or persisted in 
such an undertaking, and no commander in the new 
world but Vasco Nuiiez could have conducted it to 
a successful issue."* 



CHAPTER X.W. 



CRUISE OF V.4SCO NUSEZ IN THE SOUTHERN 
SEA — RUMOURS FROM ACLA. 

The first cruise of Vasco Nufiez was to the group 
of Pearl islands, on the principal one of which he 
disembarked the greater part of his crews, and des- 
patched the brigantines to the main land to bring 
off the remainder. It was his intention to construct 
the other two vessels of his proposed squadron at 
this island. During the absence of the brigantines 
he ranged the island with his men to collect provis- 
ions and to establish a complete sway over the na- 
tives. On the return of his vessels, and while prep- 
arations were making for the building of the oth- 
ers, he embarked with a hundred men and departed 
on a reconnoitering cruise to the eastward towards 
the region pointed out by the Indians as abounding 
in riches. 

Having passed about twenty leagues beyond the 
Gulf of San Miguel, the mariners were filled with 
apprehension at beholding a great number of 
whales, which resembled a reef of rocks stretch- 
ing far into the sea and lashed by breakers. In an 
unknown ocean like this every unusual object is apt 
to inspire alarm. The seamen feared to approach 
these fancied dangers in the dark ; Vasco Nunez 
anchored, therefore, for the night under a point of 
land, intending to continue in the same direction on 
the following day. When the morning dawned, 
however, the wind had changed and was contrary ; 
whereupon he altered his course and thus aban- 
doned a cruise, which, if persevered in, might have 



' Herrera, d. 2. 1. ii. c. 11. 



terminated in the discovery of Peru ! Steering for 
the main land, he anchored on that part of the coast 
governed by the cacique Chucham.i, who had mas- 
sacred Bernardo Morales and his companions when 
reposing in his village. Here landing with his men, 
Vasco Nunez came suddenly upon the dwelling of 
the cacique. The Indians sallied forth to defend 
their homes, but were routed with great loss ; and 
ample vengeance was taken upon them for their out- 
rage upon the laws of hospitality. Having thus 
avenged the death of his countrymen, Vasco Nunez 
re-embarked and returned to Isla Rica. 

He now applied himself diligently to complete the 
building of his brigantines, despatching men to Ada 
to bring the necessary stores and rigging across the 
mountains. While thus occupied, a rumour reached 
him that a new governor named Lope de Sosa was 
coming out from Spain to supersede Pedrarias. 
Vasco Nunez was troubled at these tidings. A new 
governor would be likely to adopt new measures, or 
to have new favourites. He feared, therefore, that 
same order might come to suspend or embarrass 
his expedition, or that the command of it might be 
given to another. In his perplexity he held a con- 
sultation with several of his confidential officers. 

After some debate, it was agreed among them 
that a trusty and intelligent person should be sent 
as a scout to Ada under pretence of procuring mu- 
nitions for the ships. Should he find Pedrarias in 
quiet possession of the government, he was to ac- 
count to him for the delay of the expedition : to re- 
quest that the time allotted to it might be extended, 
and to request reinforcements and supplies. Should 
he find, however, that a new governor was actually 
arrived, he was to return immediately with the tid- 
ings. In such case it was resolved to put to sea be- 
fore any contrary ortlers could arrive, trusting event- 
ually to excuse themselves on the plea of zeal and 
good intentions. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



RECONNOITERING EXPEDITION OF GARABITO — 
STRATAGEM OF PEDRARIAS TO ENTRAP VASCO 
NUSEZ. 

The person entrusted with the reconnoitering ex- 
pedition to Ada was Andres Garabito, in whose 
fidelity and discretion Vasco Nunez had implicit con- 
fidence. His confidence was destined to be fatally 
deceived. According to the assertions of contem- 
poraries, this Garabito cherished a secret and vindic- 
tive enmity against his commander, arising from a 
simple but a natural cause. Vasco Nunez had con- 
tinued to have a fondness for the Indian damsel, 
daughter of the cacique Careta, whom he had received 
froni her father as a pledge of amity. Some dispute 
arose concerning her on one occasion between him 
and Garabito, in the course of which he expressed 
himself in severe and galling language. Garabito 
was deeply mortified at some of his expressions, and, 
being of a malignant spirit, determined on a dastardly 
revenge. He wrote privately to Pedrarias, assuring 
him that Vasco Nunez had no intention of solemniz- 
ing his marriage with his daughter, being completely 
under the influence of an Indian paramour; that he 
made use of the friendship of Pedrarias merely to 
further his own selfish views, intending, as soon as 
his ships were ready, to throw off all allegiance, and 
to put to sea as an independent commander. 

This mischievous letter Garabito had written im- 
mediately after the last departure of Vasco Nunez 
from Acla. Its effects upon the proud and jealous 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



785 



spirit of the governor may easily be conceived. All 
his former suspicions were immediately revived. 
They acquired strength during a long interval that 
elapsed without tidings being received from the ex- 
pedition. There were designing and prejudiced per- 
sons at hand who perceived and quickened these 
jealous feelings of the governor. Among these was 
the Bachelor Corral, who cherished a deep grudge 
against Vasco Nunez for having once thrown him 
into prison for his factious conduct ; and .\lonzo de 
la Puente, the royal treasurer, whom Vasco Nunez 
had affronted by demanding the re-payment of a 
loan. Such was the tempest that was gradually 
gathering in the factious little colony of Darien. 

The subsequent conduct of Garabito gives much 
confirmation to the charge of perfidy that has been 
advanced against him. When he arrived at Ada he 
found that Pedrarias remained in possession of the 
government ; for his intended successor had died in 
the very harbour. The conduct and conversation 
of Garabito was such as to arouse suspicions ; he was 
arrested, and his papers and letters were sent to 
Pedrarias. When e.xamined he readily suffered him- 
self to be wrought upon by threats of punishment 
and promises of pardon, and revealed all that he knew, 
and declared still more that he suspected and sur- 
mised, of the plans and intentions of Vasco Nuiiez. 

The arrest of Garabito, and the seizure of his let- 
ters, produced a great agitation at Darien. It w\is 
considered a revival of the ancient animosity between 
the governor and Vasco Nunez, antl the friends of 
the latter trembled for his safety. 

Hernando de Arguello especially, was in great 
alarm. He had embarked the most of his fortune in 
the e.xpedition, and the failure of it would be ruinous 
to him. He wrote to Vasco Nunez, informing him 
of the critical posture of affairs, and urging liim to 
put to sea without delay. He would be protected at 
all events, he said, by the Jeronimite Fathers at San 
Domingo, who were at that time all-powerful in the 
new world, and who regarded his expedition as cal- 
culated to promote the glory of God as well as the 
dominion of the king.* This letter fell into the hands 
of Pedrarias, and convinced him of the existence of 
a dangerous plot against his authority. He im- 
mediately ordered Arguello to be arrested ; and now 
devised means to get Vasco Nunez within his power. 
While the latter remained on the shores of the South 
Sea with his brigantines and his band of hearty and 
devoted followers, Pedrarias knew that it would be 
in vain to attempt to take him by force. Dissem- 
bling his suspicions and intentions, therefore, he wrote 
to him in the most amicable terms, requesting him 
to repair immediately to .'^cla, as he wished to hold 
a conference with him about the impending expedi- 
tion. Fearing, however, that Vasco Nufiez might 
suspect his motives and refuse^ to comply, he, at 
the same time, ordered Francisco Pizarro to muster 
all the armed force he could collect, and to seek and 
arrest his late patron and commander wherever he 
might be found. 

So great was the terror inspired by the arrest of 
Arguello, and by the general violence of Pedrarias, 
that, though Vasco Nunez was a favourite with the 
great mass of the people, no one ventured to warn 
him of the danger that attended his return to Ada. 



* In consequence of the eloquent representations m.ide to the 
Spanish Government by the venerable Las Casas, of the cruel 
wrongs and oppressions practised upon the Indians in the colonies, 
the Cardinal Ximenes, in 1516, sent out three Jeronimite Friars, 
chosen for their zeal and abilities, clothed with full powers to in- 
quire into and remedy all abuses, and to take all proper measures 
lor the good government, religious instruction, and effectual pro- 
tection of the natives. The exercise of their powers at San Do- 
mingo made a great sensation in the new world, and. for a time, 
had a beneficial effect in checking the oppressive and licentious 
conduct of the colonists. 

50 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

V.\SCO NUNEZ and the astrologer — HIS RE- 
TURN TO ACLA. 

The old Spanish writers who have treated of the 
fortunes of Vasco Nunez, record an anecdote which 
is worthy of being cited, as characteristic of the 
people and the age. Among the motley crowd of 
adventurers lured across the ocean by the reputed 
wealth and wonders of the new world, was an Italian 
astrologer, a native of Venice, named Micer Codro. 
At the time that Vasco Nuiiez held supreme sway at 
Darien, this reader of the stars had cast his horo- 
scope, and pretended to foretell his destiny. Point- 
ing one night to a certain star, he assured him that 
in the year in which he should behold that star in 
a part of the heavens which he designated, his life 
would be in imminent jeopardy ; but should he 
survive this year of peril, he would become the 
richest and most renowned captain throughout the 
Indies. 

Several years, it is added, had elapsed since this 
prediction was made; yet, that it still dwelt in the 
mind of Vasco Nuiiez, was evident from the follow- 
ing circumstance. While waiting the return of his 
messenger, Garabito, he was on the shore of Isla 
Rica one serene evening, in company with some of 
his officers, when, regarding the heavens, he beheld 
the fated star exactly in that part of the firmament 
which had been pointed out by the Italian astrologer. 
Turning to his companions, with a smile, " Behold," 
said he, " the wisdom of those who believe in sooth- 
sayers, and, above all, in such an astrologer as 
Micer Codro ! According to his prophecy, I should 
now be in imminent peril of my life ; yet, here I am, 
within reach of all my wishes ; sound in health, with 
four brigantines and three hun-dred men at my com- 
mand, and on the point of exploring this great south- 
ern ocean." 

At this fated juncture, says the chroniclers, arrived 
the hypocritical letter of Pedrarias, inviting him to 
an interview at Ada ! The discreet reader will de- 
ci^le for himself what credit to give to this anecdote, 
or rather what allowance to make for the little traits 
of coincidence gratuitously added to the original 
fact by writers who delight in the marvellous. The 
tenor of this letter awakened no suspicion in the 
breast of Vasco Nuiiez, who reposed entire confi- 
dence in the amity of the governor as his intended 
father-in-law, and appears to have been unconscious 
of any thing in his own conduct that could warrant 
hostility. Leaving his ships in command of Francisco 
Compafion, he departed immediately to meet the 
governor at Ada, unattended by any armed force. 

The messengers who had brought the letter main- 
tained at first a cautious silence as to the events 
which had transpired at Darien. They were gradu- 
ally won, however, by the frank and genial manners 
of Vasco Nunez, and grieved to see so gallant a 
soldier hurrying into the snare. Having crossed the 
mountains and drawn near to Ada, their kind feel- 
ings got the better of their caution, and they reveal- 
ed the true nature of their errand, and the hostile 
intentions of Pedrarias. Vasco Nunez was struck 
with astonishment at the recital ; but, being uncon- 
scious, it is said, of any evil intention, he could 
scarcely credit this sudden hostility in a man who had 
but recently promised him his daughter in marriage. 
He imagined the w'hole to be some groundless jeal- 
ousy which his own appearance would dispel, and 
accordingly continued on his journey. He had not 
proceeded far, however, when he was met by a band 
of armed men, led by Francisco Pizarro. The latter 
stepped forward to arrest his ancient commander. 



78G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Vasco Nunez paused for a moment, and regarded him 
with a look of reproachful astonishment. " How is 
this, Francisco ? " exclaimed he. " Is this the way you 
have been accustomed to receive me.'" Offering 
no further remonstrance, he suffered himself quietly 
to he taken prisoner by his former adherent, and 
conducted in chains to Ada. Here he was thrown 
into prison, and Bartolome Hurtado, once his favour- 
ite officer, was sent to take command of his squadron. 



CHAPTER XXVin. 

TRIAL OF VASCO NUStEZ. 

Don PedrariaS concealed his exultation at the 
success of the stratagem by which he had ensnared 
his generous and confiding rival. He even visited 
him in prison, and pretended deep concern at being 
obliged to treat him with this temporary rigour, at- 
tributing it entirely to certain accusations lodged 
against him by the Treasurer Alonzo de la Puente, 
which his official situation compelled him to notice 
and investigate. 

" Be not afflicted, however, my son ! " said the 
hypocrite, " an investigation will, doubtless, not 
merely establish your innocence, but serve to render 
your zeal and loyalty towards your sovereign still 
more conspicuous." 

While Pedrarias assumed this soothing tone to- 
wards his prisoner, he urged the Alcalde Mayor 
Espinosa to proceed against him with the utmost 
rigour of the law. 

The charge brought against him of a treasonable 
conspiracy to cast off all allegiance to the crown, and 
to assume an independent sway on the borders of the 
Southern Sea, was principally supported by the con- 
fessions of Andres Garabito. The evidence is also 
cited of a soldier, who stood sentinel one night near 
the quarters of Vasco Nunez on Isla Rica, and who, 
being driven to take shelter from the rain under the 
eaves of the house, overheard a conversation between 
'.hat commander and certain of his officers, wherein 
;hey agreed to put to sea with the squadron on their 
own account, and to set the governor at defiance. 
This testimony, according to Las Casas, arose from 
a misconstruction on the part of the sentinel, who 
only heard a portion of their conversation, relating 
to their intention of sailing without waiting for or- 
ders, in case a new governor should arrive to super- 
sede Pedrarias. 

The governor in the mean time informed himself 
from day to day and hour to hour, of the progress of 
the trial, and, considering the evidence sufficientlv 
strong to warrant his personal hostility, he now paid 
another visit to his prisoner, and, throwing off all af- 
fectation of kindness, upbraided him in the most 
passionate manner. 

" Hitherto," said he, " I have treated you as a son, 
because 1 thought you loyal to your king, and to me as 
his representative ; but as I find you have meditated 
rebellion against the crown of Castile, I cast you off 
from my affections, and shall henceforth treat you as 
an enemy." 

Vasco Nunez indignantly repelled the charge, and 
appealed to the confiding frankness of his conduct as 
a proof of innocence. " Had I been conscious of my 
guilt," said he, " what could have induced me to 
come heie and put myself into your hands.'' Had 1 
meditated rebellion, what prevented me from carry- 
ing it into effect? I had four ships ready to weigh 
anchor, three hundred brave men at my command, 
and an open sea before me. What had I to do but 
to spread sail and press fonvard.' There was no 



doubt of finding a land, whether rich or poor, suffi- 
cient for me and mine, far beyond the reach of your 
control. In the innocence of my heart, however, I 
came here promptly, at your mere request, and my re- 
ward is slander, indignity, and chains ! " 

The noble and ingenuous appeal of Vasco Nuiiez 
had no effect on the prejudiced feelings of the gov- 
ernor ; on the contrary, he was but the more exas- 
perated against his prisoner, and ordered that his 
irons should be doubled. 

The trial was now urged by him with increased 
eagerness. Lest the present accusation should not 
be sufficient to effect the ruin of his victim, the old 
inquest into his conduct as governor, which had re- 
mained suspended for many years, was revived, and 
he was charged anew with the wrongs inflicted on 
the Bachelor Enciso. and with the death of the un- 
fortunate Nicuesa. 

Notwithstanding all these charges, the trial went 
on slowly, with frequent delays; for the Alcalde 
Mayor, Caspar de Espinosa, seems to have had but 
little relish for the task assigned him, and to have 
needed frequent spurring from the eager and passion- 
ate governor. He probably considered the accused 
as technically guilty, though innocent of all intention- 
al rebellion, but was ordered to decide according to 
the strict letter of the law. He therefore at length 
gave a reluctant verdict against Vasco Nunez, but 
recommended him to mercy, on account of his great 
services, or entreated that, at least, he might be per- 
mitted to appeal. " No ! " said the unrelenting Pedra- 
rias. " If he has merited death, let him suffer death I " 
He accordingly condemned him to be beheaded. The 
same sentence was passed upon several of his oflScers 
who were implicated in his alleged conspiracy ; among 
these was Hernando de Arguello, who had written 
the letter to Vasco Nunez, informing him of the arrest 
of his messenger, and advising him to put to sea, with- 
out heeding the hostility of Pedrarias. As to the 
perfidious informer Garabito, he was pardoned and 
set at liberty. 

In considering this case, as far as we are enabled, 
from the imperfect testimony that remains on record, 
we are inclined to think it one where passion and 
self-interest interfered with the pure administration 
of justice. Pedrarias had always considered Vasco 
Nuriez as a dangerous rival, and, though his jealousy 
had been for some time lulled by looking on him as 
an intended son-in-law, it was revived by the sugges- 
tion that he intended to evade his alliance, and to 
dispute his authority. His exasperated feelings hur- 
ried him too far to retreat, and, having loaded his 
prisoner with chains and indignities, his death be- 
came indispensable to his own security. 

For our own part, we have little doubt, that it was 
the fixed intention of Vasco Nunez, after he had once 
succeeded in the arduous undertaking of transport- 
ing his ships across the mountains, to suffer no ca- 
pricious order from Pedrarias, or any other governor, 
to defeat the enterprise which he had so long meditated, 
and for which he had so laboriously prepared. It is 
probalile he may have expressed such general deter- 
mination in the hearing of Garabito and of others of 
his companions. We can find ample excuse for such 
a resolution in his consciousness of his own deserts ; 
his experience of past hindrances to his expedition, 
arising from the jealousy of others ; his feeling of 
some degree of authority, from his office of Adelan- 
tado ; and his knowledge of the favourable disposi- 
tion and kind intentions of his sovereign towards 
him. We acquit him entirely of the senseless idea 
of rebelling against the crown ; and suggest these 
considerations in palliation of any meditated disobe- 
dience of Pedrarias, should such a charge be supposed 
to have been substantiated. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



787 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

EXECUTION OF VASCO NUSEZ— (l 517.) 

It was a day of gloom and horror at Ada, when 
Vasco Nuiiez and his companions were led forth to 
execution. The populace were moved to tears at the 
unhappy fate of a man whose gallant deeds had e.\- 
cited their admiration, and whose generous qualities 
had won their hearts. Most of them regarded him 
as the victim of a jealous tyrant ; and even those who 
thought him guilty, saw something brave and bril- 
liant in the verj' crime imputed to him. Such, how- 
ever, was the general dread inspired by the severe 
measures of Pedrarias, that no one dared to lift up 
his voice, either in murmur or remonstrance. 

The public crier walked before Vasco Nunez, pro- 
claiming. " This is the punishment inflicted by com- 
mand of the king and his lieutenant, Don Pedrarias 
Davila, on this man, as a traitor and an usurper of 
the territories of the crown." 

When Vasco Nufiez heard these words, he ex- 
claimed indignantly, "It is false! Iiever did such a 
crime enter my mind. I have ever served my king 
with truth and loyalty, and sought to augment his 
dominions." 

These words were of no avail in his extremity, but 
they were fully believed by the populace. 

The execution took place in the public square of 
Ada ; and we are assured by the historian, Oviedo, 
who was in the colony at the time, that the cruel 
Pedrarias was a secret witness of the bloody specta- 
cle, which he contemplated from between the reeds 
of the wall of a house, about twelve paces from the 
scaffold ! ♦ 

Vasco Nuiiez was the first to suffer death. Hav- 
ing confessed himself and partaken of the sacrament, 
he ascended the scaffold with a firm step and a calm 
and manly demeanour : and laying his head upon 
the block, it was severed in an instant from his body. 
Three of his officers, Valderrabano, Botello, and 
Hernan Munos, were in like manner brought one by 
one to the block, and the dav had nearly expired be- 
fore the last of them was executed. 

One victim still remained. It was Heman de Ar- 
guello, who had been condemned as an accomplice, 
for having written the intercepted letter. 

The populace could no longer restrain their feel- 
ings. They had not dared to intercede for Vasco 
Nunez, knowing the implacable enmity of Pedrarias ; 
but they now sought the governor, and throwing 
themselves at his feet, entreated that this man might 
be spared, as he had taken no active part in the 
alleged treason. The daylight, they said, was at an 
end, and it seemed as if God had hastened the night, 
to prevent the execution. 

The stern heart of Pedrarias was not to be touched. 
"No," said he, "1 would sooner die myself than 
spare one of them." The unfortunate Arguello was 
led to the block. The brief tropical twilight was 
past, and in the gathering gloom of the night the 
operations on the scaffold could not be distinguished. 
The multitude stood listening in breathless silence, 
until the stroke of the executioner told that all was 
accomplishetl. They then dispersed to their homes 
with hearts filled with grief and bitterness, and a 
night of lamentation succeeded to this day of hor- 
rors. 

The vengeance of Pedrarias was not satisfied with 
the death of his victim ; he confiscated his property 
and dishonoured his remains, causing his head to be 
placed upon a pole and exposed for several days in 
the public square.t 



* Oviedo, Hist. Ind. p. 2. c. 9, MS. 



t Oviedo. ubi sup. 



Thus perished, in his forty-second year, in the 
prime and vigour of his days and the full career of 
his glory, one of the most illustrious and deserving 
of the Spanish discoverers — a victim to the basest 
and most perfidious envy. 

How vain are our most confident hopes, our 
brightest triumphs ! When Vasco Nunez from the 
mountains of Darien beheld the Southern Ocean 
revealed to his gaze, he considered its unknown 
realms at his disposal. When he had launched his 
ships upon its waters, and his sails were in a manner 
flapping in the wind, to bear him in quest of the 
wealthy empire of Peru, he scoffed at the prediction 
of the astrologer, and defied the influence of the 
stars. Behold him interrupted at the very moment 
of his departure; betrayed into the hands of his 
most invidious foe ; the very enterprise that was to 
have crowned him with glory wrested into a crime ; 
and himself hurried to a bloody and ignominious 
grave, at the foot, as it were, of the mountain from 
whence he had made his discovery ! His fate, like 
that of his renowned predecessor, Columbus, proves 
that it is sometimes dangerous even to discern too 
greatly ! 



THE FORTUNES OF VALDIVIA AND HIS COM- 
PANIONS. 



It was in the year 15 12 that Valdivia, the regidor 
of Darien, was sent to Hispaniola by Vasco Nunez 
de Balboa for reinforcements and supplies for the 
colony. He set sail in a caravel, and pursued his 
voyage prosperously until he arrived in sig'ht of the 
Island of Jamaica. Here he was encountered by 
one of the violent hurricanes which sweep those 
latitudes, and driven on the shoals and sunken rocks 
called the Vipers, since infamous for many a ship- 
wreck. His vessel soon went to pieces, and Val- 
divia and his crew, consisting of twenty men, es- 
caped with difficultv in the boat, without having 
time to secure a supply either of water or provisions. 
Having no sails, and their oars being scarcely fit for 
use, they were driven about for thirteen days, at the 
mercy of the currents of those unknown seas. Dur- 
ing this time their sufterings from hunger and thirst 
were indescribable. Seven of their number perished, 
and the rest were nearly famished, when they were 
stranded on the eastern coast of Yucatan, in a prov- 
ince called Maya. Here they were set upon by the 
natives, who broke their boat in pieces, and carried 
them off captive to the cacique of the province, by 
whose orders they were mewed up in a kind of pen. 

At first their situation appeared tolerable enough 
considering the horrors from which they had escaped. 
They were closely confined, it is true, but they had 
plenty to eat and drink, and soon began to recover 
flesh and vigour. In a little while, however, their 
enjoyment of this good cheer met with a sudden 
check, for the unfortunate Valdivia, and four of his 
companions, were singled out by the cacique, on ac- 
count of their improved condition, to be offered up 
to his idols. The natives of this coast in fact were 
cannibals, devouring the flesh of their enemies and 
of such strangers as fell into their hands. The 
wretched Valdivia and his fellow victims, therefore, 
were sacrificed in the bloody temple of the idol, and 
their limbs afterwards served up at a grand feast 
held by the cacique and his subjects. 

The horror of the survivors may be more readily 
imagined than described. Their hearts died within 
them when thev heard the yells and bowlings of the 
savages over their victims, and the still more horri- 



788 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ble revelry of their cannibal orgies. They turned 
with loathing Irom the food set so abundantly before 
them, at the idea that it was but intended to fatten 
them for a future banquet. 

Recovering IVom the first stupor of alarm, their 
despair lent them additional force. They succeeded in 
breaking, in the night, from the kind of cage in which 
they were confined, and fled to the depths of the 
forest. Here they wandered about forlorn, exposed 
to all the dangers and miseries of the wilderness ; 
famishing with hunger, yet dreading to a|)proach the 
haunts of men. At length their sufferings drove 
them forth from the woods into another part of the 
country, where they were again taken captive. The 
cacique of this province, however, was an enemy to 
the one from whom they had escaped, and of less 
cruel propensities. He spared their lives, and con- 
tented himself with making them slaves, exacting 
from them the severest labour. They had to cut and 
draw wood, to procure water from a distance, and 
to carry enormous burthens. The cacique died soon 
after their capture, and was succeeded by another 
called Taxman He was a chief of some talent and 
sagacity, but he continued the same rigorous treat- 
ment of the captives. By degrees they sank '^^eneath 
the hardships of their lot, until only two were left ; 
one of them, a sturdy sailor named Goii/ialo Guer- 
rero, the other a kind of clerical adventurer, named 
Jeronimo de Aguilar. The sailor had the good luck 
to be transferred to the service of the cacique of the 
neighbouring province of Chatemal, by whom he 
was treated with kindners. Being a thorough son 
of the ocean, seasoned to all weathers, and ready for 
any chance or change, he soon accommodated him- 
self to his new situation, followed the cacique to the 
wars, rose by his hardihood and prowess to be a dis- 
tinguished warrior, and succeeded in gaining the 
heart and hand of an Indian princess. 

The other survivor, Jeronimo de Aguilar, was of 
a different complexion. He was a native of Ecija 
in Andalusia, and had been brought up to the 
church and regularly ordained, and shortly after- 
wards had sailed m one of the expeditions to San 
Domingo, from whence he had passed to Darien. 

He proceeded in a different mode from that 
adopted by his comrade the sailor in his dealings 
with the Indians, and in one more suited to his op- 
posite calling. Instead of pla)ing the hero among 
the men and the gallant among the women, he rec- 
ollected his priestly obligations to humility and chas- 
tity. Accordingly, he made himself a model of 
meekness and obedience to the cacique and his war- 
riors, while he closed his eyes to the charms of the 
infidel women. Nay, in the latter respect, he rein- 
forced his clerical vows by a solemn promise to God 
to resist all temptations of the flesh so he might be 
delivered out of the hands of these Gentiles. 

Such were the opposite measures of the sailor and 
the saint, and they appear to have been equally suc- 
cessful. Aguilar, by his meek obedience to every 
order, however arbitrary and capricious, gradually 
won the good-will of the cacique and his family. 
Taxmar, however, subjected him to many trials be- 
fore he admitted him to his entire confidence. One 
day when the Indians, painted and decorated in war- 
like style, were shooting at a mark, a warrior, who 
had for some time fixed his eyes on Aguilar, ap- 
proached suddenly and seized him by the arm. 
" Thou seest," said he, " the certainty of these 
archers ; if they aim at the eye, they hit the eye — 
if at the mouth, they hit the mouth — what wouldst 
thou think if thou wert to be placed instead of the 
mark and they were to shoot at and miss thee.' " 

Aguilar secretly trembled lest he should be the 
victim of some cruel caprice of the kind. Dissem- 



bling his fears, however, he replied with great sub- 
mission, " I am your slave and you may do with me 
as you please, but you are too wise to destroy a 
slave who is so useful and obedient." His answer 
pleased the cacique, who had secretly sent this war- 
rior to try his humility. 

Another trial of the worthy Jeronimo was less 
stern and fearful indeed, but equally perplexing. 
The cacique had remarked his unexampled discre- 
tion with respect to the sex, but doubted his sincer- 
ity. After laying many petty temptations in his way, 
which Jeronimo resisted with the self-denial of a 
saint, he at length determined to subject him to a 
fiery ordeal. He accordingly sent him on a fishing 
expedition accompanied by a buxom damsel of four- 
teen years of age ; they were to pass the night by 
the sea-side, so as to be ready to fish at the first 
dawn of day, and were allowed but one hammock 
to sleep in. It was an embarrassing predicament — 
not apparently to the Indian beauty, but certainly to 
the scrupulous Jeronimo. He remembered, how- 
ever, his double vow, and, suspending his hammock 
to two trees, resigned it to his companion ; while, 
lighting a fire on the sea-shore, he stretched himself 
belbre it on the sand. It was, as he acknowledged, 
a night of fearful trial, for his sandy couch was cold 
and cheerless, the hammock warm and tempting ; 
and the infidel damsel had been instructed to assail 
him with all manner of blandishments and re- 
proaches. His resolution, however, though often 
shaken, was never overcome ; and the morning 
dawned upon him still faithful to his vow. 

The fishing over, he returned to the residence of 
the cacique, where his companion, being closely 
questioned, made known the triumph of his self- 
denial before all the people. From that time for- 
ward he was held in great respect ; the cacique es- 
pecially treated him with unlimited confidence, en- 
trusting to him the care not merely of his house, but 
of his wives during his occasional absence. 

Aguilar now felt ambitious of rising to greater 
consequence among the savages, but this he knew 
was only to be done by deeds of arms. He had the 
example of the sturdy seaman, Gonzalo Guerrero, 
before his eyes, who had become a great captain in 
the province in which he resided. He entreated 
Taxmar, therefore, to entrust him with bow and ar- 
rows, buckler and war-club, and to enroll him among 
his warriors. The cacique complied. Aguilar soon 
made himself expert at his new weapons, signalized 
himself repeatedly in battle, and, from his superior 
knowledge of the arts of war, rendered Taxmar such 
essential service, as to excite the jealousy of some 
of the neighbouring caciques. One of them remon- 
strated with Taxmar for eiiiploying a warrior who 
was of a different religion, and insisted that Aguilai 
should be sacrificed to their gods. "No," replied 
Taxmar, " I will not make so base a retuni for such 
signal services ; surely the gods of Aguilar must be 
good, since they aid him so effectually in maintain- 
ing a just cause." 

The cacique was so incensed at this reply that he 
assembled his warriors and marched to make war 
upon Taxmar. Many of the counsellors of the lat- 
ter urged him to give up the stranger who was the 
cause of this hostility. Taxmar, however, rejected 
their counsel with disdain and prepared for battle. 
Aguilar assured him that his faith in the Christian's 
God would be rewarded with victoiy ; he, in fact, 
concerted a plan of battle which was adopted. Con- 
cealing himself with a chosen band of warriors 
among thickets and herbage, he suffered the enemy 
to pass by in making their attack. Taxmar and his 
host pretended to give way at the first onset. The 
foe rushed heedlessly in pursuit ; whereupon Aguilar 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



789 



and his ambuscade assaulted them in the rear. Tax- ] The transport of Aguilar on first reading the letter, 
mar turned upon them in front ; they were thrown | was moderated when he reflected on the obstacles 
in confusion, routed with great slaughter, and many 



of their chiefs taken prisoners. This victory gave 
Taxmar the sway over the land, and strengthened 
Aguilar more than ever in his good graces. 

Several years had elapsed in this manner, when, 
in 1 5 17, intelligence was brought to the province of 
the arrival on the neighbouring coast of great ves- 
sels of wonderful construction, filled with white and 
bearded men, who fought with thunder and light- 
ning. It was, in fact, the squadron of Francisco 
Hernandez de Cordova, then on a voyage of dis- 
covery. The tidings of this strange invasion spread 
consternation through the country, heightened, if we 
may credit the old Spanish writers, by a prophecy 
current among the savages of these parts, and uttered 
in former times by a priest named Chilam Cambal, 
who foretold that a white and bearded people would 
come from the region of the rising sun, who would 
overturn their idols and subjugate the land. 

The heart of Jeronimo de Aguilar beat quick with 
hope when he heard of European ships at hand ; he 
was distant from the coast, however, and perceived 
that he was too closely watched by the Indians to 
have any chance of escape. Dissembling his feel- 
ings, therefore, he affected to hear of the ships with 
perfect indifference, and to have no desire to join 
the strangers. The ships disappeared from the 
coast, and he remained disconsolate at heart, but 
was regarded with increased confidence by the 
natives. 

His hopes were again revived in the course of a 
year or two by the arrival on the coast of other 
ships, which were those commanded by Juan de 
Grijalva, who coasted Yucatan in 1518; Aguilar, 
however, was again prevented by the jealous watch- 
fulness of the Indians from attempting his escape, 
and when this squadron left the coast he considered 
all chance of deliverance at an end. 

Seven years had gone by since his capture, and he 
had given up all hopes of being restored to his coun- 
try and friends, when, in 1519, there arrived one 
day at the village three Indians, natives of the small 
island of Cozumel, which lies a few leagues in the 
sea, opposite the eastern coast of Yucatan. They 
brought tidings of another visit of white bearded 
men to their shores, and one of them delivered a 
letter to Aguilar, which, being entirely naked, he 
had concealed it in the long tresses of his hair which 
were bound round his head. 

Aguilar received the letter with wonder and de- 
light and read it in presence of the cacique and his 
warriors. It proved to be from Hernando Cortez, 
who was at that time on his great expedition, which 
ended in the conquest of Mexico. He had been 
obliged by stress of weather to anchor at the island 
of Cozumel, where he learned from the natives that 
several white men were detained in captivity among 
the Indians on the neighbouring coast of Yucatan. 
Finding it impossible to approach the main land 
with his ships, he prevailed upon three of the island- 
ers, by means of gifts and promises, to venture upon 
an embassy among their cannibal neighbours, and 
to convey a letter to the captive white men. Two 
of the smallest caravels of the squadron were sent 
under the command of Diego de Ordas, who was 
ordered to land the three messengers at the point of 
Cotoche, and to wait there eight days for their ret\irn. 
The letter brought by these envoys informed the 
Christian captives of the force and destination of the 
squadron of Cortez, and of his having sent the cara- 
vels to wait for them at the point of Cotoche, with a 
ransom for their deliverance, inviting them to hasten 
and join him at Cozumel. 



that might prevent him from profiting by this chance 
of deliverance. He had made himself too useful to 
the cacique to hope that he would readily give him 
his liberty, and he knew the jealous and irritable 
nature of the savages too well not to fear that even 
an application for leave to depart might draw upon 
him the severest treatment. He endeavoured, there- 
fore, to operate upon the cacique through his appre- 
hensions. To this end he infomned him that the 
piece of paper which he held in his hand brought 
him a full account of the mighty armament that had 
arrived on the coast. He described the number of 
the ships and various particulars concerning the 
squadron, all which were amply corroborated by 
the testimony of the messengers. The cacique and 
his warriors were astonished at this strange mode 
of conveying intelligence from a distance, and re- 
garded the letter as something mysterious and super- 
natural. Aguilar went on to relate the tremendous 
and superhuman powers of the people in these 
ships, who, armed with thunder and lightning, 
wreaked destruction on all who displeased them, 
while they dispensed inestimable gifts and benefits 
on such as proved themselves their friends. He at 
the same time spread before the cacique various 
presents brought by the messengers, as specimens 
of the blessings to be expected from the friendship 
of the strangers. The intimation was effectual. The 
cicaque was filled with awe at the recital of the ter- 
rific powers of the white men, and his eyes were 
dazzled by the glittering trinkets displayed before 
him. He entreated Aguilar, therefore, to act as his 
embassador and mediator, and to secure him the 
amitv of the strangers. 

Aguilar saw with transport the prospect of a 
speedy deliverance. In this moment of exultation, 
he bethought himself of the only surviving comrade 
of his past fortunes. Gonzalo Guerrero, and, sending 
the letter of Cortez to him, invited him to accom- 
pany him in his escape. The sturdy seaman was at 
this time a great chieftain in his province, and his In- 
dian bride had borne him a numerous progeny. His 
heart, however, yearned after his native country, and 
he might have been tempted to leave his honours 
and dignities, his infidel wife and half-savage off- 
spring behind him, but an insuperable, though 
somewhat ludicrous, obstacle presented itself to his 
wishes. Having long since given over all expecta- 
tion of a return to civilized life, he had conformed to 
the customs of the country, and had adopted the ex- 
ternal signs and decorations that marked him as a 
warrior and a man of rank. His face and hands 
were indelibly painted or tattooed ; his ears and lips 
were slit to admit huge Indian ornaments, and his 
nose was drawn down almost to his mouth by a 
massy ring of gold, and a dangling jewel. 

Thus curiously garbled and disfigured, the honest 
seaman felt, that however he might be admired in 
Yucatan, he should be apt to have the rabble at his 
heels in Spain. He made up his mind, therefore, to 
remain a great man among the savages, rather than 
run the risk of being shown as a man-monster at 
home. 

Finding that he declined accompanying him, Jero- 
nimo de Aguilar set off for the point of Cotoche, 
escorted by three Indians. The time he had lost in 
waiting for Guerrero had nearly proved fatal to his 
hopes, for when he arrived at the point, the caravels 
sent by Cortez had departed, though several crosses 
of reeds set up in different places gave tokens of the 
recent presence of Christians. 

The only hope that remained, was that the squad- 
ron of Cortez might yet linger at the opposite island 



790 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



of Cozumel; but how was lie to get there? While 
wandering disconsolately along the shore, he found 
a canoe, half buried in sand and water, and with 
one side in a state of decay ; with the assistance of 
the Indians he cleaned it, and set it afloat, and on 
looking further he found the stave of a hogshead 
which might serve for a paddle. It was a frail em- 
Ijarkation in which to cross an arm of the sea, 
several leagues wide, but there was no alternative. 
Prevailing on the Indians to accompany him, he 
launched forth in the canoe and coasted the main- 
land until he came to the narrowest part of the 
strait, where it was but four leagues across ; here he 
stood directly for Cozumel, contending, as well as he 
was able, with a strong current, and at length suc- 
ceeded in reaching the island. 

He had scarce landed when a party of Spaniards, 
who had been lying in wait, rushed forth from their 
concealment, sword in hand. The three Indians 
would have fled, but Aguilar reassured them, and, 
calling out to the Spaniards in their own language, 
assured them that he was a Christian. Then throw- 
ing himself upon his knees, and raising his eyes, 
streaming with tears, to heaven, he gave thanks to 
God for having restored him to his countrymen. 

The Spaniards gazed at him with astonishment : 
from his language he was evidently a Castilian, but 
to all appearance he was an Indian. He was per- 
fectly naked ; wore his hair braided round his head 
in the manner of the country, and his complexion 
was burnt by the sun to a tawny colour. He had a 
bow in his hand, a quiver at his shoulder, and a 
net-work pouch at his side in which he carried his 
provisions. 

The Spaniards proved to be a reconnoitering 
party, sent out by Cortez to watch the approach of 
the canoe, which had been descried coming from 
Yucatan. Cortez had given up all hopes of being 
joined by the captives, the caravel having waited 
the allotted time at Cotoche, and returned without 
news of them. He had, in fact, made sail to prose- 
cute his voyage, but fortunately one of his ships had 
sprung a leak, which had obliged him to return 
to the island. 

When Jeronimo de Aguilar and his companions 
arrived in presence of Cortez, who was surrounded 
by his officers, they made a profound reverence, 
squatted on the ground, laid their bows and arrows 
beside them, and touching their right hands, wet 
with spittle, on the ground, rubbed them about the 
region of the heart, such being their sign of the most 
devoted submission. 

Cortez greeted Aguilar with a hearty welcome, 
and raising him from the earth, took from his own 
person a large yellow mantle lined with crimson, 
and threw it over his shoulders. The latter, how- 
ever, had for so long a time gone entirely naked, 
that even this scanty covering was at first almost 
insupportable, and he had become so accustomed 
to the diet of the natives, that he found it difficult to 
reconcile his stomach to the meat and drink set be- 
fore him. 

When he had sufficiently recovered from the agita- 
tion of his arrival among Christians, Cortez drew 
from him the particulars of his story, and found that 
he was related to one of his own friends, the licen- ' 
tiate Marcos de Aguilar. He treated him, therefore, 
with additional kindness and respect, and retained | 
him about his person to aid him as an interpreter in 
his great Mexican expedition. 

The happiness of Jeronimo de Aguilar at once ! 
more being restored to his countrymen, was doomed 
to suffer some alloy from the disasters that had hap- 
pened in his family. Peter Martyr records a touch- 
ing anecdote of the effect that had been produced 



upon his mother by the tidings of his misfortune. 
A vague report had reached her in Spain that her 
son had fallen into the hands of cannibals. All the 
horrible tales that circulated in Spain concerning the 
treatment of these savages to their prisoners, rushed 
to her imagination, and she went distracted. When- 
ever she beheld roasted meat, or flesh upon the spit, 
she would fill the house with her outcries. "Oh. 
wretched mother ! oh, most miserable of women ! " 
would she exclaim, " behold the limbs of my mur- 
dered son."* 

It is to be hoped that the tidings of his deliverance 
had a favourable effect upon her intellects, and that 
she lived to rejoice at his after-fortunes. He served 
Hernando Cortez with great courage and a))ility 
throughout his Mexican conquests, acting sometimes 
as a soldier, sometimes as interpreter and ambassa- 
dor to the Indians, and, in reward of his fidelity and 
services, was appointed regidor, or civil governor of 
the city of Me.xico. 



MICER CODRO, THE ASTROLOGER. 



The fate of the Italian astrologer, Micer Codro, 
who predicted the end of Vasco Nuriez, is related by 
the historian Oviedo, with some particulars that bor- 
der upon the marvelous. It appears that after the 
death of his patron, he continued for several years 
rambling about the New World in the train of the 
Spanish discoverers ; but intent upon studying the 
secrets of its natural history, rather than searching 
after its treasures. 

In the course of his wanderings he was once coast- 
ing the shores of the Southern ocean in a ship com- 
manded by one Geronimo de Valenzuela, from whom 
he received such cruel treatment as to cause his 
death, though what the nature of the treatment was, 
we are not precisely informed. 

Finding his end approaching, the unfortunate as- 
trologer addressed Valenzuela in the most solemn 
manner : " Captain," said he, " you have caused my 
death by your cruelty ; I now summon you to appear 
with me, within a year, before the judgment seat of 
God !" 

The captain made a light and scoffing answer, 
and treated his summons with contempt. 

They were then off the coast of Veragua, near the 
verdant islands of Zebaco, which lie at the entrance 
of the Gulf of Paria. The poor astrologer gazed 
wistfully with his dying eyes upon the green and 
shady groves, and entreated the pilot or mate of the 
caravel to land him on one of the islands, that he 
might die in peace. "Micer Codro." replied the 
pilot, " those are not islands, but points of land ; 
there are no islands hereabout." 

"There are, indeed," replied the astrologer, " two 
good and pleasant islands, well watered, and near to 
the coast, and within them is a great bay with a har- 
bor. Land me, I pray you, upon one of these islands, 
that I ni.ay have comfort in my dying hour." 

The pilot, whose rough nature had been touched 
with pity for the condition of the unfortunate astrol- 
oger, listened to his prayer, and conveyed him to the 
shore, where he found the opinion he had given of 
the character of the coast to be correct. He laid 
him on the herbage in the shade, where the poor 
wanderer soon expired. The pilot then dug a grave 
at the foot of a tree, where he buried hin with all 
possible dec'ency, and car/ed a cross on the bark to 
mark the grave. 



* P. Martyr, decad. 4, c. 6. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



791 



Some time afterwards, Oviedo, the historian, was 
on the island with this very pilot, who showed him 
the cross on the tree, and gave his honest testimony 
to the good character and worthy conduct of Micer 
Codro. Oviedo, as he regarded the namek-ss grave, 
passed the eulogium of a scholar upon the poor as- 
trologer : "He died," says he, "like Pliny, in the 
discharge of his duties, travelling about the world to 
explore the secrets of nature." According to his 
account, the prediction of Micer Codro held good 
with respect to Valenzuela, as it had in the case of 
Vasco Nunez. The captain died within the term in 
which he had summoned him to appear before the 
tribunal of God !* 



JUAN PONCE DE LEON, 

CONQUEROR OF PORTO RICO, AND DISCOVERER 
OF FLORIDA. 



CHAPTER I. 



RBCONNOITERING EXPEDITION OF JUAN PONCE 
DE LEON TO THE ISLAND OF BORIQUEN. — 
(1508.) 

Many years had elapsed since the discovery and 
colonization of Hayti, yet its neighbouring island of 
Boriquen, or, as the Spaniards called it, St. Juan, 
(since named Porto Rico,) remained une.\plored. It 
was beautiful to the eye as beheld from the sea, hav- 
ing lofty mountains clothed with forest trees of pro- 
digious size and magnificent foliage. There were 
broad fertile valleys also, always fresh and green ; 
for the frequent showers and abundant streams in 
these latitudes, and the absence of all wintry frost, 
produce a perpetual verdure. Various ships had oc- 
casionally touched at the island, but their crews had 
never penetrated into the interior. It was evident, 
howev-er, from the number of hamlets and scattered 
houses, and the smoke rising in all directions from 
among the trees, that it was well peopled. The in- 
habitants still continued to enjoy their life of indo- 
lence and freedom, unmolested by the ills that over- 
whelmed the neighbouring island of Hayti. The 
time had arrived, however, when they were to share 
the common lot of their fellow savages, and to sink 
beneath the yoke of the white man. 

At the time when Nicholas de Ovando, Governor 
of Hispaniola, undertook to lay waste the great prov- 
ince of Higuey, which lay at the eastern end of Hay- 
ti, he sent, as commander of part of the troops, a 
veteran soldier named Juan Ponce de Leon. He 
was a native of Leon, in Spain, and in his boyhood 
had been page to Pedro Nunez de Guzman, Senor 
of Toral.t From an early age he had been schooled 
to war, and had served in the various campaigns 
against the Moors of Granada. He accompanied 
Columbus in his second voyage in 1493, and was 
afterwards, it is said, one of the partisans of Fran- 
cisco Roldan, in his rebellion against the admiral. 
Having distinguished himself in various battles with 
the Indians, and acquired a name for sagacity as 
well as valour, he received a command subordinate 
to Juan de Esquibel, in the campaign against Higuey, 
and seconded his chief so valiantly in that sanguinary 
expedition, that after the subjugation of the province 



he was appointed to the command of it, as lieuten- 
ant of the Governor of Hispaniola. 

Juan Ponce de Leon had all the impatience of 
quiet life and the passion for exploit of a veteran 
campaigner. He had not been long in the tranquil 
command of his province of Higuey, before he began 
to cast a wistful eye towards the green mountains of 
Boriquen. They were directly opposite, and but 
twelve or fourteen leagues distant, so as to be uis- 
tinctly seen in the transparent atmosphere of the 
tropics. The Indians of the two islands frequently 
visited each other, and in this way Juan Ponce re- 
ceived the usual intelligence that the mountains he 
had eyed so wistfully abounded with gold. He read- 
ily obtained permission from Governor Ovando to 
make an expedition to this island, and embarked in 
the year 150S in a caravel, with a few Spaniards and 
several Indian interpreters and guides. 

After an easy voyage he landed on the woody 
shores of the island, near to the residence of the 
principal cacique, Agueybana. He found tne chief- 
tain seated in patriarchal style under the shade ot 
his native groves and surrounded by his family, con- 
sisting of his mother, step-father, brother, and sister, 
who vied with each other in paying homage to the 
strangers. Juan Ponce, in fact, was received into 
the bosom of the family, and the cacique exchanged 
names with him, which is the Indian pledge ot per- 
petual amity. Juan Ponce also gave Christian naiiies 
to the mother and step-father of the cacique, and 
would fain have baptized them, but they declined the 
ceremony, though they always took a pride in the 
names thus given them. 

In his zeal to gratify his guests the cacique took 
them to various parts of the island. They found the 
interior to correspond with the external appearance. 
It was wild and mountainous, but magnificently 
wooded, with deep rich valleys fertilized by Umpid 
streams. Juan Ponce requested the cacique to re- 
veal to him the riches of the island. The simple 
Indian showed him his most productive fields of 
Yuca, the groves laden with the most delicious fruit, 
the sweetest and purest fountains, and the coolest 
runs of water. 

Ponce de Leon heeded but little these real bless- 
ings, and demanded whether the island produced no 
gold. Upon this, the cacique conducted him to two 
rivers, the Manatuabon and the Zebuco, where the 
very pebbles seemed richly veined with gold, and 
large grains shone among the sand through the lim- 
pid water. Some of the largest of these were gath- 
ered by the Indians and given to the Spaniards. The 
quantity thus procured confirmed the hopes of Juan 
Ponce ; and leaving several of his companions in the 
house of the hospitable cacique, he returned to Hayti 
to report the success of his expedition. He pre- 
sented the specimens of gold to the Governor Ovan- 
do, who assayed them in a crucible. The ore was not 
so fine as that of Hispaniola, but as it was supposed 
to exist in greater quantities, the Governor deter- 
mined on the subjugation of the island, and confided 
the enterprise to Juan Ponce de Leon. 



CHAPTER II. 



* vide Ovidedo, Hist. Gen. 1. xxxix. c. 2. 

+ Incas, Garcilaso de la Vega, Hist. Florida, t. iv. c. 37. 



JUAN PONCE ASPIRES TO THE GOVERNMENT OF 
PORT J RICO. — (1509.) 

The natives of Boriquen were more warlike than 
those of Hispaniola ; being accustomed to the use 
of arms from the necessity of repelling the frequent 
invasions of the Caribs. It was supposed, therefore, 
that the conquest ot their island would be attended 
with some difficulty, and Juan Ponce de Leon made 



792 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



another, as it were a preparatory visit, to mal<c him- 
self acquainted with the country, and with the nature 
and resources of the inhabitants. He found the com- 
panions, whom he had left there on his former visit, 
in good health and spirits, and full of gratitude 
towards the cacique Agueybana, who had treated 
them with undiminished hospitality. There ap- 
peared to be no need of violence to win the island 
from such simple-hearted and confiding people. 
Juan Ponce flattered himself with the hopes of being 
appointed to its government by Ovando, and of 
bringing it peaceably into subjection. After remain- 
ing some time on the island, he returned to San Do- 
mingo to seek the desired appointment, but, to his 
surprise, found the whole face of affairs had changed 
during his absence. 

His patron, the Governor Ovando, had been re- 
called to Spain, and Don Diego Columbus, son of 
the renowned discoverer, appointed in his place to 
the command at San Domingo. To add to the per- 
plexities of Juan Ponce, a cavalier had already ar- 
rived from Spain, empowered by the king to form a 
settlement and build a fortress on the island of Porto 
Rico. His name was Christoval de Sotomayor ; he 
was brother to the Count of Camina, and had been 
secretary to Philip I., sumamed the Handsome, king 
of Castile, and father of Charles V. 

Don Diego Columbus was highly displeased with 
the act ol the king in granting these powers to Soto- 
mayor, as it had been done without his knowledge 
and consent, and of course in disregard of his pre- 
rogative as viceroy, to be consulted as to all appoint- 
ments made within his jurisdiction. He refused, 
therefore, to put Sotomayor in possession of the 
island. He paid as little respect to the claims of 
Juan Ponce de Leon, whom he regarded with an un- 
gracious eye as a favourite of his predecessor Ovan- 
do. To settle the matter effectually, he exerted what 
he considered his oUicial and hereditary privilege, 
and chose officers to suit himself, appointing one 
Juan Ceron to the government of Porto Rico, and 
Miguel Diaz to serve as his lieutenant.* 

Juan Ponce de Leon and his rival candidate, 
Christoval de Sotomayor, bore their disappointment 
with a good grace. Though the command was de- 
nied them, they still hoped to improve their fortunes 
in the island, and accordingly joined the crowd of 
adventurers that accompanied the newly appointed 
governor. 

New changes soon took place in consequence of 
the jealousies and misunderstandings between King 
Ferdinand and the admiral as to points of privilege. 
The former still seemed disposed to maintain the 
right of making appointments without consulting 
Don Diego, and exerted it in the present instance; 
for, when Ovando, on his return to Spain, made 
favourable representation of the merits of Juan Ponce 
de Leon, and set forth his services in exploring Porto 
Rico, the king appointed him governor of that island, 
and signified specifically that Don Diego Columbus 
should not presume to displace him. 



CHAPTER in. 

JUAN PONCE RULES WITH A STRONG HAND — EX- 
ASPERATION OF THE INDIANS — THEIR EXPERI- 
MENT TO PROVE WHETHER THE SPANIARDS 
WERE MORTAL. 

JUAN PoNCE DE Leon assumed the command 
of the island of Boriquen in the year i ^o<). Being a 

* If the reader has perused the history of Columbus, he may re- 
member the romantic adventure of this Miguel Diaz with a female 
cacique, which led to the discovery of the gold mines of Hayna, and 
Ihe loundiag of the city of Sau Domingo. 



fieiy, high-handed old soldier, his first step was to 
quarrel with Juan Ceron and Miguel Diaz, the ex- 
governor and his lieutenant, and to send them prison- 
ers to Spain.* 

He was far more favourable to his late competitor, 
Christoval de Sotomayor. Finding him to be a cav- 
alier of noble blood and high connexions, yet void 
of pretension, and of most accommodating temper, 
he oftiered to make him his lieutenant, and to give 
him the post of Alcalde Mayor, an offer which was 
very thankfully accepted. 

The pride of rank, however, which follows a man 
even into the wilderness, soon interfered with the 
quiet of Sotomayor ; he was ridiculed for descend- 
ing so much below his birth and dignity, as to accept 
a subaltern situation to a simple gentleman in the 
island which he had originally aspired to govern. 
He could not withstand these sneers, but resigned 
his appointment, and remained in the island as a 
private individual ; establishing himself in a village 
where he had a large repartimiento or allotment of 
Indians assigned to him by a grant from the king. 

Juan Ponce fixed his seat of government in a town 
called Caparra, which he founded on the northern 
side of the island, about a league from the sea, in a 
neighbourhood supposed to abound in gold. It was 
in front of the port called Rico, which subsequently 
gave its name to the island. The road to the town 
was up a mountain, through a dense forest, and so 
rugged and miry that it was the bane of man and 
beast. It cost more to convey provisions and mer- 
chandise up this league of mountain than it had to 
bring them from Spain. 

Juan Ponce, being firmly seated in his government, 
began to carve and portion out the island, to found 
towns, and to distribute the natives into repartimi- 
entos, for the purpose of exacting their labour. 

The poor Indians soon found the difference be- 
tween the Spaniards as guests, and the Spaniards 
as masters. They were driven to despair by the 
heavy tasks imposed upon them ; for to their free 
spirits and indolent habits, restraint and labour 
were worse than death. Many of the most hardy 
and daring proposed a general insurrection, and a 
massacre of their oppressors ; the great mass, how- 
ever, were deterred by the belief that the Spaniards 
were supernatural beings and could not be killed. 

A shrewd and sceptical cacique named Brayoan, 
determined to put their immortality to the test. 
Hearing that a young Spaniard named Salzedo, was 
passing through his lands, he sent a party of his sub- 
jects to escort him, giving them secret instructions 
how they were to act. On coming to a river they took 
Salzedo on their shoulders to carry him across, but, 
when in the midst of the stream, they let him fall, and, 
throwing themselves upon him, pressed him under 
water until he was drowned. Then dragging his body 
to the shore, and still doubting his being dead, they 
wept and howled over him, making a thousand 
apologies for having fallen upon him, and kept him 
so long beneath the surface. 

The cacique Brayoan came to examine the body 
and pronounced it lifeless ; but the Indians, still fear- 
ing it might possess lurking immortality and ulti- 
mately revive, kept watch over it for three days, un- 
til in showed incontestible signs of putrefaction. 

Being now convinced that the strangers were 
mortal men like themselves, they readily entered into 
a general conspiracy to destroy them.t 



* Herrera, decad. i. 1. vii. c. 13. 
t Herrera, decad. i 1. viii. c. I> 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



793 



CHAPTER IV. 

CONSPIRACY OF THE CACIQUES — THE FATE OF 
SOTOMAYOR. 

The prime mover of the conspiracy among the 
natives was Agueybana, brother and successor to 
the hospitable cacique of the same name, who had 
first welcomed the Spaniards to the island, and who 
had fortunately closed his eyes in peace, before his 
native groves were made the scenes of violence and 
oppression. The present cacique had fallen within 
the reparlimiento of Don Christoval de Sotomayor, 
and, though treated by that cavalier with kindness, 
could never reconcile his proud spirit to the yoke of 
vassalage. 

Agueybana held secret councils with his confed- 
erate caciques, in which they concerted a plan of 
operations. As the Spaniards were scattered about 
in different places, it was agreed that, at a certain 
time, each cacique should despatch those within his 
province. In arranging the massacre of those within 
his ow=n domains, Aguevbana assigned to one of his 
inferior caciques the task of surprising the village of 
Sotomayor, giving him 3,000 warriors for the pur- 
pose. He was to assail the village in the dead of the 
night, to set tire to the houses, and to slaughter all 
the inhabitants. He proudly, however, reserved to 
himself the honour of killing Don Christoval with his 
own hand. 

Don Christoval had an unsuspected friend in the 
very midst of his enemies. Being a cavalier of gal- 
lant appearance and amiable and courteous manners, 
he had won the affections of an Indian princess, the 
sister of the cacique Agueybana. She had overheard 
enough of the war-council of her brother and his 
warriors to learn that Sotomayor v.'as in danger. 
The life of her lover was more precious in her eyes 
than the safety of her brother and her tribe ; hast- 
ening, therefore, to him, she told him all that she 
knew or feared, and warned him to be upon his 
guard. Sotomayor appears to have been of the 
most easy and incautious nature, void of all evil and 
deceit himself, and slow to suspect any thing of the 
kind in others. He considered the apprehension of 
the princess as dictated by her fond anxiety, and 
neglected to profit by her warning. 

He received, however, about the same time, in- 
formation from a different quarter, tending to the 
same point. A Spaniard, versed in the language 
and customs of the natives, had observed a number 
gathering together one evening, painted and deco- 
rated as if for battle. Suspecting some lurking mis- 
chief, he stripped and painted himself in their man- 
ner, and, favoured by the obscurity of the night, 
succeeded in mingling among them undiscovered. 
They were assembled round a fire performing one 
of their mystic war-dances, to the chant of an 
Areyto or legendary ballad. The strophes and re- 
sponses treated of revenge and slaughter, and re- 
peatedly mentioned the death of Sotomayor. 

The Spaniard withdrew unperceived, and hasten- 
ed to apprise Don Christoval of his danger. The 
latter still made light of these repeated warnings ; 
revolving them, however, in his mind in the stillness 
of the night, he began to feel some uneasiness, and 
determined to repair in the morning to Juan Ponce 
de Leon, in his strong-hold at Caparra. With his 
fated heedlessness, or temerity, however, he applied 
to Agueyliana for Indians to carry his baggage, and 
departed slighty armed, and accompanied by but 
three Spaniards, although he had to pass through 
close and lonely forests, where he would be at the 
mercy of any treacherous or lurking foe. 

The cacique watched the departure of his intended 
victim and set out shortly afterwards, dogging his 



steps at a distance through the forest, accompanied 
by a few chosen warriors. Agueybana and his party 
had not proceeded far when they met a Spaniard 
named Juan Gonzalez, who spoke the Indian 
language. They immediately assailed him and 
wounded him in several places. He threw himself 
at the feet of the cacique, imploring his lile in the 
most abject terms. The chief spared him tor the 
moment, being eager to make sure of Don Christo- 
val. He overtook that incautions cavalier in the 
very heart of the woodland, and stealing silently 
upon him, burst forth suddenly with his warriors 
from the covert of the thickets, giving the fatal war 
whoop. Before Sotomayor could put himself upon 
his guard a blow from the war club of the cacique 
felled him to the earth, when he was quickly des- 
patched by repeated blows. The four Spaniards 
who accompanied him shared his fate, being assail- 
ed, not merely by the wariors who had come in pur- 
suit of them, but by their own Indian guides. 

When Agueybana had glutted his vengeance on 
this unfortunate cavalier, he returned in quest of 
Juan Gonzalez. The latter, however, had recovered 
sufficiently from his wounds to leave the place where 
he had been assailed, and, dreading the return of the 
savages, had climbed into a tree and concealed him- 
self among the branches. From thence, with trem- 
bling anxiety he watched his pursuers as they search- 
ed all the surrounding forest for him. Fortunately 
they did not think of looking up into the trees, but, 
after beating the bushes for some time, gave up the 
search. Though he saw them depart, yet he did 
not venture from his concealment until the night had 
closed ; he then descended from the tree and made 
the best of his way to the residence of certain Span- 
iards, where his wounds were dressed. When this 
was done he waited not to take repose, but repaired 
by a circuitous route to Caparra, and informed Juan 
Ponce de Leon of the danger he supposed to be still 
impending over Sotomayor, for he knew not that the 
enemy had accomplished his death. Juan Ponce 
immediately sent out forty men to his relief. They 
came to the scene of massacre, where they found 
the body of the unfortunate cavalier, partly buried, 
but with the feet out of the earth. 

In the mean time the savages had accomplished 
the destruction of the village ot Sotomayor. They 
approached it unperceived, through the surrounding 
forest, and entering it in the dead of the night, set 
fire to the straw-thatched houses, and attacked the 
Spaniards as they endeavoured to escape from the 
flames. 

Several were slain at the onset, but a brave Span- 
iard, named Diego de Salazar, rallied his countiy- 
men, inspirited them to beat off the enemy, and 
succeeded in conducting the greater part of them, 
though sorely mangled and harassed, to the strong- 
hold of the Governor at Caparra. Scarcely had these 
fugitives gained the fortress, when others came 
hurrying in from all quarters, bringing similar tales 
of conflagration and massacre. For once a general 
insurrection, so often planned in savage life, against 
the domination of the white men, was crowned with 
success. All the villages founded by the Span- 
iards had been surprised, about a hundred of their 
inhabitants destroyed, and the survivors driven to 
take refuge in a beleaguered fortress. 



CHAPTER V. 



WAR OF JUAN PONCE WITH THE CACIQUE 
AGUEYBANA. 

Juan Ponce de Leon might now almost be con- 
sidered a governor without territories, and a general 



794 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



without soldiers. His villages were smoking ruins, 
and his whole force did not amount to a hundred 
men, several of whom were disabled by their wounds. 
He had an able and implacable foe in Aguevbana, 
who took the lead of all the other caciques, and even 
s-.-nt envoys to the Caribs of the neighbouring islands, 
entreating them to Ibrget all ancient animosities, and 
to make common cause against these strangers — the 
deadly enemies of the whole Indian race. In the 
mean time the whole of this wild island was in re- 
bellion, and the forests around the fortress of Ca- 
parra rang with the whoops and yells of the savages, 
the blasts of their war conchs, and the stormy roar- 
ing of their drums. 

Juan Ponce was a staunch and wary old soldier, 
and not easily daunted. He remained grimly en- 
sconced within his fortress, from whence he des- 
patched messengers in all haste to Hispaniola, im- 
ploring immediate assistance. In the mean time he 
tasked his wits to divert the enemy and to keep them 
at bay. He divided his little force into three bodies 
of about thirty men each, under the command of 
Diego Salazar, Miguel de Toro, and Luis de Anasco, 
and sent them out alternately to make sudden sur- 
prises and assaults, to form ambuscades, and to 
practice the other stratagems of partisan warfare, 
which he had learnt in early life, in his campaigns 
against the Moors of Granada. 

One of his most efficient warriors was a dog named 
Berezillo. renowned for courage, strength, and sagac- 
ity. It is said that he could distinguish those of the 
Indians who were allies, from those who were ene- 
mies of the .Spaniards^ To the former he was docile 
and friendly, to the latter herce and implacable. He 
was the terror of the natives, who were unaccustomed 
to powerful and ferocious animals, and did more serv- 
ice in this wild warfare than could have been ren- 
dered by several soldiers. His prowess was so highly 
appreciated that his master received lor him the pay, 
allowance, and share of booty, assigned to a cross- 
bow man, which was the highest stipend given.* 

At length the stout old cavalier Juan Ponce was 
reinforced in his strong-hold, by troops from His- 
paniola, whereupon he sallied forth boldly to take 
revenge upon those who had thus held him in a kind 
of durance. His foe Agueybana was at that time 
encamped in his own territories with more than five 
thousand warriors, but in a negligent, unwatchful 
state, for he knew nothing of the reinforcements of 
the Spaniards, and supposed Juan Ponce shut up 
with his handful of men in Caparra. The old sol- 
dier, therefore, took him completely by surprise, and 
routed him with great slaughter, indeed, it is said 
the Indians were struck with a kind of panic when 
they saw the Spaniards as numerous as ever, not- 
withstanding the number they had massacred. Their 
belief in their immortality revived; they fancied that 
those whom they had slain had returned to life, and 
they despaired of victory over beings who could thus 
arise with renovated vigour from the grave. 

Various petty actions and skirmishes afterwards 
took place, in which the Indians were defeated. 
Agueybana, however, disdained this petty warfare, 
and stirred up his countrymen to assemble their 
forces, and by one grand assault to decide the fate 
of themselves and their island. Juan Ponce received 
secret tidings of their intent, and of the place where 
they were assembling. He had at that time barely 



* This famous dog was killed some years afterwards by a poison- 
ed arrow, as he was swimming in the sea in pursuit of a Carib 
Indian. He left, however, a numerous progeny and a great name 
behind him; and his merits and exploits were long a favourite 
theme among the Spanish colonists. He was father to the renown- 
ed Leoncico, the faithful dog of Vasco Nuiie^, which resembled 
him in looks and equalled him in prowess. 



eighty men at his disposal, but then they were cased 
in steel and proof against the weapons of the sav- 
ages. Without stopping to reflect, the high-mettled 
old cavalier put himself at their head and led them 
through the forest in quest of the foe. 

It was nearly sunset when he came in sight of the 
Indian camp, antl the multitude of warriors assem- 
bled there made him pause, and almost repent of his 
temerity. He was as shrewd, however, as he was 
hardy and resolute. Ordering some of his men in the 
advance to skirmish with the enemy, he hastily threw 
up a flight fortification with the assistance of the rest. 
When it was finished he withdrew his forces into it and 
ordered them to keep merely on the defensive. The 
Indians made repeated attacks, but were as often re- 
pulsed with loss. Some of the Spaniards, impatient 
of this covert warfare, would sally forth in open field 
with pike and cross-bow, but were called back with- 
in the fortification by their wary commander. 

The cacique Agueybana was enraged at finding his 
host of warriors thus baffled and kept at bay by a 
mere handful of Spaniards. He beheld the night 
closing in, and feared that in the darkness the enemy 
would escape. Summoning his choicest warriors 
round him, therefore, he led the way in a general as- 
sault, when, as he approached the fortress, he re- 
ceived a mortal wound from an arquebus and fell 
dead upon the spot. 

The Spaniards were not aware at first of the im- 
portance of the chief w-hom they had slain. They 
soon surmised it, however, from the confusion that 
ensued among the enemy, who bore off the body with 
great lamentations, and made no further attack. 

The wary Juan Ponce took advantage of the evi- 
dent distress of the foe, to draw off his small forces 
in the night, happy to get out of the terrible jeopardy 
into which a rash confidence had betrayed him. 
Some of his fiery-spirited officers would have kept 
the field in spite of the overwhelming force of the 
enemy. " No, no," said the shrewd veteran ; "it is 
better to protract the war than to risk all upon a 
single battle." 

While Juan Ponce de Leon was fighting hard to 
maintain his sway over the island, his transient dig- 
nity was overturned by another power, against which 
the prowess of the old soldier was of no avail. King 
Ferdinand had repented of the step he had ill-advis- 
edly taken, in superseding the governor and lieu- 
tenant governor, appointed by Don Diego Columbus. 
He became convinced, though rather tardidy, that it 
was an infringement of the rights of the admiral, and 
that policy, as well as justice, required him to retract 
it. When Juan Ceron and Miguel Diaz, therefore, 
came prisoners to Spain, he received them graciously, 
conferred many favours on them to atone for their 
rough ejectment from office, and finally, after some 
time, sent them back, empowered to resume the com- 
mand of the island. They were ordered, however, on 
no account to manifest rancour or ill-will against 
Juan Ponce de Leon, or to interfere with any property 
he might hold, either in houses, lands, or Indians; 
but on the contrary, to cultivate the most friendly 
understanding with him. The king also wrote to the 
hardy veteran explaining to him, that this restitution 
of Ceron and Diaz had been determined upon in 
council, as a mere act of justice due to them, but was 
not intended as a censure upon his conduct, and that 
means should be sought to indemnify him for the 
loss of his command. 

By the time the governor and his lieutenant reach- 
ed the island, Juan Ponce had completed its subjuga- 
tion. The death of the island champion, the brave 
Agueybana, had in fact been a death blow to the 
natives, and shows how much, in savage warfare, 
depends upon a single chieftain. They never made 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



795 



head of war afterwards ; but, dispersing among their 
forests and mountains, fell gradually under the |)Ower 
of the Spaniards. Their subsequent fate was like 
that of their neighbours of Hayti. They were em- 
ployed ill the labour of the mines, and in other rude 
toils so repugnant to their nature that they sank be- 
neath them, and, in a little while, almost all the 
aboriginals disappeared from the island. 



CHAPTER VI. 



JUAN PONCE DE LEON HEARS OF A WONDERFUL 
COUNTRY AND MIRACULOUS FOUNTAIN. 

Juan Ponce de Leon resigned the command of 
Porto Rico with tolerable grace. The loss of one 
wild island and wild government was of little mo- 
ment, when there was a new world to be shared out, 
where a bold soldier like himself, with sword and 
buckler, might readily carve out new fortunes for 
himself Beside, he had now amassed w'ealth to as- 
sist him in his plans, and, like many of the early dis- 
coverers, his brain was teeming with the most roman- 
tic enterprises. He had conceived the idea that there 
was yet a third world to be discovered, and he hoped 
to be the first to reach its shores, and thus to secure 
a renown equal to that of Columbus. 

While cogitating these things, and considering 
which way he should strike forth in the unexplored 
regions around him, he met with some old Indians 
who gave him tidings of a country which promised, 
not merely to satisfy the cravings of his ambition, 
but to realize the fondest dreams of the poets. They 
assured him that, far to the north, there existed a 
land abounding in gold and in all manner of delights ; 
but, above all, possessing a river of such wonderful 
virtue that whoever bathed in it would be restored to 
youth ! They added, that in times past, before the 
arrival of the Spaniards, a large party of the natives 
of Cuba had departed northward in search of this 
happy land and this river of life, and, having never 
returned, it was concluded that they were flourishing 
in renovated youth, detained by the pleasures of that 
enchanting country. 

Here was the dream of the alchymist realized ! 
one had but to find this gifted land and revel in the 
eMJoyment of boundless riches and perennial youth ! 
nay, some of the ancient Indians declared that it was 
not necessary to go so far in quest of these rejuvenat- 
ing waters, for that, in a certain island of the Baha- 
ma group, called Bimini, which lay far out in the 
ocean, there was a fountain possessing the same 
marvellous and inestimable qualities. 

Juan Ponce de Leon listened to these tales with 
fond credulity. He was advancing in life, and the 
ordinary term of existence seemed insufficient for his 
mighty plans. Could he but plunge into this marvel- 
lous fountain or gifted river, and come out with his 
battered, war-worn body restored to the strength and 
freshness and suppleness of youth, and his head still 
retaining the wisdom and knowledge of age, what 
enterprises might he not accomplish in the additional 
course of vigorous years insured to him ! 

It may seem incredible, at the present day, that a 
man of years and experience could yield any faith to 
a story which resembles the wild fiction of an Ara- 
bian tale ; but the wonders and novelties breaking 
upon the world in that age of discovery almost re- 
alized the illusions of fable, and the imaginations of 
the Spanish voyagers had become so heated that they 
were capable of any stretch of credulity. 

So fully persuaded was the worthy old cavalier of 
the existence of the region described to him, that he 



fitted out three ships at his own expense to prosecute 
the discovery, nor had he any difficulty in finding ad- 
venturers in abundance ready to cruise with him in 
quest of this fairy-land.* 



CHAPTER VII. 



CRUISE OF JUAN PONCE DE LEON IN SEARCH OF 
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.— -(l 5 12). 

It was on the third of March, 1512, that Juan 
Ponce sailed with his three ships from the Fort of St. 
Germain in the island of Porto Rico. He kept for 
some distance along the coast of Hispaniola, and 
then, stretching away to the northward, made for the 
Bahama islands, and soon fell in with the first of the 
group. He was favoured with propitious weather 
and tranquil seas, and glided smoothly with wind and 
current along that verdant archipelago, visiting one 
island after another, until, on the fourteenth of the 
month, he arrived at Guanahani, or St. Salvador's, 
where Christopher Columbus had first put his foot 
on the shores of the new world. His inquiries for 
the island of Bimini were all in vahi, and as to the 
fountain of youth, he may have drank of every foun- 
tain, and river, and lake in the archipelago, even to 
the salt pools of Turk's island, without being a whit 
the younger. 

Still he was not discouraged ; but, having repaired 
his ships, he again put to sea and shaped his course 
to the north-west. On Sunday, the 27th of March, 
he came in sight of what he supposed to be an island, 
but was prevented from landing by adverse weather. 
He continued hovering about it for several days, buf- 
feted by the elements, until, in the night of the sec- 
ond of April, he succeeded in coming to anchor under 
the land in thirty degrees eight minutes of latitude. 
The whole country was in the fresh bloom of spring ; 
the trees were gay with blossoms, and the fields cov- 
ered with flowers; from which circumstance, as well 
as from having discovered it on Palm Sunday, (Pas- 
cua Florida,) he gave it the name of Florida, which 
it retains to the present day. The Indian name of 
the country was Cautio.f 

Juan Ponce landed, and took possession of the 
country in the name of the Castilian Sovereigns. He 
afterwards continued for several weeks ranging the 
cc.asts of this flowery land, and struggling against 
the gulf-stream and the various currents which sweep 
it. He doubled Cape Canaveral, and reconnoitered 
the southern and eastern shores without suspecting 
that this was a part of Terra Firma. In all his at- 
tempts to explore the country, he met with resolute 
and implacable hostility on the part of the natives, 
who appeared to be a fierce and warlike race. He 
was disappointed also in his hopes of finding gold, 
nor did any of the rivers or fountains which he ex- 
amined possess the rejuvenating virtue. Convinced, 
therefore, that this was not tlie promised land of In- 



* It was not the credulous minds of voyagers and adventurers 
alone that were heated by these Indian traditions and romantic fa- 
bles. Men of learning and eminence were likewise bes^uiled by 
them : witness the following extract from the second decade of Peter 
Martyr, addressed to Leo X.. then Bishop of Rome : 

''Among the islands on the north side of Hispa-niola there is one 
.about 325 leagues distant, as they say which have searched the 
same, in the whicli is a continual spring of running water, of such 
marvellous virtue that the water thereof being druuic, perhaps with 
some diet, maketh olde men young agaiti. And here 1 must make 
protestation to your holiness not to think this to be said lightly or 
rashly, for theyliave so spread this rumour for a truth throtighout 
all the court, that not only all the people, but also many ul them 
whom wisdom or fortune hath divided from the common sort, think 
it to be true ; but, if you will ask my opinion herein. I will answer 
that I will not attribute so great power to nature, but that God hath 
no lesse reserved this prerogative to himself than to search the 
hearts of men," &C.—P. Martyr^ D. 1. c. to, Lok's translation. 

+ Herrera, Hist. Ind. d. 1. 1. ix., c, 10. 



796 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



dian tradition, he turned his prow homeward on the 
14th of June, with the intention in the way of making- 
one more attempt to find the island of Bimini. 

In the outset of his return he discovered a group 
of islets abounding with sea-fowl and marine animals. 
On one of them his sailors, in the course of a single 
night, caught one hundred and seventy turtles, and 
might have taken many more, had they been so in- 
clined. They likewise took fourteen sea wolves, and 
killed a vast quantity of pelicans and other birds. 
To this group Juan Ponce gave the name of the 
Tortugas, or turtles, which they still retain. 

Proceeding in his cruise, he touched at another 
group of islets near the Lucayos, to which he gave 
the name of La V'ieja, or the Old Woman group, be- 
cause he found no inhabitant there but one old In- 
dian woman.* This ancient sybil he took on board 
his ship to give him information about the labyrinth 
of islands into which he was entering, and perhaps 
he could not have had a more suitable guide in the 
eccentric quest he was making. Notwithstanding 
her pilotage, however, he was exceedingly baffled 
and perplexed in his return voyage among the Ba- 
hama islands, for he was forcing his way as it were 
against the course of nature, and encountering the 
currents which sweep westward along these islands, 
and the trade-wind which accompanies them. For 
a long time he struggled with all kinds of difficulties 
and dangers ; and was obliged to remain upwards 
of a month in one of the islands to repair the dam- 
ages which his ship had suffered in a storm. 

Disheartened at length by the perils and trials 
with which nature seemed to have beset the ap- 
proach to Bimini, as to some fairy island in romance, 
he gave up the quest in person, and sent in his place 
a trusty captain, Juan Perez de Ortubia, who depart- 
ed in one of the other ships, guided by the experi- 
enced old woman of the isles, and by another Indian. 
As to Juan Ponce, he made the best of his way back 
to Porto Rico, where he arrived infinitely poorer in 
purse and wrinkled in brow, by this cruise after in- 
exhaustible riches and perpetual youth. 

He had not been long in port when his trusty en- 
voy, Juan Perez, likewise arrived. Guided by the 
sage old woman, he had succeeded in finding the 
long-sought-for Bimini. He described it as being 
large, verdant, and covered with beautiful groves. 
There were crystal springs and limped streams in 
abundance, which kept the island in perpetual verd- 
ure, but none that could restore to an old man the 
vernal greenness of his youth. 

Thus ended the romantic expedition of Juan Ponce 
de Leon. Like many other pursuits of a chimera, 
it terminated in the acquisition of a substantial good. 
Though he had failed in finding the fairy fountain 
of youth, he had discovered in place of it the impor- 
tant country of Florida.! 



CHAPTER VIIL 



EXPEDITION OF JUAN PONCE AGAINST THE CA- 
RIES — HIS DEATH.— (l 514.) 

JUAN PoNCE DE Leon now repaired to Spain to 
make a report of his voyage to King Ferdinand. 

* Herrera, d. i, I. ix. 

t The belief of the existence, in Florida, of a river like that sought 
by Juan Ponce, was long prevalent among the Indians of Cuba, and 
the caciques were anxious to discover it. That a party of the na- 
tives of Cuba once went in search of it. and remained there, ap- 
pears to be a fact, as their descendants were afterwards to be traced 
among the people of Florida. I.as Casas says, that even in his days, 
many persisted in seekint; this mystery, and some thought that 
the river was no other than that called the Jordan, at the point of 
St. Helena; without considering that the name was given to it by 
the Spaniards in the year 1520, when they discovered the land of 
Chlcura, 



The hardy old cavalier experienced much raillery 
from the witlings of the court on account of his 
visionary voyage, though many wise men had been 
as credulous as himself at the outset. The king, 
however, received him with great favour, and con- 
ferred on him the title of Adelantado of Bimini and 
Florida, which last was as yet considered an island. 
Permission was also- granted him to recruit men 
either in Spain or in the colonies for a settlement in 
Florida ; but he deferred entering on his command 
for the present, being probably discouraged and im- 
poverished by the losses in his last expedition, or 
finding a difficulty in enlisting adventurers. At 
length another enterprise presented itself. The Ca- 
ribs had by this time become a terror to the Spanish 
inhabitants of many of the islands, making descents 
upon the coasts and carrying off captives, who it was 
supposed were doomed to be devoured by these 
cannibals. So frequent were their invasions of the 
island of Porto Rico, that it was feared they would 
ultimately oblige the Spaniards to abandon it. 

At length King Ferdinand, in I 514, ordered that 
three ships, well armed and manned, should be fit- 
ted out in Seville, destined to scour the islands of 
the Caribs, and to free the seas from those cannibal 
marauders. The command of the Armada was given 
to Juan Ponce de Leon, from his knowledge in In- 
dian warfare, and his varied and rough experience 
v^hich had mingled in him the soldier with the sailor. 
He was instructed in the first place to assail the Ca- 
ribs of those islands most contiguous and dangerous 
to Porto Rico, and then to make war on those of the 
coast of Terra Firma, in the neighbourhood of 
Carthagena. He was afterwards to take the cap- 
taincy of Porto Rico, and to attend to the reparti- 
mientos or distributions of the Indians in conjunc- 
tion with a person to be appointed by Diego Co- 
lumbus. 

The enterprise suited the soldier-like spirit of Juan 
Ponce de Leon, and the gallant old cavalier set sail 
full of confidence in January, 1515, and steered direct 
for the Caribbees, with a determination to give a 
wholesome castigation to the whole savage archipel- 
ago. Arriving at the island of Guadaloupe, he cast 
anchor, and sent men on shore for wood and water, 
and women to wash the clothing of the crews, with a 
party of soldiers to mount guard. 

Juan Ponce had not been as wary as usual, or he 
had to deal with savages unusually adroit in warfare. 
While the people were scattered carelessly on shore, 
the Caribs rushed forth from an ambuscade, killed 
the greater part of the men, and carried off the 
women to the mountains. 

This blow at the very outset of his vaunted ex- 
pedition sank deep into the heart of Juan Ponce, and 
put an end to all his military excitement. Humbled 
and mortified, he set sail for the island of Porto 
Rico, where he relinquished all further prosecution 
of the enterprise, under pretext of ill health, and 
gave the command of the squadron to a captain 
named Zuniga ; but it is surmised that his malady 
was not so much of the flesh as of the spirit. He 
remained in Porto Rico as governor; but, having 
grown testy and irritable through vexations and dis- 
appointments, he gave great offence, and caused 
much contention on the island by positive and strong- 
handed measures, in respect to the distribution of 
the Indians. 

He continued for several years in that island, in a 
state of growling repose, until the brilliant exploits 
of Hernando Cortez, which threatened to eclipse the 
achievements of all the veteran discoverers, roused 
his dormant spirit. 

Jealous of being cast in the shade in his old days, 
he determined to sally forth on one more expedition. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



797 



He had heard that Florida, which he had discover- 
ed and which he had hitherto considered a mere 
island, was part of Terra Firma, possessing vast and 
unknown regions in I'ts bosom. 11 so a grand held 
of enterprise lav before him, wherein he might make 
discoveries and 'conquests to rival, if not surpass, the 
far-famed conquest of Mexico. , . , 

Accordingly, in the year 1 521 he fitted out two 
ships at the island of Porto Rico, and embarked al- 
most the whole of his property in the undertaking. 
His vovage was toilsome and tempestuous, but at 
len-rth'he arrived at the wished-for land. He made 
a descent upon the coast with a great part of his 
men but the Indians sallied forth with unusual val- 
our to defend their shores. A bloody battle ensued, 
sever.al of the Spaniards were slain, and Juan 1 once 
was wounded by an arrow, in the thigh. He was 
borne on board his ship, and finding himselt dis- 
abled for further action, set sail for Cuba, where he 
arrived ill in body and dejected in heart. 

He was of an age when there is no longer prompt 
and healthful reaction either mental or corporeal. 
The irritations of humiliated pride and disappointed 
hope, exasperated the fever of his wound, and he 
died soon after his arrival at the island. "Thus 
fate," says one of the quaint old Spanish writers, 
"delights to reverse the schemes of man. The dis- 
covery that Juan Ponce flattered himself was to lead 
to a means of perpetuating his life, had the ultimate 
effect of hastening his death." ,, . , 

It may be said, however, that he has at least at- 
tained the shadow of his desire, since, though disap- 
pointed in extending the natural term ot his exist- 
ence, his discovery has ensured a lasting duration 
to his name. , 

The following epitaph was inscribed upon his tomD, 
which does justice to the warrior qualities of the stout 
old cavalier : 

Mole STib hac fortis requiescat ossa Leonis, 
Qui vicit factis nomina m.igna suis. 

It has thus been paraphrased in Spanish by the 
Licentiate Juan de Castellanos. 

Aqueste lugar eatrecho 
Es sepulchro del varon, 
Que en el nombre fue Leon, 
Y raucho mas en el hecho. 

■' In this sepulchre rest the bones of a man, who 
was a lion by name, and still more by nature." 



APPENDIX. 



A VISIT TO PALOS. 

TThe following narrative was actually commenced, by 
the author of this work, as a letter to a friend, but 
unexpectedly swelled to its present size. He has 
been induced to insert it here from the idea that 
many will feel the same curiosity to know some- 
thing of the present state of Palos and its inhabit- 
ants that led him to make the journey.] 



Seville, 1828. 
Since I last wrote to you I have made, what I 
may term, an American Pilgrimage, to visit the little 
port of Palos in Andalusia, where Columbus fitted 
out his ships, and whence he sailed for the discovery 
of the New World. Need 1 tell you how deeply in- 
teresting and gratifying it has been to me ? I had long 



meditated this excursion as a kind of pious, and, if I 
may so say, filial duty of an American, and my in- 
tention was quickened when 1 learnt that many of 
the edifices mentioned in the history of Columbus 
still remained in nearly the same state in which they 
existed at the time of his sojourn at Palos, and that 
the descendants of the intrepid Pinzons, who aided 
him with ships and money, and sailed with him in 
the great voyage of discovery, still flourished in the 
neighbourhood. „ 

the very evening before my departure Irom be- 
ville on the excursion, I heard that there was a young 
gentleman of the Pinzon family studying law m the 
city I got introduced to him, and tound him ot 
most prepossessing appearance and manners. He 
crave me a letter of introduction to his father, Don 
Juan Fernandez Pinzon, resident of Moguer, and the 
present head of the family. 

As it was in the middle of August, and the weath- 
er intensely hot, I hired a calesa for the journey; 
This is a two-wheeled carriage, resembling a cab- 
riolet, but of the most primitive and rude construc- 
tion ; the harness is profusely ornamented with brass, 
and the horse's head decorated with tufts and tas- 
sels and dangling bobs of scariet and yellow worsted. 
I had, for calasero, a tall, long-legged Andalusian, 
in short jacket, little round-crowned hat, breeches 
decorated with buttons from the hip to the knees, 
and a pair of russet leather bottinas or spatter- 
dashes. He was an active fellow, though uncom- 
monly taciturn for an Andalusian, and strode along 
beside his horse, rousing him occasionally to greater 
speed by a loud malediction or a hearty thwack ot 
his cudgel. , , ... 

In this style I set off late in the day to avoid the 
noon-tide heat, and after ascending the lolty range 
of hills that borders the great valley ol the Guadal- 
quiver, and having a rough ride among their heights, 
I descended about twilight into one of those vast, 
silent, melancholy plains, frequent in Spain, where 
I beheld no other signs of life than a roammg flock 
of bustards, and a distant herd of cattle, guarded by 
a solitary herdsman, who, with a long pike planted 
in the earth, stood motionless in the midst ot the 
dreary landscape, resembling an Arab of the desert. 
The nio-ht had somewhat advanced when we stopped 
to repose for a few hours at a solitary venta or inn, 
if it mi'^ht so be called, being nothing more than a 
vast low-roofed stable, divided into several compart- 
ments for the reception of the troops of mules and 
arrieros (or carriers) who carry on the internal trade 
of Spain. Accommodation for the traveller there 
was none— not even for a traveller so easily accom- 
modated as myself. The landlord had no food to 
give me, and as to a bed, he had none but a horse 
cloth, on which his only child, a boy of eight years 
old lay naked on the earthen floor. Indeed the heat 
of the weather and the fumes from the stables made 
the interior of the hovel insupportable, so I was fain 
to bivouac on my cloak on the pavement at the door 
of the venta, where, on waking after two or three 
hours of sound sleep, I found a contrabandista (or 
smuggler) snoring beside me, with hi., blunderbuss 

on his arm. , , <■ 1 a 

I resumed my journey before break ol day, ana 
had made several leagues by ten o'clock, when we 
stopped to breakfast and to pass the sultry hours of 
midday in a large village, from whence we departed 
about four o'clock, and, after passing through the 
same kind of solitary country, arrived just after sun- 
set at Moguer. This little city (for at present it is a 
city) is situated about a league from Palos, ol which 
place it has gradually absorbed all the respectable 
inhabitants, and, among the number, the whole fam- 
ily of the Pinzons. 



798 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



So remote is this little place from the stir and bus- 
tle of travel, and so destitute of the show and vain- 
glory of this world, that my calesa, as it rattled and 
jingled along the narrow and ill-paved streets, 
caused a great sensation ; the children shouted and 
scampered along by its side, admiring its splendid 
trappings of brass and worsted, and gazing with 
reverence at the important stranger who came in so 
gorgeous an equipage. 

I drove up to the principal posada, the landlord 
of which was at the door. He was one of the very 
civilest men in the world, and disposed to do every 
thing in his power to make me comfortable ; there 
was only one difficulty, he had neither bed nor bed- 
room in his house. In fact, it was a mere venta for 
muleteers, who are accustomed to sleep on the 
ground with their mule-cloths for beds and pack- 
saddles for pillows. It was a hard case, but there 
was no better posada in the place. Few people 
travel for pleasure or curiosity in these out-of-the- 
way parts of Spain, and those of any note are gen- 
erally received into private houses. I had travelled 
sufficiently in Spain to find out that a bed, after all, 
is not an article of indispensable necessity, and was 
about to bespeak some quiet corner where I might 
spread my cloak, when, fortunately, the landlord's wife 
came forth. She could not have a more obliging dis- 
position than her husband, but then — God bless the 
women ! — they always know how to carry their good 
wishes into effect. In a little while a small room 
about ten feet square, that had formed a thorough- 
fare between the stables and a kind of shop or bar- 
room, was cleared of a variety of lumber, and 1 was 
assured that a bed should be put up there for me. 
From the consultations I saw my hostess holding 
with some of her neighbour gossips, I fancied the 
bed was to be a kind of piecemeal contribution 
among them for the credit of the house. 

As soon as I could change my dress, I commenced 
the historical researches, which were the object of 
my journey, and inquired for the abode of Don Juan 
Fernandez Pinzon. My obliging landlord himself 
volunteered to conduct me thither, and I set off full 
of animation at the thoughts of meeting with the 
lineal representative of one of the coadjutors of 
Columbus. 

A short walk brought us to the house, which was 
most respectable in its appearance, indicating easy 
if not affluent circumstances. The door, as is cus- 
tomary in Spanish villages during summer, stood 
wide open. We entered with the usual salutation, 
or rather summons, " Ave Maria ! " A trim Anda- 
lusian handmaid answered to the call, and, on our 
inquiring for the master of the house, led the way 
across a little patio or court in the centre of the edi- 
fice, cooled by a fountain surrounded by shrubs and 
flowers, to a back court or terrace, likewise set out 
with flowers, where Don Juan Fernandez was seated 
with his family enjoying' the serene evening in the 
open air. 

I was much pleased with his appearance. He was 
a venerable old gentleman, tall and somewhat thin, 
with fair complexion and gray hair. He received 
me with great urbanity, and, on reading the letter 
from his son, appeared struck with surprise to find 
I had come quite to Moguer merely to visit the scene 
of the embarkation of Columbus ; and still more so 
on my telling him that one of my leading objects of 
curiosity was his own family connexion ; for it would 
seem that the worthy cavalier had troubled his head 
but little about the enterprises of his ancestors. 

1 now took my seat in the domestic circle and 
soon felt myself quite at home, for there is generally 
a frankness in the hospitality of Spaniards that soon 
puts a stranger at his ease beneath their roof. The 



wife of Don Juan Fernandez was extremely amiable 
and affable, possessing much of that natural aptness 
for which the Spanish women are remarkable. In 
the course of conversation with them, I learnt that 
Don Juan Fernandez, who is seventy-two years of 
age, is the eldest of five brothers, all of whom are 
married, have numerous offspring, and live in Mo- 
guer and its vicinity in nearly the same condition and 
rank of life as at the time of the discovery. This 
agreed with what I had previously heard respecting 
the families of the discoverers. Of Columbus no 
lineal and direct descendant exists ; his was an ex- 
otic stock that never took deep and lasting root in 
the country; but the race of the Pinzons continues 
to thrive and multiply in its native soil. 

While I was yet conversing a gentleman entered, 
who was introduced to me as Don Luis Fernandez 
Pinzon, the youngest of the brothers. He appeared 
to be between fifty and sixty years of age, somewhat 
robust, with fair complexion and gray hair, and a 
frank and manly deportment. He is the only one 
of the present generation that has followed the an- 
cient profession of the family ; having served with 
great applause as an officer of the royal navy, from 
which he retired on his marriage about twenty-two 
years since. He is the one also who takes the great- 
est interest and pride in the historical honours of his 
house, carefully preserving all the legends and docu- 
ments of the achievements and distinctions of his 
family, a manuscript volume of which he lent me for 
my inspection. 

Don Juan now expressed a wish that during my 
residence in Moguer I would make his house my 
home. I endeavoured to excuse myself, alleging 
that the good people at the posada had been at such 
extraordinary trouble in preparing quarters for me 
that I did not like to disappoint them. The worthy 
old gentleman undertook to arrange all this, and, 
while supper was preparing, we walked together to 
the posada. I found that my obliging host and 
hostess had indeed exerted themselves to an uncom- 
mon degree. An old ricketty table had been spread 
out in a corner of the little room as a bedstead, on 
top of which was propped up a grand caina dc liixo, 
or state bed, which appeared to be the admiration 
of the house. I could not for the soul of me appear 
to undervalue what the poor people had prepared 
with such hearty good-will and considered such a 
triumph of art and luxury; so I again entreated Don 
Juan to dispense with my sleeping at his house, 
promising most faithfully to make my meals there 
while I should stay at NIoguer, and, as the old gen- 
tleman understood my motives for declining his in- 
vitation and felt a good-humoured sympathy in them, 
we readily arranged the matter. I returned, there- 
fore, with Don Juan to his house and supped with 
his family. During the repast a plan was agreed 
upon for my visit to Palos and to the convent La 
Rabida, in which Don Juan volunteered to accom- 
pany me and be my guide, and the following day 
was allotted to the expedition. We were to break- 
fast at a hacienda or country-seat which he pos- 
sessed in the vicinity of Palos in the midst of his 
vineyards, and were to dine there on our return from 
the convent. These arrangements being made, we 
parted for the night; 1 returned to the posada highly 
gratified with my visit, and slept soundly in the ex- 
traordinary bed, which, I may almost say, had been 
invented for my accommodation. 

On the following morning, bright and early, Don 
Juan Fernandez and myself set off in the calesa for 
Palos. I felt apprehensive at first, that the kind- 
hearted old gentleman, in his anxiety to oblige, had 
left his bed at too early an hour, and was exposing 
himself to fatigues unsuited to his age. He laughed 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



799 



at the idea, and assured me that he was an early 
riser, and accustomed to all kinds of exerc.se on 
horse and foot, being a keen sportsman, and frequently 
passing days together among the mountains on 
ihooting expeditions, taking with him servants, 
horses, and provisions, and living in a tent. He ap- 
peared, in fact, to be of an active habit, and o pos- 
sess a youthful vivacity of spirit. His cheerkil dis- 
position rendered our morning drive extremely agree- 
able ; his urbanity was shown to every one whom we 
met on the road ; even the common peasant was 
saluted by him with the appellation of caballero a 
mark of respect ever gratifying to the poor but 
proud Spaniard, when yielded by a superior. 

As the tide was out we drove along the Hat 
grounds bordering the Tinto. The riv-er was on our 
?i<Tht, while on our left was a range of hills jutting 
out into promontories, one beyond the other, and 
covered with vineyards and fig trees. The weather 
was serene, the air soft and balmy, and the land- 
scape of that gentle kind calculated to put one in a 
quiet and happy humour. We passed close by the 
skirts of Palos, and drove to the hacienda, which is 
situated at some little distance from the village, be- 
tween it and the river. The house is a low stone 
building, well white-washed, and of great length ; 
one end being fitted up as a summer residence, with 
saloons, bed-rooms, and a domestic chapel ; and the 
other as a bodega or magazine for the reception ot 
the wine produced on the estate. 

The house stands on a hill, amidst vineyards 
which are supposed to cover a .part of the site ot 
the ancient town of Palos, now shrunk to a miser- 
able village. Beyond these vineyards, on the crest 
of a distant hill, are seen the white walls of the con- 
vent of La Rabida rising above a dark wood ot pme 

trees 

Below the hacienda flows the river Tinto, on 
which Columbus embarked. It is divided by a low 
toni-ue of land, or rather the sand bar ot Saltes, 
from the river Odiel, with which it soon mingles its 
waters, and flows on to the ocean. Beside this 
sand-bar, where the channel of the river runs deep, 
the squadron of Columbus was anchored, and trom 
hence he made sail on the morning ot his departure 
The soft breeze that was blowing scarcely ruffled 
the surface of this beautiful river ; two or three pict- 
uresque barks, call mysticks. with ong latine 
sails, were gliding down it. A little aid ot the im- 
agination might suffice to picture them as the light 
caravels of Columbus, sallying forth on their event- 
ful expedition, while the distant bells of the town 
of Huelva, which were ringing melodiously, might 
be supposed as cheering the voyagers with a farewell 

^'^I cannot express to vou what were my feelings on 
treading the shore which had once been animated by 
the bustle of departure, and whose sands had been 
printed by the last footstep of Columbus. The solemn 
and sublime nature of the event that had toUowed, 
to°-ether with the fate and fortunes ot those con- 
cerned in it, filled the mind with vague yet melan- 
• choly ideas. It was like viewing the silent and 
empty stage of some great drama when aU the 
actors had departed. The very aspect of the land- 
scape so tranquilly beautiful, had an effect upon me, 
and as 1 paced the deserted shore by the side ot a 
descendant of one of the discoverers, I felt my 
heart swelling with emotions and my eyes hlhng 
with tears. , 

What surprised me was to find no semblance ot a 

seaport ; there was neither wharf nor landing-place 

— nothinc' but a naked river bank, with the hulk of a 

I ferry-boat, which I was told carried passengers to 

1 Huelva, lying high and dry on the sands, deserted 

r 



by the tide. Palos, though it has doubtless dwindled 
away from its former size, can never have been im- 
portant as to extent and population. It it possessed 
warehouses on the beach, they have disappeared. It 
is at present a mere village of the poorest kind, and 
lies nearly a quarter of a mile from the river, in a 
hollow among hills. It contains a tew hundred in- 
habitants, who subsist principally by labouring in 
the fields and vineyards. Its race of merchants and 
manners are extinct. There are no vessels belong- 
ino- to the place, nor any show of traffic, excepting 
at'the season of fruit and wine, when a few mysticks 
and other light barks anchor in the river to collect 
the produce of the neighbourhood. The people are 
totally ignorant, and it is probable that the greater 
part of them scarce know even the name ot Ameri- 
ca Such is the place from whence sallied forth the 
enterprise ibr the discovery of the western world ! 

We were now summoned to breakfast in a Uttie 
saloon of the hacienda. The table was covered with 
natural luxuries produced upon the spot— hne purple 
and muscatel grapes from the adjacent vmeyard, de- 
licious melons from the garden, and generous w'lnes 
made on the estate. The repast was heightened by 
the o-enial manners of my hospitable host who ap- 
peared to possess the most enviable cheerfulness of 
spirit and simplicity of heart. , ■ -. ,i „ 

After breakfast we set off in the calesa to visit the 
Convent of La Rabida, which is about half a league 
distant. The road, for a part of the way, lay through 
the vineyards, and was deep and sanay. The cala- 
sero had been at his wits' end to conceive wliat mo- 
tive a stranger like myself, apparently travelling tor 
mere amusement, could have in coming so tar to see 
so miserable a place as Palos, which he set down as 
one of the very poorest places in the whole world ; 
but this additional toil and struggle through deep 
sand to visit the old Convent of La Rabida, com- 
pleted his confusion-" Hombre!' exclaimed he, 
-es una ruina ! no hay mas que dos frailes! — 
" Zounds ! why, it's a ruin ! there are only two friars 
there'" Don' Juan laughed, and told him that 1 
had come all the way from Seville precisely to see 
that old ruin and those two friars. The calasero 
made the Spaniard's last reply when he is perp exed 
—he shrugged his shoulders and crossed himselt. 

After ascending a hill and passing through the 
skirts of a straggling pine wood, we arrived m front 
of the convent. It stands in a bleak and solitary 
situation, on the brow of a rocky height or promon- 
tory, overlooking to the west a wide range of sea and 
land, bounded by the frontier mountains ol Portugal, 
about eight leagues distant. The convent is shut out 
from a v7ew of the vineyard of Palos by the gloomy 
forest of pines which I have mentioned, which cover 
the promontory to the east, and darken the whole 
landscape in that direction. , , . , ,. .^ 

There is nothing remarkable in the architecture 
of the convent ; part of it is Gothic, but the edifice, 
having been frequently repaired, and being vvhite- 
w-ashed, according to a universal custom in Anda- 
lusia, inherited from the Moors, it has not that 
venerable aspect which might be expected from its 

"""we alighted at the gate where Columbus, when a 
poor pedestrian, a stranger in the land, asked bread 
knd water for his child ! As long as the convent 
stands, this must be a spot calculated to awaken the 
most thrilling interest. The gate remains apparently 
in nearly the same state as at the time of his visit, 
but there is no longer a porter at hand to administer 
to the wants of the wayfarer. The door stood wide 
open, and admitted us into a small court-yard. \ rom 
thence we passed through a Gothic portal into the 
chapel, without seeing a human being. We then 



800 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



traversed two interior cloisters, equally vacant and 
silent, and bearing a look of neglect and dilapidation. 
From an open window we had a peep at what had 
once been a garden, but that had also gone to ruin ; 
the walls were broken and thrown down ; a few- 
shrubs, and a scattered fig-tree or two, were all the 
traces of cultivation that remained. We passed 
through the long dormitories, but the cells were shut 
up and abandoned ; we saw no living thing except a 
solitary cat stealing across a distant corridor, which 
fled in a panic at the imusual sight of strangers. 
At length, after patrolling nearly the whole of the 
empty building to the echo of our own footsteps, 
we came to where the door of a cell, being partly 
open, gave us the sight of a monk within, seated at a 
table writing. He rose and received us with much 
civility, and conducted us to the superior, who was 
reading in an adjacent cell. They were both rather 
young men, and, together with a novitiate and a 
lay-brolher, who officiated as cook, formed the whole 
community of the convent. 

Don Juan Fernandez communicated to them the 
object of my visit, and my desire also to inspect the 
archives of the convent to find if there was any 
record of the sojourn of Columbus. They informed 
us that the archives had been entirely destroyed by 
the French. The younger monk, however, who had 
perused them, had a vague recollection of various 
particulars concerning the transactions of Columbus 
at Palos, his visit to the convent, and the sailing of 
his expedition. From all that he cited, however, it 
appeared to me that all the information on the sub- 
ject contained in the archives, had been extracted 
from Herrera and other well known authors. The 
monk was talkative and eloquent, and soon diverged 
from the subject of Columbus, to one which he con- 
sidered of infinitely greater importance; — the mirac- 
ulous image of the Virgin possessed by their convent, 
and known by the name of "Our Lady of La Rabida " 
He gave us a history of the wonderful way in which 
the image had been found buried in the earth, where 
it had lain hidden for ages, since the time of the con- 
quest of Spain by the Moors ; the disputes between 
the convent and' different places in the neighbour- 
hood for the possession of it ; the marvellous protec- 
tion it extended to the adjacent country, especially 
in preventing all madness, either in man or dog, for 
this malady was anciently so prevalent in this place 
as to gain it the appellation of La Rabia, by which 
it was originally called; a name which, thanks to 
the beneficent influence of the Virgin, it no longer 
merited or retained. Such are the legends and rel- 
iques with which every convent in Spain is enriched, 
which are zealously cried up by the monks, and 
devoutly credited by the populace. 

Twice a year on the festival of our Lady of La 
Rabida, and on that of the patron saint of the order, 
the solitude and silence of the convent are interrupt- 
ed by the intrusion of a swarming multitude, com- 
posed of the inhabitants of .Moguer, of Huelva, and 
the neighbouring plains and mountains. The open 
esplanade in front of the edifice resembles a fair, the 
adjacent forest teems with the motley throng, and 
the image of our Lady of La Rabida is borne forth 
in triumphant procession. 

While the friar was thus dilating upon the merits 
and renown of the image, I amused myself with those 
day dreams, or conjurings of the imagmation to which 
I am a little given. As the internal arrangements 
of convents are apt to be the same from age to age, 
I pictured to myself this chamber as the same in- 
habited by the guardian, Juan Perez de Marchena, at 
the time of the visit of Columbus. Why might not 
the old and ponderous table before me be the very 
one on which he displayed his conjectural maps. 



and expounded his theory of a western route to 
India .' It required but another stretch of the im- 
agination to assemble the little conclave around the 
table ; Juan Perez the friar, Garci Fernandez the 
physician, and Martin Alonzo Pinzon, the bold navi- 
gator, all listening with rapt attention to Columbus, 
or to the tale of some old seaman of Palos, about 
islands seen in the western parts of the ocean. 

The friars, as far as their poor means and scanty 
knowledge extended, were disposed to do every 
thing to promote the object of my visit. They 
showed us all parts of the convent, which, however, 
has little to boast of, excepting the historical associ- 
ations connected with it. The library was reduced 
to a few volumes, chiefly on ecclesiastical subjects, 
piled promiscuously in the corner of a vaulted cham- 
ber, and covered with dust. The chamber itself 
was curious, being the most ancient part of the 
edifice, and supposed to have formed part of a tem- 
ple in the time of the Romans. 

We ascended to the roof of the convent to enjoy 
the extensive prospect it commands. Immediately 
below the promontoiy on which it is situated, runs a 
narrow but tolerably deep river, called the Domingo 
Rubio, which empties itself into the Tinto. It is the 
opinion of Don Luis Fernandez Pinzon, that the 
ships of Columbus were careened and fitted out in 
this river, as it affords better shelter than the Tinto, 
and its shores are not so shallow. A lonely bark of 
a fisherman was lying in this stream, and not far off, 
on a sandy point, were the ruins of an ancient watch- 
tower. From the roof of the convent, all the wind- 
ings of the Odiel and the Tinto were to be seen, and 
their junction into the main stream, by which Co- 
lumbus sallied forth to sea. In fact, the convent 
serves as a landmark, being, from its lofty and soli- 
tary situation, visible for a considerable distance to 
vessels coming on the coast. On the opposite side I 
looked down upon the lonely road, through the wood 
of pine trees, by which the zealous guardian of the 
convent. Fray Juan Perez, departed at midnight on 
his mule, when he sought the camp of Ferdinand 
and Isabella in the Vega of Granada, to plead the 
project of Columbus belore the queen. 

Having finished our inspection of the convent, we 
prepared to depart, and were accompanied to the 
outward portal by the two friars. Our calasero 
brought his rattling and ricketty vehicle for us to 
mount ; at sight of which one of the monks ex- 
claimed, with a smile, " Santa Maria ! only to think ! 
A calesa before the gate of the convent of La Ra- 
bida '. " And, indeed, so solitary and remote is this 
ancient edifice, and so simple is the mode of living 
of the people in this bye-corner of Spain, that the 
appearance of even a sorry calesa might well cause 
astonishment. It is only singular that in such a bye- 
corner the scheme of Columbus should have found 
intelligent listeners and coadjutors, after it had been 
discarded, almost with scoffing and contempt, from 
learned universities and splendid courts. 

On our way back to the hacienda, we met Don 
Rafael, a younger son of Don Juan Fernandez, a fine 
young man about twenty-one years of age, and who, 
his father informed me, was at present studying 
French and mathematics. He was well mounted on 
a spirited gray horse, and dressed in the Andalusian 
style, with the little round hat and jacket. He sat 
his horse gracefully, and managed him well. I was 
pleased with the frank and easy terms on which Don 
Jnan appeared to live with his children. This I was 
inclined to think his favourite son, as I understood 
he was the only one that partook of the old gentle- 
man's fondness for the chase, and that accompanied 
him in his hunting excursions. 

A dinner had been prepared for us at the hacienda. 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



801 



by the wife of the capitaz, or overseer, who, with her [ 
husband, seemed to be well pleased with this visit i 
•from Don Juan, and to be confident of receiving a 
];leasant answer from the good-humoured old gen- 
tleman whenever they addressed him. The dmner 
was served up about two o'clock, and was a most 
agreeable meal. The fruits and wines were from 
the estate, and were excellent ; the rest of the pro- 
visions were from Moguer, for the adjacent village 
of Palos is too poor to furnish any thing. A gentle 
breeze from the sea played through the hall, and 
tempered the summer heat. Indeed I do not know- 
when I have seen a more enviable spot than this 
country retreat of the Pinzons. Its situation on a 
breezy hill, at no great distance from the sea, and in 
a southern climate, produces a happy temperature, 
neither hot in summer nor cold in winter. It com- 
mands a beautiful prospect, and is surrounded by 
natural luxuries. The country abounds with game, 
the adjacent river affords abundant sport in fishing, 
both by day and night, and delightful excursions for 
those fond of sailing. During the busy seasons of 
rural life, and especially at the joyous period of 
vintage, the family pass some time here, accom- 
panied by numerous guests, at which times, Don 
Juan assured me, there was no lack of amusements, 
both by land and water. 

When we had dined, and taken the siesta, or 
afternoon nap, according to the Spanish custom in 
summer-time, we set out on our return to Moguer, 
visiting the village of Palos in the way. Don Gabriel 
had been sent in advance to procure the keys of the 
village church, and to apprise the curate of our wish 
to inspect the archives. The village consists princi- 
pally of two streets of low white-washed houses. 

i Many of the inhabitants have very dark complexions, 

j betraying a mixture of African blood. 

I On entering the village, we repaired to the lowly 
rnansion of the curate. I had hoped to find him 
some such personage as the curate in Don Quixote, 
possessed of shrewdness and information in his 
Jiniited sphere, and that I might gain some anec- 
dotes from him concerning his parish, its worthies, 
its antiquities, and its historical events. Perhaps I 
might have done so at any other time, but, unfortu- 
nately, the curate was something of a sportsman, 
and had heard of some game among the neighbour- 
ing hills. We met him just sallying forth from his 
house, and, I must confess, his appearance was 
picturesque. He was a short, broad, sturdy little 
man, and had doffed his cassock and broad clerical 

. beaver for a short jacket and a little round Anda- 
lusian hat ; he had his gun in hand, and was on the 

Eoint of mounting a donkey which had been led forth 
y an ancient withered handmaid. Fearful of being 
datained from his foray, he accosted my companion 
the moment he came in sight. " God preserve you, 
Senor Don Juan ! I have received your message, 
and have but one answer to make. The archives 
have all been destroyed. We have no trace of any 
thing you seek for — nothing — nothing. Don Rafael 
has the keys of the church. You can examine it at 
your leisure. — Adios, caballero ! " With these words 
the galliard little curate mounted his donkey, thumped 
his ribs with the butt end of his gun, and trotted off 
to the hills.' 

In our way to the church we passed by the ruins 
of what had once been a fair and spacious dwelling, 
, greatly superior to the other houses of the village. 
This, Don Juan informed me, was an old family pos- 
session, but since they had removed from Palos it 
had fallen to decay lor want of a tenant. It was 
probably the family residence of Martin Alonzo or 
Vicente Yaiiez Pinzon, in the time of Columbus. 
We now arrived at the church of St. George, in 
51 



the porch of which Columbus first proclaimed to the 
inhabitants of Palos the order of the sovereigns, that 
they should furnish him with ships for his great 
voyage of discovery. This edifice has lately been 
thoroughly repaired, and, being of solid mason-work, 
promises to stand for ages, a monument of the dis- 
coverers. It stands outside of the village, on the 
brow of a hill, looking along a little valley toward 
the river. The remains of a Moorish arch prove it 
to have been a mosque in former times ; just above 
it, on the crest of the hill, is the ruin of a Moorish 
castle. 

I paused in the porch and endeavoured to recall 
the interesting scene that had taken place there, 
when Columbus, accompanied by the zealous friar, 
Juan Perez, caused the public notary to read the 
royal order in presence of the astonished alcaldes, 
regidors, and alguazils ; but it is difficult to conceive 
the consternation that must have been struck into 
so remote a little community, by this sudden ap- 
parition of an entire stranger among them, bearing 
a command that they should put their persons and 
ships at his disposal, and sail with him away into 
the unknown wilderness of the ocean. 

The interior of the church has nothing remarkable, 
excepting a wooden im.age of St. George vanquishing 
the Dragon, which is erected over the high altar, 
and is the admiration of the good people of Palos, 
who bear it about the streets in grand procession 
on the anniversary of the saint. This group existed 
in the time of Columbus, and now flourishes in 
renovated youth and splendour, having been newly 
painted and gilded, and the countenance of the saint 
rendered peculiarly blooming and lustrous. 

Having finished the examination of the church, we 
resumed our seats in the calesa and returned to 
Moguer. One thing only remained to fulfil the ob- 
ject of my pilgrimage. "This was to visit the chapel 
of the Convent of Santa Clara. When Columbus 
was in danger of being lost in a tempest on his way 
home from his great voyage of discovery, he made a 
vow, that should he be spared, he would watch 
and pray one whole night in this chapel ; a vow 
which he doubtless fulfilled immediately after his 
arrival. 

My kind and attentive friend, Don Juan, conduct- 
ed me to the convent. It is the wealthiest in Moguer, 
and belongs to a sisterhood of Franciscan nuns. 
The chapel is large, and ornamented with some de- 
gree of richness, particularly the part about the high 
altar, which is embellished by magnificent monu- 
ments of the brave family of the Puerto Carreros, 
the ancient lords of Moguer, and renowned in Moor- 
ish warfare. The alabaster effigies of distinguished 
warriors of that house, and of their wives and sisters, 
lie side by side, with folded hands, on tombs im- 
mediately before the altar, while others recline in 
deep niches on either side. The night had closed 
in by the time I entered the church, which made the 
scene more impressive. A few votive lamps shed 
a dim light about the interior ; their beams were 
feebly reflected by the gilded work of the high 
altar, and the frames of the surrounding paintings, 
and rested upon the marble figures of the warriors 
and dames lying in the monumental repose of ages. 
The solemn pile must have presented much the same 
appearance when the pious discoverer performed his 
vigil, kneeling before this very altar, and praying 
and watching throughout the night, and pouring 
forth heart-felt praises for having been spared to ac- 
complish his sublime discovery. 

I had now completed the main purpose of my 
journey, having visited the various places connected 
with the story of Columbus. It was highly gratify- 
ing to find some of them so little changed, though so 



802 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



great a space of time had intervened ; but in this 
quiet nook of Spain, so far removed from the main 
thoroughfares, the lapse of time produces but few 
violent revolutions. Nothing, however, had sur- 
prised and gratified me more than the continued 
stability of the Pinzon family. On the morning after 
my excursion to Palos, chance gave me an oppor- 
tunity of seeing something of the interior of most of 
their households. Having a curiosity to visit the re- 
mains of a Moorish castle, once the citadel of 
Moguer, Don Fernandez undertook to show me a 
tower which served as a magazine of wine to one of 
the Pinzon family. In seeking for the key we were 
sent from house to house of nearly the whole con- 
nexion. All appeared to be living in that golden 
mean equally rertioved from the wants and super- 
fluities of life, and all to be happily interwoven by 
kind and cordial habits of intimacy. We found the 
females of the family generally seated in the patios, 
or central courts of their dwellings, beneath the 
shade of awnings and among shrubs and flowers. 
Here the Andalusian ladies are accustomed to pass 
their mornings at work, surrounded by their hand- 
maids, in the primitive, or rather, oriental style. In 
the porches of some of the houses I observed the 
coat of arms, granted to the family by Charles V., 
hung up like a picture in a frame. Over the door of 
Don Luis, the naval officer, it was carved on an 
escutcheon of stone, and coloured. I had gathered 
many particulars of the family also from conversa- 
tion with Don Juan, and from the family legend lent 
me by Don Luis. From all that I could learn, it 
would appear that the lapse of nearly three centuries 
and a half has made but little change in the condi- 
tion of the Pinzons. From generation to genera- 
tion they have retained the same (air standmg and 
reputable name throughout the neighbourhood, fill- 
ing offices of public trust and dignity, and possessing 
great influence over their fellow-citizens by their 
good sense and good conduct. How rare is it to see 
such an instance of stability of fortune in this fluctu- 
ating world, and how truly honourable is this hered- 
itary respectability, which has been secured by no 
titles or entails, but perpetuated merely by the innate 
worth of the race ! I declare to you that the most 
illustrious descents of mere titled rank could never 
command the sincere respect and cordial regard 
with which I contemplated this staunch and endur- 
ing family, which for three centuries and a half has 
stood merely upon its virtues. 

As I was to set off on my return to Seville before 
two o'clock, I partook of a farewell repast at the 
house of Don Juan, between twelve and one, and 
then took leave of his household with sincere regret. 
The good old gentleman, with the courtesy, or 
rather the cordiality of a true Spaniard, accom- 
panied me to the posada to see me off. 1 had dis- 
pensed but little money in the posada— thanks to 
the hospitality of the Pinzons — yet the Spanish pride 
of my host and hostess seemed pleased that 1 had 
preferred their humble chamber, and the scanty bed 
they had provided me, to the spacious mansion of 
Don Juan ; and when I expressed my thanks for 
their kindness and attention, and regaled mine host 
with a few choice cigars, the heart of the poor man 
was overcome. He seized me by both hands and 
gave me a parting benediction, and then ran after 
the calasero to enjoin him to take particular care of 
me during my journey. 

Taking a hearty leave of my excellent friend Don 
Juan, who had been unremitting in his attentions to 
me to the last moment, 1 now set off on my way- 
faring, gratified to the utmost with my visit, and full 
of kind and grateful feelings towards Moguer and 
its hospitable inhabitants. 



MANIFESTO OF ALONZO DE OJEDA. 



[The foUovi'ing curious formula, composed by learned ! 
divines in Spain, was first read aloud by the friars 
in the train of Alonzo de Ojeda as a prelude to his 
attack on the savages of Carthagena ; and was sub- 
sequently adopted by the Spanish discoverers in 
general, in their invasions of the Indian countries.] 

I, Alonzo de Ojeda, servant of the high and 
mighty kings of Castile and Leon, civilizers of bar- 
barous nations, their messenger and captain, notify 
and make known to you, in the best way I can, that 
God our Lord, one and eternal, created the heavens 
and the earth, and one man and one woman, from 
whom you, and we, and all the people of the earth were 
and are descendants, procreated, and all those who 
shall come after us ; but the vast number of genera- 
tions which have proceeded from them, in the 
course of more than five thousand years that have 
elapsed since the creation of the world, made it 
necessary that some of the human race should dis- 
perse in one direction and some in another, and that 
they should divide themselves into many kingdoms 
and provinces, as they could not sustain and pre- 
ser\'e themselves in one alone. All these people 
were given in charge, by God our Lord, to one per- 
son, named St. Peter, who was thus made lord and 
superior of all the people of the earth, and head of 
the whole human lineage, whom all should obey, 
wherever they might live, and whatever might be 
their law, sect or belief; he gave him also the whole 
world for his service and jurisdiction, and though 
he desired that he should establish his chair in 
Rome, as a place niost convenient for governing the 
world, yet he permitted that he might establish his 
chair in any other part of the world, and judge and 
govern all the nations, Christians, Moors, Jews, Gen- 
tiles, and whatever other sect or belief might be. 
This person was denominated Pope, that is to say, 
admirable, supreme, father and guardian, because 
he is father and governor of all mankind. This 
holy father was obeyed aiid honoured as lord, king, 
and superior of the universe by those who lived in 
his time, and, in like manner, have been obeyed 
and honoured by all those who have been elected 
to the Pontificate, and thus it has continued unto 
the present day, and will continue until the end ot 
the world. 

One of these Pontiffs of whom I have spoken, as 
lord of the world, made a donation of these islands 
and continents, of the ocean, sea, and all that they 
contain, to the Catholic kings of Castile, who at 
that time were Ferdinand and Isabella of glorious 
memory, and to their successors, our sovereigns, 
according to the tenor of certain papers drawn up 
for the purpose, (which you may see if you desire.) 
Thus his majesty is king and sovereign of these 
islands and continents by virtue of the said dona- 
tion ; and as king and sovereign, certain islands, 
and almost all to whom this has been notified, have 
received his majesty, and have obeyed and served 
and do actually serve him. And, moreover, like 
good subjects, and with good-will, and without any 
resistance or delay, the moment they were informed 
of the foregoing, they obeyed all the religious men 
sent among them to preach and teach our Holy 
Faith ; and these of their free and cheerful will, 
without any condition or reward, became Christians, 
and continue so to be. And his majesty received 
them kindly and benignantly, and ordered that they 
should be treated like his other subjects and vas- 
sals ; you also are required and obliged to do the 
same. Therefore, in the best manner I can, I pray 



! 



SPANISH VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY. 



803 



ami en'reat you, that you consider well what I have 
said, and that you take whatever time is reasonable 
to understand and deliberate upon it, and that you 
recognise the church for sovereign and superior of 
the universal world, and the supreme Pontiff, called 
Pope, in her name, and his majesty in his place, as 
superior and sovereign king of the islands and Terra 
Firma, by virtue of the said donation ; and that you 
consent that these religious fathers declare and 
preach to you the foregoing; and if you shall so 
do, you will do well ; and will do that to which 
you are bounden and obliged ; and his majesty, 
and I in his name, will receive you with all due 
love and charity, and will leave you, your wives 
and children, free from servitude, that you may 
freely do with these and with yourselves whatever you 
please, and think proper, as have done the inhabit- 
ants of the other islands. And besides this, his 
majesty will give you many privileges and exemp- 



tions, and grant you many favours. If you do not 
do this, or wickedly and intentionally delay to do so, 
I certify to you, that, bv the aid of God, I will power- 
fully invade and make war upon you in all parts and 
modes that I can, and will subdue you to the yoke 
and obedience of the church and of his majesty : 
and I will take your wives and children and make 
slaves of them, and sell them as such, and dispose 
of them as his majesty may command ; and 1 will 
take your effects and will do you all the harm and in- 
jury in my power, as vassals who will not obey or 
receive their sovereign and who resist and op|)ose 
him. And I protest that the deaths and disasters 
which may in this manner be occasioned, will be 
the fault of yourselves and not of his majesty, nor of 
me, nor of these cavaliers who accompany me. 
And of what 1 here tell you and require of you, I 
call upon the notary here present to give me his 
signed testimonial. 



Miscellanies 

CONTRIBUTED TO THE KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON. 



A CHRONICLE OF WOLFERT'S ROOST. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I have observed that as a man advances in life, 
he is subject to a kind of plethora of the mind, doubt- 
less occasioned by the vast accumulation of wisdom 
and experience upon the brain. Hence he is apt to 
become narrative and admonitory, that is to say, fond 
of telling long stories, and of doling out advice, to the 
small profit and great annoyance of his friends. As I 
have a great horror of becoming the oracle, or, more 
technically speaking, the ' bore,' of the domestic circle, 
and would much rather bestow my wisdom and te- 
diousness upon the world at large, I have always 
sought to ease off this surcharge of the intellect by 
means of my pen, and hence have inflicted divers gos- 
siping volumes upon the patience of the public. I am 
tired, however, of writing volumes ; they do not afford 
exactly the relief I require ; there is too much prepa- 
ration, arrangement, and parade, in this set form of 
coming before the public. I am growing too indolent 
and unambitious for any thing that requires labor or 
display. I have thought, therefore, of securing to my- 
self a snug corner in some periodical work where I 
might, as it were, loll at my ease in my elbow-chair, 
and chat sociably with the' public, as with an old 
friend, on any chance subject that might pop into my 
brain. 

In looking around, for this purpose, upon the vari- 
ous excellent periodicals with which our country 
abounds, my eye was struck by the title of your work— 
' The Knickerbocker.' My heart leaped at the sight. 
DiEDKicH Knickerbocker, Sir, was one of my ear- 
liest and most valued friends, and the recollection of 
him is associated with some of the pleasantest scenes 
of my youthful days. To explain this, and to show 
how I came into possession of sundry of his posthu- 
mous works, which I have from time to time given to 
the world, permit me to relate a few particulars of our 
early intercourse. I give them with the more confi- 
dence, as I know the interest you take in that departed 
worthy, whose name and effigy are stamped upon your 
title-page, and as they will be found important to the 
better understanding and relishing divers communica- 
tions I may have to make to you. 

My first acquaintance with that great and good man, 
for such I may venture to call him, now that the lapse 
of some thirty years has shrouded his name with ven- 
erable antiquity, and the popular voice has elevated 
him to the rank of the classic historians of yore, my 
first acquaintance with him was formed on the banks of 
the Hudson, not far from the wizard region of Sleepy 
Hollow. He had come there in the course of his re- 
searches among the Dutch neighborhoods for materi- 
als for his immortal history. For this purpose, he was 
ransacking the archives of one of the most ancient 
and historical mansions in the country. It was a lowly 
edifice, built in the time of the Dutch dynasty, and 
stood on a green bank, overshadowed by trees, from 
which it peeped forth upon the Great Tappan Zee, so 
famous among early Dutch navigators. A bright pure 



spring welled up at the foot of the green bank ; a wild 
brook came babbling down a neighboring ravine, and 
threw itself into a little woody cove, in front of the 
mansion. It was indeed as quiet and sheltered a nook 
as the heart of man could require, in which to take 
refuge from the cares and troubles of the world ; and 
as such, it had been chosen in old times, by Wolfert 
Acker, one of the privy councillors of the renowned 
Peter Stuyvesant. 

This worthy but ill-starred man had led a weary and 
worried life, throughout the stormy reign of the chiv- 
alric Peter, being one of those unlucky- wights with 
whom the world is ever at variance, and who are kept 
in a continual fume and fret, by the wickedness of 
mankind. At the time of the subjugation of the prov- 
ince by the English, he retired hither in high dudgeon ; 
with the bitter determination to bury himself from the 
world, and live here in peace and quietness for the re- 
mainder of his days. In token of this fixed resolution, 
he inscribed over his door the favourite Dutch motto, 
'Lust in Rust,' (pleasure in repose.) The mansion 
was thence called ' Wolfert's Rust '— Wolfert's Rest ; 
but in process of time, the name was vitiated into 
Wolfert's Roost, probably from its quaint cock-loft 
look, or from its having a weather-cock perched on 
every gable. This name it continued to bear, long 
after the unlucky Wolfert was driven forth once more 
upon a wrangling world, by the tongue of a termagant 
wife ; for it passed into a proverb through the neigh- 
borhood, and has been handed down by tradition, that 
the cock of the Roost was the most hen-pecked bird in 
the country. 

This primitive and historical mansion has since 
passed through many changes and trials, which it may 
be my lot hereafter to notice. At the time of the so- 
journ of Diedrich Knickerbocker it was in possession 
of the gallant family of the Van Tassels, who have 
figured so conspicuously in his writings. What ap- 
pears to have given it peculiar value, in his eyes, was 
the rich treasury of historical facts here secretly hoard- 
ed up, like buried gold ; for it is said that Wolfert 
Acker, when he retreated from New Amsterdam, car- 
ried off with him many of the records and journals of 
the province, pertaining to the Dutch dynasty ; swear- 
ing that they should never fall into the hands of the 
English. These, like the lost books of Livy, had baf- 
fled the research of former historians ; but these did I 
find the indefatigable Diedrich diligently deciphering. 
He was already a sage in years and experience, I but 
an idle stripling ; yet he did not despise my youth and 
ignorance, but took me kindly by the hand, and led 
me gently into those paths of local and traditional lore 
which he was so fond of exploring. I sat with him in 
his little chamber at the Roost, and watched the anti- 
quarian patience and perseverance with which he de- 
ciphered those venerable Dutch documents, worse 
than Herculanean manuscripts. I sat with him by the 
spring, at the foot of the green bank, and listened to 
his heroic tales about the worthies of the olden time, 
the paladins of New Amsterdam. I accompanied him 
in his legendary researches about Tarrytown and Sing- 
Sing, and explored with him the spell-bound recesses 
of Sleepy Hollow. I was present at many of his con- 
ferences with the good old Dutch burghers and their 

(805) 



80G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



wives, from whom he derived many of those marvel- 
lous facts not laid down in books or records, and 
which give such superior value and authenticity to his 
history, over all others that have been written con- 
cerning the New Netherlands. 

Hut let me check my proneness to dilate upon this 
favourite theme ; I may recur to it hereafter. Suffice 
it to say, the intimacy thus formed, continued for a 
considerable time ; and in company with the worthy 
Diedrich, I visited many of the places celebrated by 
his pen. The currents of our lives at length diverged. 
He remained at home to complete his mighty work, 
while a vagrant fancy led me to wander about the 
world. Many, many years elapsed, before I returned 
to the parent soil. In the interim, the venerable his- 
torian of the New Netherlands had been gathered to his 
fathers, but his name had risen to renown. His native 
city, that city in which he so much delighted, had de- 
creed all manner of costly honors to his memory. I 
found his effigy imprinted upon new-year cakes, and 
devoured with eager relish by holiday urchins ; a great 
oyster-house bore the name of ' Knickerbocker Hall ; ' 
and I narrowly escaped the pleasure of being run over 
by a Knickerbocker omnibus ! 

Proud of having associated with a man who had 
achieved such greatness, I now recalled our early in- 
timacy with tenfold pleasure, and sought to revisit the 
scenes we had trodden together. The most important 
of these was the mansion of the Van Tassels, the 
Roost of the unfortunate Wolfert. Time, which 
changes all things, is but slow in its operations upon 
Ji Dutchman's dwelling. I found the venerable and 
quaint little edifice much as I had seen it during the 
sojourn of Diedrich. There stood his elbow-chair in 
the corner of the room he had occupied ; the old- 
fashioned Dutch writing desk at which he had pored 
over the chronicles of the Manhattoes ; there was the 
old wooden chest, with the archives left by Wolfert 
Acker, many of which, however, had been fired off as 
wadding from the long duck gun of the Van Tassels. 
The scene around the mansion was still the same ; the 
green bank ; the spring beside which I had listened to 
the legendary narratives of the historian ; the wild 
brook babbling down to the woody cove, and the over- 
shadowing locust trees, half shutting out the prospect 
of the Great Tappan Zee. 

As I looked round upon the scene, my heart yearned 
at the recollection of my departed friend, and I wist- 
fully eyed the mansion which he had inhabited, and 
which was fast mouldering to decay. The thought 
struck me to arrest the desolating hand of Time ; to 
rescue the historic pile from utter ruin, and to make it 
the closing scene of my wanderings ; a quiet home, 
where I might enjoy 'lust in rust' for the remainder 
of my days. It is true, the fate of the unlucky Wolfert 
passed across my mind ; but I consoled myself with 
the reflection that I was a bachelor, and that I had no 
termagant wife to dispute the sovereignty of the Roost 
v.'ith me. 

I have become possessor of the Roost ! I have re- 
paired and renovated it with religious care, in the gen- 
uine Dutch style, and have adorned and illustrated it 
with sundry reliques of the glorious days of the New 
Netherlands. A venerable weather-cock, of portly 
Dutch dimensions, which once battled with the wind on 
the top of the Stadt-House of New Amsterdam, in the 
time of Peter Stuyvesant, now erects its crest on the 
gable end of my edifice ; a gilded horse in full gallop, 
once the weather-cock of the great Vander Heyden 
Palace of Albany, now glitters in the sunshine, and 
veers with every breeze, on the peaked turret over my 
portal : my sanctum sanctorum is the chamber once 
honored by the illustrious Diedrich, and it is from his 
elbow-chair, and his identical old Dutch writing-desk, 
that I pen this rambling epistle. 

Here, then, have I set up my rest, surrounded by the 
lecoUections of early days, and the mementoes of the 
historian of the Manhattoes, with that glorious river 
before me, which flows with such majesty through 
his works, and which has ever been to me a river of 
delight. 



I thank God I was born on the banks of the Hud- 
son ! I think it an invaluable advantage to be born 
and brought up in the neighborhood of some grand 
and noble object in nature ; a river, a lake, or a mount- 
ain. We make a friendship with it, we in a manner 
ally ourselves to it for life. It remains an object of 
our pride and affections, a rallying point, to call us 
home again after all our wanderings. 'The things 
which we have learned in our childhood,' says an old 
writer, 'grow up with our souls, and unite themselves 
to it.' So it is with the scenes among which we have 
passed our early days ; they influence the whole course 
of our thoughts and feelings ; and I fancy I can trace 
much of what is good and pleasant in my own hetero- 
geneous compound to my early companionship with 
this glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful en- 
thusiasm, I used to clothe it with moral attributes, and 
almost to give it a soul. I admired its frank, bold, 
honest character ; its noble sincerity and perfect truth. 
Here was no specious, smiling surface,covering the dan- 
gerous sand-bar or perfidious rock ; but a stream deep 
as it was broad, and bearing with honorable faith the 
bark that trusted to its waves. I gloried in its simple, 
quiet, majestic, epic flow; ever straight forward. Once, 
indeed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from its 
course by opposing mountains, but it struggles bravely 
through them, and immediately resumes its straight- 
forward march. Behold, thought I, an emblem of a 
good man's course through life ; ever simple, open, 
and direct ; or if, overpowered by adverse circum- 
stances, he deviate into error, it is but momentary ; he 
soon recovers his onward and honorable career, and 
continues it to the end of his pilgrimage. 

Excuse this rhapsody, into which I have been be- 
trayed by a revival of early feelings. The Hudson is, 
in a manner, my first and last love ; and after all my 
wanderings and seeming infidelities, I return to it with 
a heart-felt preference over all the other rivers in the 
world. I seem to catch new life as I bathe in its am- 
ple billows and inhale the pure breezes of its hills. It 
is true, the romance of youth is past, that once spread 
illusions over every scene. I can no longer picture 
an Arcadia in every green valley ; nor a fairy land 
among the distant mountains ; nor a peerless beauty 
in every villa gleaming among the trees ; but though 
the illusions of youth have faded from the landscape, 
the recollections of departed years and departed pleas- 
ures shed over it the mellow charm of evening sun- 
shine. 

Permit me, then, Mr. Editor, through the medium of 
your work, to hold occasional discourse from my re- 
treat with the busy world I have abandoned. I have 
much to say about what I have seen, heard, felt, and 
thought through the course of a varied and rambling 
life, and some lucubrations that have long been en- 
cumbering my port-folio ; together with divers remi- 
niscences of the venerable historian of the New Nether- 
lands, that may not be unacceptable to those who have 
taken an interest in his writings, and are desirous of 
any thing that may cast a light back upon our early 
history. Let your readers rest assured of one thing, 
that, though retired from the world, I am not disgusted 
with it ; and that if in my communings with it I do not 
prove very wise, I trust I shall at least prove very 
good-natured. 

Which is all at present, from 

Yours, etc., Geoffrey Crayon. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Worthy Sir : In a preceding communication, 1 
have given you some brief notice of Wolfert's Roost, 
the mansion where I first had the good fortune to 
become acquainted with the venerable historian of 
the New-Netherlands. As this ancient edifice is likely 
to be the place whence I shall date many of my lucu 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



807 



brations, and as it is really a very remarkable little pile, 
intimatelv connected with all the great epochs of our 
local and national history, I have thought it but right 
to give some farther particulars concerning it l-or- 
tunately, in rummaging a ponderous Dutch chest of , 
drawers, which serves as the archives of the Koost, 
and in which are preserved many inedited manuscripts 
of Mr Knickerbocker, together with the precious 
records of New-Amsterdam, brought hither by Wolfert 
Acker at the downfall of the Dutch dynasty, as has 
been alreadv mentioned, I found in one corner, among j 
dried pumpkin-seeds, bunches of thyme, and penny- 
royal, and crumbs of new-year cakes, a manuscript, 
carefully wrapped up in the fragment of an old parch- 
ment deed, but much blotted, and the ink grown foxy 
bv time, which, on inspection, I discovered to be a 
faithful chronicle of the Roost. The hand-writing, 
and certain internal evidences, leave no doubt in my 
mind that it is a genuine production of the venerable 
historian of the New-Netherlands, written, very prob- 
ably, during his residence at the Roost, m gratitude 
for the hospitality of its proprietor. As such, I submit 
it for publication. As the entire chronicle is too long 
for the pages of your Magazine, and as it contains 
many minute particulars, which might prove tedious 
to the general reader, I have abbreviated and occa- 
sionally omitted some of its details ; but may hereafter 
furnish them separately, should they seem to be re- 
quired by the curiosity of an enlightened and docu- 
ment-hunting public. 

Respectfully Yours, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



A CHRONICLE CF WOLFERT'S ROOST. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIED- 
RICH KNICKERBOCKER. 



About five-and-twenty miles from the ancient 
and renowned city of Manhattan, formerly called 
New-Amstcrd:in., and vulgarly caUed New-York, 
on the eastern bank of that expansion of the Hucl^on, 
known among Dutch mariners of yore, as the lap- 
pan Zee, being in fact the great Mediterranean Sea 
of the New-Netherlands, stands a little old-fashioned 
stone mansion, all made up of gable-ends and as 
full of angles and corners as an old cocked hat. 
Thouo-h liut of small dimensions, yet, like mariv 
smairpeople, it is of mighty spirit, and values itsell 
greatly on its antiquity, being one of the oldest 
Edifices for its size, in the whole country. It claims 
to be an ancient seat of empire, I may rather say an 
empire in itself, and like all empires, great and small 
has had its grand historical epochs. In speaking ol 
this doughty and valorous little pile, I shall call it by 
its usual appellation of ' The Roost ; ' though that is 
a name given to it in modern days, since it became 
the abode of the white man. 

Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that remote 
region commonly called the fabulous age. in which 
yuWav fact becomes mystified, and tinted up with 
dekctable fiction. The eastern shore of the 1 appan 
Sea was inhabited in those days by an unsophisti- 
cated race, existing in all the simplicity of nature; 
that is to say, they lived by hunting and fishing, and 
recreated themselves occasionally with a little toma- 
hawking and scalping. Each stream that flows 
down from the hills into the Hudson, had its petty 
sachem, who ruled over a hand's-breadth ol forest 
on either side, and had his seat of government at its 
mouth. The chieftain who ruled at the Roost, was 
not merely a great warrior, but a medicine-man, or 
nrophet, or conjuror, for they all mean the same 



thing, in Indian parlance. Of his fighting propen-. 
sities, evidences still remain, in various arrow-heads 
of flint, and stone battle-axes, occasionally digged up 
about the Roost: of his wizard powers, we have a 
token in a spring which wells up at the foot of the 
bank, on the very margin of the river, which, it is 
said, was gifted by him with rejuvenating powers, 
something like the renowned Fountain of Vouth in 
the Floridas, so anxiously but vainly sought alter by 
the veteran Ponce de Leon. This story, however is 
stoutly contradicted by an old Dutch matter-of-lact 
tradition, which declares that the spring in question 
was smuggled over from Holland in a churn, by 
Femmetie Van Slocum, wife of Goosen Garret Van 
Slocum, one of the first settlers, and that she took it 
up by night, unknown to her husband, from beside 
their farm-house near Rotterdam ; being sure she 
should find no water equal to it in the new country 
— and she was right. . 

The wizard sachem had a great passion for dis- 
cussing territorial questions, and settling boundary 
lines; this kept him in continual feud with the 
neighboring sachems, each of whom stood up stoutly 
for^his hand-breadth of territory ; so that there is 
not a petty stream nor ragged hill in the neighbor- 
hood, that has not been the subject of long talks and 
hard battles. The sachem, however, as has been 
observed, was a medicine-man, as well as warrior, 
and vindicated his claims by arts as well as arms ; 
so that, by dint of a little hard fighting here, and 
hocus-pocus there, he managed to extend his bound- 
arv-line from field to field and stream to stream, un- 
til'he found himself in legitimate possession ol that 
region of hills and valleys, bright fountains and 
limpid brooks, locked in by the mazy windings ol the 
Neperan and the Pocantico.* 

This last-mentioned stream, or rather the valley 
through which it flows, was the most difficult ol aU 
his acquisitions. It lay half way to the strong-hold 
of the redoubtable sachem of Sing-Smg, and was 
claimed by him as an integral part of his domams 
Many were the sharp conflicts between the riva 
chieftains for the sovereignty of this valley, and 
many the ambuscades, surprisals, and deadly on- 
slaughts that took place among its fastnesses, ol 
whidi it grieves me much that 1 cannot furnish the 
details for the gratification of those gentle but 
bloody-minded readers of both sexes, who delight 
in the romance of the tomahawk and scalping-knite. 
Suflrce it to say that the wizard chieftain was at 
length victorious, though his victory is attributed in 
Inchan tradition to a great medicine or charm hy 
which he laid the sachem of Sing-Smg and his war- 
riors asleep among the rocks and recesses ol the val- 
ley where they remain asleep to the present day 
with their bows and war-clubs beside them Ihis 
was the origin of that potent and drowsy spell which 
still prevails over the valley of the Pocantico, and 
which has gained it the we 1-merited appellation oi 
Sleepy Hollow. Often, in secluded and quiet parts 
of that valley, where the stream is overhung by dark 
woods and rocks, the ploughman, on some calm and 
sunny day as he shouts to his oxen, is surprised at 



»As EVERY one may not recognise these boundaries by 
.ririnal Indian names, it may he well to observe that the Ne 



their 

original Indian names, it may be well to °°''|"'=- '''tVI'^rXich" 
is that beautiful stream, vulgarly called the baw-M.ll Ki^er wh ch, 
after winding gracefully for many miles through a lovely valley, 
Shrouded by^gr^oves, ani dotted by Dutch ---h---...^/^'"^'^: 
self into the Hudson, .at the ancient dorpof \ onkcrs. I he Focan- 
\tco i" that hitherto namele.s brook, that.r.s.ng among »o°dy h'')^- 
winds in many a wizard maze through the sequestered haunts of 
s'eepv Hollow. We owe it to the indefat.g.able researches of Mr. 
Km«erb..cker, that those beautiful streams are rescued frotn 
modern common-place, and reinvested with their ancent Ind.an 
"ame The correctness of the venerable historian m.ay be ascer- 

"ained, by reference to the records of the ""f'"-''' '"^'t" S;i"s of- 
the H err Frederick Philipsen, preserved lU the county clerk s ol- 
fice, at White Plains. 



808 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



hearing faint shouts from the hill-sides in reply ; be- 
ing, it is said, the spell-bound warriors, who half 
start from their rocky couches and grasp their 
weapons, but sink to sleep again. 

The conquest of the Pocantico was the last tri- 
umph of the wizard sachem. Notwithstanding all 
his medicine and charms, he fell in battle in attempt- 
ing to extend his boundary line to the east so as to 
take in the little wild valley of the Sprain, and his 
grave is still shown near the banks of that pastoral 
stream. He left, however, a great empire to his 
successors, extending along the Tappan Zee, from 
Yonkers quite to Sleepy Hollow; all which delect- 
able region, if every one had his right, would still 
acknowledge allegian:e to the lord of the Roost — 
whoever he might be.* 

The wizard sachem was succeeded by a line of 
chiefs, of whom nothing remarkable remains on 
record. The last who makes any figure in history is 
the one who ruled here at the time of the discovery 
of the counti-y by the white man. This sachem is 
said to have been a renowned trencherman, who 
maintained almost as potent a sway by dint of good 
feeding as his warlike predecessor had done by hard 
fighting. He diligently cultivated the growth of 
oysters along the aquatic borders of his territories, 
and founded those great oyster-beds which yet exist 
along the shores of the Tappan Zee. Did any dis- 
pute occur between him and a neighbouring sachem, 
he invited him and all liis principal sages and fight- 
ing-men to a solemn banquet, and seldom failed of 
feeding them into terms. Enormous heaps of oys- 
ter-shells, which encumber the lofty banks of the 
river, remain as monuments of his gastronomical 
victories, and have been occasionally adduced 
through mistake by amateur geologists from town, 
as additional proofs of the deluge. Modern inves- 
tigators, who are making such indefatigable re- 
searches into our early history, have even affirmed 
that this sachem was the very individual on whom 
Master Hendrick Hudson and his mate, Robert Ju- 
et, made that sage and astounding experiment so 
gravely recorded by the latter in his narrative of the 
vo\'age : " Our master and his mate determined to 
try some of the cheefe men of the country whether 
they had any treachene in them. So they took them 
dow'n into the cabin and gave them so much wine 
and aqua vitK that they were all very merrie ; one 
of them had his wife with him, which sate so mod- 
estly as any of our countrywomen would do in a 
strange place. In tlie end ojie of them was drunke ; 
and that was strange to them, for they could not tell 
how to take it."t 

How far Master Hendrick Hudson and his worthy 
mate carried their experiment with the sachem's 
wife is not recorded, neither does the curious Rob- 
ert Juet make any mention of the after-consequences 
of this grand moral test ; tradition, however, affirms 
that the sachem on landing gave his modest spouse 
a hearty rib-roasting, according to the connubial 
discipline of the aboriginals; it farther afiirms that 
he remained a hard drinker to the day of his death, 
trading away all his lands, acre by acre, for aqua 
vita;; by which means the Roost and all its do- 
mains, from Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, came, in the 



* In recording the contest for the sovereignty of Sleepy Hollow, 
I have called one sachem by the modern name of his castle or 
strong-hold. viz. : Sing-Sing. This, I would observe for the sake 
of historical exactness, is a corruption of the old Indian name, 
O-sin-sing, or rather O-sin-song ; that is to say, a place where any 
thing may be had for a song— a great recommendation for a market 
town._ 1 he modern and melodious alteration of the name to Sing- 
Sing is said to have been made in compliment to an eminent Meth- 
odist singing-m.Tster, who first introduced into the neighbourhood 
the art of singing through the nose. D. K. 

t See Juct's Journal, Purchas Pilgrim. 



regular course of trade and by right of purchase, 
into the possession of the Dutchmen. 

Never has a territorial right in these new countries 
been more legitimately and tradefully established; 
yet, I grieve to say, the worthy government of the 
New Netherlands was not suffered to enjoy this 
grand acquisition unmolested ; for, in the year 1654, 
the losel Yankees of Connecticut — those swapping, 
bargaining, squatting enemies of the Manhattoes — 
made a daring inroad into this neighbourhood and 
founded a colony called Westchester, or, as the an- 
cient Dutch records term it. Vest Dorp, in the right 
of one Thomas Pell, who pretended to have pur- 
chased the whole surrounding country of the In- 
dians, and stood ready to argue their claims before 
any tribunal of Christendom. 

This happened during the chivalrous reign of 
Peter Stuyvesant, and it roused the ire of that gun- 
powder old hero ; who, without waiting to discuss 
claims and titles, pounced at once upon the nest of 
nefarious squatters, carried off twenty-five of them 
in chains to the Manhattoes, nor did he stay his 
hand, nor give rest to his wooden leg, until he had 
driven eveiy Yankee back into the bounds of Con- 
necticut, or obliged him to acknowledge allegiance 
to their High Mightinesses. He then established 
certain out-posts, far in the Indian country, to 
keep an eye over these debateable lands ; one of 
these border-holds was the Roost, bemg accessible 
from New Amsterdam by water, and easily kept sup- 
plied. The Yankees, however, had too great a 
hankering after this delectable region to give it up 
entirely. Some remained and swore allegiance to 
the Manhattoes ; but, while they kept this open sem- 
blance of fealty, they went to work secretly and vig- 
orously to intermarry and multiply, and by these ne- 
farious means, artfully propagated themselves into 
possession of a wide tract of those open, arable parts 
of Westchester county, lying along the Sound, 
where their descendants may be found at the present 
day ; while the mountamous regions along the Hud- 
son, with the valleys of the Neperan and the Pocan- 
tico, are tenaciously held by the lineal descendants 
of the Copperheads. 



The chronicle of the venerable Diedrich here goes 
on to relate how that, shortly after the above-men- 
tioned events, the whole province of the New Neth- 
erlands was subjugated by the British ; how that 
Wolfert Acker, one of the wrangling councillors of 
Peter Stuyvesant, retired in dudgeon to this fastness 
in the wilderness, determining to enjoy ' lust in rust ' 
for the remamder of his days, whence the place first 
received its name of Wolfert's Roost. As these 
and sundry other matters have been laid before the 
public in a preceding article, I shall pass them over, 
and resume the chronicle where it treats of matters 
not hitherto recorded : 

Like many men who retire from a worrying world, 
says Diedrich Knickerbocker, to enjoy quiet in 
the country', Wolfert Acker soon found himself up to 
the ears in trouble. He had a termagant wife at 
home, and there was what is profanely called ' the 
deuce to pay,' abroad. The recent irruption of the 
Yankees into the bounds of the New Netherlands, 
had left behind it a doleful pestilence, such as is apt 
to follow the steps of invading armies. This w-as 
the deadly plague of witchcraft, which had long 
been prevalent to the eastward. The malady broke 
out at Vest Dorp, and threatened to spread through- 
out the country. The Dutch burghers along the 
Hudson, from Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, hastened 
to nail horse-shoes to their doors, which have ever 
been found of sovereign virtue to repel this awful 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



809 



visitation. This is the origin of the horse-shoes 
whicli may still be seen nailed to the doors of barns 
and farm-houses, in various parts of this sage and 
sober-thoughted region. 

The evil, however, bore hard upon the Roost ; 
partly, perhaps, from its having in old times been 
subject to supernatural influences, during the sway 
of the Wizard Sachem ; but it has always, in fact, 
been considered a fated mansion. The unlucky 
VVolfert had no rest day nor night. When the 
weather was quiet all over the country, the wind 
would howl and whistle round his roof; witches 
would ride and whirl upon his weather-cocks, and 
scream down his chimnies. His cows gave bloody 
milk, and his horses broke bounds, and scampered 
into the woods. There were not wanting evil 
tongues to whisper that Wolfert's termagant wife had 
some tampering with the enemy ; and that she even 
attended a witches' Sabbath in Sleepy Hollow ; nay, 
a neighbour, who lived hard by, declared that he 
saw her harnessing a rampant broom-stick, and 
about to ride to the meeting ; though others presume 
it was merely flourished in the course of one of her 
curtain lectures, to give energy and emphasis to a 
period. Certain it is, that Wolfert Acker nailed a 
horse-shoe to the front door, during one of her noc- 
turnal excursions, to prevent her return ; but as she 
re-entered the house without any difficulty, it is 
probable she was not so much of a witch as she was 
represented.* 

After the time of Wolfert Acker, a long interval 
elapses, about which but little is known. It is hoped, 
however, that the antiquarian researches so diligently 
making in every part of this new country, may yet 
throw some light upon what may be termed the Dark 
Ages of the Roost. 

The next period at which we find this venerable 
and eventful pile rising to importance, and resuming 
its old belligerent character, is during the revolu- 
tionary war. It was at that time owned by Jacob 
Van Tassel, or Van Texel, as the name was originally 
spelled, after the place in Holland which gave birth 
to this heroic line. He was strong-built, long-limb- 
ed, and as stout in soul as in body ; a fit successor 
to the warrior sachem of yore, and, like him, delight- 
ing in extravagant enterprises and hardy deeds of 
arms. But, before I enter upon the exploits of this 
worthv cock of the Roost, it is fitting I should throw 
some light upon the state of the mansion, and of the 
surrounding country, at the time. 

The situation of the Roost is in the very heart of 
what was the debateable ground between the Ameri- 
can and British lines, during the war. The Brit- 
ish held possession of the city of New York, and the 
island of Manhattan on which it stands. The Ameri- 
cans drew up toward the Highlands, holding their 
headquarters at Peekskill. The intervening country, 
from Croton River to Spiting Devil Creek, was the 
debateable land, subject to be harried by friend and 
foe, like the Scottish borders of yore. It is a rugged 



* HlSTORlCAf. Note.— The annexed extracts from the early colo- 
nial records, relate to the irruption of witchcraft into Weschester 
county, as mentioned in the chronicle ; 

' July 7, 1670. — Katharine Harryson, accused of witchcraft on 
complaint of Thomas Hunt and Edward Waters, in behalf (if the 
town, who pray that she may be driven from the town of West- 
chester. The woman appears before the council She was 

a native of England, and had lived a year in Weathersfield. Con- 
necticut, where she had been tried for witchcraft, found guilty by 
the jury, acquitted by the bench, and released out of prison, upon 
condition she would remove. Affair adjourned, 

'August 24. — Affair taken up again, when, being heard at large, 
it was referred to the general court of assize. Woman ordered to 
give security for good behavicur,' etc. 

In another place is the following entry : 

' Order given for Katharine Harryson, charged with witchcraft, 
to leave Westchester, as the inhabitants are uneasy at her residing 
there, and she is ordered to go off.' 



country, with a line of rocky hills extending through 
it, like a back bone, sending ribs on either side ; but 
among these rude hills are beautiful winding valleys, 
like tfiose watered by the Pocantico and the Neperan. 
In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these val- 
leys, exist a race of hard-headed, hard-handed, stout- 
hearted Dutchmen, descendants of the primitive 
Nederlanders. Most of these were strong whigs 
throughout the war, and have ever remained obsti- 
nately attached to the soil, and neither to be fought 
nor bought out of their paternal acres. Others were 
tories, and adherents to the old kingly rule ; some of 
whom took refuge within the British lines, joined the 
royal bands of refugees, a name odious to the Ameri- 
can ear, and occasionally returned to harass their 
ancient neighbors. 

In a httle while, this debateable land was overrun 
by predatory bands from either side ; sacking hen- 
roosts, plundering farm-houses, and driving off cat- 
tle. Hence arose those two great orders of border 
chivalry, the Skinners and the Cow-boys, famous in 
the heroic annals of Westchester county. The former 
fought, or rather marauded, under the American, the 
latter under the British banner ; but both, in the 
hurry of their military ardor, were apt to err on the 
safe side, and rob friend as well as foe. Neither of 
them stopped to ask the politics of horse or cow, 
which they drove into captivity ; nor, when they 
wrung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their 
heads to ascertain whether he were crowing for 
Congress or King George. 

While this marauding system prevailed on shore, 
the Great Tappan Sea, which washes this belliger- 
ent region, was domineered over by British frigates 
and other vessels of war, anchored here and there, 
to keep an eye upon the river, and maintain a com- 
munication between the various military posts. Stout 
galleys, also, armed with eighteen-pounders. and nav- 
igated with sails and oars, cruised about like hawks, 
ready to pounce upon their prey. 

All these were eyed with bitter hostility by the 
Dutch yeomanry along shore, who were indignant at 
seeing their great Mediterranean ploughed by hos- 
tile prows ; and would occasionally throw up a mud 
breast-work on a point or promontory, mount an old 
iron field-])iece, and fire away at the enertiy, though 
the greatest harm was apt to happen to themselves 
from the bursting of their ordnance ; nay, there was 
scarce a Dutchman along the river that would hesi- 
tate to fire with his long duck gun at any British 
cruiser that came within reach, as he had been ac- 
customed to fire at water-fowd. 

I have been thus particular in my account of the 
times and neighborhood, that the reader might the 
more readily comprehend the surrounding dangers in 
this the Heroic Age of the Roost. 

It was commanded at the time, as I have already 
observed, by the stout Jacob Van Tassel. As I wish 
to be extremely accurate in this part of my chronicle, 
I beg that this Jacob Van Tassel of the Roost may 
not be confounded with another Jacob Van Tassel, 
commonly known in border story by the name of 
' Clump-footed Jake,' a noted tory, and one of the 
refugee band of Spiting Devil. On the contrary, he 
of the Roost was a patriot of the first water, and, if 
we may take his own word for granted, a thorn in 
the side of the enemy. As the Roost, from its lonely 
situation on the water's edge, might be liable to at- 
tack, he took measures for defence. On a row of 
hooks above his fire-place, reposed his great piece of 
ordnance, ready charged and primed for action. This 
was a duck, or rather goose-gun, of unparalleled longi- 
tude, with which it was said he could kill a wild 
goose, though half-way across the Tappan Sea. In- 
deed, there are as many wonders told of this renown- 



810 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



ed gun, as of the enchanted weapons of the heroes 
of classic story. 

In different parts of the stone walls of his mansion, 
he had made loop-holes, through which he might Cue 
upon an assailant. His w;fe was stout-hearted as 
himself, and could load as fast as he could fire ; and 
then he had an ancient and redoubtable sister, No- 
chie Van Wurmer, a match, as he said, for the stout- 
est man in the country. Thus garrisoned, the little 
Roost was fit to stand a siege, and Jacob Van Tassel 
was the man to defend it to the last charge of powder. 

He was, as 1 have already hinted, of pugnacious 
propensities ; and, not content with being a patriot 
at home, and fighting for the security of his own fire- 
side, he extended his thoughts abroad, and entered 
into a confederacy with certain of the bold, hard- 
riding lads of Tarrytown, Petticoat Lane, and Sleepy 
Hollow, who formed a kind of Holy Brotherhood, 
scouring the country to clear it of Skinner and Cow- 
bow, and all other border vermin. The Roost was 
one of their rallying points. Did a band of marauders 
from Manhattan island come sweeping through the 
neighborhood, and driving off cattle, the stout Jacob 
and his compeers were soon clattering at their heels, 
and fortunate did the rogues esteem themselves if 
they could but get a part of their booty across the 
lines, or escape themselves without a rough handling. 
Should the mosstroopers succeed in passing with 
their cavalgada, with thundering tramp and dusty 
whirlwind, across Kingsbridge, the Holy Brother- 
hood of the Roost would rein up at that perilous 
pass, and, wheeling about, would indemnify them- 
selves by foraging the refugee region of Morrisania. 

When at home at the Roost, the stout Jacob was 
not idle ; but was prone to carry on a petty warfare 
of his own, for his private recreation and refresh- 
ment. Did he ever chance to espy, from his look-out 
place, a hostile ship or galley anchored or becalmed 
near shore, he would take down his long goose- 
gun from the hooks over the fire-place, sally out 
alone, and lurk along shore, dodging behind rocks 
and trees, and watching for hours together, like a 
veteran mouser intent on a rat-hole. So sure as a 
boat put off for shore, and came within shot, bang ! 
went the great goose-gun ; a shower of slugs and 
buck-shot whistled about the ears of the enemy, and 
before the boat could reach the shore, Jacob had 
scuttled up some woody ravine, and left no trace 
behind. 

About this time, the Roost experienced a vast ac- 
cession of warlike importance, in being made one ol 
the stations of the water-guard. This was a kind of 
aciuatic corps of observation, composed of long, sharp, 
canoe-shaped boats, technically called whale-boats, 
that lay lightly on the water, and could be rowed 
with great rapidity. They were manned by resolute 
fellows, skilled at pulling an oar, or handling a mus- 
ket. These lurked about in nooks and bays, and be- 
hind those long promontories which run out into the 
Tappan Sea, keeping a look-out, to give notice of the 
approach or movements of hostile ships. They roved 
about in pairs ; sometimes at night, with muffled 
oars, gliding like spectres about frigates and guard- 
ships riding at anchor, cutting off any boats that 
m.ade for shore, and keeping the enemy in constant 
uneasiness. These musquito-cruisers generally kept 
aloof by day, so that their harboring places might 
not be discovered, but would pull quietly along, un- 
der shadow of the shore, at night, to take up their 
quarters at the Roost. Hither, at such time, would 
also repair the hard-riding lads of the hills, to hold 
secret councils of war with the ' ocean chivalry ; ' and 
in these nocturnal meetings were concerted many of 
those daring forays, by land and water, that re- 
sounded throughout the border. 



The chronicle here goes on to recount divers 
wonderful stories of the wars of the Roost, from 
which it would seem, that this little warrior nest 
carried the terror of its arms into every sea, from 
Spiting Devil Creek to Antony's Nose ; that it even 
bearded the stout island of Manhattan, invading it at 
night, penetrating to its centre, and burning down 
the famous Delancey house, the conflagration of 
which makes such a blaze in revolutionary history. 
Nay more, in their extravagant daring, these cocks 
of the Roost meditated a nocturnal descent upon 
New York itself, to swoop upon the British com- 
manders, Howe and Clinton, by surprise, bear them 
off captive, and perhaps put a triumphant close to 
the war ! 

All these and many similar exploits are recorded 
by the worthy Diedrich, with his usual minuteness 
and enthusiasm, whenever the deeds in arms of his 
kindred Dutchmen are in question ; but though most 
of these warlike stories rest upon the best of all 
authority, that of the warriors themselves, and 
though many of them are still current among the 
revolutionary patriarchs of this heroic neighbourhood, 
yet I dare not expose them to the incredulity of a 
tamer and less chivalric age. Suffice it to say, the 
frequent gatherings at the Roost, and the hardy 
projects set on foot there, at length drew on it the 
fiery indignation of the enemy ; and this was quick- 
ened by the conduct of the stout Jacob Van Tassel ; 
with whose valorous achievements we resume the 
course of the chronicle. 



This doughty Dutchman, continues the sage 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, was not content with 
taking a share in all the magnanimous enterprises 
concocted at the Roost, but still continued his petty 
warfare along shore. A series of exploits at length 
raised his confidence in his prowess to such a height, 
that he began to think himself and his goose-gun a 
match for any thing. Unluckily, in the course of one 
of his prowlings, he descried a British transport 
aground, not far from shore, with her stern swung 
toward the land, within point-blank shot. The 
temptation was too great to be resisted ; bang ! as 
usual, went the great goose-gun, shivering the cabin 
windows, and driving all hands forward. Bang ! 
bang ! the shots were repeated. The reports l)rought 
several sharp-shooters of the neighbourhood to the 
spot ; before the transport could bring a gun to bear, 
or land a boat, to take revenge, she was soundly 
peppered, and the coast evacuated. This was the 
last of Jacob's triumphs. He fared like some heroic 
spider, that has unwittingly ensnared a hornet, to 
his immortal glory, perhaps, but to the utter ruin of 
his web. 

It was not long after this, during the absence of 
Jacob Van Tassel on one of his forays, and when no 
one was in garrison but his stout-hearted spouse, his 
redoubtable sister, Nochie V.m Wurmer, and a 
strapping negro wench, called Dinah, that an armed 
vessel came to anchor off the Roost, and a boat full 
of men pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms, 
that is to say, to mops, broom-sticks, shovels, tongs, 
and all kinds of domestic weapons ; for, unluckily, 
the great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was 
absent with its owner. Above all, a vigorous de- 
fence was made with that most potent of female 
weapons, the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost 
make a more vociferous outcry. It was all in vain. 
The house was sacked and plundered, fire was set 
to each corner, and in a few moments its blaze shed 
a baleful light far over the Tappan Sea. The in- 
vaders then pounced upon the blooming Laney Van 
Tassel, the beauty of the Roost, and endeavored to 
bear her off to the boat. But here was the real tug 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



811 



of war. The mother, the aunt, and the strapping- 
negro wench, all llew to the rescue. The struggle 
continued down to the very water's edge ; when a 
voice from the armed vessel at anchor, ordered the 
spoilers to let go their hold ; they relinquished their 
prize, jumped into their boats, and pulled off, and 
the heroine of the Roost escaped with a mere rum- 
pling of the feathers. 



The fear of tiring my readers, who may not take 
such an interest as myself in these heroic themes, 
induces me to close here my extracts from this pre- 
cious chronicle of the venerable Diedrich. Suffice it 
briefly to say, that shortly after the catastrophe of 
the Roost, Jacob Van Tassel, in the course of one 
of his forays, fell into the hands of the British ; was 
sent prisoner to New York, and was detained in 
captivity for the greater part of the war. In the 
mean time, the Roost remained a melancholy ruin ; 
its stone walls and brick chimneys alone standing, 
blackened bv fire, and the resort of bats and owlets. 
It was not until the return of peace, when this bel- 
ligerent neighborhood once more resumed its quiet 
agricultural pursuits, that the stout Jacob sought the 
scene of his triumphs and disasters ; rebuilt the 
Roost, and reared again on high its glittering 
weather-cocks. 

Does any one want farther particulars of the for- 
tunes of this eventful little pile ? Let him go to the 
fountain-head, and drink deep of historic truth. 
Reader ! the stout Jacob Van Tassel still lives, a 
venerable, gray-headed patriarch of the revolution, 
now in his ninety-fifth year ! He sits by his fire- 
side, in the ancient city of the Manhattoes, and 
passes the long winter evenings, surrounded by his 
children, and grand-children, and great-grand-chil- 
dren, all listening to his tales of the border wars, 
and the heroic days of the Roost. His great goose- 
gun, too, is still in existence, having been preserved 
for many years in a hollow tree, and ])assed from 
hand to hand among the Dutch burghers, as a pre- 
cious relique of the revolution. It is now actually 
in possession of a contemporary of the stout Jacob, 
one almost his equal in years, who treasures it up at 
his house in the Bowerie of New-Amsterdam, hard 
by the ancient rural retreat of the chivalric Peter 
Stuyvesant. I am not without hopes of one day see- 
ing this formidable piece of ordnance restored to its 
proper station in the arsenal of the Roost. 

Before closing this historic document, I cannot 
but advert to certain notions and traditions concern- 
ing the venemble pile in question. Old-time edifices 
are apt to gather odd fancies and superstitions about 
them, as they do moss and weather-stains ; and this 
is in a neighbourhood a little given to old-fashioned 
notions, and who look upon the Roost as somewhat 
of a fated mansion. A lonely, rambling, down-hill 
lane leads to it, overhung with trees, with a wild 
brook dashing along, and crossing and re-crossmg 
it. This lane I found some of the good people of 
the neighborhood shy of treading at night ; why, I 
could not for a long time ascertain ; until I learned 
that one or two of the rovers of the Tappan Sea, 
s lot by the stout Jacob during the war, had been 
buried hereabout, in unconsecrated ground. 

Another local superstition is of a less gloomy 
kind, and one which I confess I am somewhat dis- 
posed to cherish. The Tappan Sea, in front of the 
Roost, is about three miles wide, bordered by a lofty 
line of waving and rocky hills. Often, in the still 
twilight of a summer evening, when the sea is like 
glass, with the opposite hills throwing their purple 
shadows half across it, a low sound is heard, as of 
the steady, vigorous pull of oars, far out in the mid- 



dle of the stream, though not a boat is to be de- 
scried. This I should have been apt to ascribe to 
some boat rowed along under the shadows of the 
western shore, for sounds are conveyed to a great 
distance by water, at such quiet hours, and I can 
distinctly hear the baying of the watch-dogs at night, 
from the farms on the sides of the opposite mount- 
ains. The ancient traditionists of the neighbor- 
hood, however, religiously ascribed these sounds to a 
judgment upon one Rumbout Van Dam, of Spiting 
Devil, who danced and drank late one Saturday 
night, at a Dutch quilting frolic, at Kakiat, and set 
off alone for home in his boat, on the verge of Sun- 
day morning ; swearing he would not land till he 
reached Spiting Devil, if it took him a month of 
Sundays. He was never seen afterward, but is often 
heard plying his oars across the Tappan Sea, a Fly- 
ing Dutchman on a small scale, suited to the size of 
his cruising-ground ; being doomed to ply between 
Kakiat and Spiting Devil till the day of judgment, 
but never to reach the land. 

There is one room in the mansion which almost 
overhangs the river, and is reputed to be haunted by 
the ghost of a young lady who died of love and 
green apples. I have been awakened at night by 
the sound of oars and the tinkling of guitars be- 
neath the window ; and seeing a boat loitering in the 
moonlight, have been tempted to believe it the Fly- 
ing Dutchma.n of Spiting Devil, and to try whether 
a silver bullet might not put an end to his unhappy 
cruisings ; but, happening to recollect that there was 
a living young lady in the haunted room, who might 
be terrified by the report of fire-arms, I have re- 
frained from pulling trigger. 

As to the enchanted fountain, said to have been 
gifted by the wizard sachem with supernatural pow- 
ers, it still wells up at the foot of the bank, on the 
margin of the river, and goes by the name of the 
Indian spring; but I have my doubts as to its re- 
juvenating powers, for though I have drank oft and 
copiously of it, I cannot boast that I find myself 
growing younger. 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



SLEEPY HOLLOW. 



BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 



Having pitched my tent, probably for the re- 
mainder of my days, in the neighbourhood of 
Sleepy Hollow, I am' tempted to give some fevv par- 
ticulars concerning that spell-bound region ; espec- 
ially as it has risen to historic importance under the 
pen of my revered friend and master, the sage-his- 
torian of 'the New Netherlands. Beside, I find the 
very existence of the place has been held in question 
by many ; who, judging from its odd name and from 
the odd stories current among the vulgar concerning 
it, have rashly deemed the whole to be a fanciful 
creation, like the Lubber Land of mariners. I must 
confess there is some apparent cause for doubt, in 
consequence of the colouring given by the worthy 
Diedrich to hi=. descriptions of the Hollow ; who, in 
this instance, has departed a little from his usually 
sober if not severe style; beguiled, very probably, 
by his predilection for' the haunts of his youth, and 
by a certain lurking taint of romance whenever any 
thing connected with the Dutch was to be described. 
I shall endeavor to make up for this amiable error 
on the part of my venerable and venerated friend by 
presenting the reader with a more precise and sta- 



812 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tistical account of the Hollow ; though I am not 
sure that I shall not be prone to lapse in the end 
into the very error I am speaking of, so potent is the 
witchery of the theme. 

I believe it was the very peculiarity of its name 
and the idea of something mystic and dreamy con- 
nected with it that first led me in my boyish ram- 
blings into Sleepy Hollow. The character of the valley 
seemed to answer to the name ; the slumber of past 
ages apparently reigned over it ; it had notawal<ened 
to the stir of iTiiprovement which had put all the rest 
of the world in a bustle. Here reigned good, old 
long-forgotten fashions ; the men were in home-spun 
garbs, evidently the product of their own farms and 
the manufacture of their own wives ; the women 
were in primitive short gowns and petticoats, with 
the venerable sun-bonnets of Holland origin. The 
lower part of the valley was cut up into small farms, 
each consisting of a little meadow and corn-field ; 
an orchard of sprawling, gnarled apple-trees, and a 
garden, where the rose, the marigold, and the holly- 
hock were permitted to skirt the domains of the ca- 
pacious cabbage, the aspiring pea, and the portly 
pumpkin. Each had its prolific little mansion teem- 
ing with children ; with an old hat nailed against the 
wall for the housekeeping wren ; a motherly heii, 
under a coop on the grass-plot, clucking to keep 
around her a brood of vagrant chickens ; a cool, 
stone well, with the moss-covered bucket suspended 
to the long balancing-pole, according to the antedi- 
luvian idea of hydraulics ; and its spinning-wheel 
humming within doors, the patriarchal music of 
home manufacture. 

The Hollow at that time was inhabited by fam- 
ilies which had existed there from the earliest times, 
and which, by frequent intermarriage, had become 
so interwoven, as to make a kind of natural com- 
monwealth. As the families had grown larger the 
farms had grown smaller ; every new generation re- 
quiring a new subdivision, and few thinking of 
swarming from the native hive. In this way that 
happy golden mean had been produced, so much ex- 
tolled by the poets, in which there was no gold and 
very little silver. One thing which doubtless con- 
tributed to keep up this amiable mean was a general 
repugnance to sordid labor. The sage inhabitants 
of Sleepy Hollow had read in their Bible, which was 
the only book they studied, that labor was originally 
inflicted upon man as a punishment of sin ; they re- 
garded it, therelbre, with pious abhorrence, and 
never humiliated themselves to it but in cases of 
extremity. There seemed, in fact, to be a league 
and covenant against it throughout the Hollow as 
against a common enemy. Was any one compelled 
by dire necessity to repair his house, mend his 
fences, build a barn, or get in a harvest, he consid- 
ered it a great evil that entitled him to call in the 
assistance of his friends. He accordingly pro- 
claimed a ' bee ' or rustic gathering, whereupon 
all his neighbors hurried to his aid like faithful al- 
lies ; attacked the task with the desperate energy 
of lazy men eager to overcome a job ; and, when it 
was accomplished, fell to eating and drinking, fid- 
dling and dancing for very joy that so great an 
amount of labor had been vanquished with so little 
sweating of the brovif. 

Yet, let it not be supposed that this worthy com- 
munity was without its periods of arduous activity. 
Let but a flock of wild pigeons fly across the valley 
and all Sleepy Hollow was wide awake in an instant. 
The pigeon season had arrived ! Every gun and net 
was forthwith in requisition. The flail was thrown 
down on the barn floor; the spade rusted in the gar- 
den ; the plough stood idle in the furrow ; every one 
was to the hill-side and stubble-field at daybreak to 



shoot or entrap the pigeons in their periodical mi- 
grations. 

So, likewise, let but the word be given that the 
shad were ascending the Hudson, and the worthies 
of the Hollow were to be seen launched in boats 
upon the river setting great stakes, and stretching 
their nets like gigantic spider-webs half across the 
stream to the great annoyance of navigators. Such 
are the wise provisions of Nature, by which she 
equalizes rural affairs. A laggard at the plough is 
often extremely industrious with the fowling-piece 
and fishing-net ; and, whenever a man is an indiffer- 
ent farmer, he is apt to be a first-rate sportsman. 
For catching shad and wild pigeons there were none 
throughout the country to compare with the lads of 
Sleepy Hollow. 

As I have observed, it was the dreamy nature ot 
the name that first beguiled me in the holiday rov- 
ings of boyhood into this sequestered region. I 
shunned, however, the populous parts of the Hollow, 
and sought its retired haunts f;ir in the foldings of 
the hills, where the Pocantico ' winds its wizard 
stream ' sometimes silently and darkly through sol- 
emn woodlands; sometimes sparkling between 
grassy borders in fresh, green meadows ; some- 
times stealing along the feet of rugged heights un- 
der the balancing sprays of beech and chestnut 
trees. A thousand crystal springs, with which this 
neighborhood abounds, sent down from the hill-sides 
their whimpering rills, as if to pay tribute to the Po- 
cantico. In this stream I first essayed my unskilful 
hand at angling. I loved to loiter along it with rod 
in hand, watching my float as it whirled amid the 
eddies or drifted into dark holes under twisted roots 
and sunken logs, where the largest fish are apt to 
lurk. I delighted to follow it into the brown re- 
cesses of the woods ; to throw by my fishing-gear 
and sit upon rocks beneath towering oaks and clam- 
bering grape-vines ; bathe my feet in the cool cur- 
rent, and listen to the summer breeze playing among 
the tree-tops. My boyish fancy clothed all nature 
around me with ideal charms, and peopled it with 
the fairy beings I had read of in poetry and fable. 
Here it was I gave full scope to my incipient habit 
of day-dreaming, and, to a certain propensity, to 
weave up and tint sober realities with my own 
whims and imaginings, which has sometimes made 
life a little too much like an Araiiian talc to me, and 
this ' working-day world ' rather like a region of ro- 
mance. 

The great gathering-place of Sleepy Hollow in 
those days was the church. It stood outside of the 
Hollow, near the great highway, on a green bank 
shaded by trees, with the Pocantico sweeping round 
it and emptying itself into a spacious miU-pond. At 
that time the Sleepy Hollow church v.-as the only 
place of worship for a wide neighborhood. It was 
a venerable edifice, partly of stone and partly of 
brick, the latter having been brought from Holland 
in the early days of the province, before the arts in 
the New Netherlands could aspire to such a fabrica- 
tion. On a stone above the porch were inscribed 
the names of the founders, Frederick Filipsen, a 
mighty patroon of the olden time, who reigned over 
a wide extent of this neighborhood and held his seat 
of power at Yonkers; and his wife, Katrina Van 
Courtlandt, of the no less potent line of the Van 
Courtlandts of Croton, who lorded it over a great 
part of the Highlands. 

The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spreading 
sounding-board, were likewise early importations 
from Holland ; as also the communion-table, of 
massive form and curious fabric. The same might 
be said of a weather-cock perched on top of the bel- 
frv, and which was considered orthodox in uU windy 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



813 



malters, until a small pragmatical rival was set up 
on the other end of the church above the chancel. 
This latter bore, and still bears, the initials of Fred- 
erick Fihpsen, and assumed great airs in conse- 
quence. The usual contradiction ensued that al- 
ways exists among church weather-cocks, which can 
never be brought to agree as to the point from which 
the wind blows, having doubtless acquired, from 
their position, the christian propensity to schism 
and controversy. 

Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle accliv- 
ity, was its capacious burying-ground, in which slept 
the earliest fathers of this rural neighborhood. Here 
were tombstones of the rudest sculpture ; on which 
were inscribed, in Dutch, the names and virtues ot 
many of the first settlers, with their portraitures cu- 
riously carved in similitude of cherubs. Long rows 
of grave-stones, side by side, of similar names, but 
various dates, showed that generation after genera- 
tion of the same families had followed each other 
and been garnered together in this last gathering- 
place of kindred. ■ . ,, , 

Let me speak of this quiet grave-yard with all due 
reverence, for I owe it amends for the heedlessness 
of my boyish days. I blush to acknowledge the 
thoughtless frolic with which, in company with other 
whipsters, I have sported within its sacred bounds 
during the intervals of worship ; chasing butterflies, 
plucking wild flowers, or vicing with each other who 
could leap over the tallest tomb-stones, until checked 
by the stern voice of the sexton. 

The congregation was, in those days, of a really 
rural character. City fashions were as yet unknown, 
or unregarded, by the country people of the neigh- 
borhood. Steam-boats had not as yet confounded 
town with country. A weekly market-boat Ironi 
Tarrytown, the ' Farmers' Daughter," navigated by 
the worthy Gabriel Requa, was the only communi- 
cation between all these parts and the metropolis. 
A rustic belle in those days considered a visit to the 
city in much the same light as one of our modern 
fashion.able ladies regards a visit to Europe; an 
event that may possibly take place once in the course 
of a life-time, but to be hoped for, rather than ex- 
pected. Hence the array of the congregation was 
chiefly after the primitive fashions existing m Sleepy 
Hollow; or if, by chance, there was a departure 
from the Dutch sun-bonnet, or the apparition ot a 
bright gown of flowered calico, it caused quite a 
sensation throughout the church. As the dominie 
generally preached by the hour, a bucket of water 
was providently placed on a bench near the door, in 
summer, with a tin cup beside it, for the solace ot 
those who might be athirst, either from the heat of 
the weather, or the drouth of the sermon. 

Around the pulpit, and behind the communion- 
table, sat the elders of the church, reverend, gray- 
headed, leathern-visaged men, whom I regarded 
with awe, as so many apostles. They were stern in 
their sanctity, kept a vigilant eye upon my giggling 
companions and myself, and shook a rebuking finger 
at any boyish device to relieve the tediousness of 
compulsory devotion. Vain, however, were all their 
efforts at vigilance. ' Scarcely had the preacher held 
forth for half an hour, on one of his interminable 
sermons, than it seemed as if the drowsy influence 
of Sleepy Hollow breathed into the place ; one by 
one the congregation sank into slumber ; the sanc- 
tified elders leaned back in their pews, spreading 
their handkerchiefs over their faces, as if to keep off 
the flies ; while the locusts in the neighboring trees 
would spin out their sultry summer notes, as if iii 
imitation of the sleep-provoking tones of the domi- 
nie. 
I have thus endeavored to give an idea of Sleepy 



I Hollow and its church, as I recollect them to have 
' been in the days of my boyhood. It was in my 
stripling days, when a few years had passed over 
mv head, that I revisited them, in company with the 
venerable Uiedrich. I shall never forget the anti- 
quarian reverence with which that sage and excellent 
man contemplated the church. It seemed as if all 
his pious enthusiasm for the ancient Dutch dynasty 
swelled within his bosom at the sight. The tears 
stood in his eyes, as he regarded the pulpit^ and the 
communion-table; even the very bricks that had 
come from the mother country, seemed to touch a 
filial chord within his bosom. He almost bowed m 
deference to the stone above the porch, containing 
the names of Frederick Filipsen and Katrina Van 
Courtlnndt, regarding it as the linking together of 
those patronymic names, once so famous along the 
banks of the Hudson ; or rather as a key-stone, 
binding that mighty Dutch family connexion of yore, 
one foot of which rested on Yonkers, and the other 
on the Croton. Nor did he forbear to notice with 
admiration, the windy contest which had been car- 
ried on, since time immemorial, and with real Dutch 
perseverance, between the two weather-cocks ; 
though I could easily perceive he coincided with the 
one which had come from Holland. 

Together we paced the ample church-yard. With 
deep veneration would he turn down the weeds and 
brambles that obscured the modest brown grave- 
stones, half sunk in earth, on which were recorded, 
in Dutch, the names of the patriarchs ot ancient 
days, the Ackers, the Van Tassels, and the Van 
Warts. As we sat on one of the tomb-stones, he 
recounted to me the exploits of many of these 
worthies ; and my heart smote me, when I heard of 
their great doings in days of yore, to think how heed- 
lessly 1 had once sported over their graves. 

From the church, the venerable Diedrich proceed- 
ed in his researches up the Hollow. The genius of 
the place seemed to hail its future historian. All nat- 
ure was alive with gratulation. The quail whistled 
a greeting from the corn-field ; the robin carolled a 
song of praise from the orchard ; the loquacious cat- 
bird flew from bush to bush, with restless wmg, 
proclaiming his approach in every variety ol note, 
and anon would whisk about, and perk inquisitively 
into his face, as if to get a knowledge ot his physi- 
ognomy ; the wood-pecker, also, tapped a tattoo on 
the hollow apple-tree, and then peered knowingly 
round the trunk, to see how the great Diedrich rel- 
ished his salutation ; while the ground-squirel scamp- 
ered along the fence, and occasionally whisked his 
tail over his head, by way of a huzza ! 

The worthy Diedrich pursued his researches in the 
valley with characteristic devotion ; entering famili- 
arly into the various cottages, and gossipping with 
the simple folk, in the style of their own simplicity. 
1 confess my heart yearned with admiration, to see 
so great a man, in his eager quest after knowledge, 
humbly demeaning himself to curry favor with the 
humblest ; sitting patiently on a three-legged stool, 
patting the children, and taking a purring grimalkin 
on his lap, while he conciliated the good-will of the 
old Dutch housewife, and drew from her long ghost 
stories, spun out to the humming accompaniment of 
her wheel. 

His greatest treasure of historic lore, however, 
was discovered in an old goblin-looking mill, situated 
amon"- rocks and waterfalls, with clanking wheels, 
and rushing streams, and all kinds of uncouth noises. 
A horse-sh'oe, nailed to the door to keep off witches 
and evil spirits, showed that this mill was subject to 
awful visitations. As we approached it an old 
ne<Tro thrust his head, all dabbled with flour, out 
of "a hole above the water-wheel, and grinned, and 



814 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



rolled his eyes, and looked like the very hobgoblin 
of the place. The illustrious Diedrich fixed upon 
him, at once, as the very one to give him that inval- 
uable kind of information never to he acquired from 
hooks. He beckoned him from his nest, sat with 
him by the hour on a broken mill-stone, by the side 
of the waterfall, heedless of the noise of the water, 
and the clatter of the mill ; and 1 verily believe it 
was to his conference with this African sage, and 
the precious revelations of the good dame of the 
spinning-wheel, that we are indebted for the surpris- 
ing though true history of Ichabod Crane and the 
headless horseman, which has since astounded and 
edified the world. 

But I have said enough of the good old times of 
my youthful days; let me speak of the Hollow as I 
found it, alter an absence of many years, when it 
was kindly given me once more to revisit the haunts 
of my boyhood. It was a genial day, as I approach- 
ed that fated region. The warm sunshine was 
tempered by a slight haze, so as to give a dreamy 
effect to the landscape. Not a breath of air shook 
the foliage. The broad Tappan Sea was without a 
ripple, and the sloops, with drooping sails, slept on its 
glassy bosom. Columns of smoke, from burning 
brush-wood, rose lazily from the folds of the hills, 
on the opposite side of the river, and slowly e.xpand- 
ed in mid-air. The distant lowing of a cow, or the 
noontide crowing of a cock, coming faintly to the 
ear, seemed to illustrate, rather than disturb, the 
drowsy quiet of the scene. 

I entered the Hollow with a beating heart. Con- 
trary to my apprehensions, I found it but little 
changed. The march of intellect, which had made 
such rapid strides along every river and highway, 
had not yet, apparently, turned down into this fa- 
vored valley. Perhaps the wizard spell of ancient 
days still reigned over the place, binding up the fac- 
ulties of the inhabitants in happy contentment with 
things as they had been handed down to them from 
yore. There were tlie same little farms and farm- 
houses, with their old hats for the housekeeping wren ; 
their stone wells, moss-covered buckets, and long bal- 
ancing poles. There were the same little rills, whim- 
pering down to pay their tributes to the Pocantico ; 
while that wizard stream still kept on its course, as 
of old, through solemn woodlands and fresh green 
meadows : nor were there wanting joyous holiday 
boys to loiter along its banks, as I had done ; throw 
their pin-hooks in the stream, or launch their mimic 
barks. I watched them with a kind of melancholy 
pleasure, wondering whether they were under the 
same spell of the fancy that once rendered this valley 
a fairy land to me. Alas ! alas ! to me every thing 
now stood revealed in its simple reality. The echoes 
no longer answered with wizard tongTjes ; the dream 
of youth was at an end ; the spell of Sleepy Hollow 
was broken ! 

I sought the ancient church on the following Sun- 
day. There it stood, on its green bank, among the 
trees ; the Pocantico swept by it in a deep dark 
stream, where I had so often angled ; there expand- 
ed the mill-pond, as of old, with the cows under the 
willows on its margin, knee-deep in water, chewing 
the cud, and lashing the flies from their si les with 
their tails. The hand of improvement, however, had 
been busy with the venerable pile. The pulpit, fab- 
ricated in Holland, had been superseded by one of 
modern construction, and the front of the semi- 
Gothic edifice was decorated by a semi-Greci,in por- 
tico. Fortunately, the two weather-cocks remained 
undisturbed on their perches at each end of the 
church, and still kept up a diametrical opposition to 
each other on all points of windy doctrine. 

On entering the church the changes of time contin- 



ued to be apparent. The elders round the pulpit 
were men whom I had left in the gamesome frolic of 
their youth, but who had succeeded to the sanctity of 
station of which they once had stood so much in awe. 
What most struck my eye was the change in the 
female part of the congregation. Instead of the 
primitive garbs of homespun manufacture and an- 
tique Dutch fashion, I beheld F"rench sleeves, French 
capes, and French collars, and a fearful fluttering of 
French ribbands. 

When the service was ended I sought the church- 
yard, in which I had sported in my unthinking days 
of boyhood. Several of the modest brown stones, 
on which were recorded in Dutch the names and 
virtues of the patriarchs, had disappeared, and had 
been succeeded by others of white marble, with urns 
and wreaths, and scraps of English tomb-stone po- 
etry, marking the intrusion of taste and literature 
and the English language in this once unsophisti- 
cated Dutch neighborhood. 

As I was stumbling about among these silent yet 
eloquent memorials of the dead, I came upon names 
familiar to me ; of those who had paid the debt of 
nature during the long mterval of my absence. Some, 
I remembered, my companions in boyhood, who had 
sported with me on the very sod under which they 
were now mouldering; others who in those days 
had been the flower of the yeomanry, figuring in 
Sunday finery on the church green ; others, the white- 
haired elders of the sanctuary, once arrayed in awful 
sanctity around the pulpit, and ever ready to rebuke 
the ill-timed mirth of the wanton stripling who, now 
a man, sobered by years and schooled by vicissitudes, 
looked down pensively upon their graves. 'Our 
fathers,' thought I, ' where are they I — and the proph- 
ets, can they live for ever ! ' 

I was disturbed in my meditations by the noise of 
a troop of idle urchins, who came gambolling about 
the place where I had so often gambolled. They 
were checked, as I and my playmates had often 
been, by the voice of the sexton, a man staid in years 
and demeanor. I looked wistfully in his face ; had I 
met him any where else, I should probably have 
passed him by without remark ; but here I was alive 
to the traces of former times, and detected in the 
demure features of this guardian of the sanctuary 
the lurking lineaments of one of the vei"y playmates 
I have alluded to. We renewed our acquaintance. 
He sat down beside me, on one of the tomb-stones 
over which we had leaped in our juvenile sports, and 
we talked together about our boyish days, and held 
edifying discourse on the instability of all sublunary 
things, as instanced in the scene around us. He 
was rich in historic lore, as to the events of the last 
thirty years and the circumference of thirty miles, 
and from him I learned the appalling revolution that 
was taking place throughout the neighborhood. AH 
this I clearly perceived he attributed to the boasted 
march of intellect, or rather to the all-pervading in- 
fluence of steam. He bewailed the times when the 
only communication with town was by the weekly 
market-boat, the ' Farmers' Daughter,' which, under 
the pilotage of the worthy Gabriel Requa, braved 
the perils of the Tappan Sea. Alas ! Gabriel and 
the ' Farmers' Daughter ' slept in peace. Two steam- 
boats now splashed and paddled up daily to the little 
rural port of Tarrytown. The spirit of speculation 
and improvement had seized even upon that once 
quiet and unambitious little dorp. The whole neigh- 
borhood was laid out into town lots. Instead of the 
little tavern below the hill, where the farmers used 
to loiter on market days and indulge in cider and 
gingerbread, an ambitious hotel, with cupola and 
verandas, now crested the summit, among churches 
built in the Grecian and Gothic styles, showing the 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



815 



!;reat increase of piety and polite taste in the neigh- 
iiurlioorf. As to Dutch dresses and sun-bonnets, 
they weie no long-er tolerated, or even thought of; 
not a farmer's daughter but now went to town for 
the fashions ; nay, a city milliner had recently set up 
in the village, who threatened to reform the heads 
o'f the whole neighborhood. 

I had heard enough ! I thanked my old playmate 
for liis intelligence, and departed from the Sleepy 
Hollow church with the sad conviction that I had 
beheld the last lingerings of the good old Dutch j 
times in this once favored region. If any thing were 
wanting to confirm this impression, it would be the 
intelligence which has just reached me, that a bank 
is about to be established in the aspiring little port 
just mentioned. The fate of the neighborhood is 
therefore sealed. I see no hope of averting it. The 
golden mean is at an end. The country is suddenly 
to be deluged with wealth. The late simple farmers 
are to become bank directors and drink claret and 
champagne ; and their wives and daughters to figure 
in French hats and feathers ; for French wines and 
French fashions commonly keep pace with paper 
money. How can I hope that even Sleepy Hollow 
can escape the general inundation } In a little while, 
1 fear the slumber of ages will be at end ; the strum 
of the piano will succeed to the hum of the spinning 
wheel; the trill of the Italian opera to the nasal 
quaver of Ichabod Crane; and the antiquarian vis- 
itor to the Hollow, in the petulance of his disappoint- 
ment, may pronounce all that I have recorded of that 
ance favored region a fable. 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING, 



BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 



Mv quiet residence in the country, aloof from fash- 
ion, politics, and the money market, leaves me rather 
at a loss for important occupation, and drives me to 
the study of nature, and other low pursuits. Having 
few neighbors, also, on whom to keep a watch, and 
exercise my habits of observation, I am fain to amuse 
myself with prying into the domestic concerns and 
peculiarities of the animals around me ; and, during 
the present season, have derived considerable enter- 
tainment from certain sociable little birds, almost the 
only visitors we have, during this early part of the 
year. 

Those who have passed the winter in the country', 
are sensible of the delightful influences that accom- 
pany the earliest indications of spring ; and of these, 
none are more delightful than the first notes of the 
birds. There is one modest little sad-colored bird, 
much resembling a wren, which came about the 
house just on the skirts of winter, when not a blade 
of grass was to be seen, and when a few prematurely 
warm days had given a flattering foretaste of soft 
weather. He sang early in the dawning, long before 
sun-rise, and late in the evening, just belore the clos- 
ing in of night, his matin and his vesper hymns. It 
is true, he sang occasionally throughout the day ; but 
at these still hours, his song was more remarked. 
He sat on a leafless tree, just before the window, and 
warbled forth his notes, free and simple, but singu- 
larly sweet, with something of a plaintive tone, that 
heightened their effect. 

The first morning that he was heard, was a joyous 
one among the young folks of my household. The 
long, death -like sleep of winter was at an end; 



nature was once more awakening ; they now prom- 
ised themselves the immediate appearance of buds 
and blossoms. I was reminded of the tempest-tossed 
crew of Columbus, when, after their long dubious 
voyage, the field birds came singing round the ship, 
though still far at sea, rejoicing them with the belief 
of the immediate proximity of land. A sharp return 
of winter almost silenced my little songster, and 
dashed the hilarity of the household ; yet still he 
poured forth, now and then, a few plaintive notes, 
between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like gleams 
of sunshine between wintry clouds. 

I have consulted my book of ornithologj' in vain, to 
find out the name of this kindly little bird, who cer- 
tainly deserves honor and lavor far beyond his mod- 
est pretensions. He comes like the lowly violet, the 
most unpretending, but welcomest of flowers, breath- 
ing the sweet promise of the early year. 

Another of our feathered visitors, who follows 
close upon the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or Pe- 
wee, or Phoebe-bird ; for he is called by each of these 
names, from a fancied resemblance to the sound of 
his monotonous note. He is a sociable little being, 
and seeks the habitation of man. A pair of them 
have built beneath my porch, and have reared several 
broods there for two years past, their nest being never 
disturbed. They arrive early in the spring, just when 
the crocus and the snow-drop begin to peep forth. 
Their first chirp spreads gladness through the house. 
' The Phoebe- birds have come ! ' is heard on all sides ; 
they are welcomed back like members of the family ; 
and speculations are made upon where they have 
been, and what countries they have seen during their 
long absence. Their arrival is the more cheering, 
as it is pronounced, by the old weather-wise people 
of the country, the sure sign that the severe frosts 
are at an end, and that the gardener may resume his 
labors with confidence. 

About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so poeti- 
cally yet truly described by Wilson. His appearance 
gladdens the whole landscape. You hear his soft 
warble in every field. He sociably approaches your 
habitation, and takes up his residence in your vicinity. 
But why should I attempt to describe him, when I 
have Wilson's own graphic verses to place him be- 
fore the reader ? 

when winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 

Oreen meadows and brown furrowed fields reappearing. 
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore. 

And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering ; 
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing, 

When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
O then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring. 

And hails with his warblings the charms of the season. 

The loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring ; 

Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm glows the weather ; 
The hlue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 

And spice-wood and sassafras budding together ; 
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair. 

Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure ; 
The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air. 

That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure ! 

He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree. 

The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossoms ; 
He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be. 

And sei.!es the caitiffs that lurk in their l)Osoms ; 
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours, 

Tne worms from the webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours. 

And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 

The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train, 

Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer himj 
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple strain. 

And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him. 
The slow lingering school-boys forget they'll be chid. 

While gazing intent, as he warbles before them, 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red, 

That sach little loiterer seems to adore him. 

The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one 
that rivals the European lark, in my estimation, is 
the Boblincon, or Boblink, as he is commonly called. 



816 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



He arrives at that choice portion of our year, which, 
in this latitude, answers to the description ol' the 
month of May, so often given by the poets. With us, 
it begins about the middle of May, and lasts until 
nearly the middle of June. Earlier than this, winter 
is apt to return on its traces, and to blight the open- 
ing beauties of the year; and later than this, begin 
the parching, and panting, and dissolving heats of 
summer. But in this genial interval, nature is in all 
her freshness and fragrance : ' the rains are over and 
gone, the flowers appear upon the earth, the time of 
the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the tur- 
tle is heard in the land.' The trees are now in their 
fullest foliage and brightest verdure ; the woods are 
gay with the clustered flowers of the laurel ; the air 
is perfumed by the sweet-briar and the wild rose ; the 
meadows are enamelled with clover-blossoms ; while 
the young apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to 
swell, and the cherry to glow, among the green 
leaves. 

This is the chosen season of revelry of the Bob- 
link. He comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of 
the season ; his life seems all sensibility and enjoy- 
ment, all song and sunshine. He is to be found in 
the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest mead- 
ows ; and is most in song when the clover is in 
blossom. He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, 
or on some long flaunting weed, and as he rises and 
sinks with the breeze, pours forth a succession of 
rich tinkling notes ; crowding one upon another, 
like the outpouring melody of the skylark, and pos- 
sessing the same rapturous character. Sometimes he 
pitches from the summit of a tree, begins his song 
as soon as he gets upon the wing, and flutters tremu- 
lously down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy 
at his own music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his 
paramour ; always in full song, as if he would win 
her by. his melody; and always with the same ap- 
pearance of intoxication and delight. 

Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the 
Boblink was the envy of my boyhood. He crossed 
my path in the sweetest weather, and the sweetest 
season of the year, when all nature called to the 
fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in every bosom ; 
but when I, luckless urchin ! was doomed to be 
mewed up. during the livelong day, in that purgatory 
of boyhood, a school-room. It seemed as if the 
little varlet mocked at me, as he flew by in full song, 
and sought to taunt me with his happier lot. Oh, 
how I envied him ! No lessons, no tasks, no hateful 
school ; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, and 
fine weather. Had I been then more versed in po- 
etry, I might have addressed him in the words of 
Logan to the cuckoo ; 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy note, 

No winter in thy year. 

Oh ! could I fly, I'd fly with thee ; 

We'd malce, on joyful wing. 
Our annual visit round the globe, 

Companions of the spring ! 

Farther observation and experience have given me 
a different idea of this little feathered voluptuary, 
which I will venture to impart, for the benefit of my 
school-boy readers, who may regard him with the 
same unqualified envy and admiration which I once 
indulged. 1 have shown him only as I saw him at 
first, in what I may call the poetical part of his ca- 
reer, when he in a manner devoted himself to ele- 
gant pursuits and enjoyments, and was a bird of 
music, and song, and taste, and sensibilitv, and re- 
finement-. While this lasted, he was sacred from in- 
jury ; the very school-boy would not fling a stone at I 
him, and the merest rustic would pause to listen to 1 



his strain. But mark the difference. As the year 
advances, as the clover-blossoms disappear, and the 
spring fades into summer, his notes cease to vibrate 
on the ear. He gradually gives up his elegant tastes 
and habits, doffs his poetical and professional suit of 
black, assumes a russet or rather dusty garb, and 
enters into the gross enjoyments of common, vulgar 
birds. He becomes a bon-vivant, a mere gourmand ; 
thinking of nothing but good cheer, and gormandizing 
on the seeds of the long grasses on which he lately 
swung, and chaunted so musically. He begins to 
think there is nothing like 'the joys of the table,' if 
I may be allowed to apply that convivial phrase to 
his indulgences. He now grows discontented with 
plain, every-day fare, and sets out on a gastronom- 
ical tour, in search of foreign luxuries. He is to be 
found in myriads among the reeds of the Delaware, 
banqueting on their seeds ; grows corpulent with 
good feeding, and soon acquires the unlucky renown 
of the ortolan. Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! 
the rusty firelocks of the country are cracking on 
every side; he sees his companions falling by thou- 
sands around him ; he is the recd-bird, the much- 
soughtlbr tit-bit of the Pennsylvanian epicure. 

Does he take warning and reform ? Not he ! He 
wings his flight still farther south, in search of other 
luxuries. We hear of him gorging himself in the 
rice swamps ; filling himself with rice almost to 
bursting; he can hardly fly for corpulency. Last 
stage of his career, we hear of him spitted by dozens, 
and served up on the table of the gourmand, the 
most vaunted of southern dainties, the rice-bird of 
the Carolinas. 

Such is the story of the once musical and admired, 
but finally sensual and persecuted Boblink. It con- 
tains a moral, worthy the attention of all little birds 
and little boys; warning them to keep to those re- 
fined and intellectual pursuits, which raised him to 
so high a pitch of popularity, during the early part 
of his career ; but to eschew all tendency to that 
gross and dissipated indulgence, which brought this 
mistaken little bird to an untimely end. 

Which is all at present, from the well-wisher of 
little boys and little birds, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 



During a summer's residence in the old Moorish 
palace of the Alhambra, of which I have already given 
numerous anecdotes to the public, I used to pass much 
of my time in the beautiful hall of the Abencerrages, be- 
side the fountain celebrated in the tragic story of that 
devoted race. Here it was, that thirty-si.x cavaliers 
of that heroic line were treacherously sacrificed, to ap- 
pease the jealousy or allay the fears of a tyrant. The 
fountain which now throws up its sparkling jet, and 
sheds a dewy freshness around, ran red with the 
noblest blood of Granada, and a deep stain on the 
marble pavement is still pointed out, by the cicerones 
of the pile, as a sanguinary record of the massacre. I 
have ragarded it with the same determined faith with 
which I have regarded the traditional stains of Riz- 
zio's blood on the floor of the chamber of the unfortu- 
nate Mary, at Holyrood. I thank no one for en- 
deavoring to enlighten my credulity, on such points 
of popular belief. It is like breaking up the shrine of 
the pilgrim ; it is robbing a poor traveller of half the 
reward of his toils ; for, strip travelling of its histori- 
cal illusions, and what a mere fag you make of it ! 

For my part, I gave myself up, during my sojourn 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



SV, 



n the Alhambra, to all the romantic and fabulous tra- 
ditions connected with the pile. I lived in the midst 
of an Arabian tale, and shut my eyes, as much 
as possible, to every thing that called me back to 
every-day life ; and if there is any country in Europe 
where one can do so, it is in poor, wild, legendary, 
proud-spirited, romantic Spain ; where the old mag- 
hificent barbaric spirit still contends against the utili- 
tarianism of modern civilization. 

In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra ; 
surrounded with the insignia of regal sway, and the 
still vivid, though dilapidated traces of oriental volup- 
tuousness, I was in the strong-hold of Moorish story, 
and every thing spoke and breathed of the glorious 
days of Granada, when under the dominion of the 
crescent. When I sat in the hall of the Abencerrages, 
I suffered my mind to conjure up all that I had read 
of that illustrious line. In the proudest days of Mos- 
lem domination, the Abencerrages were the soul of 
every thing noble and chivalrous. The veterans of 
the family, who sat in the royal council, were the fore- 
most to devise those heroic enterprises, which carried 
dismay into the territories of the Christians ; and what 
the sages of the family devised, the young men of the 
name were the foremost to execute. In all services 
of hazard ; in all adventurous forays, and hair-breadth 
hazards ; the Abencerrages were sure to win the 
brightest laurels. In those noble recreations, too, 
which bear so close an affinity to war ; in the tilt and 
tourney, the riding at the ring, and the daring bull- 
fight ; still the Abencerrages carried off the palm. 
None could equal them for the splendor of their array, 
the gallantry of their devices ; for their noble bearing, 
and glorious horsemanship. Their open-handed mu- 
nificence made them the idols of the populace, while 
their lofty magnanimity, and perfect faith, gained 
them golden opinions from the generous and high- 
minded. Never were they known to decry the merits 
of a rival, or to betray the confidings of a friend ; and 
the ' word of an Abencerrage ' was a guarantee that 
never admitted of a doubt. 

And then their devotion to the fair ! Never did 
Moorish beauty consider the fame of her charms 
established, until she had an Abencerrage for a lover ; 
and never did an Abencerrage prove recreant to his 
vows. Lovely Granada ! City of delights ! Who 
ever bore the favors of thy dames more proudly on 
their casques, or championed them more gallantly in 
the chivalrous tilts of the Vivarambla? Or who ever 
made thy moon-lit balconies, thy gardens of myrtles 
and roses, of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, 
respond to more tender serenades ? 

I speak with enthusiasm on this theme ; for it is 
connected with the recollection of one of the sweetest 
evenings and sweetest scenes that ever I enjoyed in 
Spain. One of the greatest pleasures of the Spaniards 
is, to sit in the beautiful summer evenings, and listen 
to traditional ballads, and tales about the wars of the 
Moors and Christians, and the ' buenas andanzas' 
and 'grandes hechos,' the 'good fortunes' and 'great 
exploits ' of the hardy warriors of yore. It is worthy of 
remark, also, that many of these songs, or romances, 
as they are called, celebrate the prowess and magnan- 
imity in war, and the tenderness and fidelity in love, 
of the Moorish cavaliers, once their most formidable 
and hated foes. But centuries have elapsed, to ex- 
tinguish the bigotry of the zealot ; and the once de- 
tested warriors of Granada are now held up by Span- 
ish poets, as the mirrors of chivalric virtue. 

Such was the amusement of the evening in question. 
A number of us were seated in the Hall of the Aben- 
cerrages, listening to one of the most gifted and fasci- 
nating beings that I had ever met with in my wander- 
ings. She was young and beautiful ; and light and ethe- 
real ; full of fire, and spirit, and pure enthusiasm. She 
wore the fanciful Andaiusian dress ; touched the guitar 
with speaking eloquence ; improvised with wonder- 
ful facility ; and, as she became excited by her 
theme, or by the rapt attention of her auditors, would 
pour forth, in the richest and most melodious strains, 
a succession of couplets, full of striking descrip- 

52 



tion, or stirring narration, and composed, as I was as- 
sured, at the moment. Most of these were suggested 
by the place, and related to the ancient glories of 
Granada, and the prowess of her chivalry. The 
Abencerrages were her favorite heroes ; she felt a 
woman's admiration of their gallant courtesy, and 
high-souled honor ; and it was touching and inspir- 
ing to hear the praises of that generous but devoted 
race, chanted in this fated hall of their calamity, by 
the lips of Spanish beauty. 

Among the subjects of which she treated, was a tale 
of Moslem honor, and old-fashioned Spanish cour- 
tesy, which made a strong impression on me. She 
disclaimed all merit of invention, however, and said 
she had merely dilated into verse a popular tradition ; 
and, indeed, I have since found the main facts insert- 
ed at the end of Conde's History of the Domination 
of the Arabs, and the story itself embodied in the 
form of an episode in the Diana of Montemayor. 
From these sources I have drawn it forth, and en- 
deavored to shape it according to my recollection of 
the version of the beautiful minstrel ; but, alas ! what 
can supply the want of that voice, that look, that 
form, that action, which gave magical effect to her 
chant, and held every one rapt in breathless admira- 
tion ! Should this mere travestie of her inspired num- 
bers ever meet her eye, in her stately abode at Gra- 
nada, may it meet with that indulgence which belongs 
to her benignant nature. Happy should I be, if it 
could awaken in her bosom one kind recollection of 
the lonely stranger and sojourner, for whose gratifica- 
tion she did not think it beneath her to exert those 
fascinating powers which were the delight of brilliant 
circles ; and who will ever recall with enthusiasm the 
happy evening passed in listening to her strains, in 
the moon-lit halls of the Alhambra. 

Geoffrey Cr.won. 



THE ABENCERRAGE. 



A SPANISH TALE. 



On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the 
mountains of Ronda, stands the castle of Allora, now 
a mere ruin, infested by bats and owlets, l^ut in old 
times one of the strong border holds of the Chris- 
tians, to keep watch upon the frontiers of the war- 
like kingdom of Granada, and to hold the Moors in 
check. It was a post always confided to some well- 
tried commander ; and, at the time of which we 
treat, was held by Rodrigo de Narvaez, a veteran, 
famed, both among Moors and Christians, not only 
for his hardy feats of arms, but also for that mag- 
nanimous courtesy which should ever be entwined 
with the stemer virtues of the soldier. 

The castle of Allora was a mere part of his com- 
mand ; he was Alcayde, or military governor of An- 
tiquera, but he passed most of his time at this fron- 
tier post, because its situation on the borders gave 
more trequent opportunity for those adventurous ex- 
ploits which were the delight of the Spanish chivalry. 
His garrison consisted of fifty chosen cavaliers, all 
well mounted and well appointed : with these he 
kept vigilant watch upon the Moslems ; patrolling 
the roads, and paths, and defiles of the mountains, 
.so that nothing could escape his eye ; and now and 
then signalizing himself by some dashing foray into 
the very Vega of Granada. 

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when 
the freshness of the evening breeze had tempered 
the heat of day, the worthy Alcayde sallied forth, 
with nine of his cavaliers, to patrol the neighbor- 
hood, and seek adventures. They rode quietly and 



818 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



cautiously, lest they should be overheard by Moor- 
ish scout or traveller; and kept along ravines and 
hollow ways, lest they should be betrayed by the glit- 
tering of the full moon upon their armor. Coming 
to where the road dividerl, the Alcayde directed five 
of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, while 
he, with the remaining four, would take the other 
Should either party be in danger, the blast of a 
horn was to be the signal to bring their comrades 
to their aid. 

The party of five had not proceeded far, when, 
in passing through a defile, overhung with trees, 
they heard the voice of a man, singing. They im- 
mediately concealed themselves in a grove, on the 
brow of a declivity, up which the stranger would 
have to ascend. The moonlight, which left the 
grove in deep shadow, lit up the whole person of the 
wayfarer, as he advanced, and enabled them to dis- 
tinguish his dress and appearance with perfect ac- 
curacy. He was a Moorish cavalier, and his noble 
demeanor, graceful carriage, and splendid attire 
showed him to be of lofty rank. He was superbly 
mounted, on a dapple-gray steed, of powerful frame, 
and generous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned- 
His dress was a marlota, or tunic, and an Albernoz 
of crimson damask, fringed with gold. His Tuni- 
sian turban, of many Iblds, was of silk and cotton, 
striped, and bordered with golden fringe. At his 
girdle hung a scimetar of Damascus steel, with 
loops and tassels of silk and gold. On his left arm he 
bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped a 
long double-pointed lance. Thus equipped, he sat 
negligently on his steed, as one who dreamed of no 
danger, gazing on the moon, and singing, with a 
sweet and manly •. oice, a Moorish love ditty. 

Just opposite the place where the Spanish cava- 
liers were concealed, was a small fountani in the 
rock, beside the road, to which the horse turned to 
drink ; the rider threw the reins on his neck, and 
continued his song. 

The Spanish cavaliers conferred together ; they 
were all so pleased with the gallant and gentle ap- 
pearance of the Moor, that they resolved not to 
harm, but to capture him, which, in his negligent 
mood, promised to be an easy task; rushing, there- 
fore, from their concealment, they thought to sur- 
round and seize him. Never were men more mis- 
taken. To gather up his reins, wheel round his 
steed, brace his buckler, and couch his lance, was 
the work of an instant ; and there he sat, fi.\ed like 
a castle in his saddle, beside the fountain. 

The Christian cavaliers checked their steeds and 
reconnoitred him warily, loth to come to an en- 
counter, which must end in his destruction. 

The Moor now held a parley: 'If you be true 
knights,' said he, ' and seek for honorable fame, 
come on, singly, and I am ready to meet each in 
succession ; but if you be mere lurkers of the road, ! 
intent on spoil, come all at once, and do your ; 
worst ! ' [ 

The cavaliers communed for a moment apart, ! 
when one, advancing singly, exclaimed : ' Although 
no law of chivalry obliges us to risk the loss of a prize, 
when clearly in our power, yet we willingly grant, as 
a courtesy, what we might refuse as a right. Valiant 
Moor ! defend thyself! ' 

So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, 
couched his lance, and putting spurs to his horse, 
made at the stranger. The latter met him in 
mid career, transpierced him with his lance, and 
threw him headlong from his saddle. A second 
and a third succeeded, but were unhorsed with 
equal facility, and thrown to the earth, severely 
wounded. The remaining two, seeing their com- 
rades thus roughly treated,' forgot all compact of 



courtesy, and charged both at once upon the Moor. 
He parried the thrust of one, but was wounded by 
the other in the thigh, and, in the shock and con- 
fusion, dropped his lance. Thus disarmed, and 
closely pressed, he pretended to fly, and was hotly 
pursued. Having drawn the two cavaliers some 
distance from the spot, he suddenly wheeled short 
about, with one of those dexterous movements .^r 
which the Moorish horsemen are renowned ; pass- 
ed swiftly between them, swung himself down from 
his saddle, so as to catch up his lance, then, lightly 
re])lacing himself, turned to renew the combat. 

Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just 
issued from his tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips 
to his horn, and blew a blast, that soon brought the 
Alcayde and his four companions to the spot. 

The valiant Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers 
extended on the earth, and two others hotly engaged 
with the Moor, was struck with admiration, and 
coveted a contest with so accomplished a warrior. 
Interfering in the fight, he called upon his followers 
to desist, and addressing the Moor, with courteo.us 
words, invited him to a more equal combat. The 
latter readily accepted the challenge. For some 
time, their contest was fierce and doubtful, and the 
Alcayde had need of all his skill and strength to 
ward off the blows of his antagonist. The .Moor, 
however, was exhausted by previous fighting, and 
by loss of blood. He no longer sat his horse firmly, 
nor managed him with his wonted skill. Collecting 
all his strength for a last assault, he rose in his stir- 
rups, and made a violent thrust with his lance; the 
Alcayde received it upon his shield, and at the same 
time wounded the Moor in the right arm ; then clos- 
ing, in the shock, he grasped him in his arms, drag- 
ged him from his saddle, and fell with him to the 
earth : when putting his knee upon his breast, and 
his dagger to his throat, ' Cavalier,' exclaimed he, 
' render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is in my 
hands ! ' 

' Kill me, rather," replied the Moor, ' for death 
would be less grievous than loss of liberty.' 

The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the 
truly brave, assisted the Moor to rise, ministered to 
his wounds with his own hands, and had him con- 
veyed with great care to the castle of Allora. His 
wounds were slight, and in a few days were nearly 
cured ; but the deepest wound had been infiicted on 
his spirit. He was constantly buried in a profound 
melancholy. 

The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard 
for him, treated him more as a friend than a captive, 
and tried in every way to cheer him, but in vain ; he 
was always sad and moody, and, when on the battle- 
ments of the castle, would keep his eyes turned to 
the south, with a fixed and wistful gaze. 

' How is this ? ' exclaimed the Alcayde, reproach- 
fully, 'that you, who were so hardy and fearless m 
the field, should lose all spirit in prison ? If any secret 
grief preys on your heart, confide it to me, as to a 
friend, and I promise you, on the faith of a cavalier, 
that you shall have no cause to repent the disclosure.' 

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Al- 
cayde. ' Noble cavalier,' .said he, ' that I am cast 
down in spirit, is not from my wounds, which are 
slight, nor from my captivity, for your kindness has 
robbed it of all gloom ; nor from my defeat, for to be 
conquered by so accomplished and renowned a cav- 
alier, is no disgrace. But to explain to you the cause 
of my grief, it is necessary to give you some particu- 
lars of my stoiy ; and this I am moved to do, by the 
great sympathy you have manifested toward me, 
and the magnanimity that shines through all your 
actions.' 

' Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, and 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



819 



that I am of the noble but unfortunate line of the 
Abencerrages of Granada. You have doubtless 
heard of the destruction that fell upon our race. 
Charged with treasonable designs, of which they 
were entirely innocent, many of them were beheaded, 
the rest banished ; so that not an Abencerrage was 
permitted to remain in Granada, excepting my father 
and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, even to 
the satisfaction of their persecutors. It was decreed, 
however, that, should they have children, the sons 
should be educated at a distance from Granada, and 
the daughters should be married out of the kingdom. 
' Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet 
an infant, to be reared in the fortress of Cartama, 
the worthy Alcavde of which was an ancient friend 
of my father. He had no children, and received me 
into his family as his own child, treating me with the 
kindness and'affection of a father ; and 1 grew up m 
the belief that he really was such. A few years after- 
ward, his wife gave birth to a daughter, but his ten- 
derness toward me continued undiminished. I thus 
grew up with Xarisa, for so the infant daughter of 
the Alcayde was called, as her own brother, and 
thought the growing passion which I felt lor her, 
was mere fraternal affection. I beheld her charms 
unfolding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morning 
rose, each moment disclosing fresh beauty and 
sweetness. 

' At this period, I overheard a conversation be- 
tween the Alcayde and his confidential domestic, 
and found myself to be the subject. ' It is time,' 
said he, ' to apprise him of his parentage, that he 
may adopt a career in life. I have deferred the com- 
munication as long as possible, through reluctance 
to inform him that he is of a proscribed and an un- 
lucky race.' 

' This intelligence would have overwhelmed me at 
an earlier period, but the intimation that Xarisa was 
not my sis er, operated like magic, and in an instant 
transformed my brotherly affection into ardent 
love. 

■ I sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret I had 
learned. I found her in the garden, in a bower of 
jessamines, arranging her beautiful hair by the mir- 
ror of a crystal fountain. The radiance of her beauty 
dazzled me. I ran to her with open arms, and she 
received me with a sister's embraces. When we 
had seated ourselves beside the fountain, she began 
to upbraid me for leaving her so long alone. 

• In reply, I informed her of the conversation I 
had overheard. The recital shocked and distressed 
her. ' Alas ! ' cried she, ' then is our happiness at 
an end ! ' 

"How!' exclaimed I; 'wilt thou cease to love 
me, because I am not thy brother? ' 

' ' Not so,' replied she ; ' but do you not know that 
when it is once known we are not brother and sis- 
ter, we can no longer be permitted to be thus always 
together?' 

' In fact, from that moment our intercourse took 
a new character. We met often at the fountain 
among the jessamines, but Xarisa no longer ad- 
vanced with open arms to meet me. She became 
reserved and silent, and would blush, and cast down 
her eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My 
heart became a prey to the thousand doubts and 
fears that ever attend upon true love. I was rest- 
less and uneasy, and looked back with regret to the 
unreserved intercourse that had existed between us, 
when we supposed ourselves brother and sister ; yet 
I would not have had the relationship true, for the 
world. 

' While matters were in this state between us, an 
order came from the King of Granada for the Al- 
cayde to take command of the fortress of Coyn, 



which lies directlv on the Christian frontier. He 
prepared to remove, with all his family, but signified 
that I should remain at Cartama. I exclaimed 
an-ainst the separation, and declared that I could not 
b? parted from Xarisa. • That is the very cause," 
said he, ' why I leave thee behind. It is time, 
Abendaraez, that thou shouldst know the secret of 
thy birtt»; that thou art no son of mine, neither is 
Xarisa thy sister.' ' I know it all,' exclaimed I, ' and 
I love her with tenfold the affection of a brother. 
You have brought us up together ; you have made 
us necessiry to each other's happiness; our hearts 
have entwined themselves with our growth ; do not 
now tear them asunder. Fill up the measure of 
your kindness ; be indeed a father to me, by giving 
me Xarisa for my wife.' 

' The brow of the Alcayde darkened as I spoke. 
' Have 1 then been deceived ? ' said he. ' Have those 
nurtured in my very bosom been conspiring against 
me ? Is this your return for my paternal tenderness ? 
—to beguile the affections of my child, and teach her 
to deceive her father ? It was cause enough to refuse 
thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a 
proscribed race, who can never approach the walls 
of Granada ; this, however, I might have passed 
over ; but never will I give my daughter to a man 
who has endeavored to win her from me by decep- 
tion.' ■ J I- • 

'All my attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa 
were unavailing. I retired in anguish from his pres- 
ence, and seeking Xarisa, told her of this blow, 
which was worse than death to me. ' Xarisa,' said 
1, ' we part for ever ! I shall never see thee more ! 
Thy father will guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and 
his'wealth will soon attract some happier rival, and 
I shall be forgotten ! ' r r • u 

'Xarisa reproached me with my want of faith, 
and promised me eternal constancy. I still doubted 
and desponded, until, moved by my anguish and de- 
spair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals 
made, we parted, with a promise on her part to send_ 
me word from Coyn, should her father absent himself 
from the fortress.' The very day after our secret nup- 
tials, I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde depart 
from Cartama, nor would he admit me to his pres- 
ence, or permit me to bid farewell to Xarisa. I re- 
mained at Cartama, somewhat pacified in spirit by 
this secret bond of union ; but every thing around 
me fed my passion, and reminded me of Xarisa. I 
saw the windows at which I had so often beheld her. 
I wandered through the apartment she had inhabit- 
ed ; the chamber in which she had slept. I visited 
the bower of jessamines, and lingered beside the 
fountain in which she had delighted. Every thing 
recalled her to my imagination, and filled my heart 
with tender melancholy. 

'At length, a confidential servant brought me 
word, that her father was to depart that day for Gra- 
nada, on a short absence, inviting me to hasten to 
Coyn, describing a secret portal at which I should 
apply, and the signal by which I would obtain admit- 

' If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, 
you may judge of the transport of my bosom. That 
very night I arrayed myself in my most gallant at- 
tire, to pay due honor to my bride ; and arming my- 
self against any casual attack, issued forth privately 
from Cartama. You know the rest, and by what 
sad fortune of war I found myself, instead of a 
happy bridegroom, in the nuptial bower of Coyn, 
vanquished, wounded, and a prisoner, within the 
walls of AUora. The term of absence of the father 
of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within three days he 
will return to Coyn, and our meeting will no longer 
be possible. Judge, then, whether 1 grieve without 



820 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



cause, and whether I may not well be excused for 
showing impatience under confinement.' 

Don Rodrigo de Narvaez was greatly moved by 
this recital ; for, though more used to rugged war, 
than scenes of amorous softness, he was of a kind 
and generous nature. 

'Abendaraez,' said he, ' I did not seek thy confi- 
dence to gratify an idle curiosity. It gT#ves me 
much that the good fortune which delivered thee into 
my hands, should have marred so fair an enterprise. 
Give me thy faith, as a true knight, to return pris- 
oner to my castle, within three days, and I will grant 
thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials.' 

The Abencerrage woukl have thrown himself at 
his feet, to pour out protestations of eternal grati- 
tude, but the Alcayde prevented him. Calling in his 
cavaliers, he took the Abencerrage by the right hand, 
in their presence, exclaiming solemnly, ' You prom- 
ise, on the faith of a cavalier, to return to my cas- 
tle of Allora within three days, and render yourself 
my prisoner? ' And the Abencerrage said, ' I prom- 
ise.' 

Then said the Alcayde, ' Go 1 and may good fort- 
une attend you. If you require any safeguard, I and 
my cavaliers are ready to be your companions.' 

The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde, 
in grateful acknowledgment. ' Give me,' said he, 
' my own armor, and my steed, and I require no 
guard. It is not likely that I shall again meet with 
so valorous a foe.' 

The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp 
of the dapple-gray steed sounded over the draw- 
bridge, and immediately afterward the light clatter 
of hoofs along the road, bespoke the fieetness with 
which the youthful lover hastened to his bride. It 
was deep night when the Moor arrived at the castle 
of Coyn. He silently and cautiously walked his 
panting steed under its dark walls, and having nearly 
passed round them, came to the portal denoted by 
Xarisa. He paused and look round to see that he 
was not observed, and then knocked three times 
with the butt of his lance. In a little while the 
portal was timidly unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. 
'Alas ! senor,' said she, ' wliat has detained you thus 
long.' Every night have I watched for you; and 
my lady is sick at heart with doubt and anxiety.' 

The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and 
scimitar against the wall, and then followed the 
duenna, with silent steps, up a winding stair-case, 
to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the at- 
tempt to describe the raptures of that meeting. 
Time flew too swiftly, and the Abencerrage had 
nearly forgotten, until too late, his promise to return 
a prisoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollec- 
tion of it came to him with a pang, and suddenly 
awoke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw his 
altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled sighs ; 
but her countenance brightened, when she heard 
the cause. ' Let not thy spirit be cast down,' said 
she, throwing her white arms around him. ' I have 
the keys of my father's treasures ; send ransom 
more than enough to satisfy the Christian, and re- 
main with me.' 

' No,' said Abendaraez, ' I have given my word to 
return in person, and like a true knight, must fulfil 
my promise. After that, fortune must do with me 
as it pleases.' 

' Then,' said Xarisa, 'I will accompany thee. 
Never shall you return a prisoner, and I remain at 
liberty.' 

The Abencerrage was transported with joy at this 
new proof of devotion in his beautiful bride. All 
preparations were speedily made for their departure. 
Xarisa mounted behind the Moor, on his powerful 
steed ; they left the castle walls before daybreak, nor 



did they pause, until they arrived at the gate of the 
castle of Allora, which was flung wide to receive 
them. 

Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage supported 
the steps of his trembling bride, who remained 
closely veiled, into the presence of Rodrigo de Nar- 
vaez. ' Behold, valiant Alcayde ! ' said he, ' the way 
in which an Abencerrage keeps his word. I prom- 
ised to return to thee a prisoner, but I deliver two 
captives into your power. Behold Xarisa, and judge 
whether I grieved without reason, over the loss of 
such a treasure. Receive us as your own, for I con- 
fide my life and her honor to your hands.' 

The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the beauty 
of the lady, and the noble spirit of the Moor. ' I 
know not,' said he, ' which of you surpasses the 
other ; but I know that my castle is graced and 
honored by your presence. Enter into it, and con- 
sider it your own, while you deign to reside with 
me.' 

For several days the lovers remained at Allora, 
happy in each other's love, and in the friendship of 
the brave Alcayde. The latter wrote a letter, full 
of courtesy, to the Moorish king of Granada, relating 
the whole event, extolling the valor and good faith 
of the Abencerrage, and craving for him the royal 
countenance. 

The king was moved by the story, and was pleased 
with an opportunity of showing attention to the 
wishes of a gallant and chivalrous enemy ; for though 
he had often suffered from the prowess of Don Rod- 
rigo de Narvaez, he admired the heroic character he 
had gained throughout the land. Calling the Alcayde 
of Coyn into his presence, he gave him the letter to 
read. The Alcayde turned pale, and trembled with 
rage, on the perusal. 'Restrain thine anger,' said 
the king ; ' there is nothing that the Alcayde of 
Allora could ask, that 1 would not grant, if in my 
power. Go thou to Allora ; pardon thy children ; 
take them to thy home. I receive this Abencerrage 
into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap 
benefits upon you all.' 

The kindling ire of the Alcayde was suddenly 
appeased. He hastened to Allora ; and folded his 
children to his bosom, who would have fallen at his 
feet. The gallant Rodrigo de Narvaez gave liberty 
to his prisoner without ransom, demanding merely 
a promise of his friendship. He accompanied the 
youthful couple and their father to Coyn, where 
their nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings. 
When the festivities were over, Don Rodrigo de 
Narvaez returned to his fortress of Allora. 

After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn address- 
ed his children : ' To your hands," said he, ' I confide 
the disposition of my wealth. One of the first things 
I charge you, is not to forget the ransom you owe to 
the Alcayde of Allora. His magnanimity you can 
never repay, but you can prevent it from wronging 
him of his just dues. Give him, moreover, your 
entire friendship, for he merits it fully, though of a 
different faith.' 

The Abencerrage thanked him for his generous 
proposition, which so truly accorded with his own 
wishes. He took a large sum of gold, and enclosed 
it in a rich coffer : and, on his own part, sent six 
beautiful horses, superbly caparisoned ; with six 
shields and lances, mounted and embossed with 
gold. The beautiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote 
a letter to the Alcayde, filled with expressions of 
gratitude and iViendship, and sent him a box of 
fragrant cypress-wood, containing linen, of the finest 
quality, for his person. The valiant Alcayde dis- 
posed of the present in a characteristic manner. 
The horses and armor he shared among the cavaliers 
who had accompanied him on the night of the 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



821 



skirmish. The box of cypress-wood and its contents 
he retained, for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa; 
and sent her, by the hands of the messenger, the 
sum of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to 
receive it as a wedding present. This courtesy and 
ma"-nanimity raised the character of the Alcayde 
Rndrigo de Narvaez still higher in the estimation of 
the Moors, who extolled him as a perfect mirror of 
chivalric virtue ; and from that time forward, there 
was a continual exchange of good offices between 
them. 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 



Bre.-ik, Phantsie, from thj^ cave of cloud, 

And wave thy purple wings, 
Now all thy figures are allowed. 

And various shapes of things. 
Create of airy fofms a stream ; 

It must have blood and nought of phlegm ; 
And though it be a walking dieam, 

Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here. 
And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 

Or music on their ear. —Ben Jonson. 



• There are more things in heaven and earth than 
are dreamed of in our philosophy,' and among these 
may be placed that marvel and mystery of the seas, 
the island of St. Brandan. Every school-boy can 
enumerate and call by name the Canaries, the For- 
tunate Islands of the ancients ; which, according to 
some ingenious speculative minds, are mere wrecks 
and reninants of the vast island of Atalantis, men- 
tioned by Plato, as having been swallowed up by the 
ocean. Whoever has read the history of those isles, 
will remember the wonders told of another island, 
still more beautiful, seen occasionally from their 
shores, stretching away in the clear bright west, with 
long shadowy promontories, and hig:h, sun-gilt peaks. 
Numerous expedilions, both in ancient and modern 
days, have launched forth from the Canaries in quest 
of that island ; but, on their approach, mountain and 
promontory have gradually faded away, until nothing 
has remained but the blue sky above, and the deep 
blue water below. Hence it was termed by the 
geograhers of old, Aprositus, or the Inaccessible ; 
while modern navigators have called its very exist- 
ence in question, pronouncing it a mere optical illu- 
sion, like the Fata Morgana of the Straits of Messina ; 
or classing it with those unsubstantial regions known 
to mariners as Cape Flyaway, and the Coast of Cloud 
Land. 

Let not, however, the doubts of the worldly-wise 
sceptics of modern days rob us of all the glorious 
realms owned by happy credulity in days of yore. 
Be assured, O reader of easy faith !— thou for whom 
1 delight to labor— be assured, that such an island 
does actually exist, and has, from time to time, been 
revealed to the gaze, and trodden by the feet, of fa- 
vored mortals. Nay, though doubted by historians 
and philosophers, its' existence is fully attested by the 
poets, who. being an inspired race, and gifted with a 
kind of second sight, can see into the mysteries of 
nature, hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. To 
this gifted race it has ever been a region of fancy and 
romance, teenimg with all kinds of wonders. Here 
once bloomed, and perhaps still blooms, the famous 
garden ol the Hesperides, with its golden fruit. 
Here, too, was the enchanted garden of Armida, in 
which that sorceress held the christian paladin, Ri- 
naldo, in delicious but inglorious thraldom ; as is set 
forth in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was pn this 



island, also, that Sycorax, the witch, held sway, when 
the good Prospero, and his infant daughter Miranda. 
I were wafted to its shores. The isle was then 

* full of noises, ^ 

Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hu.t not. 

Who does not know the tale, as told in the magic 
page of Sliakspeare ? 

In fact, the island appears to have been, at ditter- 
ent times, under the sway of different powers, genu 
of earth, and air, and ocean ; who made it their 
shadowy abode ; or rather, it is the retiring place of 
old worn-out deities and dynasties, that once ruled 
the poetic world, but are now nearly shorn of all their 
attributes. Here Neptune and Amphithrite hold a 
diminished court, like sovereigns in exile. Their 
ocean-chariot lies bottom upward, in a cave of the 
island, almost a perfect wreck, while their pursy Tri- 
tons and haggard Nereids bask listlessly, like seals, 
about the rocks. Sometimes they assume a shadow 
of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about the 
glassy sea ; while the crew of some tall Indiaman, 
that lies becalmed with flapping sails, hear with as- 
tonishment the mellow note of the Triton's shell 
swelling upon the ear, as the invisible pageant sweeps 
by. Sometimes the quondam monarch of the ocean 
is permitted to make himself visible to mortal eyes, 
visiting the ships that cross the line, to exact a tribute 
from new-comers ; the only remnant of his ancient 
rule, and that, alas ! performed with tattered state, 
and tarnished splendor. 

On the shores of this wondrous island, the mighty 
kraken heaves his bulk, and wallows many a rood ; 
here, too, the sea-serpent lies coiled up, during the 
intervals of his much-contested revelations to the 
eyes of true believers ; and here, it is said, even the 
Flying Dutchman finds a port, and casts his anchor, 
and furls his shadowy sail, and takes a short repose 
from his eternal w^anderings. 

Here all the treasures lost in the deep are safely 
<rarnered. The caverns of the shores are piled with 
golden ingots, boxes of pearls, rich bales of oriental 
silks; and their deep recesses sparkle with diamonds, 
or flame with carbuncles. Here, in deep bays and 
harbors, lies many a spell-bound ship, long given up 
as lost by the ruined merchant. Here too, its crew, 
long bewailed as swallowed up in ocean, lie sleeping 
in mossv grottoes, from age to age, or wander about 
enchanted shores and groves, in pleasing oblivion of 

all things. , ^ ■ • • i j 

Such are some of the marvels related of this island, 
and which may serve to throw some light on the fol- 
lowing legend, of unquestionable truth, which I rec- 
ommend to the entire belief of the reader. 



THE ADELANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 

A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 



In the early part of the fifteenth century, when 
Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, was 
pushing the career of discovery along the western 
coast of Africa, and the world was resoundmg with 
reports of golden regions on the main land, and 
new-found islands in the ocean, there arrived at 
Lisbon an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had 
been driven by tempests, he knew not whither, 
and who raved about an island far in the deep, on 
which he had landed, and which he had found 
peopled with Christians, and adorned with noble 

The inhabitants, he said, gathered round, and re- 
garded him with surprise, having never belore been 



822 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



visited by a ship. They told him they were descend- 
ants of a band of Christians, who fled from Spain 
when that country was conquered by the Moslems. 
They were curious about the state of their father- 
land, and grieved to hear that the Moslems still held 
possession of the kingdom of Granada. They would 
have taken the old navigator to church, to convince 
him of their orthodoxy; but. either through lack of 
devotion, or lack of faith in their words, he declined 
their invitation, and preferred to return on board of 
his ship. He was properly punished. A furious 
storm arose, drove him from his anchorage, hurried 
him out to sea, and he saw no more of the unknown 
island. 

This strange story caused great marvel in Lisbon 
and elsewhere. Those versed in history, remembered 
to have read, in an ancient chronicle, that, at the 
time of the conquest of Spain, in the eighth century, 
when the blessed cross was cast down, and the cres- 
cent erected in its place, and when Christian churches 
were turned into Moslem mosques, seven bishops, at 
the head of seven bands of pious exiles, had fled from 
the peninsula, and embarj<ed in quest of some ocean 
island, or distant land, where they might found seven 
Christian cities, and enjoy their faith unmolested. 

The fate of these pious saints errant had hitherto 
remained a mystery, and their story had faded from 
memory; the report of the old tempest-tossed pilot, 
however, revived this long-forgotten theme ; and it 
was determined by the pious and enthusiastic, that 
the island thus accidentally discovered, was the iden- 
tical place of refuge, whither the wandering bishops 
had been guided by a protecting Providence, and 
where they had folded their flocks. 

This most excitable of worlds has always some 
darling object of chimerical enterprise : the ' Island 
of the Seven Cities ' now awakened as much interest 
and longing among zealous Christians, as has the 
renowned city of Timbuctoo among adventurous 
travellers, or the North-east Passage among hardy 
navigators ; and it was a frequent prayer of the de- 
vout, that these scattered and lost portions of the 
Christian famil)' might be discovered, and reunited to 
the great body of Christendom. 

No one, however, entered into the matter with 
half the zeal of Don Fernando de Ulmo, a young 
cavalier of high standing in the Portuguese court, 
and of most sanguine and romantic temperament. 
He had recently come to his estate, and had run the 
round of all kinds of pleasures and excitements, 
when this new theme of popular talk and wonder 
presented itself. The Island of the Seven Cities be- 
came now the constant subject of his thoughts by 
day and his dreams by night ; it even rivalled his 
passion for a beautiful girl, one of the greatest belles 
of Lisbon, to whom he was betrothed. At length 
his imagination became so inflamed on the subject, 
that he determined to fit out an expedition, at his 
own expense, and set sail in quest of this sainted 
island. It could not be a cruise of any great extent ; 
for according to the calculations of the tempest- 
tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in the latitude of 
the Canaries ; which at that time, when the new 
world was as yet undiscovered, formed the frontier 
of ocean enterprise. Don Fernando applied to the 
crown for countenance and protection. As he was 
a favorite at court, the usual patronage was readily 
extended to him ; that is to say, he received a com- 
mission from the king, Don loam II., constituting 
him Adelantado, or niditary governor, of any coun- 
try he might discover, with the single proviso, that 
he should bear all the expenses of the discovery and 
pay a tenth of the profits to the crown. 

Don Fernando now set to work in the true spirit 
of a projector. He sold acre after acre of solid land, 



and invested the proceeds in ships, guns, ammuni- 
tion and sea-stores. Even his old family mansion in 
Lisbon was mortgaged without scruple, for he looked 
forward to a palace in one of the Seven Cities of 
which he was to be Adelantado. This was the age 
of nautical romance, when the thoughts of all specu- 
lative dreamers were turned to the ocean. The 
scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, drew adventu- 
rers of every kind. The merchant promised himself 
new marts of opulent traffic ; the soldier hoped to 
sack and plunder some one or other of those Seven 
Cities ; even the fat monk shook off the sleep and 
sloth of the cloister, to join in a crusade which prom- 
ised such increase to the possessions of the church. 

One person alone regarded the whole project with 
sovereign contempt and growling hostility. This 
was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of the beautiful 
Serafina, to whom Don Fernando was betrothed. 
He was one of those perverse, matter-of-fact old men 
who are prone to oppose every thing speculative and 
romantic. He had no faith in the Island of the Seven 
Cities ; regarded the projected cruise as a crack- 
brained freak ; looked with ^igiy eye and internal 
heart-burning on the conduct of his intended son-in- 
law, chaffering away solid lands for lands in the 
moon, and scoffingly dubbed him Adelantado of 
Lubberland. In fact, he had never really relished 
the intended match, to which his consent had been 
slowly extorted by the tears and entreaties of his 
daughter. It is true he could h.ave no reasonable 
objections to the youth, for Don Fernando was the 
very flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one could 
excel him at the tilting match, or the riding at the 
ring ; none was more bold and dexterous in the bull- 
fight ; none composed more gallant madrigals in 
praise of his lady's charms, or sang them with sweet- 
er tones to the accompaniment of her guitar ; nor 
could any one handle the castanets and dance the 
bolero with more captivating grace. All these ad- 
mirable qualities and endowments, however, though 
they had been sufficient to win the heart of Serafina, 
were nothing in the eyes of her unreasonable father. 
O Cupid, god of Love ! why will fathers always be 
so unreasonable ! 

The engagement to Serafina had threatened at 
first to throw an obstacle in the way of the expedi- 
tion of Don Fernando, and for a time perplexed him 
in the extreme. He was passionately attached to 
the young lady ; but he was also passionately bent 
on this romantic enterprise. How should he recon- 
cile the two passionate inclinations ? A simple and 
obvious arrangement at length presented itself: 
marry Serafina, enjoy a portion of the honeymoon 
at once, and defer the rest until his return from the 
discovery of the Seven Cities ! 

He hastened to make known this most excellent 
arrangement to Don Ramiro, when the long-smoth- 
ered w-rath of the old cavalier burst forth in a storm 
about his ears. He reproached him with being the 
dupe of wandering vagabonds and wild schemers, 
and of squandering all his real possessions in pursuit 
of empty bubbles. Don Fernando was too sanguine 
a projector, and too young a man, to listen tamely 
to such language. He acted with what is techni- 
cally called • becoming spirit.' A high quarrel en- 
sued ; Don Ramiro pronounced him a mad man, 
and forbade all farther intercourse with his daugh- 
ter, until he should give proof of returning sanity by 
abandoning this mad-cap enterprise ; while Don 
Fernando Hung out of the house, more bent than 
ever on the expedition, from the idea of triumphing 
over the incredulity of the gray-beard when he should 
return successful. 

Don Ramiro (epaired to his daughter's chamber 
the moment the youth had departed. He represent- 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



823 



ed to her the sanguine, unsteady character of her 
lover, and the chimerical nature of liis schemes ; 
showed her the propriety of suspending all inter- 
course with him until he should recover trom his 
present hallucination ; folded her to his bosom with 
parental fondness, kissed the tear that stole down 
her cheek, and, as he left the chamber, gently locked 
the door ; for although he was a fond lather, and 
had a high opinion of the submissive temper of his 
child, he had a still higher opinion of the conserva- 
tive virtues of lock and key. Whether the damsel 
had been in any wise shaken in her faith as to the 
schemes of her lover, and the existence of the Island 
of the Seven Cities, by the sage representations of 
her father, tradition does not say ; bat it is certain 
that she became a firm believer the moment she 
heard him turn the key in the lock. 

Notwithstanding the interdict of Don Ramiro, 
therefore, and his shrewd precautions, the inter- 
course of the lovers continued, although clandes- 
tinely. Don Fernando toiled all day, hurrying for- 
ward his nautical enterprise, while at night he would 
repair, beneath the grated balcony of his mistress, 
to cany on at equal pace the no less interesting en- 
terprise of the heart. At length the preparations for 
the expedition were completed. Two gallant cara- 
vels lay anchored in the Tagus, ready to sail with 
the morning dawn ; while late at night, by the pale 
light of a waning moon, Don Fernando sought the 
stately mansion of Alvarez to take a last farewell ol 
Serafina. The customary signal of a few low touches 
of a guitar brought her to the balcony. She was sad 
at heart and full of gloomy forebodings ; but her 
lover strove to impart to her his own buoyant hope 
and youthful confidence. 'A few short months, 
said he, ' and I shall return in triumph. Thy lather 
will then blush at his incredulity, and will once more 
welcome me to his house, when I cross its threshold 
a wealthy suitor and Adelantado of the Seven 
Cities.' 

The beautiful Serafina shook her head mourntully. 
It was not on those points that she felt doubt or dis- 
may. She believed most implicitly in the Island of 
the Seven Cities, and trusted devoutly in the success 
of the enterprise ; but she had heard of the incon- 
stancy of the seas, and the inconstancy of those who 
roam'them. Now, let the truth be spoken, Don Fer- 
nando, if he had any fault in the world, it was that 
he was a little too inflammable ; that is to say, a lit- 
tle too subject to take fire from the sparkle of every 
bright eye : he had been somewhat of a rover among 
the'' sex on shore, what might he not be on sea? 
Might he not meet with other loves in foreign ports? 
Might he not behold some peerless beauty in one or 
other of those seven cities, who might efface the 
image of Serafina from his thoughts? 

At length she ventured to hint her doubts ; but 
Don Fernando spurned at the very idea. Never 
could his heart be false to Serafina ! Never could 
another be captivating in his eyes '.—never— never ! 
Repeatedly did he bend his knee, and smite his 
breast, and call upon the silver moon to witness the 
sincerity of his vows. But might not Senafina, her- 
self, be forgetful of her plighted faith ? Might not 
some wealthier rival present, while he was tossing 
on the sea, and, backed by the authority of her la- 
ther, win the treasure of her hand? 

Alas, how little did he know Serafina's heart ! 
The more her father should oppose, the more would 
she be fixed in her faith. Though years should pass 
before his return, he would find her true to her vows. 
Even should the salt seas swallow him up, (and her 
eyes streamed with salt tears at the very thought,) 
never would she be the wife of iinother— never- 
never ! She raised her beautiful white arms between 



the iron bars of the balcony, and invoked the moon 
as a testimonial of her faith. 

Thus, according to immemorial usage, the lovers 
parted, with many a vow of eternal constancy. But 
will they keep those vows ? Perish the doubt ! Have 
they not called the constant moon to witness ? 

With the morning dawn the caravels dropped 
down the Tagus and put to sea. They steered for 
the Canaries, in those days the regions of nautical 
romance. Scarcely had thev reached those latitudes, 
when a violent tempest arose. Don Fernando soon 
lost sight of the accompanying caravel, and was 
driven out of all reckoning by the fury of the storm. 
For several weary days and nights he was tossed to 
and fro, at the mercy of the elements, expecting each 
moment to be swallowed up. At length, one day, 
I toward evening, the storm subsided ; the clouds 
' cleared up, as though a veil had suddenly been 
withdrawn from the face of heaven, and the setting 
sun shone gloriously upon a fair and mountainous 
island, that seemed' close at hand. The tempest- 
tossed mariners rubbed their eyes, and gazed almost 
incredulously upon this land, that had emerged so 
suddenly from the murky gloom ; yet there it lay, 
spread out in lovely landscapes; enlivened by vil- 
lages, and towers, and spires, while the late stormy 
sea rolled in peaceful billows to its shores. About 
a league from the sea, on the banks ot a river, stood 
a noble city, with lofty walls and towers, and a pro- 
tecting castle. Don Fernando anchored off the 
mouth of the river, which appeared to lorm a spa- 
cious harbor. In a little while a barge was seen is- 
suing from the river. It was evidently a barge of 
ceremony, for it was richly though quaintly carved 
and gilt, and decorated with a silken awning and 
fluttering streamers, while a banner, bearing the sa- 
cred emblem of the cross, floated to the breeze. The 
barge advanced slowly, impelled by sixteen oars, 
painted of a bright crimson. The oarsmen were 
uncouth, or rather antique, in their garb, and kept 
stroke to the regular cadence of an old Spanish dit- 
ty Beneath the awning sat a cavalier, in a rich 
though old-fashioned doublet, with an enormous 
sombrero and feather. 

When the barge re.ached the caravel, the cavalier 
stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt, with a 
long, Spanish visage, and lack-lustre eyes, and an 
air of lofiy and soinewhat pompous gravity. His 
mustaches were curled up to his ears, his beard was 
forked and precise ; he wore gauntlets that reached 
to his elbov/s, and a Toledo blade that strutted out 
behind, while, in front, its huge basket-hilt might 
have served for a porringer. , 

Thrusting out a long spindle leg, and taking ott 
his sombrero with a grave and stately sweep, he sa- 
luted Don Fernando by name, and welcomed hini, 
in old Castilian language, and in the style of old 
Castilian courtesy. . 

Don Fernando was startled at hearing himselt 
accosted by name, by an utter stranger, in a straiige 
land. As soon as he could recover trom his surprise, 
he inquired what land it was at which he had ar- 
rived. 

• The Island of the Seven Cities ! 
Could this be true? Had he indeed been thus 
tempest-driven upon the very land of which he was 
in quest ? It was even so. The other caravel, from 
which he had been separated in the storm, had made 
a neio-hboring port of the island, and announced the 
tidings of this expedition, which came to restore the 
country to the great community of Christendom. 
The whole island, he was told, was given up to re- 
joicings on the happy event ; and they only awaited 
his arrival to acknowledge allegiance to the crovvn 
of Portugal, and hail him as Adelantado ot the 



82 i 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Seven Cities. A grand fete was to be solemnized 
that very night in the palace of the Alcayde or gov- 
ernor of the city ; who, on beholding the most op- 
portune ai rival of the caravel, had despatched his 
grand chamberlain, in his barge of state, to conduct 
the future Adelantado to the ceremony. 

Don Fernando could scarcely believe but that this 
was all a dream. He fi.xed a scrutinizing gaze upon 
the grand chamberlain, who, having delivered his 
message, stood in buckram dignity, drawn up to his 
full stature, curling his whiskers, stroking his beard, 
and looking down upon him with inexpressible lofti- 
ness through his lack-lustre eyes. There was no 
doubting the word of so grave and ceremonious a 
hidalgo. 

Don Fernando now arrayed himself in gala attire. 
He would have launched his boat, and gone on shore 
with his own men, but he was informed the barge 
of state was expresdy provided for his accommoda- 
tion, and, after the fete, would bring him back to his 
ship ; in which, on the following day, he might enter 
the harbor in befitting style. He accordingly step- 
ped into the barge, and took his seat beneath the 
awning. The grand chamberlain seated himself on 
the cushion opposite. The rowers bent to their oars, 
and renewed their mournful old ditty, and the gor- 
geous, but unwieldly barge moved slowly and solemn- 
ly through the water. 

The night closed in, before they entered the river. 
They swept along, past rock and promontory, each 
guarded by its tower. The sentinels at every post 
challenged them as they passed by. 

' Who goes there ? ' 

' The Adelantado of the Seven Cities.' 

' He is welcome. Pass on.' 

On entering the harbor, they rowed close along 
an armed galley, of the most ancient form. Soldiers 
with cross-bows were stationed on the deck. 

' Who goes there? ' was again demanded. 

' The Adelantado of the Seven Cities.' 

' He is welcome. Pass on.' 

They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, lead- 
ing up, between two massive towers, to the water- 
gate of the city, at which they knocked for admis- 
sion. A sentinel, in an ancient steel casque, looked 
over the wall. ' Who is there .' ' 

' The Adelantado of the Seven Cities.' 

The gate swung slowly open, grating upon its 
rusty hinges. They entered between two rows of 
iron-clad warriors, in battered armor, with cross- 
bows, battle-axes, and ancient maces, and with faces 
as old-fashioned and rusty as their armor. They 
saluted Don Fernando in military style, but with 
perfect silence, as he passed between their ranks. 
The city was illuminated, but in such manner as to 
give a more shadowy and solemn effect to its old- 
time architecture. There were bonfires in the princi- 
pal streets, with grou])s about them in such old- 
fashioned garbs, that they looked like the fantastic 
figures that roam the streets in carnival time. Even 
the stately dames who gazed from the balconies, 
which they had hung with antique tapestry, looked 
more like effigies dressed up for a quaint mummery, 
than like ladies in their fashionable attire. Every 
thing, in short, bore the stamp of former ages, as if 
the world had suddenly rolled back a few centuries. 
Nor was this to be wondered at. Had not the Island 
of the Seven Cities been for several hundred years 
cut ofi" from all communication with the rest of the 
world, and was it not natural that the inhabitants 
should retain many of the modes and customs 
brought here by their ancestors .'' 

One thing certainly they had conser\'ed ; the old- 
fashioned Spanish gravity and stateliness. Though 
this was a time of public rejoicing, and though Don i 



Fernando was the object of their gratulations, every 
thing was conducted with the most solemn ceremony, 
and wherever he appeared, instead of acclamations, 
he was received with profound silence, and the most 
formal reverences and swayings of their sombreros. 

Arrived at the palace of the Alcayde, the usual 
ceremonial was repeated. The chamberlain knocked 
for admission. 

' Who is there ? ' demanded the porter. 

' The Adelantado of the Seven Cities.' 

' He is welcome. Pass on.' 

The grand portal was thrown open. The cham- 
berlain led the way up a vast but heavily moulded 
marble stair-case, and so through one of those inter- 
minable suites of apartments, that are the pride of 
Spanish palaces. All were furnished in a style of 
obsolete magnificence. As they passed through the 
chambers, the title of Don Fernando was forwarded 
on by servants stationed at every door ; and every 
where produced the most profound reverences and 
courtesies. At length they reached a magnificent 
saloon, blazing with tapers, in which the Alcayde, 
and the principal dignitaries of the city, were wait- 
ing to receive their illustrious guest. The grand 
chamberlain presented Don Fernando in due form, 
and falling back among the other officers of the 
household, stood as usual curling his whiskers, and 
stroking his forked beard. 

.Don Fernando was received by the Alcayde and 
the other dignitaries with the same stately and formal 
courtesy that he had every where remarked. In fact, 
there was so much form and ceremonial, that it 
seemed difficult to get at any thing social or sub- 
stantial. Nothing but i>ows, and compliments, and 
old-fashioned courtesies. The Alcayde and his 
courtiers resembled, in face and form, those quaint 
worthies to be seen in the pictures of old illuminated 
manuscripts ; while the cavaliers and dames who 
thronged the saloon, might have been taken for the 
antique figures of gobelin tapestry suddenly vivified 
and put in motion. 

The banquet, which had been kept back until the 
arrival of Don Fernando, was now announced ; and 
such a feast ! such unknown dishes and obsolete 
dainties ; with the peacock, that bird of state and 
ceremony, served up in full plumage, in a golden 
dish, at the head of the table. And then, as Don 
Fernando cast his eyes over the glittering board, 
what a vista of odd heads and head-dresses, of 
formal bearded dignitaries, and stately dames, with 
castellated locks and towering plumes ! 

As fate would have it, on the other side of Don 
Fernando, was seated the daughter of the .'Vlcayde. 
She was arrayed, it is true, in a dress that might 
have been worn before the flood ; but then, she had 
a melting black Andalusian eye, that was perfectly 
irresistible. Her voice, too, her manner, her move- 
ments, all smacked of Andalusia, and showed how 
female fascination may be transmitted from age to 
age, and clime to clime, without ever losing its 
power, or going out of fashion. Those who know 
the witchery of the sex, in that most amorous region 
of old Spain, may judge what must have been the 
fascination to which Don Fernando was exposed, 
when seated beside one of the most captivating of 
its descendants. He was, as has already been hinted, 
of an inflammable temperament ; with a heart ready 
to get in a light blaze at even, instant. And then he 
had been so wearied bv pompous, tedious old cava- 
liers, with their formal bows and speeches; is it to 
be wondered at that he turned with delight to the 
Alcayde's daughter, all smiles, and dimples, and 
melting looks, and melting accents? Beside, for I 
wish to give him every excuse in my power, he was 
in a particularly excitable mood, from the novelty of 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



825 



the scene before him, and his head was almost 
turned with this sudden and complete realization of 
all his hopes and fancies ; and then, in the flurry of 
the moment, he had tal<en frequent draughts at the 
wine-cup, presented him at every instant by olTicious 
pages, and all the world knows the effect of such 
draughts in giving potency to female charms. In a 
word, there is no concealing the matter, the banquet 
was not half over, before Don Fernando was making 
love, outright, to the Alcayde's daughter. It was 
his old habitude, contracted long before his matri- 
monial engagement. The young lady hung her head 
coyly ; her eye rested upon a ruby heart, sparkling 
in a ring on the hand of Don Fernando, a parting 
gage of love from Serafina. A blush crimsoned her 
very temples. She darted a glance of doubt at the 
ring, and then at Don Fernando. He read her 
doubt, and in the giddy intoxication of the moment, 
drew off the pledge of his affianced bride, an^ slipped 
it on the tinger of the Alcayde's daughter. 

At this moment the banquet broke up. The 
chamberlain with his lofty demeanor, and his lack- 
lustre eyes, stood before him, and announced that 
the barge was waiting to conduct him back to the 
caravel. Don Fernando took a formal leave of 
the Alcayde and his dignitaries, and a tender fare- 
well of the Alcayde's daughter, with a promise to 
throw himself at her feet on the following day. He 
was rowed back to his vessel in the same slow and 
stately manner, to the cadence of the same mourn- 
ful old dittv. He retired to his cabin, his brain whirl- 
ing with all that he had seen, and his heart now and 
then giving liim a twinge, as he recollected his tem- 
porary infidelity to the beautiful Serafina. He flung 
himself on his bed, and soon fell into a feverish sleep. 
His dreams were wild and incoherent. How long 
he slept he knew not, but when he awoke he found 
himself in a strange cabin, with persons around him 
of whom he had no knowledge. He rubbed his eyes 
to ascertain whether he were really awake. In re- 
ply to his inquiries, he was informed that he was on 
board of a Portuguese ship, bound to Lisbon ; having 
been taken senseless from a wreck drifting about 
the ocean. 

Don Fernando was confounded and perple.xed. 
He retraced everv thing distinctly that had happened 
to him in the Island of the Seven Cities, and until 
he had retired to rest on board of the caravel. Had 
his vessel been driven from her anchors, and wrecked 
during his sleep } The people about him could give 
him no information on the subject. He talked to 
them of the Island of the Seven Cities, and of all 
that had befallen him there. They regarded his 
words as the ravings of delirium, and in their honest 
solicitude, administered such rough remedies, that 
he was fain to drop the subject, and observe a cau- 
tious taciturnity. 

At length they arrived in the Tagus, and anchored 
before the famous city of Lisbon. Don Fernando 
sprang joyfully on shore, and hastened to his ances- 
tral mansion. To his surprise, it was inhabited by 
Strangers ; and when he asked about his family, no 
one could give him any information concerning 
them. 

He now sought the mansion of Don Ramiro, for 
the temporary Hame kindled by the bright eyes of 
the Alcayde's daughter had long since burnt itself 
out, and his genuine passion for Serafina had revived 
with all its fervor. He approached the balcony, be- 
neath which he had so often serenaded her. Did 
his eyes deceive him .' No ! There was Serafina 
herself at the balcony. An exclamation of rapture 
burst from him, as he raised his arms toward her. 
She cast upon him a look of indignation, and hastily 
retiring, closed the casement. Could she have heard 



of his flirtation with the Alcayde's daughter.' He 
would soon dispel every doubt of his constancy. 
The door was open. He rushed up-stairs, and en- 
tering the room, threw himself at her feet. She 
shrank back with affright, and took refuge in the 
arms of a vouthful cavalier. 

' What mean you, Sir,' cried the latter, ' by this 
intrusion ? ' 

' What right have you,' replied Don Fernando, 
' to ask the question ? ' 

' The right of an affianced suitor ! ' 
Don Fernando started, and turned pale. ' Oh, 
Serafina ! Serafina ! ' cried he, in a tone of agony, ' is 
this thy plighted constancy.' ' 

'Serafina? — what mean you by Serafina? If it 
be this young lady you intend, her name is Maria.' 

' Is not this Serafina Alvarez, and is not that her 
portrait ? ' cried Don Fernando, pointing to a picture 
of his mistress. 

' Holy Virgin ! ' cried the young lady ; ' he is talk- 
ing of my great-grandmother ! ' 

An explanation ensued, if that could be called an 
explanation, which plunged the unfortunate Fernan- 
do into tenfold perplexity. If he might believe his 
eyes, he saw before him his beloved Serafina ; if he 
might believe his ears, it was merely her hereditary 
form and features, perpetuated in the person of her 
great-granddaughter. 

His brain began to spin. He sought the office of 
the Minister of Marine, and made a report of his 
expedition, and of the Island of the Seven Cities, 
which he had so fortunately discovered. No body 
knew any thing of such an expedition, or such an 
island. He declared that he had undertaken the en- 
terprise under a formal contract with the crown, and 
had received a regular commission, constituting him 
Adelantado. This must be matter of record, and he 
insisted loudly, that the books of the department 
should be consulted. The wordy strife at length at- 
tracted the attention of an old, gray-headed clerk, 
who sat perciied on a high stool, at a high desk, with 
iron-rimmed spectacles on the top of a thin, pinched 
nose, copying records into an enormous folio. He 
had wintered and summered in the department for a 
great part of a century, until he had almost grown 
to be a piece of the desk at which he sat ; his mem- 
ory was a mere index of official facts and documents, 
and his brain was little better than red tape and 
parchment. After peering down for a time from his 
lofty perch, and ascertainmg the matter in contro- 
versy, he put his pen behind his ear, and descended. 
He remembered to have heard something trom his 
predecessor about an expedition of the kind in 
question, but then it had sailed during the reign of 
Don loam II., and he had been dead at least a hun- 
dred years. To put the matter beyond dispute, how- 
ever, the archives of the Torve do Tombo, that sep- 
ulchre of old Portuguese documents, were diligently 
searched, and a record was found of a contract be- 
tween the crown and one Fernando de Ulmo, for 
the discovery of the Island of the Seven Cities, and 
of a commission secured to him as Adelantado of 
the country he might discover. 

' There ! ' cried Don Fernando, triumphantly, 'there 
you have proof before your own eyes, of what I have 
said. I am the Fernando de Ulmo specified in that 
record. 1 have discovered the Island of the Seven 
Cities, and am entitled to be Adelantado, according 
to contract.' 

The story of Don Fernando had certainly, what 
is pronounced the best of historical foundation, docu- 
mentary evidence ; but when a man, in the bloom 
of youth, talked of events that had taken place above 
a century previously, as having happened to himself, 
it is no wonder that he was set down for a mad man. 



82G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The old clerk looked at him from above and below 
his spectacles, shrugged his shoulders, stroked his 
chin, re.isccnded his lofty stool, took the pen from 
behind his ears, and resumed his daily and eternal 
task, copying records into the fiftieth volume of a 
series of gigantic folios. The other clerks winked 
at each other shrewdly, and dispersed to their several 
places, and poor Don Fernando, thus left to him- 
self, flung out of the office, almost driven wild by 
these repeated perplexities. 

In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively re- 
paired to the mansion of Alvarez, but it was barred 
against him. To break the delusion under which 
the youth apparently labored, and to convince him 
that the Serafina about whom he raved was really 
dead, he was conducted to her tomb. There she 
lay, a stately matron, cut out in alabaster; and there 
lay her husband beside her; a portly cavalier, in 
armor ; and there knelt, on each side, the effigies of 
a numerous progeny, proving that she had been a i 
fruitful vine. Even the very monument gave proof of 
the lapse of time, for the hands of her husband, which 
were folded as if m prayer, had lost their fingers, and 
the face of the once lovely Serafina was noseless. 

Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indignation 
at beholding this monumental proof of the incon- 
stancy of his mistress ; but who could expect a 
mistress to remain constant during a whole century 
of absence .' And what right had he to rail about 
constancy, after what had passed between him and 
the Alcaj de's daughter ? The unfortunate cavalier 
performed one pious act of tender devotion ; he had 
the alabaster nose of Serafina restored by a skilful 
statuary, and then tore himself from the tomb. 

He could now no longer doubt the fact that, some- 
how or other, he had skipped over a whole century, 
during the night he had spent at the Island of the 
Seven Cities ; and he was now as complete a stran- 
ger in his native city, as if he had never been there. 
A thousand times did he wish himself back to that 
wonderful island, with its antiquated banquet halls, 
where he had been so courteously received ; and 
now that the once young and beautiful Serafina was 
nothing but a great-grandmother in marble, with 
generations of descendants, a thousand times would 
he recall the melting black eyes of the Alcayde's 
daughter, who doubtless, like himself, was still flour- 
ishing in fresh juvenility, and breathe a secret wish 
that he were seated by her side. 

He would at once have set on foot another expe- 
dition, at his own expense, to cruise in search of 
the sainted island, but his means were exhausted. 
He endeavored to rouse others to the enterprise, 
setting forth the certainty of profitable results, of 
which his own experience furnished such unques- 
tionable proof. Alas ! no one would give faith to 
his tale ; but looked upon it as the feverish dream 
of a shipwrecked man. He persisted in his efforts ; 
holding forth in all places and all companies, until 
he became an object of jest and jeer to the light- 
minded, who mistook his earnest enthusiasm for a 
proof of insanity ; and the very children in the streets 
bantered him with the title of ' The Adelantado of 
the Seven Cities.' 

Finding all his efforts in vain, in his native city of 
Lisbon, he took shipping for the Canaries, as being 
nearer the latitude of his former cruise, and inhabit- 
ed by people given to nautical adventure. Here he 
found ready listeners to his story ; for the old pilots 
and mariners of those parts were notorious island- 
hunters and devout believers in all the wonders of 
the seas. Indeed, one and all treated his adventure 
as a common occurrence, and turning to each other, 
with a sagacious nod of the head, observed, ' He has 
been at the Island of St. Brandaii.' 



They then went on to inform him of that great 
marvel and enigma of the ocean; of its repeated ap- 
pearance to the inhabitants of their islands ; and of 
the many but ineffectual expeditions that had been 
made in search of it. They took him to a promon- 
tory of the island of Palma, from whence the shad- 
owy St. Brandan had oftenest been descried, and 
they pointed out the very tract in the west where its 
mountains had been seen. 

Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. He 
had no longer a doubt that this mysterious and fuga- 
cious island must be the same with that of the Seven 
Cities ; and that there must be some supernatural 
influence connected with it, that had operated upon 
himself, and made the events of a night occupy the 
space of a century. 

He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the islanders 
to another attempt at discovery; they had given up 
the phantom island as indeed inaccessible. Fernan- 
do, however, was not to be discouraged. The idea 
wore itself deeper and deeper in his mind, until it 
becan-,e the engrossing subject of his thoughts and 
object of his being. Every morning he would repair 
to the promontory of Palma, and sit there through- 
out the live-long day, in hopes of seeing the fairy 
mountains of St. Brandan peering above the hori- 
zon ; every evening he returned to his home, a dis- 
appointed man, but ready to resume his post on the 
following morning. 

His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray in 
his ineffectual attempt ; and was at length found 
dead at his post. His grave is still shown in the 
island of Palma, and a cross is erected on the spot 
where he used to sit and look out upon the sea, in 
hopes of the reappearance of the enchanted island. 



NATIONAL NOMENCLATURE. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir : I am somewhat of the same way of think- 
ing, in regard to names, with that profound philoso- 
pher, Mr. Shandy, the elder, who maintained that 
some inspired high thoughts and heroic aims, while 
others entailed irretrievable meanness and vulgarity ; 
insomuch that a man might sink under the insignifi- 
cance of his name, and be absolutely ' Nicodemused 
into nothing.' I have ever, therelbre, thought it a 
great hardship for a man to be obliged to struggle 
through life with some ridiculous or ignoble 'Christ- 
ian name, as it is too often falsely called, inflicted 
on him in infancy, when he could not choose for 
himself ; and would give him free liberty to change 
it for one' more to his taste, when he had arrived at 
years of discretion. 

I have the same notion with respect to local names. 
Some at once prepossess us in favor of a place ; 
others repel us, by unlucky associations of the mind ; 
and I have known scenes worthy of being the very 
haunt of poetry and romance, yet doomed to irre- 
trievable vulgarity, by some ill-chosen name, which 
not even the magic numbers of a Halleck or a 
Bryant could elevate into poetical acceptation. 

This is an evil unfortunately too prevalent through- 
out our country. Nature has stamped the land with 
features of sublimity and beauty ; but some of our 
noblest mountains and loveliest streams are in danger 
of remaining for ever unhonored and unsung, from 
bearing appellations totally abhorrent to the Muse. 
In the first place, our country is deluged with names 
taken from places in the old world, and applied to 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



827 



places having no possible affinity or resemblance to 
their namesakes. This betolcens a forlorn poverty of 
invention, and a second-hand spirit, content to cover 
its nakedness with borrowed or cast-off clothes of 
Europe. 

Then we have a shallow affectation ol scholarship : 
the whole catalogue of ancient worthies is shaken 
out from the back of Lempriere's Classical Diction- 
ary, and a wide region of wild country sprinkled 
over with the names of the heroes, poets, and sages 
of antiquity, jumbled into the most whimsical ju.\ta- 
position. Then we have our political god-fathers ; 
topographical engineers, perhaps, or persons em- 
ployed by government to survey and lay out town- 
ships. These, forsooth, glorify the patrons that give 
them bread ; so we have the names of the great 
official men of the day scattered over the land, as if 
they were the real ' salt of the earth,' with which it 
was to be seasoned. Well for us is it, when these 
official great men happen to have names ol fair ac- 
ceptation ; but wo unto us, should a Tubbs or a 
Potts be in power : we are sure, in a little while, to 
find Tubbsvilles and Pottsylvanias springing up in 
every direction. 

Under these melancholy dispensations of Xaste and 
loyalty, therefore, Mr. Editor, it is with a feeling of 
dawning hope, that I have lately perceived the atten- 
tion of persons of intelligence beginning to be awak- 
ened on this subject. I trust if the matter should 
once be taken up, it will not be readily abandoned. 
We are yet young enough, as a country, to remedy 
and reform much of what has been done, and to re- 
lease many of our rising towns and cities, and our 
noble streams, from names calculated to vulgarize the 
land. 

I have, on a former occasion, suggested the ex- 
pediency of searching out the original Indian names 
of places, and vvherever they are striknig and 
euphonious, and those by which they have been 
superseded are glaringly objectionable, to restore 
them. They would have the merit of originality, 
and of belonging to the country ; and they would 
remain as reliques of the native lords of the soil, 
when every other vestige had disappeared. Many 
of these names may easily be regained, by reference 
to old title deeds, and to the archives of states and 
counties. In my own case, by examining the records 
of the county clerk's office, I have discovered the In- 
dian names of various places and objects in the neigh- 
borhood, and have found them infinitely superior to 
the trite, poverty-stricken names which had been given 
by the settlers. A beautiful pastoral stream, for in- 
stance, which winds for many a mile through one of 
the loveliest little valleys in the state has long been 
known by the common-place name of the ' Saw-mill 
River.' In the old Indian grants, it is designated 
as the Neperan. Another, a perfectly wizard stream, 
which winds through the wildest recesses of .Sleepy 
Hollow, bears the hum-drum name of Mill Creek : 
in the Indian grants, it sustains the euphonious title 
of the Pocantico. 

Similar researches have released Long-Island 
from many of those paltry and vulgar names which 
fringed its beautiful shores ; their Cow Bays, and 
Cow Necks, and Oyster Ponds, and Musquito Coves, 
which spread a spell of vulgarity over the whole 
island, and kept persons of taste and fancy at a dis- 
tance. 

It would be an object worthy the attention of the 
historical societies, which are springing up in various 
parts of the Union, to have maps executed of their 
respective states or neighborhoods, in which all the 
Indian local names should, as far as possible, be re- 
stored. In fact, it appears to me that the nomen- 
clature of the country is almost of sufficient importance 



for the foundation of a distinct society ; or rather, a 
corresponding association of persons of taste and 
judgment, of all parts of the Union. Such an as- 
sociation, if properly constituted and composed, com- 
prising especially all the literary talent of the coun- 
try, though it might not have legislative power 
in its enactments, yet would have the all-pervading 
power of the press ; and the changes in nomencla- 
ture which it might dictate, being at once adopted 
by elegant writers in prose and poetry, and inter- 
woven with the literature of the country, would ulti- 
mately pass into popular currency. 

Should such a reforming association arise, I beg 
to recommend to its attention all those mongrel 
names that have the adjective New prefixed to them, 
and pray they may be one and all kicked out of the 
country. I am for none of these second-hand appel- 
lations, that stamp us a second-hand people, and 
that are to perpetuate us a new country to the end 
of time. Odds my life ! Mr. Editor, I hope and 
trust W'C are to live to be an old nation, as well as 
our neighbors, and have no idea that our cities, when 
they shall have attained to venerable antiquity, shall 
still be dubbed AVrc-York, and yVt'ec-London, and 
7ii"iii this and ntw that, like the Pont Neuf, (the New 
Bridge,) at Paris, which is the oldest bridge in that 
capital, or like the Vicar of Wakefield's horse, which 
continued to be called ' the colt,' until he died of old 
age. 

Speaking of New-York, reminds me of some ob- 
servations which I met with some time since, in one 
of the public papers, about the name of our statp 
and city. The writer proposes to substitute for the 
present names, those of the State of Ontario, 
and the City of Manhattan. I concur in his 
suggestion most heartily. Though born and brought 
up in the city of New- York, and though I love every 
stick and stone about it, yet I do not, nor ever did, 
relish its name. I like neither its sound nor its sig- 
nificance. As to its significance, the very adjective 
new gives to our great commercial metropolis a sec- 
ond-hand character, as if referring to some older, 
more dignified, and important place, of which it 
was a mere copy ; though in fact, if I am rightly in- 
formed, the whole name commemorates a grant by 
Charles II. to his brother, the duke of York, made 
in the spirit of royal munificence, of a tract of 
country which did not belong to him. As to the 
sound, what can you nialce of it, either in poetry or 
prose ? New-York ! Why, Sir, if it were to share 
the fate of Troy itself; to suffer a ten years' siege, 
and be sacked and plundered ; no modern Homer 
would ever be able to elevate the name to epic dig- 
nity. 

Now, Sir, Ont.\rio would be a name worthy of 
the empire state. It bears with it the majesty of 
that internal sea which washes our northwestern 
shore. Or, if any objection should be made, from 
its not being completely embraced within our bound- 
aries, there is the Mohegan, one of the Indian 
names for that glorious river, the Hudson, which 
would furnish an excellent state appellation. So 
also New-York might be called Manhatta, as it is 
named in some of the early records, and Manhattan 
used as the adjective. Manhattan, however, stands 
well as a substantive, and ' Manhattanese,' which I 
observe Mr. COOPER has adopted in some of his 
writings, would be a very good appellation for a 
citizen of the commercial metropolis. 

A word or two more, .Mr. Editor, and I have done. 
We want a NATIONAL NAME. We want it poeti- 
cally, and we want it politically. With the poetical 
necessity of the case I shall not trouble myself. I 
leave it to our poets to tell how they manage to steer 
that collocation of words, ' The United States of 



828 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



North America,' down the swelling tide of song, 
and to float the whole raft out upon the sea of he- 
roic poesy. I am now speaking of the mere pur- 
poses of common life. How is a citizen of this re- 
public to designate himself? As an American.' 
There are two Americas, each subdivided into vari- 
ous empires, rapidly rising in importance. As a cit- 
izen of the United States ? It is a clumsy, lumber- 
ing title, yet still it is not distinctive ; for we have 
now the United States of Central America; and 
heaven knows how many 'United States' may 
spring up under the Proteus changes of Spanish 
America. 

This may appear matter of small concernment ; 
but any one that has travelled in foreign countries 
must be conscious of the embarrassment and cir- 
cumlocution sometimes occasioned by the want of a 
perfectly distinct and explicit national appellation. 
In France, when I have announced myself as an 
American, I have been supposed to belong to one of 
the French colonies ; in Spain, to be from Mexico, or 
Peru, or some other Spanish-American country. 
Repeatedly have I found myself involved in a long 
geographical and political definition of my national 
identity. 

Now, Sir, meaning no disrespect to any of our co 
heirs of this great quarter of the world, I am for 
none of this coparceny in a name that is to mingle 
us up with the riff-raff colonies and off-sets of every 
nation of Europe. The title of American may serve 
to tell the quarter of the world to which I belong, 
the same as a Frenchman or an Englishman may 
call himself a European; but I want my own pecul- 
iar national name to rally under. I want an appel- 
lation that shall tell at once, and in a way not to be 
mistaken, that I belong to this very portion of Amer- 
ica, geographical and political, to which it is my 
pride and happiness to belong ; that I am of the 
Anglo-Saxon race which founded this Anglo-Saxon 
empire in the wilderness ; and that I have no part 
or parcel with any other race or empire, Spanish, 
French, or Portuguese, in either of the Americas. 
Such an appellation. Sir, would have magic in it. It 
would bind every part of the confederacy together 
as with a key-stone ; it would be a passport to the 
citizen of our republic throughout the world. 

We have it in our power to furnish ourselves with 
such a national appellation, from one of tlie grand 
and eternal features of our country ; from that noble 
chain of mountains which formed its back-bone, and 
ran through the 'old confederacy,' when it fir^t de- 
clared our national independence. I allude to the 
Appalachian or Alleghany mountains. We might 
do this without any very inconvenient change in our 
present titles. We might still use the phrase, ' The 
United States,' substituting Appalachia, or AUe- 
ghania, (I should prefer the latter,) in place of 
America. The title of Appalachian, or Alle- 
ghanian, would still announce us as Americans, but 
would specify us as citizens of the Great Republic. 
Even our old national cypher of U. S. A. might re- 
main unaltered, designating the United States of 
Alleghania. 

These are crude ideas, Mr. Editor, hastily thrown 
out to elicit the ideas of others, and to call attention 
to a subject of more national importance than may 
at first be supposed. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



DESULTORY THOUGHTS ON CRITICISM. 



' Let a man write never so well, there are now-a-dayi; a sort of 
persons they call critics, that, egad, have no more wit in them 
than so many hobby-horses : but they '11 laugh at you. Sir. and 
find fault and censure things, that, egad, I'm sure thuy are not 
able to do themselves ; a sort of envious persons, that emulate 
the glories of persons of parts, and think to build their fame by 
calumniation of persons that, egad, to my knowledge, of all 
persons in the world, are in nature the persons that do as much 
despise all that, as — a — In fine, I '11 say no more of 'em ! ' 

Rehearsal. 

All the world knows the story of the tempest- 
tossed voyager, who, coming upon a strange coast, 
and seeing a man hanging in chains, hailed it with 
joy, as the sign of a civilized country. In like man- 
ner we may hail, as a proof of the rapid advance- 
ment of civilization and refinement in this country, 
the increasing number of delinquent authors daily 
gibbetted for the edification of the public. 

In this respect, as in every other, we are 'going 
ahead ' with accelerated velocity, and promising to 
outstrip the superannuated countries of Europe. It 
is really astonishing to see the number of tribunals 
incessantly springing up for the trial of literary 
offences. Independent of the high courts of Oyer 
and Terminer, the great quarterly reviews, we have 
innumerable minor tribunals, monthly and weekly, 
down to the Pie-poudre courts in the daily papers ; 
insomuch that no culprit stands so little chance of 
escaping castigation, as an unlucky author, guilty of 
an unsuccessful attempt to please the public. 

Seriously speaking, however, it is questionable 
whether our national literature is sufficiently ad- 
vanced, to bear this excess of criticism ; and whether 
it would not thrive better, if allowed to spring up, 
for some time longer, in the freshness and vigor of 
native vegetation. When the worthy Judge Coulter, 
of Virginia, opened court for the first time in one of 
the upper counties, he was for enforcing all the rules 
and regulations that had grown into use in the old, 
long-settled counties. ' This is all very well,' said a 
shrewd old farmer ; ' but let me tell you. Judge 
Coulter, you set your coulter too deep for a new 
soil.' 

For my part, I doubt whether either writer or 
reader is benefited by what is commonly called 
criticism. The former is rendered cautious and dis- 
trustful ; he fears to give way to those kindling 
emotions, and brave sallies of thought, which bear 
him up to excellence ; the latter is made fastidious 
and cynical ; or rr^ther, he surrenders his own inde- 
pendent taste and judgment, and learns to like and 
dislike at second hand. 

Let us, for a moment, consider the nature of this 
thing called criticism, which exerts such a sway over 
the hterary world. The pronoun ^fv, used by critics, 
has a most imposing and delusive sound. The 
reader pictures to himself a conclave of learned men, 
deliberating gravely and scrupulously on the merits 
of the book in question ; examining it page by page, 
comparing and balancing their opinions, and when 
they have united in a conscientious verdict, publish- 
ing it for the benefit of the world : whereas the criti 
cism is generally the crude and hasty production of 
an individual, scribbling to while away an idle houi, 
to oblige a book-seller, or to defray current expenses. 
How often is it the passing notion of the hour, 
affected by accidental circumstances ; by indisposi- 
tion, by peevishness, by vapors or indigestion ; bv 
personal prejudice, or party feeling Sometimes a 
work is sacrificed, because the reviewer wishes a 
satirical article ; sometimes because he wants a 
humorous one ; and sometimes because the author 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



829 



-eviewed has become offensively celebrated, and 
Dffers high game to the hterary njarksman. 

How often would the critic himself, if a conscien- 
tious man, reverse his opinion, had he time to revise 
it in a more sunny moment ; but the press is wait- 
ing, the printer's devil is at his elbow ; the article is 
wanted to make the requisite variety (or the number 
of the review, or the author has pressing occasion lor 
the sum he is to receive for the article, so it is sent 
off, all blotted and blurred; with a shrug of the 
shoulders, and the consolatory ejaculation : ' Pshaw ! 
curse it ! it 's nothing but a review ! ' 

The critic, too, who dictates thus oracularly to 
the world, is perhaps some dingy, ill-favored, ill- 
mannered varlet, who, were he to speak by word 
of mouth, would be disregarded, if not scoffed al: ; 
but such is the magic ot" types; such the mystic 
operation of anonymous writing ; such the potential 
eflfect of the pronoun Wf, that his crude decisions, 
fulminated through the press, become circulated far 
and wide, control the opinions of the world, and give 
Or destroy reputation. _ . 

Many readers have grown timorous in their judg- 
ments since the all-pervading currency of criticism. 
They fear to express a revised, frank opinion about 
any new work, and to relish it honestly and heartily, 
lest it should be condemned in the next review, and 
they stand convicted of bad taste. Hence they 
hedge their opinions, like a gambler his bets, and 
leave an opening to retract, and retreat, and qualify, 
and neutralize ever)- unguarded expression of delight, 
until their very praise declines into a faintness that 

is damning. . , r u- 

Were every one, on the contrary, to judge tor tiim- 
self, and speak his mind frankly and fearlessly, we 
should have more true criticism in the world than at 
present. Whenever a person is pleased with a work, 
he may be assured that it has good qualities. An 
author who pleases a variety of readers, must possess 
substantial powers of pleasing ; or, in other words, 
intrinsic merits ; for otherwise we acknowledge an 
effect, and deny the cause. The reader, therefore, 
should not suffer himself to be readily shaken from 
the conviction of his own feelings, by the sweeping 
censures of pseudo critics. The author he has ad- 
mired, may be chargeable with a thousand faults ; 
but it is nevertheless beauties and excellencies that 
have excited his admiration; and he should recol- 
lect that taste and judgment are as much evinced in 
the perception of beauties among defects, as in a 
detection of defects among beauties. For my part, 
I honor the blessed and blessing spirit that is quick 
to discover and extol all that is pleasing and merito- 
rious. Give me the honest bee, that extracts honey 
from the humblest weed, but save me from the in- 
genuity of the spider, which traces its venom, even 
in the midst of a flower-garden. 

If the mere fact of being chargeable with faults 
and imperfections is to condemn an author, who is 
to escape ? The greatest writers of antiquity have, 
in this way, been obnoxious to criticism. Aristotle 
himself has been accused of ignorance ; Aristoph- 
anes of impiety and buffoonery ; Virgil ot plagi- 
arism, and a want of invention ; Horace ot obscurity ; 
Cicero has been said to want vigor and connexion, 
and Demosthenes to be deficient in nature, and in 
purity of language. Yet these have all survived the 
censures of the critic, and flourished on to a glorious 
immortality. Every now and then the world is 
startled by some new doctrines in matters of taste, 
some levelling attacks on established creeds ; some 
sweeping denunciations of whole generations, or 
schools of writers, as they are called, who had 
seemed to be embalmed and canonized in public 
opinion. Such has been the case, for instance, with 



Pope, and Drj'den, and Addison ; who for a time 
have almost been shaken from their pedestals, and 
treated as false idols. 

It is singular, also, to see the fickleness of the 
world with respect to its favorites. Enthusiasm ex- 
hausts itself, and prepares the way for dislike. The 
public is alw.ays for positive sentiments, and new 
sensations. When wearied of admiring, it delights 
to censure; thus coining a double set of enjoyments 
out of the same subject. Scott and Byron are scarce 
cold in their graves, and already we find criticism 
beginning to call in question those powers which 
held the world in magic thraldom. Even in our own 
country, one of its greatest geniuses has had some 
rough passages with the censors of the press ; and 
instantly criticism begins to unsay all that it has 
repeatedlv said in his praise ; and the public are 
almost led to believe that the pen which has so often 
delighted them, is absolutely destitute of the power 
to delight ! , 

If. then, such reverses in opinion as to matters ot 
taste can be so readily brought about, when may an 
author feel himself secure ? Where is the anchonng- 
ground of popularity, when he may thus be driven 
from his moorings, and foundered even in harbor? 
The reader, too, when he is to consider himself safe 
in admiring, when he sees long-established altars 
overthrown, and his household deities dashed to the 
ground ! 

There is one consolatory reflection. Every abuse 
carries with it its own remedy or palliation. Thus 
the excess of crude and hasty criticism, which has 
of late prevailed throughout the literary world, and 
threatened to overrun our countiT, begins to produce 
its own antidote. Where there is a multiplicity of 
contradictory paths, a man must make his choice ; 
in so doing, he has to exercise his judgment, and 
that is one great step to mental independence. He 
begins to doubt all, where all differ, and but one can 
be'^in the right. He is driven to trust to his own 
discernment, and his natural feelings ; and here he 
is most likely to be safe. The author, too, finding 
that what is condemned at one tribunal, is applauded 
at another, though perplexed for a time, gives way 
at length to the spontaneous impulse ot his genius, 
and the dictates of his taste, and writes in the way 
most natural to himself. It is thus that criticism 
which by its severity may have held the little world 
of writers in check, may, by its very excess, disarm 
itself of its terrors, and the hardihood ot talent be- 
come restored. '^- *-• 



SPANISH ROMANCE. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I have already given you a legend or two 
drawn from ancient Spanish sources, and may occa- 
sionally give you a few more. I love these old Span- 
ish themes, especially when they have a dash of the 
Morisco in them, and treat of the times when the 
Moslems maintained a foot-hold in the peninsula. 
They' have a high, spicy, oriental flavor, not to be 
found in any other themes that are merely European. 
In fact, Spain is a country that stands alone m the 
midst of Europe; severed in habits, manners, and 
modes of thinking, from all its continental neighbors. 
It is a romantic country ; but its romance has none 
of the sentimentality of modern European romance ; 
it is chiefly derived from the brilliant regions of the 
East, and from the high-minded school of Saracenic 
1 chivalry. 



830 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



The Arab invasion and conquest brought a higher 
civilization and a nobler style of thinking into Gothic 
Spain. The Arabs were a quick-witted, sagacious, 
proud-spirited, and poetical people, and were imbued 
with oriental science and literature. Wherever they 
established a seat of power, it became a rallying 
place for the learned and ingenious; and they soft- 
ened and refined the people whom they conquered. 
By degrees, occupancy seemed to give them a hered- 
itary right to their foot-hold in the land ; they ceased 
to be looked upon as invaders, and were regarded as 
rival neighbors. The peninsula, broken up into a 
variety of states, both Christian and Moslem, be- 
came for centuries a great campaigning ground, 
where the art of war seemed to be the principal 
business of man, and was carried to the highest pitch 
of romantic chivalry. The original ground of hos- 
tility, a difference of faith, gradually lost its rancor. 
Neighboring states, of opposite creeds, were occa- 
sionally linked together in alliances, offensive and 
defensive ; so that the cross and crescent were to be 
seen side by side fighting against some common en- 
emy. In times of peace, too, the noble youth of either 
faith resorted to the same cities. Christian or Mos- 
lem, to school themselves in military science. Even 
in the temporary truces of sanguinary wars, the war- 
riors who had recently striven together in the deadly 
conflicts of the field, laid aside their animosity, met 
at tournaments, jousts, and other military festivities, 
and exchanged the courtesies of gentle and generous 
spirits. Thus the opposite races became frequently 
mingled together in peaceful intercourse, or if any 
rivalry took place, it was in those high courtesies 
and nobler acts which bespeak the accomplished 
cavalier. Warriors of opposite creeds became am- 
bitious of transcending each other in magnanimity 
as well as valor. Indeed, the chivalric virtues were 
refined upon to a degree sometimes fastidious and 
constrained ; but at other times, inexpressibly noble 
and affecting. The annals of the times teem with 
illustrious instances of high-wrought courtesy, ro- 
mantic generosity, lofty disinterestedness, and punc- 
tilious honor, that warm the very soul to read them. 
These have furnished themes for national plays and 
poems, or have been celebrated in those all-pervading 
ballads which are as the life-breath of the people, 
and thus have continued to exercise an influence on 
the national character which centuries of vicissitude 
and decline have not been able to destroy ; so that, 
with all their faults, and they are many, the Span- 
iards, even at the present day, are on many points 
the most high-minded and proud-spirited people of 
Europe. It is true, the romance of feeling derived 
from the sources I have mentioned, has, like all 
other romance, its affectations and extremes. It 
renders the Spaniard at times pompous and gran- 
diloquent ; prone to carry the ' pundonor,' or point of 
honor, beyond the bounds of sober sense and sound 
morality ; disposed, in the midst of poverty, to affect 
the 'grande caballero,' and to look down with sov- 
ereign disdain upon 'arts mechanical,' and all the 
gainful pursuits of plebeian life ; but this very infla- 
tion of spirit, while it fills his brain with vapors, lifts 
him above a thousand meannesses ; and though it 
often keeps him in indigence, ever protects him. from 
vulgarity. 

In the present day, when popular literature is run- 
ning into the low levels of life and luxuriating on the 
vices and follies of mankind, and when the universal 
pursuit of gain is trampling down the early growth 
of poetic feeling and weanng out the verdure of the 
soul, I question whether it would not be of service 
for the reader occasionally to turn to these records 
of prouder times and loftier modes of thinking, and to 
steep himself to the very lips in old Spanish romance. 



For my own part, I have a shelf or two of vener- 
able, parchment-h^und tomes, picked up here and 
there about the peninsula, and filled with chronicles, 
plays, and ballads, about Moors and Christians, 
which I keep by me as mental tonics, in the same 
way that a provident housewife has her cupboard of 
cordials. Whenever I find my mind brought below 
par by the common-place of every-day life, or jarred 
by the sordid collisions of the world, or put out of 
tune by the shrewd selfishness of modern utilitarian- 
ism, I resort to these venerable tomes, as did the 
worthy hero of La Mancha to his books of chivalry, 
and refresh and tone up my spirit by a deep draught 
of their contents. They have some such effect upon 
me as Falstaff ascribes to a good Sherris sack, 
'warming the blood and filling the brain with fiery 
and delectable shapes.' 

I here subjoin, Mr. Editor, a small specimen of 
the cordials I have mentioned, just drawn from my 
Spanish cupboard, which I recommend to your pal- 
ate. If )'ou find it to your taste, you may pass it on 
to your readers. 

Your correspondent and well-wisher, 

Geoffrey Cr.won. 



LEGEND OF DON MUNIO SANCHO DE 
HINOJOSA. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK. 



In the cloisters of the ancient Benedictine convent 
of San Domingo, at Silos, in Castile, are the mould- 
ering yet magnificent monuments of the once power- 
ful and chivalrous family of Hinojosa. Among these, 
reclines the marble figure of a knight, in complete 
armor, with the hands pressed together, as if in 
prayer. On one side of his tomb is sculptured in re- 
lief a band of Christian cavaliers, capturing a caval- 
cade of male and female Moors ; on the other side, 
the same cavaliers are represented kneeling before 
an altar. The tomb, like most of the neighboring 
monurncnts, is almost in ruins, and the sculpture is 
nearly unintelligible, excepting to the keen eye of the 
antiquary. The story connected with the sepulchre, 
however, is still preserved in the old Spanish chroni- 
cles, and is to the following purport. 



In old times, several hundred years ago, there was 
a noble Castilian cavalier, named Don Munio Sancho 
de Hinojosa, lord of a border castle, which had stood 
the brunt of many a Moorish foray. He had seventy 
horsemen as his household troops, all of the ancient 
Castilian proof; stark warriors, hard riders, and men 
of iron ; with these he scoured the Moorish lands, 
and made his name terrible throughout the borders. 
His castle hall was covered with banners, and scim- 
etars, and Moslem helms, the trophies of his prowess. 
Don Munio was, moreover, a keen huntsman ; and 
rejoiced in hounds of all kinds, steeds for the chase, 
and hawks for the towering sport of falconry. When 
not engaged in warfare, his delight was to beat up 
the neighboring forests ; and scarcely ever did he 
ride forth, without hound and horn, a boar-spear in 
his hand, or a hawk upon his fist, and an attendant 
train of huntsmen. 

His wife. Donna Maria Palacin, was of a gentle 
and timid nature, little fitted to be the spouse of so 
hardy and adventurous a knight;, and many a tear 
did the poor lady shed, when he sallied forth upon 
his daring enterprises, and many a praver did she 
offer up for his safety. 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



«31 



As this doughty cavalier was one day hunting, he 
stationed himself in a thicket, on the borders of a 
green glade of the forest, and dispersed his followers 
to rouse the game, and drive it toward his stand. 
He had not been here long, when a cavalcade of 
Moors, of both se.xes, came prankling over the forest 
lawn. They were unarmed, and m.ignificently dressed 
in robes of tissue and embroidery, rich shawls of 
India, bracelets and anklets of gold, and jewels that 
sparkled in the sun. 

At the head of this gay cavalcade, rode a youthful 
cavalier, superior to the rest in dignity and loftiness 
of demeanor, and in splendor of attire; beside him 
was a damsel, whose veil, blown aside by the breeze, 
displayed a face of surpassing beauty, and eyes cast 
down in maiden modesty, yet beaming with tender- 
ness and joy. 

Don Munio thanked his stars for sending him such 
a prize, and exulted at the thought of bearing home 
to his wife the glittering spoils of these infidels. 
Putting his hunting-horn to his lips, he gave a blast 
that rung through the forest. His huntsmen came 
running from all quarters, and the astonished Moors 
were surrounded and made captives. 

The beautiful Moor wrung her hands in despair, 
and her female attendants uttered the most piercing 
cries. The young Moorish cavalier alone retained 
self-possession. He inquired the name of the Chris- 
tian knight, who commanded this troop of horsemen. 
When told that it was Don Munio Sancho de Hino- 
josa, his countenance lighted up. Approaching that 
cavalier, and kissing his hand, ' Don Munio Sancho,' 
said he, ' 1 have heard of your fame as a true and 
valiant knight, terrible in arms, but schooled in the 
noble virtues of chivalry. Such do I trust to find 
you. In me you behold Abadil, son of a Moorish 
Alcayde. I am on the way to celebrate my nuptials 
with this lady ; chance has thrown us in your power, 
but I confide in your magnanimity. Take all our 
treasure and jewels ; demand what ransom you think 
proper for our persons, but suffer us not to be in- 
sulted or dishonored.' 

When the good knight heard this appeal, and be- 
held the beauty of the youthful pair, his heart was 
touched with tenderness and courtesy. 'God for- 
bid,' said he, ' that 1 should disturb such happy nup- 
tials. My prisoners in troth shall ye be, for fifteen days, 
and immured within my castle, where 1 claim, as con- 
queror, the right of celebrating your espousals.' 

So saying, he despatched one of his fleetest horse- 
men in advance, to notify Donna Maria Palacin of 
the coming of this bridal party; while he and his 
huntsmen escorted the cavalcade, not as captors, 
but as a guard of honor. As they drew near to the 
castle, the banners were hung out, and the trumpets 
sounded from the battlements ; and on their nearer 
approach, the draw-bridge was lowered, and Donna 
Maria came forth to meet them, attended by her 
ladies and knights, her pages and her minstrels. 
She took the young bride, Allifra, in her arms, 
kissed her with the tenderness of a sister, and con- 
ducted her into the castle. In the mean time, Don 
Munio sent forth missives in every direction, and had 
viands and dainties of all kinds collected from the 
country round ; and the wedding of the Moorish 
lovers was celebrated with all possible state and 
festivity. For fifteen days, the castle was given up 
to joy and revelry. There were tiltings and jousts 
at the ring, and bull-fights, and banquets, and 
dances to the sound of minstrelsy. When the fifteen 
days were at an end, he made the bride and bride- 
groom magnificent presents, and conducted them 
and their attendants safely beyond the borders. 
Such, in old times, were the courtesy and generosity 
of a Spanish cavalier. 



Several years after this event, the King of Castile 
summoned his nobles to assist him in a campaign 
against the Moors. Don Munio Sancho was among 
the first to answer to the call, with seventy horse- 
men, all staunch and well-tried warriors. His wife. 
Donna Maria, hung about his neck. ' Alas, my 
lord ! ' exclaimed she, ' how often wilt thou tempt 
thy fate, and when will thy thirst for glory be ap- 
peased ! ' 

'One battle more,' replied Don Munio, ' one battle 
more, for the honor of Castile, and 1 here make a 
vow, that when this is over, 1 will lay by my sword, 
and repair with my cavaliers in pilgrimage to the 
sepulchre of our Lord at Jerusalem.' The cavaliers 
all joined with him in the vow, and Donna Maria 
felt in some degree soothed in spirit : still, she saw 
with a heavy heart the departure of her husband, 
and watched his banner with wistful eyes, until it 
disappeared among the trees of the forest. 

The King of Castile led his army to the plains of 
Almanara, where they encountered the Moorish host, 
near to Ucles. The battle was long and bloody ; the 
Christians repeatedly wavered, and were as often 
rallied by the energy of their commanders. Don 
Munio was covered with wounds, but refused to 
leave the field. The Christians at length gave way, 
and the king was hardly pressed, and in danger of 
being captured. 

Don Munio called upon his cavaliers to follow 
him to the rescue. ' Now is the time,' cried he, 'to 
prove your loyalty. Fall to, like brave men I We 
fight for tlie true faith, and if we lose our lives here, 
we gain a better life hereafter.' 

Rushing with his men between the king and his 
pursuers, they checked the latter in their career, and 
gave time for their monarch to escape; but they fell 
victims to their loyalty. They all fought to the last 
gasp. Don Munio was singled out by a powerful 
Moorish knight, but having been wounded in the 
right arm, he fought to disadvantage, and was slain. 
The battle being over, the Moor paused to possess 
himself of the spoils of this redoubtable Christian 
warrior. When he unlaced the helmet, however, 
and beheld the countenance of Don Munio, he gave 
a great cr)', and smote his breast. ' Wo is me ! ' 
cried he ; 'I have slain my benefactor ! The flower 
of knightly virtue ! the most magnanimous of cava- 
liers ! ' 



While the battle had been raging on the plain 
of Salmanara, Donna Maria Palacin remained in her 
castle, a prey to the keenest anxiety. Her eyes were 
ever fixed on the road that led from the country of 
the Moors, and often she asked the watchman of 
the tower, ' What seest thou ? ' 

One evening, at the shadowy hour of twilight, the 
warden sounded his horn. 'I see,' cried he, 'a 
numerous train winding up the valley. There are 
mingled Moors and Christians. The banner of my 
lord is in the advance. Joyful tidings ! ' exclaimed 
the old seneschal : ' my lord returns in triumph, and 
brings captives !' Then the castle courts rang with 
shouts of joy ; and the standard was displayed, and 
the trumpets were sounded, and the draw-bridge 
was lowered, and Donna Maria went forth with her 
ladies, and her knights, and her pages, and her min- 
strels, to welcome her lord from the wars. But as 
the train drew nigh, she beheld a sumptuous bier, 
covered with black velvet, and on it lay a warrior, as 
if taking his repose: he lay in his armor, with his 
helmet on his head, and his sword in his hand, as 
one who had never been conquered, and around the 
bier were the escutcheons of the house of Hinojosa. 

A number of Moorish cavaliers attended the bier. 



832 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



with emblems of mourning, and with dejected coun- 
tenances : and their leader cast himsell at the feet 
of Donna Maria, and hid his face in his hands. She 
beheld in him the gallant Abadil, whom she had 
once welcomed with his bride to her castle, but who 
now came with the body of her lord, whom he had 
unknowingly slain in battle ! 



The sepulchre erected in the cloisters of the Con- 
vent of San Domingo was achieved at the expense 
of the Moor Abadil, as a feeble testimony of his 
grief for the death of the good knight Don Munio, 
and his reverence for his memory. The tender and 
faithful Donna Maria soon followed her lord to the 
tomb. On one of the stones of a small arch, beside 
his sepulchre, is the following simple inscription : 
' Hie jacet Maria Palacin, uxor Muiwnis Sancij 
De Finojosa:' Here lies .Varia Palacin, wife of 
Munio Sancho de Hinojosa. 

The legend of Don Munio Sancho does not con- 
clude with his death. On the same day on which 
the battle took place on the plain of Salmanara, a 
chaplain of the Holy Temple at Jerusalem, while 
standing at the outer gate, beheld a train of Christian 
cavaliers advancing, as if in pilgrimage. The chap- 
lain was a native of Spain, and as the pilgrims ap- 
proached, he knew the foremost to be Don Munio 
Sancho de Hinojosa, with whom he had been well 
acquainted in former times. Hastening to the patri- 
arch, he told him of the honorable rank of the pil- 
grims at the gate. The patriarch, therefore, went 
forth with a grand procession of priests and monks, 
and received the pilgrims with all due honor. There 
were seventy cavaliers, beside their leader, all stark 
and lofty warriors. They carried their helmets in 
their hands, and their faces were deadly pale. They 
greeted no one, nor looked either to the right or to 
the left, but entered the chapel, and kneeling before 
the Sepulchre of our Saviour, performed their orisons 
in silence. When they had concluded, they rose as 
if to depart, and the patriarch and his attendants 
advanced to speak to them, but they were no more 
to be seen. Every one marvelled what could be 
the meaning of this prodigy. The patriarch care- 
fully noted down the day, and sent to Castile to 
learn tidings of Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa. 
He received for reply, that on the very day specified, 
that worthy knight, with seventy of his followers, 
had been slain in battle. These, therefore, must 
have been the blessed spirits of those Christian war- 
riors, come to fulfil their vow of a pilgrimage to the 
Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. Such was Castilian 
faith, in the olden time, which kept its word, even 
beyond the grave. 

If any one should doubt of the miraculous appari- 
tion of these phantom knights, let him consult the 
History of the Kings of Castile and Leon, by the 
learned and pious Fray Prudencio de Sandoval, 
Bishop of Pamplona, where he will find it recorded 
in the History of the King Don Alonzo V'l., on the 
hundred and second page. It is too precious a 
legend to be lightly abandoned to the doubter. 



C M M U N I P A W . 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir: I observe, with pleasure, that you are per- 
forming from time to time a pious duty, imposed 
upon you, 1 may say, by the name you have adopted 



as your titular standard, in following in the footsteps 
of the venerable Knickerbocker, and gleaning 
every fact concerning the early times of the Man- 
hattocs which may have escaped his hand. I trust, 
therefore, a few particulars, legendary and statistical, 
concerning a place which figures conspicuously in 
the early pages of his history, will not be unaccept- 
able. 1 allude. Sir, to the ancient and renowned 
village of Communipaw, which, according to the 
veracious Diedrich, and to equally veracious tradi- 
tion, was the first spot where our ever-to-be-la- 
mented Dutch progenitors planted their standard 
and cast the seeds of empire, and from whence sub- 
sequently sailed the memorable expedition under 
Oloffe the Dreamer, which landed on the opposite 
island of Manahatta, and founded the present city of 
New-York, the city of dreams and speculations. 

Communipaw, therefore, may truly be called the 
parent of New-York ; yet it is an astonishing fact, 
that though immediately opposite to the great city it 
has produced, from whence its red roofs and tin 
weather-cocks can actually be descried peering above 
the surrounding apple orchards, it should be almost 
as rarely visited, and as httle known by the inhabit- 
ants of the metropolis, as if it had been locked up 
among the Rocky Mountains. Sir, 1 think there is 
something unnatural in this, especially in these times 
of ramble and research, when our citizens are an- 
tiquity-hunting in every part of the world. Curios- 
ity, like charity, should begin at home ; and I would 
enjoin it on our worthy burghers, especially those of 
the real Knickerbocker breed, before they send their 
sons abroad to wonder and grow wise among the 
remains of Greece and Rome, to let them make a 
tour of ancient Pavonia, from Weehawk even to the 
Kills, and meditate, with filial reverence, on tlie 
moss-grown mansions of Communipaw. 

Sir, I regard this much-neglected village as one of 
the most remarkable places in the country. The in- 
telligent traveller, as he looks down upon it from the 
Bergen Heights, modestly nestled among its cab- 
bage-gardens, while the great flaunting city it has 
begotten is stretching far and wide on the opposite 
side of the bay, the intelligent traveller, I say, will 
be filled with astonishment; not. Sir, at the village 
of Communipaw, which in truth is a very small vil- 
lage, but at the almost incredible fact that so small 
a village should have produced so great a city. It 
looks to him, indeed, like some squat little dame, 
with a tall grenadier of a son strutting by her side ; 
or some simple-hearted hen that has unwittingly 
hatched out a long-legged turkey. 

But this is not all for which Communipaw is re- 
markable. Sir, it is interesting on another account. 
It is to the ancient province of the New-Netherlands 
and the classic era of the Dutch dynasty, what Her- 
culaneum and Pompeii are to ancient Rome and the 
glorious days of the empire. Here every thing re- 
mains in statu quo, as it was in the days of Olofife 
the Dreamer, Walter the Doubter, and the other 
worthies of the golden age ; the same broad-brim- 
med hats and broad-bottomed breeches ; the same 
knee-buckles and shoe-buckles ; the same close- 
quilled caps and linsey-woolsey short-gowns and 
petticoats ; the same implements and utensils and 
forms and fashions ; in a word, Communipaw at the 
present day is a picture of what New-Amsterdam 
was before the conquest. The ' intelligent traveller ' 
aforesaid, as he treads its streets, is struck with the 
primitive character of every thing around him. In- 
stead of Grecian temples for dwelling-houses, with 
a great column of pine boards in the way of every 
window, he beholds high peaked roofs, gable ends 
to the street, with weather-cocks at top, and windows 
of all sorts and sizes ; large ones for the grown-up 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



833 



members of the family, and little ones for the little 
folk. Instead of cold marble porches, with close- 
^ locked doors and brass knockers, he sees the doors 
hospitably open ; the worthy burgher smoking his 
pipe on the old-fashioned stoop in front, with his 
' vrouw ' knitting beside him : and the cat and her 
kittens at their feet sleeping in the sunshine. 

Astonished at the obsolete and ' old world ' air of 
every thing around him, the intelligent traveller de- 
mands how all this has come to pass. Herculaneum 
and Pompeii remain, it is true, unaffected by the va- 
rying fashions of centuries; but they were buried by 
a volcano and preserved in ashes. What charmed 
spell has kept this wonderful little place unchanged, 
though in sight of the most changeful city in the 
universe.' Has it, too, been buried under its cab- 
bage-gardens, and only dug out in modern days for 
the wonder and edification of the world .' There- 
ply involves a point of history, worthy of notice and 
record, and reflecting immortal honor on Communi- 
paw. 

At the time when New-Amsterdam was invaded 
and conquered by British foes, as has been related 
in the history of the venerable Diedrich, a great dis- 
persion took place among the Dutch inhabitants. 
Many, like the illustrious Peter Stuyvesant, buried 
themselves in rural retreats in the Bowerie ; others, 
like Wolfert Acker, took refuge in various remote 
parts of the Hudson ; but there was one staunch, 
unconquerable band that determined to keep to- 
gether, and preserve themselves, like seed corn, lor 
the future fructification and perpetuity of the Knick- 
erbocker race. These were headed by one Garret 
Van Home, a gigantic Dutchman, the Pelayo of the 
New-Netherlands. Under his guidance, they re- 
treated across the bay and buried themselves among 
the marshes of ancient Pavonia, as did the followers 
of Pelayo among the mountains of Asturias, when 
Spain was overrun by its Arabian invaders. 

The gallant Van Home set up his standard at 
Communipavv, and invited all those to rally under it, 
who were true Nederlanders at heart, and deter- 
mined to resist all foreign intermi.vcture or encroach- 
ment. A strict non-intercourse was observed with 
the captured city ; not a boat ever crossed to it from 
Comrnunipaw, and the English language was rigor- 
ously tabooed throughout the village and its depend- 
encies. Every man was sworn to wear his hat, cut 
his coat, build his house, and harness his horses, 
exactly as his father had done before him ; and to 
permit nothing but the Dutch language to be spoken 
in his household. 

As a citadel of the place, and a strong-hold for the 
preservation and defence of every thing Dutch, the 
gallant Van Home erected a lordly mansion, with a 
chimney perched at every corner, which thence de- 
rived the aristocratical name of 'The House of the 
Four Chimnies.' Hither he transferred many of the 
precious reliques of New-Amsterdam ; the great 
round-crowned hat that once covered the capacious 
head of Walter the Doubter, and the identical shoe 
with which Peter the Headstrong kicked his pusil- 
lanimous councillors down-stairs. St. Nicholas, it 
is said, took this loyal house under his especial pro- 
tection ; and a Dutch soothsayer predicted, that as 
long as it should stand, Comrnunipaw would be safe 
from the intrusion either of Briton or Yankee. 

In this house would the gallant Van Home and his 
compeers hold frequent councils of war, as to the 
possibility of re-conquering the province from the 
British ; and here would they sit for hours, nay, days, 
together smoking their pipes and keeping watch 
upon the growing city of New- York : groaning in 
spirit whenever they saw a new house erected or 
ship launched, and persuading themselves that Ad- 
53 



miral Van Tronip would one day or other arrive to 
sweep out the invaders with the broom which he 
carried at his mast-head. 

Years rolled by, but Van Troinp never arrived. 
The British strengthened themselves in the land, 
and the captured city flourished under their domina- 
tion. Still, the worthies of Communipaw would not 
despair ; something or other, they were sure, would 
turn up to restore the power of the Hogen Mogens, 
the Lord States-General ; so they kept smoking and 
smoking, and watching and watching, and turning 
the same few thoughts over and over in a perpetual 
circle, which is commonly called deliberating. In 
the mean time, being hemmed up within a narrow 
compass, between the broad bay and the Bergen 
hills, they grew poorer and poorer, until they had 
scarce the wherewithal to maintain their pipes in 
fuel during their endless deliberations. 

And now must I relate a circumstance which will 
call for a little exertion of faith on the part of the 
reader : but I can only say that if he doubts it, he 
had better not utter his doubts in Comrnunipaw, as 
it is among the religious beliefs of the place. It is, 
in fact, nothing more nor less than a miracle, w-orked 
by the blessed Saint Nicholas, for the relief and sus- 
tenance of this loyal community. 

It so happened, in this time of extremity, that in 
the course of cleaning the House of the I'our Chim- 
nies, by an ignorant housewife who knew nothing of 
the historic value of the reliques it contained, the old 
hat of Walter the Doubter and the executive shoe 
of Peter the Headstrong were thrown out of doors 
as rubbish. But mark the consequence. The good 
-Saint Nicholas kept watch over these precious rel- 
iques, and wrought out of them a wonderful prov- 
idence. 

The hat of Walter the Doubter falling on a ster- 
coraceous heap of compost, in the rear of the house, 
began forthwith to vegetate. Its broad brim spread 
forth grandly and exfoliated, and its round crown 
swelled and crimped and consolidated until the 
whole became a prodigious cabbage, rivaling in 
magnitude the capacious head of the Doubter. In a 
word, it was the origin of that renowned species of 
cabbage known, by all Dutch epicures, by the name 
of the Governor's Head, and which is to this day 
the glory of Communipaw. 

On the other hand, the shoe of Peter Stuyvesant 
being thrown into the river, in front of the house, 
gradually hardened and concreted, and became cov- 
ered with barnacles, and at length turned into a 
gigantic oyster ; being the progenitor of that illus- 
trious species known throughout the gastronomical 
world by the name of the Governor's Foot. 

These miracles were the salvation of Communi- 
paw. The sages of the place immediately saw in 
them the hand of Saint Nicholas, and understood 
their mystic signification. They set to work with 
all diligence to cultivate and multiply these great 
blessings ; and so abundantly did the gubernatorial 
hat and shoe fructify and increase, that in a little 
time great patches of cabbages were to be seen ex- 
tending from the village of Communipaw quite to 
the Bergen Hills ; while the whole bottom of the bay 
in front became a vast bed of oysters. Ever since 
that time this excellent community has been divided 
into two great classes : those who cultivate the land 
and those who cultivate the water. The former 
have devoted themselves to the nurture and edifica- 
tion of cabb.ages, rearing them in all their varieties; 
while the latter have formed parks and plantations, 
under water, to which juvenile oysters are trans- 
planted from foreign parts, to finish their education. 

As these great sources of profit multiplied upon 
their hands, the worthy inhabitants of Communipaw 



834 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



began to long for a market at which to dispose of 
their superabundance. This gradually i)roduced 
once more an intercourse with New- York ; but it 
was always carried on l)y the old people and the ne- 
groes ; never would they permit the young folks, of 
either sex, to visit the city, lest they should get tainted 
with foreign manners and bring home foreign fash- 
ions. Even to this day, if you see an old burgher in 
the market, with hat and garb of antique Dutch fash- 
ion, you may be sure he is one of the old uncon- 
quered race of the ' bitter blood,' who maintain their 
strong-hold at Communipaw. 

In modern da)s, the hereditary bitterness against 
the English has lost much of its asperity, or rather 
has become merged in a new source of jealousy and 
apprehension : I allude to the incessant and wide- 
spreading irruptions from New-England. Word has 
been continually brought back to Communipaw, by 
those of the community who return from their trad- 
ing voyages in cabbages and oysters, of the alarming 
power which the Yankees are gaining in the ancient 
city of New-Amsterdam ; elbowing the genuine 
Knickerbockers out of all civic posts of honor and 
profit ; bargaining them out of their hereditary 
homesteads; pulling down the venerable houses, 
with crow-step gables, which have stood since the 
time of the Dutch rule, and erecting, instead, granite 
stores, and marble banks ; in a word, evincing a 
deadly determination to obliterate every vestige of 
the good old Dutch times. 

In consequence of the jealousy thus awakened, 
the worthy traders from Communipaw confine their 
dealings, as much as possible, to the genuine Dutch 
families. If they furnish the Yankees at all, it is 
with inferior articles. Never can the latter procure 
a real ' Governor's Head,' or ' Governor's Foot,' 
though they have offered extravagant prices for the 
same, to grace their table on the annual festival of 
the New-England Society. 

But what has carried this hostility to the Yankees 
to the highest pitch, was an attempt made by that 
all-pervading race to get possession of Communipaw 
itself. Yes, Sir; during the late mania for land 
speculation, a daring company of Yankee projectors 
landed before the village ; stopped the honest burgh- 
ers on the public highway, and endeavored to bar- 
gain them out of their hereditary acres ; displayed 
lithographic maps, in which their cabbage-gardens 
were laid out into town lots ; their oyster-parks into 
docks and quays; and even the House of the Four 
Chimnies metamorphosed into a bank, which was to 
enrich the whole neighborhood with paper money. 

Fortunately, the gallant Van Homes came to the 
rescue, just as some of the worthy burghers were on 
the point of capitulating. The Yankees were put to 
the rout, with signal confusion, and have never since 
dared to show their faces in the place. The good 
people continue to cultivate their cabbages, and rear 
their oysters ; they know nothing of banks, nor joint 
stock companies, but treasure up their money in 
stocking-feet, at the bottom of the family chest, or 
bury it in iron pots, as did their fathers and grand- 
fathers before them. 

As to the House of the Four Chimnies, it still re- 
mains in the great and tall family of the Van Homes. 
Here are to be seen ancient Dutch corner cupboards, 
chests of drawers, and massive clothes-presses, 
quaintly carved, and carefully waxed and polished ; 
together with divers thick, black-letter volumes, with 
brass clasps, printed of yore in Leyden and Amster- 
dam, and handed down from generation to genera- 
tion, in the family, but never read. They are pre- 
served in the archives, among sundry old parchment 
deeds, in Dutch and English, bearing the seals of 
the early governors of the province. 



In this house, the primitive Dutch holidays of Paas 
and Pinxtcr are faithfully kept up; and New- Year 
celebrated with cookies and cherry-bounce ; nor is 
the festival of the blessed St. Nicholas forgotten, 
when all the children are sure to hang up their 
stockings, and to have them filled according to their 
deserts ; though, it is said, the good saint is occa- 
sionally perplexed in his nocturnal visits, which 
chimney to descend. 

Of late, this portentous mansion has begun to give 
signs of flilapidation and decay. Some have attributed 
this to the visits made by the young people to the 
city, and their bringing thence various modern fash- 
ions : and to their neglect of the Dutch language, 
which is gradually becoming confined to the older 
persons in the community. The house, too, was 
greatly shaken by high winds, during the prevalence 
of the speculation mania, especially at the lime of 
the landing of the Yankees. Seeing how mysteri- 
ously the fate of Communipaw is identified with this 
venerable mansion, we cannot wonder that the older 
and wiser heads of the community should be filled 
with dismay, whenever a brick is toppled down from 
one of the chimnies, or a weather-cock is blown off 
from a gable-end. 

The present lord of this historic pile, I am happy 
to say, is calculated to maintain it in all its integrity. 
He is of patriarchal age, and is worthy of the days 
of the patriarchs. He has done his utmost to in- 
crease and multiply the true race in the land. His 
wife has not been inferior to him in zeal, and they 
are surrounded by a goodly progeny of children, 
and grand-children, and great-grand-children, who 
promise to perpetuate the name of Van Home, until 
time shall be no more. So be it ! Long may the 
horn of the \^an Homes continue to be exalted in 
the land ! Tall as they are, may their shadows 
never be less ! May the House of the Four Chimnies 
remain for ages, the citadel of Communipaw, and 
the smoke of its chimnies continue to ascend, a 
sweet-smelling incense in the nose of St. Nicholas ! 

With great respect, Mr. Editor, 

Your ob't servant, 

Hermanus Vanderdonk. 



CONSPIRACY OF THE COCKED HATS. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir : I have read with great satisfaction the valu- 
able paper of your correspondent. Mr. Hermanus 
V.i^NDERDONK, (who, I take it, is a descendant of 
the learned Adrian Vanderdonk, one of the early 
historians of the Nieuw-Nederlands.) giving sundry 
particulars, legendary and statistical, touching the 
venerable village of Communipaw and its fate-bound 
citadel, the House of the Four Chimnies. It goes 
to prove what I have repeatedly maintained, that we 
live in the midst of history and mystery and romance ; 
and that there is no spot in the world more rich in 
themes for the writer of historic novels, heroic melo- 
dramas, and rough-shod epics, than this same busi- 
ness-looking city of the Manhattoes and its environs. 
He who would find these elements, however, must 
not seek them among the modern improvements and 
modern people of this monied metropolis, but must 
dig for them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, in 
out-of-the-way places, and among the ruins of the 
past. 

Poetry and romance received a fatal blow at the 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



835 



overthrow of the ancient Dutch dynasty, and have 
ever since been gradually withering under the grow- 
ing domination of the Yankees. They abandoned 
our liearlhs when the old Dutch tiles were super- 
seded by marble chimney-pieces ; when brass and- 
irons made way for polished grates, and the crack- 
ling and l)lazing fire of nut-wood gave place to the 
smoke and stench of Liverpool coal ; and on the 
downfall of the last gable-end house, their requiem 
was tolled from the tower of the Dutch church in 
Nassau-street by the old bell that came from Hol- 
land. But poetry and romance still live unseen 
among us, or seen only by the enlightened lew, who 
are able to contemplate this city and its environs 
through the medium of tradition, and clothed with 
the associations of foregone ages. 

Would you seek these elements in the country, Mr. 
Editor, avoid all turnpikes, rail-roads, and steam- 
boats, those abominable inventions by which the 
usurping Yankees are strengthening themselves in 
the land, and subduing every thing to utility and 
common-place. Avoid all towns and cities of white 
clap-board palaces and Grecian temples, studded 
with 'Academies,' 'Seminaries,' and 'Institutes,' 
which glisten along our bays and rivers ; these are 
the strong-holds of Yankee usurpation ; but if^ haply 
you light upon some rough, rambling road, winding 
between stone fences, gray w'ith moss, and over- 
grown with elder, poke-berry, mullein, and sweet- 
briar, with here and there a low, red roofed, white- 
washed farm-house, cowering among apple and 
cherry trees ; an old stone church, with elms, wil- 
lows, and button-woods, as old-looking as itself, and 
tomb-stones almost buried in their own graves ; and, 
peradventure, a small log school-house at a cross- 
road, where the English is still taught with a thick- 
ness of the tongue, instead of a twang of the nose ; 
should you, I say, light upon such a neighborhood, 
Mr. Editor, you may thank your stars that you have 
found one of the lingering haunts of poetry and ro- 
mance. 

Your correspondent, Sir, has touched upon that 
sublime and affecting feature in the history of Com- 
munipaw, the retreat of the patriotic band of Neder- 
landers. led by Van Home, whom he justly terms 
the Pelayo of the New-Netherlands. He has given 
you a picture of the manner in which they ensconced 
themselves in the House of the Four Chimnies, and 
awaited with heroic patience and perseverance the 
day that should see the tlag of the Hogen Mogens 
once more floating on the fort of New-Amsterdam. 

Your correspondent. Sir, has but given you a 
glimpse over the threshold ; I will now let you into 
the heart of the mystery of this most mysterious and 
eventful village. Yes, Sir, I will now 

' unclasp .1 secret book ; 

AnH to your quick conceiving discontents, 
ril read you matter deep and dangerous, 
As full uf peril and adventurous spirit, 
As to o'er walk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.' 

Sir, it is one of the most beautiful and interesting 
facts connected with the history of Communipaw, 
that the early feeling of resistance to foreign rule, 
alluded to by your correspondent, is still kept up. 
Yes, Sir, a settled, secret, and determined conspiracy 
has been going on for generations among this in- 
domitable people, the descendants of the refugees 
from New-.-Vmsterdam ; the object of which is to 
redeem their ancient seat of empire, and to drive the 
losel Y'ankees out of the land. 

Communipaw, it is true, has the glory of originat- 
ing this conspiracy ; and it was hatched and reared 
in the House of the Four Chimnies ; but it has spread 
far and wide over ancient Pavonia, surmounted the 



heights of Bergen, Hoboken, and Weehawk, crept 
up along the banks of the Passaic and the Hacken- 
sack, until it perv.ades the whole chivalry of the 
country from Tappan Slote in the north to Piscata- 
way in the south, including the pugnacious village 
of Rahway, more heroically denominated Spank- 
town. 

Throughout all these regions a great 'in-and-in 
confederacy ' prevails, that is to say, a confederacy 
among the Dutch families, by dint of diligent and 
exclusive intermarriage, to keep the race pure and to 
multiply. If ever, Mr. Editor, in the course of your 
travels between Spank-town and Tappan Slote, you 
should see a cosey, low-eaved farm-house, teeming 
with sturdy, broad-built little urchins, you may set it 
down as one of the breeding places of this grand 
secret confederacy, stocked with the embryo deliver- 
ers of New-Amsterdam. 

Another step in the progress of this patriotic con- 
spiracy, is the establishment, in various places within 
the ancient boundaries of the Nieuw-Nederlands, of 
secret, or rather mysterious associations, composed 
of the genuine sons of the Nederlanders, with the 
ostensible object of keeping up the memory of old 
times and customs, but with the real object of pro- 
moting the views of this dark and mighty plot, and 
extending its ramifications throughout the land. 

Sir, I am descended from a long line of genuine 
Nederlanders, who, though they remained in the 
city of New-Amsterdam after the conquest, and 
throughout the usurpation, have never in their hearts 
been able to tolerate the yoke imposed upon them. 
My worthy father, who was one of the last of the 
cocked hats, had a little knot of cronies, of his own 
stamp, who used to meet in our wainscotted parlor, 
round a nut-wood fire, talk over old times, when the 
city was ruled by its native burgomasters, and groaji 
over the monopoly of all places of power and profit 
by the Yankees. I well recollect the effect upon this 
worthy little conclave, when the Yankees first insti- 
tuted their New-England Society, held their ' na- 
tional festival,' toasted their ' father land,' and sang 
their foreign songs of triumph within the very pre- 
cincts of our ancient metropolis. Sir, from that 
day, my father held the smell of codfish and pota- 
toes, and the sight of pumpkin pie, in utter abomi- 
nation ; and whenever the annual dinner of the 
New-England Society came round, it was a sore 
anniversary lor his children. He got up in an ill 
humor, grumbled and growled throughout the day, 
and not one of us went to bed that night, without 
having had his jacket well trounced, to the tune of 
' The Pilgrim Fathers.' 

You may judge, then, Mr. Editor, of the exalta- 
tion of all true patriots of this stamp, when the 
Society of Saint Nicholas was set up among us, and 
intrepidly established, cheek by jole, alongside of the 
society of the invaders. Never shall 1 forget the 
effect upon my father and his little knot of brother 
groaners, when tidings were brought them that the 
ancient banner of the Manhattoes was actually 
floating from the window of the City Hotel. Sir, 
they nearly jumped out of their silver-buckled shoes 
for joy. They took down their cocked hats from the 
pegs on which they had hanged them, as the Israel- 
ites of yore hung their harps upon the willows, in 
token of bondage, clapped them resolutely once 
more upon their heads, and cocked them in the face 
of every Yankee they met on the way to the ban- 
queting-room. 

The institution of this society was hailed with 
transport throughout the whole extent of the New- 
Netherlands ; being considered a secret foothold 
gained in New-Amsterdam, and a flattering presage 
ol future triumph. Whenever that society holds its 



83G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



annual feast, a sympathetic hilarity prevails through- 
out the land ; ancient Pavonia sends over its contri- 
butions of cabbages and oysters; the House of the 
Four Chimnies is splendidly illuminated, and the 
traditional song of Saint Nicholas, the mystic bond 
of union and conspiracy, is chaunted with closed 
doors, in every genuine Dutch family. 

I have thus, 1 trust, Mr. Editor, opened your eyes 
to some of the grand moral, poetical, and political 
phenomena with which you are surrounded. You 
will now be able to read the ' signs of the times.' 
You will now understand what is meant by those 
' Knickerljockcr Halls,' and ' Knickerbocker Hotels,' 
and ■ Knickerbocker Lunches,' that are daily spring- 
ing up in our city ; and what all these ' Knicker- 
bocker Omnibuses ' are driving at. You will see in 
them so many clouds before a storm ; so many 
mysterious but sublime intimations of the gathering 
vengeance of a great though oppressed people. 
Above all, you will now contemplate our bay and its 
portentous borders, with proper feelings of awe and 
admiration. Talk of the Bay of Naples, and its vol- 
canic mountains ! Why, Sir, little Communipaw, 
sleeping among its cabbage gardens ' quiet as gun- 
powder,' yet with this tremendous conspiracy brew- 
ing in its bosom, is an object ten times as sublime 
(in a moral point of \iew, mark me,) as Vesuvius in 
repose, though charged with lava and brimstone, 
and ready for an eruption. 

Let me advert to a circumstance connected with 
this theme, which cannot but be appreciated by 
every heart of sensibility. You must have remarked, 
Mr. Editor, on summer evenings, and on Sunday 
afternoons, certain grave, primitive-looking person- 
ages, walking the Battery, in close confabulation, 
with their canes behind their backs, and ever and 
anon turning a wistful gaze toward the Jersey shore. 
These, Sir, are the sons of Saint Nicholas, the genu- 
ine Nederlanders ; who regard Communipaw with 
pious reverence, not merely as the progenitor, but 
the destined regenerator, of this great metropolis. 
Yes, Sir ; they are looking with longing eyes to the 
green marshes of ancient Pavonia, as did the poor 
conquered Spaniards of yore toward the stern 
mountains of Asturias, wondering whether the day 
of deliverance is at hand. Many is the time, when, 
in my bovhood, I have walked with my father and 
his confidential compeers on the Battery, and listen- 
ed to their calculations and conjectures, and observ- 
ed the points of their sharp cocked hats evermore 
turned toward Pavonia. Nay, Sir, I am convinced 
that at this moment, if I were to take down the 
cocked hat of my lamented father from the peg on 
which it has hung for years, and were to cany it to 
the Battery, its centre point, true as the needle to 
the pole, would turn to Communipaw. 

Mr. Editor, the great historic drama of New- 
Amsterdam is but half acted. The reigns of Walter 
the Doubter, William the Testy, and Peter the 
Headstrong, with the rise, progress, and decline of 
the Dutch dynasty, are but so many parts of the 
main action, the triumphant catastrophe of which is 
yet to come. Yes, Sir ! the deliverance of the New- 
Nederlands from Yankee domination will eclipse the 
far-famed redemption of Spain from the Moors, and 
the oft-sung conquest of Granada will fade before 
the chivalrous triumph of New-.4msterdam. Would 
that Peter Stuyvesant could rise from his grave to 
witness that day ! 

Your humble servant, 

RoLOFF Van Ripper. 



tremble for the fate of Communipaw. I fear, M' 
Editor, the grand conspiracy is in danger of being 
countermined and counteracted, by those all-pervad- 
ing and indefatigable Yankees. Would you think it. 
Sir ! one of them has actually effected an entry in 
the place by covered way ; or in other words, under 
cover of the petticoats. Finding every other mode 
ineffectual, he secretly laid siege to a Dutch heir- 
ess, who owns a great cabbage-garden in her own 
right. Being a smooth-tongued varlet, he easily pre- 
vailed on her to elope with him, and they were 
privately married at Spank-town ! The first notice the 
good people of Communipaw had of this awful event, 
was a lithographed map of the cabbage-garden laid 
out in town lots, and advertised for sale ! On the 
night of the wedding, the main weather-cock of the 
House of the Four Chimnies was carried away 
in a whirlwind ! The greatest consternation reigns 
throughout the village ! 



A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 



P. S. Just as I had concluded the foregoing epistle, 
I received a piece of intelligence, which makes me 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER MAG.\ZINE. 

Sir ; I observed in your last month's periodical, a 
communication from a Mr. Vanderdonk, giving some 
information concerning Communipaw. I herewith 
send you, Mr. Editor, a legend connected with that 
place ; and am much surprised it should have escaped 
the researches of your very authentic correspondent, 
as it relates to an edifice scarcely less fated than the 
House of the Four Chimnies. I give you the legend 
in its crude and simple state, as I heard it related ; it 
is capable, however, of being dilated, inflated, and 
dressed up into very imposing shape and dimensions. 
Should any of your ingenious contributors in this line 
feel inclined to take it in hand, they will find ample 
materials, collateral and illustrative, among the papers 
of the late Reinier Skaats, many years since crier of 
the court, and keeper of the City Hall, in the city of 
the Manhattoes ; or in the library of that important 
and utterly renowned functionary, Mr. Jacob Hays, 
long time high constable, who, in the course of his ex- 
tensive researches, has amassed an amount of valuable 
facts, to be rivalled only by that great historical col- 
lection, 'The Newgate Calendar.' 

Your humble servant, 

Barent Van Schaick. 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 

Whoever has visited the ancient and renowned 
village of Communipaw, may have noticed an old 
stone building, of most ruinous and sinister appear- 
ance. The doors and window-shutters are ready to 
drop from their hinges ; old clothes are stuffed in 
the broken panes of glass, while legions of half- 
starved dogs prowl about the premises, and rush out 
and bark at every passer-by ; for your beggarly house 
in a village is most apt to swarm with prodigate and 
ill-conditioned dogs. What adds to the sinister ap- 
pearance of this mansion, is a tall frame in front, not 
a little resembling a gallows, and which looks as if 
waiting to accommodate some of the inhabitants 
with a well-merited airing. It is not a gallows, 
however, but an ancient sign-post ; for this dwelling, 
in the golden days of Communipaw, was one of the 
most orderly and peaceful of village taverns, where all 
the public affairs of Communipaw were talked and 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



837 



jmoked over. In fact, it was in this very building 
that Oloffe the Dreamer, and his companions, con- 
certed that great voyage of discovery and coloniza- 
tion, in which they explored Buttermilk Channel, 
were nearly shipwrecked in the strait of Hell-gate, 
and finally landed on the island of Manhattan, and 
founded the great city of New-Amsterdam. 

Even after the province had been cruelly wrested 
from the swav of their High Mightinesses, by the 
combined forces of the British and the Yankees, this 
tavern continued its ancient loyalty. It is true, the 
head of the Prince of Orange disappeared from the 
sign ; a strange bird being painted over it, with the 
explanatory legend of ' Die Wilde Gans,' or The 
Wild Goose ; but this all the world knew to be a 
sly riddle of the landlord, the worthy Teunis Van 
Gieson, a knowing man in a small way, who laid his 
finger beside his nose and winked, when any one 
studied the signification of his sign, and observed 
that his goose was hatching, hut would join the flock 
whenever they flew over the water ; an enigma 
which was the perpetual recreation and delight of 
the loyal but fat-headed burghers of Communipaw. 

Under the sway of this patriotic, though discreet 
and quiet publican, the tavern continued to flourish 
in primeval tranquillity, and was the resort of all 
true-hearted Nederlanders, from all parts of Pavonia ; 
who met here quietly and secretly, to smoke and 
drmk the downfall of Briton and Yankee, and suc- 
cess to Admiral Van Tromp. 

The only drawback on the comfort of the estab- 
lishment, was a nephew of mine host, a sister's 
son, Yan Yost Vanderscamp by name, and a real 
scamp by nature. This unlucky whipster showed 
an early propensity to mischief, which he gratified 
in a small way, by playing tricks upon the frequent- 
ers of the Wild Goose ; putting gunpowder in their 
pipes, or squibs in their pockets, and astonishing 
them with an explosion, while they sat nodding 
round the fire-place in the bar-room ; and if per- 
chance a worthy burgher from some distant part of 
Pavonia had lingered until dark over his potation, it 
was odds but that young Vanderscamp would slip a 
briar under his horse's tail, as he mounted, and send 
him clattering along the road, in neck-or-nothing 
style, to his infinite astonishment and discomfit- 
ure. 

It may be wondered at, that mine host of the 
Wild Goose did not turn such a graceless varlet out 
of doors ; but Teunis Van Gieson was an easy- 
tempered man, and, having no child of his own, look- 
ed upon his nephew with almost parental indulgence. 
His patience and good-nature were doomed to be 
tried by another inmate of his mansion. This was 
a cross-grained curmudgeon of a negro, named 
Pluto, who was a kind of enigma in Communipaw. 
Where he came from, nobody knew. He was found 
one morning, after a storm, cast like a sea-monster 
on the strand, in front of the Wild Goose, and lay 
there, n.ore dead than alive. The neighbors gath- 
ered round, and speculated on this production of 
the deep ; whether it were fish or flesh, or a com- 
pound of both, commonly yclept a merman. The 
kind-hearted Teunis Van Gieson, seeing that he 
wore the human form, took him into his house, and 
warmed him into life. By degrees, he showed signs 
of intelligence, and even uttered sounds very much 
like language, but which no one in Communipaw 
could understand. Some thought him a negro just 
from Guinea, who had either fallen overboard, or 
escaped from a slave-ship. Nothing, however, could 
ever draw from him any account of his origin. When 
questioned on the subject, he merely pointed to Gib- 
bet-Island, a small rocky islet, which lies in the open 
bay, just opposite to Communipaw, as if that were 



his native place, though ever)' body knew it had 
never been inhabited. 

In the process of time, he acquired something of 
the Dutch language, that is to say, he learnt all its 
vocabulary of oaths and maledictions, with just 
words sufficient to string them together. 'Donder 
en blicksem ! ' (thunder and lightning,) was the 
gentlest of his ejaculations. For years he kept 
about the Wild Goose, more like one of those famil- 
iar spirits, or household goblins, that we read of, 
than like a human being. He acknowledged allegi- 
ance to no one. but performed various domestic of- 
fices, when it suited his humour : waiting occasionally 
on the guests ; grooming the horses, cutting wood, 
drawing water ; and all this without being ordered. 
Lay any command on him, and the stubborn sea- 
urchin was sure to rebel. He was never so much 
at home, however, as when on the water, plying 
about in skiff or canoe, entirely alone, fishing, crab- 
bing, or grabbing for oysters, and would bring home 
quantities for the larder of the Wild Goose, which 
he would throw down at the kitchen door, with a 
growl. No wind nor weather deterred him from 
launching forth on his favorite element : indeed, the 
wilder the weather, the more he seemed to enjoy it. 
If a storm was brewing, he was sure to put off from 
shore ; and would be seen far out in the bay, his 
light skiff dancing like a feather on the waves, when 
sea and sky were all in a turmoil, and the stoutest 
ships were fain to lower their sails. Sometimes, on 
such occasions, he would be absent for days to- 
gether. How he weathered the tempest, and how 
and where he subsisted, no one could divine, nor 
did any one venture to ask, for all had an almost 
superstitious awe of him. Some of the Communi- 
paw oystermen declared that they had more than 
once seen him suddenly disappear, canoe and all, as 
if they plunged beneath the waves, and after a while 
come up again, in quite a different part of the bay ; 
whence they concluded that he could live under 
water like that notable species of wild duck, com- 
monly called the Hell-diver. All began to consider 
him in the light of a foul-weather bird, like the 
Mother Carey's Chicken, or Stormy Petrel; and 
whenever they saw him putting far out in his skiff, 
in cloudy weather, made up their minds for a storm. 

The only being for whom he seemed to have any 
liking, was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and him he 
liked for his very wickedness. He in a manner took 
the boy under his tutelage, prompted him to all kinds 
of mischief, aided him in every wild, harum-scarum 
freak, until the lad became the complete scape-grace 
of the village ; a pest to his uncle, and to every one 
else. Nor were his pranks confined to the land ; 
he soon learned to accompany old Pluto on the 
water. Together these worthies would cruise aboyt 
the broad bay, and all the neighboring straits and 
rivers ; poking around in skiffs and canoes ; robbing 
the set-nets of the fishermen ; landing on remote 
coasts, and laying waste orchards and water-melon 
patches ; in short, cariying on a complete system ot 
piracy, on a small scale. Piloted by Pluto, the 
youthful Vanderscamp soon became acquainted with 
all the bays, rivers, creeks, and inlets of the watery 
world around him ; could navigate from the Hook 
to Spiling-devil on the darkest night, and learned to 
set even the terrors of Hell-gate at defiance. 

At length, negro and boy suddenly disappeared, 
and days and weeks elapsed, but without tidings of 
them. Some said they must have run away and 
gone to sea; others jocosely hinted, that old Pluto, 
being no other than his namesake in disguise, had 
spirited away the boy to the nether regions. All, 
however, agreed in one thing, that the village was 
well rid of them. 



838 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



In the process of time, the good Teunis Van 
Gieson slept with his fathers, and the tavern re- 
mained shut up, waiting for a claimant, for the next 
heir was Yan Yost Vandcrscamp, and he had not 
been heard of for years. At length, one day, a boat 
was seen pulling for the shore, from a long, black, 
rakish-looking' schooner, that lay at anchor in the 
bay. The boat's crew seemed worthy of the craft 
from which they debarked. Never had such a set 
of noisy, roistering, swaggering varlets landed in 
|)eaceful Communipaw. They were outlandish in 
garb and demeanor, and were headed by a rough, 
burly, bully ruffian, with tiery whiskers, a copper 
nose, a scar across his face, and a great Flaun- 
derish beaver slouched on one side of his head, in 
whom, to their dismay, the quiet inhabitants were 
made to recognize their early pest, Yan Yost Van- 
flerscamp. The rear of this hopeful gang was 
brought up by old Pluto, who had lost an eve, grown 
grizzly-headed, and looked more like a devil than 
ever. Vanderscamp renewed his acquaintance with 
the old burghers, much against their will, and in 
a manner not at all to their taste. He slapped them 
familiarly on the back, gave them an iron grip of 
the hand, and vvas hail fellow well met. According 
to his own account, he had been all the world over ; 
had made money by bags full ; had ships in every 
sea, and now meant to turn the Wild Goose into a 
country seat, where he and his comrades, all rich 
merchants from foreign parts, might enjoy them- 
selves in the interval of their voyages. 

Sure enough, in a little while there was a complete 
metamorphose of the Wild Goose. From being a 
quiet, peaceful Dutch public house, it became a most 
riotous, uproarious private dwelling ; a complete 
rendezvous for boisterous men of the seas, who came 
here to have what they called a ' blow out ' on dry 
land, and might be seen at all hours, lounging about 
the door, or lolling out of the windows ; swearing 
among themselves, and cracking rough jokes on 
every passer-by. The house was fitted up, too, in so 
strange a manner : hammocks slung to the walls, 
instead of bedsteads ; odd kinds of furniture, of 
foreign fashion ; bamboo couches, Spanish chairs ; 
pistols, cutlasses, and blunderbusses, suspended on 
every peg; silver crucifi.xes on the nnntel-pieces, 
silver candle-sticks and porringers on the tables, 
contrasting oddly with the pewter and Delf ware of 
the original establishment. And then the strange 
amusements of these sea-monsters ! Pitching Span- 
ish dollars, instead of quoits ; firing blunderbusses 
out of the window ; shooting at a mark, or at any 
unhappy dog, or cat. or pig. or barn-door fowl, that 
might happen to come within reach. 

The only being who seemed to relish their rough 
waggery, was old Pluto ; and yet he led but a dog's 
life of it ; for they practised all kinds of manual 
jokes upon him ; kicked him about like a foot-ball ; 
shook him by his grizzly mop of wool, and never 
spoke to him without coupling a curse by way of 
adjective to his name, and consigning him to the 
infernal regions. The old fellow, however, seemed 
to like them the better, the more they cursed him, 
though his utmost expression of pleasure never 
.amounted to more than the growl of a petted bear, 
when his ears are rubbed. 

Old Pluto was the ministering spirit at the orgies 
of the Wild Goose ; and such orgies as took place 
there ! Such drinking, singing, whooping, swearing ; 
with an occasional interlude of quarrelling and light- 
ing. The noisier grew the revel, the more old Pluto 
plied the potations, until the guests would become 
frantic in their merriment, smashing every thing to 
pieces, and throwing the house out of the windows. 
Sometimes, after a drinking bout, they sallied forth 



and scoured the village, to the dismay of the worthy 
burghers, who gathered their women within doors, 
and would have shut up the house. Vanderscamp, 
however, was not to be rebuffed. He insisted on 
renewing acquaintance with his old neighbors, and 
on introducing his friends, the merchants, to their 
families ; sw'ore he was on the look-out for a wife, 
and meant, before he stopped, to tind husbands for 
' all their daughters. So, will-ye, nil-ye, sociable he 
was ; swaggered about their best parlors, with his 
hat on one side of his head ; sat on the good wife's 
nicely-waxed mahogany table, kicking his heels 
against the carved and polished legs ; kissed and 
tousled the young vrouws ; and, if they frowned and 
pouted, gave them a gold rosary, or a sparkling cross, 
to put them in good humor again. 

Sometimes nothing would satisfy him, but he must 
have some of his old neighbors to dinner at the Wild 
Goose. There was no refusing him, for he had got 
the complete upper-hand of the community, and the 
peaceful burghers all stood in awe of him. But what 
a time would the quiet, worthy men have, among 
these rake-hells, who would delight to astound them 
with the most extravagant gunpowder tales, em- 
broidered with all kinds of foreign oaths ; clink the 
can with them ; pledge them in deep potations ; 
bawl drinking songs in their ears ; and occasionally 
fire pistols over their heads, or under the table, and 
then laugh in their faces, and ask them how they 
liked the smell of gunpowder. 

Thus was the little village of Communipaw for 
a time like the unfortunate wight possessed with 
devils ; until Vanderscamp and his brother merchants 
would sail on another trading voyage, when the Wild 
Goose would be shut up, and every thing relapse 
into quiet, only to be disturbed by his next visitation. 

The mystery of all these proceedings gradually 
dawned upon the tardy intellects of Communipaw. 
These were the times of the notorious Captain Kidd. 
when the American harbors were the resorts of 
piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, under pretext 
of mercantile voyages, scoured the West Indies, 
m.ade plundering descents upon the Spanish Main, 
visited even the remote Indian Seas, and then came 
to dispose of their booty, have their revels, and fit 
out new expeditions, in the English colonies. 

Vanderscamp had served in this hopeful school, 
and having risen to importance among the bucaniers, 
had pitched upon his native village and early home, 
as a quiet, out-of-the-way, unsuspected place, where 
he and his comrades, while anchored at New-York, 
might have their feasts, and concert their plans, 
without molestation. 

At length the attention of the British govern- 
ment was called to these piratical enterprises, 
that were becoming so frequent and outrageous. 
Vigorous measures were taken to check and punish 
them. Several of the most noted fVeebooters were 
caught and executed, and three of Vanderscamp's 
chosen comrades, the most riotous swash-bucklers 
of the Wild Goose, were hanged in chains on Gib- 
bet-Island, in full sight of their favorite resort. As 
to Vanderscamp himself, he and his man Pluto again 
disappeared, and it was hoped by the people of 
Communipaw that he had fallen in some foreign 
brawl, or been swung on some foreign gallows. 

For a time, thereftjre. the tranquillity of the village 
was restored; the worthy Dutchmen once more 
! smoked their pipes in peace, exeing, with jieculiar 
j complacency, their old pests and terrors, the pirates, 
, dangling and drying in the sun, on Gibbet-Island. 
i This perfect calm was doomed at length to be 
ruffled. The tiery persecution of the pirates gradu- 
ally subsided. Justice was satisfied with the ex- 
amples that had been made, and there was no more 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



839 



talk of Kidd, and the other heroes of like kidney. 
On a calm summer evening, a boat, somewhat 
heavily laden, was seen pulling into Communipaw. 
What was the surprise and disquiet of the inhabit- 
ants, to see Yan Yost Vanderscamp seated at the 
helm, and his man Pluto tugging at the oars ! Van- 
derscamp, however, was apparently an altered man. 
He brought home with him a wife, who seemed to 
be a shrew, and to have the upper-hand of him. 
He no longer was the swaggering, bully ruffian, but 
affected the regular merchant, and talked of retiring 
from business, and settling down quietly, to pass the 
rest of his days in his native place. 

The Wild Goose mansion was again opened, but 
with diminished splendor, and no riot. It is true, 
VSnderscamp had frequent nautical visitors, and the 
sound of reveliy was occasionally overheard in his 
house ; but every thing seemed to be done under 
the rose ; and old Pluto was the only servant that 
officiated at these orgies. The visitors, indeed, were 
by no means of the turbulent stamp of their prede- 
cessors ; but quiet, mysterious traders, full of nods, 
and winks, and hieroglyphic signs, with whom, to 
use their cant phrase, 'every thing was smug.' 
Their ships came to anchor at night in the lower 
bay ; and, on a private signal, Vanderscamp would 
launch his boat, and accompanied solely by his man 
Pluto, would make them mysterious visits. Some- 
times boats pulled in at night, in front of the Wild 
Goose, and various articles of merchandise were 
landed in the dark, and spirited away, nobody knew 
.whither. One of the more curious of the inhabitants 
kept watch, and caught a glimpse of the features of 
some of these night visitors, by the casual glance of 
a lantern, and declared that he recognized more 
than one of the freebooling frequenters of the Wild 
Goose, in former times ; from whence he concluded 
that Vanderscamp was at his old game, and that 
this mysterious merchandise was nothing more nor 
less than piratical plunder. The more charitable 
opinion, however, was, that Vanderscamp and his 
comrades, having been driven from their old line of 
business, by the 'oppressions of government,' had 
resorted to smuggling to make both ends meet. 

Be that as it may : I come now to the extraor- 
dinary fact, which is the butt-end of this story. It 
happened late one night, that Yan Yost Vander- 
scamp was returning across the broad bay, in his 
light skiff, rowed by his man Pluto. He had been 
carousing on board of a vessel, newly arrived, and 
was somewhat obfuscated in intellect, by the liquor 
he had imbibed. It was a still, sultry night; a 
heavy mass of lurid clouds was rising in the west, 
with the low muttering of distant thunder. Vander- 
scamp called on Pluto to pull lustily, that they might 
get home before the gathering storm. The old negro 
made no reply, but shaped his course so as to skirt 
the rocky shores of Gibbet-Island. A faint creaking 
overhead caused Vanderscamp to cast up his eyes, 
when, to his horror, he beheld the bodies of his 
three pot companions and brothers in iniquity dang- 
ling in the moonlight, their rags fluttering, and their 
chains creaking, as they were slowly swung back- 
ward and forward by the rising breeze. 

' What do you mean, you blockhead ! ' cried Van- 
derscamp, ' by pulling so close to the island .'' ' 

' 1 thought you'd be glad to see your old friends 
once more,' growled the negro ; ' you were never 
afraid of a living man, what do you fear from the 
dead ? ' 

' Who's afraid ? ' hiccupped Vanderscamp, partly 
heated by liquor, partly nettled by the jeer of the 
negro; 'who's afraid! Hang me, but I would be 
glad to see them once more, alive or dead, at the 
Wild Goose. Come, my lads in the wind ! ' con- 



tinued he, taking a draught, and flourishing the bot- 
tle above his head, ' here's fair weather to you in the 
other world ; and if you should be walking the 
rounds to-night, odds fish ! but I'll be happy if you 
will drop in to supper.' 

A dismal creaking was the only reply. The wind 
blew loud and shrill, and as it whistled round the 
gallows, and among the bones, sounded as if there 
were laughing and gibbering in the air. Old Pluto 
chuckled to himself, and now pulled for home. The 
storm burst over the voyagers, while they were yet 
far from shore. The rain fell in torrents, the thunder 
crashed and pealed, and the lightning kept up an in- 
cessant blaze. It was stark midnight, before they 
landed at Communipaw. 

Dripping and shivering, Vanderscamp crawled 
homeward. He was completely sobered by the 
storm ; the water soaked from without, having di- 
luted and cooled the liquor within. Arrived at the 
Wild Goose, he knocked timidly and dubiously at 
the door, for he dreaded the reception he was to ex- 
perience from his wife. He had reason to do so. 
She met him at the threshold, in a precious ill humor. 

' Is this a time,' said she, ' to keep people out of 
their beds, and to bring home company, to turn the 
house upside down ? ' 

' Company ? ' said Vanderscamp, meekly ; ' I have 
brought no company with me, wife.' 

' No, indeed ! they have got here before you, but 
by your invitation ; and blessed-looking company 
they are, truly ! ' 

Vanderscamp's knees smote together. ' For the 
love of heaven, where are they, wife .' ' 

' Where .' — why, in the blue room, up-stairs, mak- 
ing themselves as much at home as if the house 
were their own.' 

Vanderscamp made a desperate effort, scrambled 
up to the room, and threw open the door. Sure 
enough, there at a table, on which burned a light as 
blue as brimstone, sat the three guests from Gibbet- 
Island, with halters round their necks, and bobbing 
their cups together, as if they were hob-or-nobbing, 
and trolling the old Dutch freebooter's glee, since 
translated into English : 

* For ttiree merry lads be we, 
And three merry lads be we : 
I on the land, and thou on the sand, 
And Ja:k on the gallows-tree.' 

Vanderscamp saw and heard no more. Starting 
back with horror, he missed his looting on the land- 
ing place, and fell from the top of the stairs to the 
bottom. He was taken up speechless, and, either 
from the fall or the fright, was buried in the yard of 
the little Dutch church at Bergen, on the following 
Sunday. 

From that day forward, the fate of the Wild Goose 
was sealeil. It was pronounced a haunted house, 
and avoided accordingly. No one inhabited it but 
Vanderscamp's shrew of a widow, and old Pluto, 
and they were considered but little better than its 
hobgoblin visitors. Pluto grew more and more 
haggard and morose, and looked more like an imp 
of darkness than a human being. He spoke to no 
one, but went about muttering to himself; or, as 
some hinted, talking with the devil, who, though un- 
seen, was ever at his elbow. Now and then he was 
seen pulling about the bay alone, in his skiff, in dark 
weather, or at the approach of night-fall ; nobody 
could tell why, unless on an errand to invite more 
guests from the gallows. Indeed it was affirmed 
that the Wild Goose still continued to be a house of 
entertainment for such guests, and that on stoniiy 
nights, the blue chamber was occasionally illumi- 
nated, and sounds of diabolical merriment were over- 
heard, mingling with the howling of the tempest. 



840 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Some treated these as idle stories, until on one such 
night, it was about the time of the equinox, there 
was a horrible uproar in the Wild Goose, that could 
not be mistaken. It was not so much the sound of 
revelry, however, as strife, with two or three piercing 
shrieks, that pervaded every part of the village. 
Nevertheless, no one thought of hastening to the 
spot. On the contrary, the honest burghers of Com- 
munipaw drew their night-caps over their ears, and 
buried their heads under the bed-clothes, at the 
thoughts of \'anderscamp and his gallows com- 
panions. 

The next morning, some of the bolder and more 
curious undertook to reconnoitre. All was quiet 
and lifeless at the Wild Goose. The door yawned 
wide open, and had evidently been open all night, 
for the storm had beaten into the house. Gathering 
more courage from the silence and apparent deser- 
tion, they gradually ventured over the threshold. 
The house had indeed the air of having been pos- 
sessed by devils. Every thing was topsy turvy ; 
trunks had been broken open, and chests of drawers 
and corner cup-boards turned inside out, as in a 
time of general sack and pillage ; but the most woful 
sight was the widow of Yan Yost Vanderscamp, ex- 
tended a corpse on the floor of the blue-chamber, 
with the marks of a deadly gripe on the wind-pipe. 

All now was conjecture and dismay at Communi- 
paw ; and the disappearance of old Pluto, who was 
no where to be found, gave rise to all kinds of wild 
surmises. Some suggested that the negro had be- 
trayed the house to some of Vanderscamp's bucanier- 
ing associates, and that they had decamped together 
with the booty ; others surmised that the negro was 
nothing more nor less than a devil incarnate, who 
had now accomplished his ends, and made off with 
his dues. 

Events, however, vindicated the negro from this 
last imputation. His skiff was picked up, drifting 
about the bay, bottom upward, as if wrecked in a 
tempest; and his body was found, shortly afterward, 
by some Communipaw fishermen, stranded among 
the rocks of Gibbet-Island, near the foot of the 
pirates' gallows. The fishermen shook their heads, 
and observed that old Pluto liad ventured once too 
often to invite Guests from Gibbet-Island. 



THE BERMUDAS. 

A SH.A.KSPERIAN RESEARCH : BY THE AUTHOR 
OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.. 



' Who did not think, till within these foure yeart3, but that these 
islands had been rather a habitation for Divells, than fit for men 
to dwell in ? Who did not hate the name, when hee was on land, 
and shun the place when he was on the seas? But behold the 
misprision and conceits of the world ! For true and large experi- 
ence hath now told us, it is one of the sweetest paradises that be 
upon earth.* *A Plaine Descript. of the B,\rmudas :' 1613. 

In the course of a voyage home from England, 
our ship had been struggling, for two or three 
weeks, with i)erverse head-winds, and a stormy sea. 
It was in the month of May, yet the weather had at 
times a wintry sharpness, and it was apprehended 
that we were in the neighborhood of floating islands 
of ice, which at that season of the year drift out of 
the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and sometimes occa- 
sion the wreck of noble ships. 

Wearied out by the continued opposition of the 
elements, our captain at length bore away to the 
south, in hopes of catching the expiring breath of 
the trade-winds, and making what is called the 



southern passage. A few days wrought, as it were, 
a magical ' sea change ' in every thing around us. 
We seemed to emerge into a different world. The 
late dark and angry sea, lashed up into roaring and 
swashing surges, became calm and sunny ; the rude 
winds died away ; and gradually a light breeze 
sprang up directly aft, filling out every sail, and 
wafting us smoothly along on an even keel. The 
air softened into a bland and delightful temperature. 
Dolphins began to play about us ; the nautilus came 
floating by, like a fairy ship, with its mimic sail and 
rainbow tints; and ilying-fish, from time to time, 
made their short excursive flights, and occasionally 
fell upon the deck. The cloaks and overcoats in 
which we had hitherto wrapped ourselves, and 
moped about the vessel, were thrown aside ; for a sufti- 
mer warmth had succeeded to the late wintry chills. 
Sails were stretched as awnings over the quarter- 
deck, to protect us from the mid-day sun. Under 
these we lounged away the day, in luxurious indo- 
lence, musing, with half-shut eyes, upon the quiet 
ocean. The night w^as scarcely less beautiful than 
the day. The rising moon sent a quivering column 
of silver along tlie undulating surface of the deep, 
and, gradually climbing the heaven, lit up our tow- 
ering top-sails and swelling main-sails, and spread a 
pale, mysterious light around. As our ship made 
her whispering way through this dreamy world of 
waters, every boisterous sound on board was charm- 
ed to silence ; and the low whistle, or drowsy song 
of a sailor from the forecastle, or the tinkling of a 
guitar, and the soft warbling of a female voice from . 
the quarter-deck, seemed to derive a witching 
melody from the scene and hour. I was reminded 
of Oberon's exquisite description of music and 
moonlight on the ocean : 

' Thou rememberest 

Since once I sat upon a promontory, 

And heard a mermaid on a dolphin s back. 

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 

That the rude sea crew civil at her song ? 

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 

To hear the sea-maid's music' 

Indeed, I was in the very mood to conjure up all 
the imaginary beings with which poetry has peopled 
old ocean, and almost ready to fancy I heard the 
distant song of the mermaid, or the mellow shell of 
the triton, and to picture to myself Neptune and 
Amphitrite with all their pageant sweeping along the 
dim horizon. 

A day or two of such fanciful voyaging brought 
us in sight of the Bermudas, which first looked like 
mere summer clouds, peering above the quiet ocean. 
All day we glided along in sight of them, with just 
wind enough to fill our sails ; and never did land 
appear more lovely. They were clad in emerald 
verdure, beneath the serenest of skies : not an angry 
wave broke upon their quiet shores, and small fish- 
ing craft, riding on the crystal waves, seemed as if 
hung in air. It was such a scene that Fletcher 
pictured to himself, when he extolled the halcyon 
lot of the fisherman : 

Ah ! would thou knewest how much it better were 
To bide among the simple fisher-swains : 

No shrieking owl. no night-crow lodgeth here, 
Nor is our simple pleasure mixed with pains. 

Our sports begin with the beginning year; 

In callt.s, to pull the leaping tish to land. 

In roughs, to sing and dance along the yellow sand. 

In contemplating these beautiful islands, and the 
peaceful sea around them, I could hardly realize that 
these were the ' still vexed Bermoothes ' of Shak- 
speare, once the dread of mariners, and infamous in 
the narratives of the early discoverers, for the dan- 
gers and disasters which beset them. Such, hov.'- 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



841 



ever, wns the case ; and the islands derived additional 
interest in my eyes, from fancying that I could trace 
in their early history, and in the superstitious notions 
connected with them, some of the elements of Shak- 
speare's wild and beautiful drama of the Tempest. 
1 shall take the liberty of citing a few historical facts, 
in support of this idea, which may claim some addi- 
tional attention from the American reader, as being 
connected with the first settlement of Virginia. 

At the time when Shakspeare was in the fulness 
of his talent, and seizing upon every thing that could 
furnish aliment to his imagmation, the colonization 
of Virginia was a favorite object of enterprise among 
people of condition in England, and several of the 
courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth were per- 
sonally engaged in it. In the year 1609 a noble 
armament of nine ships and five hundred men sailed 
for the relief of the colony. It was commanded by 
Sir George Somers, as admiral, a gallant and gener- 
ous gentleman, above sixty years of age, and possess- 
ed of an ample fortune, yet still bent upon hardy 
enterprise, and ambitious of signalizing himself in 
the service of his countr)". 

On board of his flag-ship, the Sea-Vulture, sailed 
also Sir Thomas Gates, lieutenant-general of the 
colony. The voyage was long and boisterous. On 
the twenty-fifth of July, the admiral's ship was sepa- 
rated from the rest, in a hurricane. For several 
days she was driven about at the inercy of the ele- 
ments, and so strained and racked, that her seams 
yawned open, and her hold was half filled with water. 
The storm subsided, but left her a mere foundering 
wreck. The crew stood in the hold to their waists 
in water, vainly endeavoring to bail her with kettles, 
buckets, and otiier vessels. The leaks rapidly gained 
on them, while their strength was as rapidly de- 
clining. They lost all hope of keeping the ship afloat, 
until they should reach the American coast ; and 
wearied with fruitless toil, determined, in their des- 
pair, to give up all farther attempt, shut down the 
hatches, and abandon themselves to Providence. 
Some, who had spirituous liquors, or ' comfortable 
waters,' as the old record quaintly terms thein. 
brought them forth, and shared them with their 
comrades, and they all drank a sad farewell to one 
another, as men who were soon to part company in 
this world. 

In this moment of extremity, the worthy admiral, 
who kept sleepless watch from the high stern of the 
vessel, gave the thrilling cry of • land ! ' All rushed 
on deck, in a frenzy of joy, and nothing now was to 
be seen or heard on board, but the transports of 
men who felt as if rescued from the grave. It is 
true the land in sight would not, in ordinary cir- 
cumstances, have inspired much sell-gratulation. It 
could be nothing else but the group of islands called 
after their discoverer, one Juan Bermudas, a Span- 
iard, but stigmatized among the mariners of those 
days as 'the islands of devils I ' ' For the islands of 
the Bermudas,' says the old narrative of this voyage, 
' as eveiy man knoweth that hath heard or read of 
them, were never inhabited by any christian or 
heathen people, but were ever esteemed and reputed 
a most prodigious and inchanted place, affording 
nothing but gusts, stormcs, and foul weather, which 
made every navigator and mariner to avoide them, as 
Scylla and Charybdis, or as they would shun the 
Divell himself* 

Sir George Somers and his tempost-tossed com- 
rades, however, hailed them with rapture, as if they 
had been a terrestrial paradise. Every sail was spread, 
and every exertion made to urge the foundering ship 
to land. Before long, she struck upon a rock. Foi 



* 'A Plaine Description of the Barmudas.* 



tunately, the late stormy winds had subsided, and 
there was no surf. A swelling wave lifted her from 
off the rock, and bore her to another ; and thus she 
was borne on from rock to rock, until she remained 
wedged between two, as firmly as if set upon the 
stocks. The boats were immediately lowered, and, 
though the shore was above a mile distant, the whole 
crew were landed in safety. 

Every one had now his task assigned him. Some 
made all haste to unload the ship, before she should 
go to pieces ; some constructed wigwams of palmetto 
leaves, and others ranged the island in quest of wood 
and water. To their surprise and joy, they found it 
far different from the desolate and frightful place 
they had been taught, by seamen's stories, to expect. 
It was well-wooded and fertile; there were birds of 
various kinds, and herds of swine roaming about, 
the progeny of a number that had swam ashore, in 
former years, from a Spanish wreck. The island 
abounded with turtle, and great quantities of their 
eggs were to be found among the rocks. The bays 
and inlets were full of fish ; so tame, that if any one 
stepped into the water, they would throng around 
him. Sir George Somers, in a little while, caught 
enough with hook and line to furnish a meal to his 
whole ship's company. Some of them were so large, 
that two were as much as a man could carry. Craw- 
fish, also, w-ere taken in abundance. The air was 
soft and salubrious, and the sky beautifully serene. 
Waller, in hrs ' Summer Islands,' has given us a 
faithful picture of the climate: 

' For the Ivind spring, (which but s.ilutes us here,) 
Inhabits these, and courts them all the year: 
Ripe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live ; 
At once they promise, and at once they give ; 
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime. 
None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
Heaven sure has Icept this spot of earth nncursed, 
To shew how all things were created lirst.' 

We may imagine the feelings of the shipwrecked 
mariners, on finding themselves cast by stormy seas 
upon so happy a coast ; where abundance was to 
be had without labor ; where what in other climes 
constituted the costly luxuries of the rich, were 
within every man's reach ; and where life promised 
to be a mere holiday. Many of the common sailors, 
especially, declared they desired no better lot than 
to pass the rest of their lives on this favored island. 

The commanders, however, were not so ready to 
console themselves with inere physical comforts, for 
the severance from the enjoyment of cultivated life, 
and all the objects of honorable ambition. Despair- 
ing of the arrival of any chance ship on these shun- 
ned and dreaded islands, they fitted out the long- 
boat, making a deck of the ship's hatches, and 
having manned her with eight picked men, despatch- 
ed her, under the command of an able and hardy 
mariner, named Raven, to proceed to Virginia, and 
procure shipping to be sent to their relief. 

While waiting in anxious idleness for the arrival 
of the looked-for aid, dissensions arose between Sir 
George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, originating, 
very probably, in jealousy of the lead which the 
nautical experience and professional station of the 
admiral gave him in the present emergency. Each 
commander, of course, had his adherents : these 
dissensions ripened into a complete schism ; and 
this handful of shipwrecked men, thus thrown to- 
gether, on an uninhabited island, separated into two 
parties, and lived asunder in bitter feud, as men 
rendered fickle by prosperity, instead of being brought 
into brotherhood by a common calamity. 

Weeks and months elapsed, without bringing the 
looked-for aid from Virginia, though that colony was 
within but a few days' sail. Fears were now enter- 
tained that the long-boat had been either swallowed 



842 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



up in the sea, or wrecked on some savage coast ; 
one or other of which most probably was the case, 
as nothing was ever heard of Raven and his com- 
rades. 

Kach party now set to work to build a vessel for 
itself out of the Cfd.ir with which the island abound- 
ed. The wreck of the Sea-Vulture furnished rig- 
ging, and various other articles ; but they had no 
iron for bolts, and other fastenings ; and for want 
of pitch and tar, they payed the seams of their ves- 
sels with lime and turtle's oil, which soon dried, and 
became as hard as stone. 

On the tenth of May, 1610, they set sail, having 
been about nine months on the island. They reached 
Virginia without farther accident, but found the 
colony in great distress for provisions. The account 
they gave of the abundance that reigned in the Ber- 
mudas, and especially of the herds of swine that 
roamed the island, determined Lord Delaware, the 
governor of Virginia, to send thither for supplies. 
Sir George Somers, with his wonted promptness 
and generosity, offered to undertake what was still 
considered a dangerous voyage. Accordingly, on 
the nineteenth of June, he set sail, in his own cedar 
vessel of thirty tons, accompanied by another small 
vessel, commanded by Captain Argall. 

The gallant Somers was doomed again to be tem- 
pest-tossed. His companion vessel was soon driven 
back to port, but he kept the sea ; and, as usual, re- 
mained at his post on deck, in all weathers. His 
voyage was long and boisterous, and the fatigues 
and exposures which he underwent, were too much 
for a frame impaired by age, and by previous hard- 
ships. He arrived at Bermudas completely e.xhaust- 
ed and broken down. 

His nephew. Captain Mathew Somers, attended 
him in his illness with affectionate assiduity. Find- 
ing his end approaching, the veteran called his men 
together, and exhorted them to be true to the inter- 
ests of Virginia ; to procure provisions with all pos- 
sible despatch, and hasten back to the relief of the 
colony. 

With this dying charge, he gave up the ghost, 
leaving his nephew and crew overwhelmed with 
grief and consternation. Their first thought was to 
pay honor to his remains. Opening the body, they 
took out the heart and entrails, and buried them, 
erecting a cross over the grave. They then em- 
balmed the body, and set sail with it for England ; 
thus, while paying einpty honors to their deceased 
commander, neglectmg his earnest wish and dying 
injunction, that they should return wath relief to 
Virginia. 

The little bark arrived safely at Whitechurch, in 
Dorsetshire, with its melancholy freight. The body 
of the worthy Somers was interred with the military 
honors due to a brave soldier, and many vollies were 
fired over his grave. The Bermudas have since re- 
ceived the name of the Somer Islands, as a tribute 
to his memory. 

The accounts given by Captain Mathew Somers 
and his crew of the delightful climate, and the great 
beauty, fertility, and abundance of these islands, ex- 
cited the zeal of enthusiasts, and the cupidity of 
speculators, and a plan was set on foot to colonize 
them. The Virginia company sold their right to 
the islands to one hundred and twenty of their own 
members, who erected themselves into a distinct 
corporation, under the name of the ' Somer Island 
Society;' and Mr. Richard More was sent out, in 
161 2, as governor, with sixty men, to found a colony : 
and this leads me to the second branch of this re- 
search. 



THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA. 
AND THEIR TREASURE OF AMBERGRIS. 



At the time that Sir George Somers was prepar- 
ing to launch his cedar-built bark, and sail for Vir- 
ginia, there were three culprits among his men, who 
had been guilty of capital offences. One of them 
was shot ; the others, named Christopher Carter and 
Edward Waters, escaped. Waters, indeed, made a 
very narrow escape, for he had actually been tied to 
a tree to be executed, but cut the rope with a knife, 
which he had concealed about his person, and tied 
to the woods, where he was joined by Carter. These 
two worthies kept themselves concealed in the secret 
parts of the island, until the departure of the two 
vessels. When Sir George Somers revisited the 
island, in quest of supplies for the Virginia colony, 
these culprits hovered about the landing-place, and 
succeeded in persuading another seaman, named 
Edward Chard, to join them, giving him the most 
seductive pictures of the ease and abundance in 
which they revelled. 

When the bark that bore Sir George's body to 
England had faded from the wateiy horizon, these 
three vagabonds walked forth in their majesty and 
might, the lords and sole inhabitants of these islands. 
For a time their little commonwealth went on pros- 
perously and happily. They built a house, sowed 
corn, and the seeds of various fruits ; and having 
plenty of hogs, wild fowl, and fish of all kinds, with 
turtle in abundance, carried on their tripartite sov- 
ereignty with great harmony and much feasting. 
All kingdoms, however, are doomed to revolution, 
convulsion, or decay ; and so it fared with the empire 
of the three kings of Bermuda, albeit they were 
monarchs without subjects. In an evil hour, in their 
search after turtle, among the fissures of the rocks, 
they came upon a great treasure of ambergris, which 
had been cast on shore by the ocean. Beside a 
number of pieces of smaller dimensions, there was 
one great mass, the largest that had ever been 
known, weighing eighty pounds, and which of itself, 
according to the market value of ambergris in those 
days, was worth about nine or ten thousand pounds ! 

From that moment, the happiness and harmony ot 
the three kings of Bermuda were gone for ever. 
While poor devils, with nothing to share but the 
common blessings of the island, which administered 
to present enjoyment, but had nothing of converti- 
ble value, they were loving and united : but here 
was actual wealth, which would make them rich 
men, whenever they could transport it to a market. 

Adieu the delights of the island ! They now be- 
came flat and insipid. Each pictured to himself the 
consequence he inight now aspire to, in civilized life, 
could he once get there with this mass of ambergris. 
No longer a poor Jack Tar, frolicking in the low 
taverns of Wapping, he might roll through London 
in his coach, and perchance arrive, like Whittington, 
at the dignity of Lord Mayor. 

With riches came envy and covetousness. Each 
was now for assuming the supreme power, and get- 
ting the monopoly of the ambergris. A civil war at 
length broke out : Chard and Waters defied each 
other to mortal combat, and the kingdom of the 
Bermudas was on the point of being deluged with 
royal blood. Fortunately, Carter took no part in 
the bloody feud. Ambition might have made him 
view it with secret exultation ; for if either or both 
of his brother potentates w-ere slain in the conflict, 
he would be a gainer in purse and ambergris. But 
he dreaded to be left alone in this uninhabited island, 
and to find himself the monarch of a solitude : so he 
secretly purloined and hid the weapons of the bel- 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



843 



ligerent rivals, who, havinjj no means of carrying 
on the war, gradually cooled down into a sullen 
armistice. 

The arrival of Governor More, with an overpower- 
ing force of sixty men, put an end to the empire. 
He took possession of the kingdom, in the name of 
the Somer Island Company, and forthwith proceeded 
to make a settlement. The three kings tacitly relin- 
quished their sway, but stood up stoutly for their 
treasure. It was determined, however, that they 
had been fitted out at the expense, and employed in 
the service, of the Virginia Company; that they 
had found the ambergris while in the service of that 
company, and on that company's land ; that the 
ambergris, therefore, belonged to that company, or 
rather to the Somer Island Company, in consequence 
of their recent purchase of the island, and all their 
appurtenances. Having thus legally established 
their right, and being moreover able to back it by 
might, the company laid the lion's paw upon the 
spoil ; and nothing more remains on historic record 
of the Three Kings of Bermuda, and their treasure 
of ambergris. 

The reader will now determine whether I am more 
extravagant than most of the commentators on 
Shakspeare, in my surmise that the story of Sir 
George Somers' shipwreck, and the subsequent oc- 
currences that took place on the uninhabited island, 
may have furnished the bard with some of the ele- 
ments of his drama of the Tempest. The tidings 
of the shipwreck, and of the incidents connected with 
it, reached England not long before the production 
of this drama, and made a great sensation there. 
A narrative of the whole matter, from which most 
of the foregoing particulars are extracted, was pub- 
lished at the time in London, in a pamphlet form, 
and could not tail to be eagerly perused by Shak- 
speare, and to make a vivid impression on his fancy. 
His expression, in the Tempest, of ' the still vext 
Bermoothes,' accords exactly wiih the storm-beaten 
character of those islands. The enchantments, too, 
with which he has clothed the island of Prospero, 
may they not be traced to the wild and superstitious 
notions entertained about the Bermudas ? I have 
already cited two passages from a pamphlet pub- 
lished at the time, showing that they were esteemed 
"a most frodigious and inchanh-d place,' and the 
'habitation of divells;' and another pamphlet, pub- 
lished shortly afterward, observes : ' And whereas it 
is reported that this land of the Barmudas, with the 
islands about, (which are many, at least a hundred,) 
are inchanted and kept with evil and wicked spirits, 
it is a most idle and false report.' * 

The description, too, given in the same pamphlets, 
of the real beauty and fertility of the Bermudas, and 
of their serene and happy climate, so opposite to the 
dangerous and inhospitable character with w'hich 
they had been stigmatized, accords with the eulogium 
of Sebastian on the island of Prospero : 

' Though this island seem to be desert, uninhabitable, and almost 
inaccessible, it must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate tem- 
perance. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Here is 
every thing advantageous to life. How lush and lusty the grass 
looks ! how green ! ' 

I think too, in the exulting consciousness of ease, 
security, and abundance felt by the late tempest- 
tossed mariners, while revelling in the plenteousness 
of the island, and their inclination to remain there, 
released from the labors, the cares, and the artificial 
restraints of civilized life, I can see something of the 
golden commonwealth of honest Gonzalo : 

' Had I plantation of this Isle, my lord. 
And were the king of it, what would I do ? 



I' the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Kxecute all things: for no kind of traffic 
Would 1 admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
Hourn. bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
No occupation ; all men idle, all. 

All things In common. n.iture should produce, 
\Vithout sweat or endeavor : Treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
Would 1 not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people.' 

But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds 
who remained in possession of the island of Ber- 
muda, on the departure of their comrades, and in 
their squabbles about supremacy, on the finding of 
their treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trinculo, and 
their worthy companion Caliban : 

'Trinculo, the king and all our company being drowned, we will 
Inherit here.' 

' Monster, I will kill this man ; his daughter and I will be 
king and queen, (save our graces !) and Trinculo and thyself shall 
be viceroys.* 

I do not mean to hold up the incidents and char- 
acters in the narrative and in the play as parallel, 
or as being strikingly similar : neither would 1 in- 
sinuate that the narrative suggested the play ; I 
would only suppose that Shakspeare, being occupied 
about that time on the drama of the Tempest, the 
main story of which, I believe, is of Italian origin, 
had many of the fanciful ideas of it suggested to his 
mind by the shipwreck of Sir George Somers on the 
' still vext Bermoothes,' and by the popular super- 
stitions connected with these islands, and suddenly 
put in circulation by that event. 



PELAYO AND THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. 

BY THE AUTHOR O-F THE SKETCH-BOOK. 



* ' Newes from the llarmudas : ' i6t3. 



It is the common lamentation of Spanish historiog- 
raphers, that, for an obscure and melancholy space 
of time immediately succeeding the conquest of 
their country by the Moslems, its history is a mere 
wilderness of dubious facts, groundless fables, and 
rash exaggerations. Learned men, in cells and 
cloisters, have worn out their lives in vainly endeav- 
oring to connect incongruous events, and to account 
for startling improbabilities, recorded of this period. 
The worthy Jesuit, Padre Abarca, declares that, for 
more than forty years during which he had been 
employed in theological controversies, he had never 
found ' any so obscure and inexplicable as those 
which rise out of this portion of Spanish history, 
and that the only fruit of an indefatigable, prolix, 
and even prodigious study of the subject, was a 
melancholy and mortifying state of indecision,* 

During this apocryphal period, flourished PelayO, 
the deliverer of Spain, whose name, like that of 
William Wallace, will ever be linked witli the glory 
of his country, but linked, in like manner, by a bond 
in which fact and fiction are inextricably intcrw^oven. 

The quaint old chronicle of the Moor Rasis, 
which, though wild and fanciful in the extreme, is 
frequently drawn upon for early facts by Spanish 
historians, professes to give the birth, parentage, and 
whole course of fortune of Pelayo, without the least 
doubt or hesitation. It makes him a son of 
the Duke of Cantabria, and descended, both by 
father and mother's side, from the Gothic kings of 



♦Padre Pedro Ad.\kc^. Anales de Aragon, Ami Regno, § i. 



8'U 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Spain. I shall pass over the romantic story of his 
childhood, and shall content myself with a scene of 
his youth, which was spent in a castle among- the 
Pyrenees, under the eye of his widowed and noble- 
minded mother, who. caused him to he instructed in 
every thing befitting a cavalier of gentle birth. 
While the sons of the nobility were revelling amid 
the pleasures of a licentious court, and sunk in that 
vicious and effeminate indulgence which led to the 
perdition of unhappy Spain, the youthful Pelayo, in 
nis rugged mountain school, was steeled to all kinds 
of hardy exercise. A great part of his time was 
spent in himting the bears, the wild boars, and the 
wolves, with which the Pyrenees abounded ; and so 
purely and chastely was he brought up, by his good 
lady mother, that, if the ancient chronicle from which 
I draw my facts may be relied on, he had attained 
his one-and-twentieth year, without having once 
sighed for woman ! 

Nor were his hardy contests confined to the wild 
beasts of the forest. Occasionally he had to con- 
tend with adversaries of a more formidable cliaracter. 
The skirts and defiles of these border mountains 
were often infested by marauders from the Gallic 
plains of Gascony. The Gascons, says an old 
chronicler, were a people who used smooth words 
when expedient, but force when they had power, and 
were ready to lay their hands on every thing they 
met. Though poor, they were proud ; for there was 
not one who did not pride himself on being a hijo- 
dalgo, or the son of somebody. 

At the hand of a band of these needy hijodalgos 
of Gascony, was one Arnaud, a broken-down cava- 
lier. He and four of his followers were well arined 
and mounted ; the rest were a set of scamper-grounds 
on foot, furnished with darts and javelins. They 
were the terror of the border ; here to-day and gone 
to-morrow ; sometimes in one pass, sometimes in 
another. They would make sudden inroads into 
Spain, scour the roads, plunder the country, and 
were over the mountains and far away before a force 
could be collected to pursue them. 

Now it happened one day, that a wealthy burgher 
of Bordeaux, who was a merchant, trading with Bis- 
cay, set out on a journey for that province. As he 
intended to sojourn there for a season, he took with 
him his wife, who was a goodly dame, and his 
daughter, a gentle damsel, of marriageable age, and 
exceeding fair to look upon. He was attended by 
a trusty clerk from his comptoir, and a man servant ; 
while another servant led a hackney, laden with bags 
of money, with which he intended to purchase mer- 
chandise. 

When the Gascons heard of this wealthy mer- 
chant and his convoy passing through the mountains, 
they thanked their stars, for they considered all 
peaceful men of traffic as lawful spoil, sent by provi- 
dence for the benefit of hidalgos like themselves, 
of valor and gentle blood, who lived by the sword. 
Placing themselves in ambush, in a lonely defile, by 
which the travellers had to pass, they silently awaited 
their coming. In a little while they beheld them ap- 
proaching. The merchant was a fair, portly man, 
in a buff surcoat and velvet cap. His looks bespoke 
the good cheer of his native city, and he was mount- 
ed on a stately, well-fed steed, while his wife and 
daughter paced gently on palfreys by his side. 

The travellers had advanced some distance in the 
defile, when the Bandoleros rushed forth and assail- 
ed them. The merchant, though but little used to 
the exercise of arms, and unwieldy in his form, yet 
made valiant defence, having his wife and daughter 
and money-bags at hazard. He was wounded in two 
places, and overpowered ; one of his servants was 
slain, the other took to flight. 



The freebooters then began to ransack for spoil, 
but were disappointed at not finding the wealth they 
had expected. Putting their swords to the breast of 
the trembling merchant, they demanded where he 
had concealed his treasure, and learned from him of 
the hackney that was following, laden with money. 
Overjoyed at this intelligence, they bound their cap- 
tives to trees, and awaited the arrival of the golden 
spoil. 

On this same day, Pelayo was out with his hunts- 
men among the mountains, and had taken his stand 
on a rock, at a narrow pass, to await the sallying 
forth of a wild boar. Close by him was a page, con- 
ducting a horse, and at the saddle-bow hung his 
armor, for he was always prepared for fight among 
these border mountains. While thus posted, the 
servant of the merchant came flying from the rob- 
bers. On beholding Pelayo, he fell on his knees, 
and implored his life, for he supposed him to be one 
of the band. It was some time before he could be 
relieved from his terror, and made to tell his story. 
When Pelayo heard of the robbers, he concluded 
they were the crew of Gascon hidalgos, upon the 
scamper. Taking his armor from the page, he put 
on his helmet, slung his buckler round his neck, 
took lance in hand, and mounting his steed, com- 
pelled the trembling servant to guide him to the 
scene of action. At the same time he ordered the 
page to seek his huntsmen, and summon them to his 
assistance. 

When the robbers saw Pelayo advancing through 
the forest, with a single attendant on foot, and be- 
held his rich armor sparkling in the sun, they thought 
a new prize had fallen into their hands, and Arnaud 
and two of his companions, mounting their horses, 
advanced to meet him. As they approached, Pelayo 
stationed himself in a narrow pass between two rocks, 
where he could only be assailed in front, and bracing 
his buckler, and lowering his lance, awaited their 
coming. 

' Who and what are ye,' cried he, ' and what seek 
ye in this land .' ' 

' We are huntsmen,' replied Arnaud, 'and lo ! our 
game runs into our toils ! ' 

'By my faith,' replied Pelayo, 'thou wilt find the 
game more readily roused than taken : have at thee 
tor a villain ! ' 

So saying, he put spurs to his horse, and ran full 
speed upon him. The Gascon, not expecting so 
sudden an attack from a single horseman, was taken 
by surprise. He hastily couched his lance, but it 
merely glanced on the sliield of Pelayo, who sent his 
own through the middle of his breast, and threw 
him out of his saddle to the earth. One of the other 
robbers made at Pelayo, and wounded him slightly 
in the side, but received a blow from the sword of 
the latter, which cleft his skull-cap, and sank into 
his brain. His companion, seeing him fall, put spurs 
to his steed, and galloped off through the forest. 

Beholding several other robbers on foot coming 
up, Pelayo returned to his station between the rocks, 
where he was assailed by them all at once. He re- 
ceived two of their darts on his buckler, a javelin 
razed his cuirass, and glancing down, wounded his 
horse. Pelayo then rushed forth, and struck one of 
the robbers dead : the others, beholding several 
huntsmen advancing, took to flight, but were pur- 
sued, and several of them taken. 

The good merchant of Bordeaux and his family 
beheld this scene with trembling and amazement, 
for never had they looked upon such teats of arms. 
They considered Don Pelayo as a leader of some 
rival band of robbers ; and when the bonds were 
loosed by which they were tied to the trees, they fell 
at his feet and implored mercy. The females weic 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



845 



soonest undeceived, especially the daughter ; for the 
damsel was struck with the noble countenance and 
gentle demeanor of Pclayo, and said to herself: 
' Surely nothing evil can dwell in so goodly and gra- 
cious a form.' 

Pelayo now sounded his horn, which echoed from 
rock to rock, and was answ^ered by shouts and horns 
from various parts of the mountains. The mer- 
chant's heart misgave him at these signals, and 
especially when he beheld more than forty men 
gathering from glen and thicket. They were clad 
in hunters' dresses, and armed with boar-spears, 
darts, and hunting-swords, and many of them led 
hounds in long leashes. All this was a new and 
wild scene to the astonished merchant ; nor were 
his fears abated, when he saw his servant approach- 
ing with the hackney, laden with money-bags ; ' for 
of a certainty,' said he to himself, ' this will be too 
tempting a spoil for these wild hunters of the mount- 
ains.' 

Pelayo, however, took no more notice of the gold 
than if it had been so much dross ; at which the 
honest burgher marvelled exceedingly. He ordered 
that the wounds of the merchant should be dressed, 
and his own examined. On taking off his cuirass, 
his wound was found to be but slight; but his men 
were so exasperated at seeing his blood, that they 
would have put the captive robbers to instant death, 
had he not forbidden them to do them any harm. 

The huntsmen now made a great tire at the loot 
of a tree, and bringing a boar which they had killed, 
cut off portions and roasted them, or broiled them 
on the coals. Then drawing forth loaves of bread 
from their wallets, they devoured their food half raw, 
with the hungry relish of huntsmen and mountain- 
eers. The merchant, his wife, and daughter, looked 
at all this, and wondered, for they had never beheld 
so savage a repast. 

Pelayo then inquired of them if they did not desire 
to eat ; they were too much in awe of him to decline, 
though they felt a loathing at the thought of partak- 
ing of this hunter's fare ; but he ordered a linen 
cloth to be spread under the shade of a great oak, 
on the grassy margin of a clear running stream ; 
and to their astonishment, they were served, not 
with the flesh of the boar, but with dainty cheer, 
such as the merchant had scarcely hoped to find out 
of the walls of his native city of Bordeaux. 

The good burgher was of a community renowned 
for gastronomic prowess : his fears having subsided, 
his appetite was now awakened, and he addressed 
himself manfully to the viands that were set before 
him. His daughter, however, could not eat : her 
eyes were ever and anon stealing to gaze on Pelayo, 
whom she regarded with gratitude for his protection, 
and admiration for his valor ; and now that he had 
laid aside his helnv-t. and she beheld his lofty coun- 
tenance, glowing with manly beauty, she thought 
him something more than mortal. The he.art of the 
gentle donzella, says the ancient chronicler, was 
kind and yielding; and had Pclayo thought tit to 
ask the greatest boon that love and beauty could 
bestow — doubtless meaning her fair hand — she could 
not have had the cruelty to say him nay. Pelayo, 
however, had no such thoughts : the love of woman 
had never yet entered his heart ; and though he re- 
garded the damsel as the fairest maiden he had ever 
beheld, her beauty caused no perturbation in his 
breast. 

When the repast was over, Pelayo offered to con- 
duct the merchant and his family through the defiles 
of the mountains, lest they should be molested by 
any of the scattered band of robbers. The bodies 
of the slain marauders were 'juried, and the corpse 
of the servant was laid upon one of the horses cap- 



tured in the battle. Having formed their cavalcade, 
they pursued their way slowly up one of the steep 
and winding passes of the Pyrenees. 

Toward sunset, they arrived at the dwelling of a 
holy hermit. It was 'hewn out. of the livmg rock ; 
there was a cross over the door, and before it was a 
great spreading oak, with a sweet spring of water at 
its foot. The body of the faithful servant who had 
fallen in the defence of his lord, was buried close by 
the wall of this sacred retreat, and the hermit prom- 
ised to perform masses for the repose of his soul. 
Then Pelayo obtained from the holy father consent 
that the merchant's wife and daughter should pass 
the night within his cell ; and the hermit made beds 
of moss for them, and gave them his benediction ; 
but the damsel found little rest, so much were her 
thoughts occupied by the youthful champion who 
had rescued her from death or dishonor. 

Pelayo, however, was visited by no such wander- 
ing of the mind ; but, wrapping himself in his mantle, 
slept soundly by the fountain under the tree. At 
midnight, when every thing was buried in deep re- 
pose, he was awakened from his sleep and beheld 
the hermit before him, with the beams of the moon 
shining upon his silver hair and beard. 

' This is no time,' said the latter, ' to be sleepmg ; 
arise and listen to my words, and hear of the great 
work for which thou art chosen ! ' 

Then Pelayo arose and seated himself on a rock, 
and the hermit continued his discourse. 

• Behold,' said he, ' the ruin of Spain is at hand ! 
It will be delivered into the hands of strangers, and 
will become a prey to the spoiler. Its children wdl 
be slain or carried into captivity ; or such as may 
escape these evils, will harbor with the beasts ol the 
forest or the eagles of the mountain. The thorn and 
bramble will spring up where now are seen the corn- 
field, the vine, and the olive; and hungry wolves 
will roam in place of peaceful flocks and herds. But 
thou, my son ! tarry not thou to see these thmgs, for 
thou canst not prevent them. Depart on a pilgrmv 
age to the sepulchre of our blessed Lord m Pales- 
tine ; purify thvself by prayer ; enroll thyself in the 
order of chivafry, and prepare for the great work ot 
the redemption of thy country ; for to thee it will be 
given to raise it from the depth of its affliction.' 

Pelayo would have inquired farther into the evils 
thus foretold, but the hermit rebuked his curiosity. 

' Seek not to know more,' said he, ' than heaven 
is pleased to reveal. Clouds and darkness cover its 
designs, and prophecy is never permitted to lift up 
but in part the veil that rests upon the future.' 

The hermit ceased to speak, and Pelayo laid him- 
self down again to take repose, but sleep was a 
stranger to his eyes. 

Wiien the first rays of the rising sun shone upon 
the tops of the mountains, the travellers assembled 
round the fountain beneath the tree and made their 
morning's repast. Then, having received the bene- 
diction of the hermit, they departed in the freshness 
of the day, and descended along the hollow defiles 
leading into the interior of Spain. The good mer- 
chant was refreshed by sleep and by his morning's 
meal ; and when he beheld his wife and daughter 
thus secure by his side, and the hackney laden 
with his treasure close behind him, his heart was 
light in his bosom, and he carolled a chansom as he 
w^nt, and the woodlands echoed to his song. But 
Pelayo rode in silence, for he revolved in his mind 
the portentous words of the hermit ; and the daugh- 
ter of the merchant ever and anon stole looks at him 
full of tenderness and admiration, and deep sighs 
betrayed the agitation of her bosom. 

At length they came to the foot of the mountains, 
where the forests and the rocks terminated, and an 



84G 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



open and secure country lay before the travellers. 
Here tbey halted, for their roads were widely differ- 
ent. When they came to part, the merchant and 
his wife were loud in thanks and benedictions, and 
the good burgher would fain have given Pelayo the 
largest of his sacUs of gold ; but the young man put 
it aside with a smile. 'Silver and gold,' said he, 
' need I not, but if I have deserved aught at thy 
hands, give me thy prayers, for the prayers of a good 
man are above all price.' 

In the mean titne the daughter had spoken never 
a word. At length she raised her eyes, which were 
filled with tears, and looked timidly at Pelayo, and 
her bosom throbbed ; and after a violent struggle 
between strong affection and virgin modesty, her 
heart relieved itself by words. 

' Senor,' said she, ' I know that I am. unworthy of 
the notice of so noble a cavalier ; but suffer me to 
place this ring upon a finger of that hand which has 
so bravely rescued us from death ; and when you 
regard it, you may consider it as a memorial of your 
own valor, and not of one who is too humble to be 
remembered by you.' 

With these words, she drew a ring from her finger 
and put it upon the finger of Pelayo ; and having 
done this, she blushed and trembled at her own bold- 
ness, and stood as one abashed, with her eyes cast 
down upon the earth. 

Pelayo was moved at the words of the simple 
maiden, and at the touch of her fair hand, and at her 
beauty, as she stood thus trembling and in tears be- 
fore him ; but as yet he knew nothing of woman, and 
his heart was free from the snares of love. ' Amiga,' 
(friend,) said he, ' I accept thy present, and will wear 
it in remembrance of thy goodness ; ' so saying, he 
kissed her on the cheek. 

The damsel was cheered by these words, and 
hoped that she had awakened some tenderness in 
his bosom ; but it was no such thing, says the grave 
old chronicler, for his heart was devoted to higher 
and more sacred matters ; yet certain it is, that he 
always guarded well that ring. 

When they parted, Pelayo remained with his 
huntsmen on a cliff, watching that no evil befel them, 
until they were far beyond the skirts of the mount- 
ain ; and the damsel often turned to look at him, 
until she could no longer discern him, for the dis- 
tance and the tears that dimmed her eyes. 

And for that he had accepted her ring, says the 
ancient chronicler, she considered herself wedded to 
him in her heart, and would never marry ; nor could 
she be brought to look with eyes of affection upon 
any other man ; but for the true love which she bore 
Pelayo, she lived and died a virgin. And she com- 
posed a book which treated of love and chivalry, and 
the temptations of this mortal life ; and one part dis- 
coursed of celestial matters, and it was called ' The 
Contemplations of Love ; ' because at the time she 
wrote it, she thought of Pelayo, and of his having 
accepted her jewel and called her by the gentle ap- 
pellation of' Amiga.' And often thinking of him in 
tender sadness, and of her never having beheld him 
more, she would take the book and would read it 
as if in his stead ; and while she repeated the words 
of love which it contained, she would endeavor to 
fancy them uttered by Pelayo, and that he stood be- 
fore her. 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA, 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir : In the course of a tour which I made in 
Sicily, in the days of my juvenility, I passed some 



little time at the ancient city of Catania, at the foot 
of Mount ^tna. Here I became accjuainted with 

the Chevalier L , an old Knight of Malta. It 

was not many years after the time that Napoleon 
had dislodged the knights from their island, and he 
still wore the insignia of his order. He was not, 
however, one of those reliques of that once chivalrous 
body, who have been described as ' a few worn-out 
old men, creeping about certain parts of Europe, 
with the Maltese cross on their breasts ; ' on the 
contrary, though advanced in life, his form was still 
light and vigorous ; he had a pale, thin, intellectual 
visage, with a high forehead, and a bright, visionary 
eye. He seemed to take a fancy to me, as I certain- 
ly did to him, and we soon became intimate. I 
visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in the 
wing of an old palace, looking toward Mount ,-Etna. 
He was an antiquary, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. 
His rooms were decorated with mutilated statues, 
dug up from Grecian and Roman ruins ; old vases, 
lachrymals, and sepulchral lamps. He had astro- 
nomical and chemical instruments, and black-letter 
books, in various languages. I found that he had 
dipped a little in chimerical studies, and had a hank- 
ering after astrology and alchymy. He affected to 
believe in dreams and visions, and delighted in the 
fanciful Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade 
myself, however, that he really believed in all these : 
I rather think he loved to let his imagination carry 
him away into the boundless fairy land which they 
unfolded. 

In company with the chevalier, I took several ex- 
cursions on horseback about the environs of Catania, 
and the picturesque skirts of Mount ^tna. One of 
these led through a village, which had sprung up on 
the very tract of an ancient eruption, the houses be- 
ing built of lava. At one time we passed, for some 
distance, along a narrow lane, between two high 
dead convent walls. It was a cut-throat-looking 
place, in a country where assassinations are frequent; 
and just about midway through it, we observed 
blood upon the pavement and the walls, as if a mur- 
der had actually been committed there. 

The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he had 
extricated himself completely from this suspicious 
neighborhood. He then observed, that it reminded 
him of a similar blind alley in Malta, infamous on 
account of the many assassinations that had taken 
place there ; concerning one of which, he related a 
long and tragical story, that lasted until we reached 
Catania. It involved various circumstances of a 
wild and supernatural character, but which he as- 
sured me were handed down in tradition, and gen- 
erally credited by the old inhabitants of Malta. 

As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I was 
particularly struck with several parts of this, I made 
a minute of it, on my return to my lodgings. The 
memorandum was lost, with several others of my 
travelling papers, and the story had faded from my 
mind, when recently, in perusing a French memoir, 
I came suddenly upon it, dressed up, it is true, in a 
very different manner, but agreeing in the leading 
facts, and given upon the word of that famous ad- 
venturer, the Count Cagliostro. 

I have amused myself, during a snowy day in the 
countr)', by rendering it roughly into English, for 
the entertainment of a youthful circle round the 
Christmas fire. It was well received by my auditors, 
who, however, are rather easily pleased. One proof of 
its merits is that it sent some of the youngest of them 
quaking to their beds, and gave them veiy fearful 
dreams. Hoping that it may have the same effect 
upon your ghost-hunting readers, I offer it, Mr. 
Editor, for insertion in your Magazine. I would ob- 
serve, that wherever I have modified the French 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



847 



version of the story, it has been in conformity to 
some recollection of the narrative of my friend, the 
Knight of Malta. 

Your obt. servt., 

Geoffrey Cr.won. 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 

A VERITABLE GHOST STORY. 



* Keep my wits, heaven ! They say spirits appear 
linds. and the graves open !' 



To melancholy min 



-Fletcher. 



About the middle of the last century, while the 
Knights of Saint John of Jerusalem still maintained 
something of their ancient state and sway in the 
Island of Malta, a tragical event took place there, 
which is the groundwork of the following narrative. 

It may be as well to premise, that at the time we 
are treating of, the order of Saint John of Jerusalem, 
grown excessively wealthy, had degenerated from its 
originally devout and warlike character. Instead of 
being a hardy body of ' monk-knights,' sworn 
soldiers of the cross, fighting the Paynim in the Holy 
Land, or scouring the Mediterranean, and scourg- 
ing the Barbary coasts with their galleys, or feeding 
the poor, and attending upon the sick at their hos- 
pitals, they led a life of luxury and libertinism, and 
were to be found in the most voluptuous courts of 
Europe. The order, in fact, had become a mode of 
providing for the needy branches of the Catholic 
aristocracy of Europe. ' A commandery,' we are 
told, was a splendid provision for a younger brother ; 
and men of rank, however dissolute, provided they 
belonged to the highest aristocracy, became Knights 
of Malta, just as they did bishops, or colonels of regi- 
ments, or court chamberlains. After a brief resi- 
dence at Malta, the knights passed the rest of their 
time in their own countries, or only made a visit now 
and then to the island. While there, having but 
little military duty to perform, they beguiled their 
idleness by paying attentions to the fair. 

There was one circle of society, however, into 
which they could not obtain currency. This was 
composed of a few families of the old Maltese nobili- 
ty, natives of the island. These families, not being 
permitted to enroll any of their members in the 
order, affected to hold no intercourse with its cheva- 
liers ; admitting none into their exclusive coteries 
but the Grand Master, whom they acknowledged as 
their sovereign, and the members of the chapter 
which composed his council. 

To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the 
chevaliers carried their gallantries into the next class 
of society, composed of those who held civil, ad- 
ministrative, and judicial situations. The ladies of 
this class were called honorate, or honorables, to 
distinguish them from the inferior orders ; and 
among them w^ere many of superior grace, beauty, 
and fascination. 

Even in this more hospitable class, the chevaliers 
were not all equally favored. Those of Germany 
had the decided preference, owing to their fair and 
fresh complexions, and the kindliness of their man- 
ners : next to these, came the Spanish cavaliers, on 
account of their profound and courteous devotion, 
and most discreet secrecy. Singular as it may seem, 
the chevaliers of France fared the worst. The 
Maltese ladies dreaded their volatilitv, and their prone- 
ness to boast of their amours, and shunned ail en- 
tanglement with them. They were forced, therefore, 
to content themselves with conquests among females 



of the lower orders. They revenged themselves, 
after the gay French manner, by making the ' hon- 
orate ' the objects of all kinds of jests and mystifi- 
cations ; by prying into their tender affairs with the 
more favored chevaliers, and making them the 
theme of song and epigram. 

About this time, a French vessel arrived at Malta, 
bringing out a distinguished personage of the order 
of S,aint John of Jerusalem, the Commander de 
Foulquerre, who came to solicit the post of com- 
mander-in-chief of the galleys. He was descended 
from an old and warrior line of French nobility, 
his ancestors having long been seneschals of Poitou, 
and claiming descent from the first counts of An- 
gouleme. 

The arrival of the commander caused a little un- 
easiness among the peaceably inclined, for he bore 
the character, in the island, of being fiery, arrogant, 
and quarrelsome. He had already been three times 
at Malta, and on each visit had signalized himself 
by some rash and deadly affray. As he was now 
thirty-five vears of ,age, however, it was hoped that 
time might'have taken off the fiery edge of his spirit, 
and that he might prove more quiet and sedate than 
formerly. The commander set up an establishment 
befitting his rank and pretensions ; for he arrogated to 
himself an importance greater even than that of the 
Grand Master. His house immediately became the 
rallying place of all the young French chevaliers. 
They informed him of all the slights they had ex- 
perienced or imagined, and indulged their petulant 
and satirical vein at the expense of the honorate 
and their admirers. The chevaliers of other nations 
soon found the topics and tone of conversation at 
the commander's irksome and offensive, and gradu- 
ally ceased to visit there. The commander re- 
mained the head of a national clique, who looked up 
to him as their model. If he was not as boisterous 
and quarrelsome as formerly, he had become 
haughty and overbearing. He was fond of talking 
over his past affairs of punctilio and bloody duel. 
When walking the streets, he was generally attended 
by a ruffling train of young French cavaliers, who 
caught his own air of assumption and bravado. 
These he would conduct to the scenes of his deadly 
encounters, point out the very spot where each fatal 
lunge had been given, and dwell vaingloriously on 
every particular. 

Under his tuition, the young French chevaliers 
began to add bluster and arrogance to their former 
petulance and levity ; they fired up on the most triv- 
ial occasions, jiarticularly with those who had been 
most successful with the fair ; and would put on the 
most intolerable drawcansir airs. The other chev- 
aliers conducted themselves with all possible for- 
bearance and reserve ; but they saw it would be im- 
possible to keep on long, in this manner, without 
coming to an open rupture. 

.'\mong the Spanish cavaliers, was one named 
Don Luis de Lima Vasconcellos. He was distantly 
related to the Grand Master ; and had been enrolled 
at an early age among his pages, but had been rap- 
idly promoted by him, until, at the age of twenty- 
six, he had been given the richest -Spanish com- 
mandery in the order. He had, moreo\er, been 
fortunate with the fair, with one of whom, the most 
beautiful honorata of Malta, he had long maintained 
the most tender correspondence. 

The character, rank, and connexions of Don Luis 
put him on a par with the imperious Commander dc 
Foulquerre, and pointed him out as a leader and 
champion to his countrymen. The .Spanish chev- 
aliers repaired to him, therefore, in a hotly ; repre- 
sented all the grievances they had sustained, and 
the evils they apprehended, and urged him to use 



818 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



liis influence with the commander and his adherents 
to put a stop to the growinfj abuses. 

Don Luis was gratified by this mark of confidence 
and esteem on the part of his countrymen, and 
promised to have an interview with the Commander 
de Foulquerre on the subject. He resolved to con- 
duct himself with the utmost caution and delicacy 
on the occasion ; to represent to the commander the 
evil consequences which might result from the in- 
considerate conduct of the young French chevaliers, 
and to entreat him to exert the great influence he so 
deservedly possessed over them, to restrain their ex- 
cesses. Don Luis was aware, however, of the peril 
that attended any interview of the kind with this im- 
perious and fractious man, and apprehended, how- 
ever it might commence, that it would terminate in 
a duel. Still, it was an affair of honor, in which 
Castilian dignity was concerned ; beside he had a 
lurking disgust at the overbearing manners of De 
Foulquerre, and perhaps had been somewhat offend- 
ed by certain intrusive attentions which he had pre- 
sumed to pay to the beautiful honorata. 

It was now Holy Week ; a time too sacred for 
worldly feuds and passions, especially in a commu- 
nity under the dominion of a religious order ; it was 
agreed, therefore, that the dangerous interview in 
question should not take place until after the Easter 
liolydays. It is probable, from subsequent circum- 
stances, that the Commander de Foulquerre had 
some information of this arrangement among the 
Spanish chevaliers, and was determined to be be- 
forehand, and to mortify the pride of their cham- 
pion, who was thus preparing to read him a lecture. 
He chose Good Friday for his purpose. On this 
sacred day, it is customary in Catholic countries to 
make a tour of all the churches, offering up prayers 
in each. In every Catholic church, as is well known, 
there is a vessel of holy water near the door. In 
this, every one, on entering, dips his fingers, and 
makes therewith the sign of the cross on his fore- 
head and breast. An office of gallantry, among the 
young Spaniards, is to stand near the door, dip their 
hands in the holy vessel, and extend them courte- 
ously and respectfully to any lady of their acquaint- 
ance who may enter; who thus receives the sacred 
water at second hand, on the tips of her fingers, and 
proceeds to cross herself, with all due decorum. The 
Spaniards, who are the most jealous of lovers, are 
impatient when this piece of devotional gallantry is 
proffered to the object of their afi'ections by any 
other hand : on Good Fridav, therefore, when a lady 
makes a tour of the churches, it is the usage among 
them for the inamorato to follow her from church to 
church, so as to present her the holy water at the 
door of each ; thus testifying his own devotion, and 
at the same time preventing the officious services of 
a rival. 

On the day in question, Don Luis followed the 
beautiful honorata, to whom, as has already been 
observed, he had long been devoted. At the very 
first church she visited, the Commander de Foul- 
querre was stationed at the portal, with several of 
the young French chevaliers about him. Before Don 
Luis could offer her the holy water, he was antici- 
pated by the commander, who thrust himself be- 
tween them, and, while he performed the gallant 
office to the lady, rudely turned his back upon her 
admirer, and trod upon his feet. The insult was en- 
joyed by the young Frenchmen who were present: 
it was too deep and grave to be forgiven by Spanish 
pride ; and at once put an end to all Don Luis' plans 
of caution and forbearance. He repressed his pas- 
sion for the moment, however, and waited until all 
the parties left the church ; then, accosting the com- 
mander with an air of coolness and unconcern, he ; 



inquired after his health, and asked to what church 
he proposed making his second visit. ' To the Magis- 
terial Church of Saint John.' Don Luis offered to 
conduct him thither, by the shortest route. His offer 
was accepted, apparently without suspicion, and they 
proceeded together. After walking some distance, 
they entered a long, narrow lane, without door or 
window opening upon it, called the ' Strada Stretta," 
or narrow street. It was a street in which duels 
were tacitly permitted, or connived at, in Malta, and 
were suffered to pass as accidental encounters. 
Every where else they were prohibited. This re- 
striction had been instituted to diminish the number 
of duels, formerly so frequent in Malta. As a far- 
ther precaution to render these encounters less fatal, 
it was an offence, punishable with death, for any one 
to enter this street armed with either poniard or 
pistol. It was a lonely, dismal street, just wide 
enough for two men to stand upon their guard, and 
cross their swords ; few persons ever traversed it, 
unless with some sinister design ; and on any pre- 
concerted duello, the seconds posted themselves at 
each end, to stop all passengers, and prevent inter- 
ruption. 

In the present instance, the parties had scarce en- 
tered the street, when Don Luis drew his sword, 
and called upon the commander to defend himself. 

De Foulquerre was evidently taken by surprise : 
he drew back, and attempted to expostulate ; but 
Don Luis persisted in defying him to the combat. 

After a second or two, he likewise drew his sword, 
but immediately lowered the point. 

' Good Friday ! ' ejaculated he, shaking his head : 
' one word with you ; it is full six years since I have 
been in a confessional : I am shocked at the state of 
my conscience ; but within three days — that is to 
say, on Monday next ' 

Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though natu- 
rally of a peaceable disposition, he had been stung 
to fury, and people of that character, wdien once in- 
censed, are deaf to reason. He compelled the com- 
inander to put himself on his guard. The latter, 
though a man accustomed to brawl in battle, was 
singularly dism.ayed. Terror was visible in all his 
features. He placed himself with his back to the 
wall, and the weapons were crossed. The contest 
was brief and fatal. At the very first thrust, the 
sword of Don Luis passed through the body of his 
antagonist. The commander staggered to the wall, 
and leaned against it. 

' On Good Friday ! ' ejaculated he again, with a 
failing voice, and despiairing accents. ' Heaven par- 
don you ! ' added he ; ' take my sword to Tetefoul- 
ques, and have a hundred masses performed in the 
chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 
With these words he expired. 

The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He stood 
aghast, gazing at the bleeding body of the com- 
mander. He called to mind the prayer of the de- 
ceased for three days' respite, to make his peace 
with heaven ; he had refused it ; had sent him to 
the grave, with all his sins upon his head ! His 
conscience smote him to the core ; he gathered up 
the sword of the commander, which he had been en- 
joined to take to Tetefoulques, and hurried from the 
fatal Strada Stretta. 

The duel of course made a great noise in Malta, 
but had no injurious effect on the worldly fortunes 
of Don Luis. He made a full declaration of the 
whole matter, before the proper authorities ; the 
Chapter of the Order considered it one of those 
casual encounters of the Strada Stretta, which were 
mourned over, but tolerated ; the public, by whom 
the late commander had been generally detested, 
declared that he had deserved his fate. It w.is but 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



849 



three days after the event, that Don Luis was ad- 
vanced to one of the highest dignities of the Order, 
being invested by the (Irand Master with the prior- 
ship of the kingdom of Minorca. 

From that time forward, however, the whole char- 
acter and conduct of Don Luis underwent a change. 
He became a prey to a darl< melancholy, which 
nothing could assuage. The most austere piety, the 
severest penances, had no effect in allaying the 
horror which preyed upon his mind. He was ab- 
sent for a long time from Malta ; having gone, it 
was said, on remote pilgrimages : when he returned, 
he was more haggard than ever. There seemed 
something mysterious and inexplicable in this dis- 
order of his mind. The following is the revelation 
made by himself, of the horrible visions, or chimeras, 
by which he was haunted : 

' When I had made my declaration before the 
Chap'er,' said he, 'and my provocations were pub- 
licly known, I had made my peace wiih man ; but 
it was not so with God, nor with my confessor, nor 
with my own conscience. My act was doubly crim- 
inal, from the day on which it was committed, and 
from my refusal to a delay of three days, for the vic- 
tim of my resentment to receive the sacraments. 
His despairing ejaculation, ' Good Friday ! Good 
Friday ! ' continually rang in my ears. Why did I 
not grant the respite ! cried I to myself; was it not 
enough to l<ill the body, but must I seek to kill the 
soul ! ' 

' On the night of the following Friday, I started 
suddenly from my sl'eep. An unaccountable horror 
was upon me. I looked wildly around. It seemed 
as if I were not in my apartment, nor in my bed, but 
in the fatal Strada Stretta,- lying on the pavement. I 
again saw the commander leaning against the wall ; 
I again heard his dying words : ' Take my sword to 
Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed 
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 

' On the following night, I caused one of my serv- 
ants to sleep in the same room with me. I saw and 
heard nothing, either on that night, or any of the 
nights following, until the next Friday ; when I had 
again the same vision, with this difference, that my 
valet seemed to be lying at some distance from me 
on the pavement of the Strada Stretta. The vision 
continued to be repeated on every Friday night, the 
commander always appearing in the same manner, 
and uttering the same words: 'Take my sword to 
Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed 
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 

' <Jn questioning my servant on the subject, he 
stated, that on these occasions he dreamed that he 
Vi'as lying in a very narrow street, but he neither 
saw nor heard any thing of the commander. 

' I knew nothing of this Tetefoulques. whither the 
defunct was so urgent I should carry his sword. 1 
made inquiries, therefore, concerning it among the 
French chevaliers. They informed me that it was 
an old castle, situated about four leagues from Poi- 
tiers, in the midst of a forest. It had been built in 
old times, several centuries since, by Foulques Tail- 
Infer, (or Fulke Hackiron,) a redoubtable, hard-fight- 
irg Count of Angouleme, who gave it to an illegiti- 
mate son, afterward created Grand Seneschal of 
Poitou, which son became the progenitor of the 
Foulquerres of Tetefoulques, hereditary Seneschals 
of Poitou. They farther informed me, that strange 
stories were told of this old castle, in the surrounding 
country, and that it contained many curious reliqucs. 
Among these, were the arms of Foulques Taillefer, 
together with all those of the warriors he had slain ; 
and that it was an immemorial usage with the Foul- 
querres to have the weapons deposited there which 
Ihey had wielded either in war or in single combat. 
51 



This, then, was the reason of the dying injunctien 
of the commander respecting his sword. 1 carried 
this weapon with me, wherever I went, but still I 
neglected to comply with his request. 

' The visions still continued to harass me with un- 
diminished horror. 1 repaired to Rome, where I 
confessed myself to the Grand Cardinal penitentiai'y, 
and informed him of the terrors with which I was 
haunted. He promised me'absolution, after I should 
have performed certain acts of penance, the principal 
of which was, to execute the dying request of the 
commander, by carrying his sword to Tetefoulques, 
and having the hundred masses performed in the 
chapel of the castle for the repose of his soul. 

' I set out for France as speedily as possible, and 
made no delay in my journey. On arriving at Poi- 
tiers, I found that the tidings of the death of the 
commander had reached there, but had caused no 
more affliction than among the people of Malta. 
Leaving my equipage in the town, I put on the garb 
of a pilgrim, and taking a guide, set out on foot for 
Tetefoulques. Indeed the roads in this part of the 
country were impracticable for carriages. 

' I found the castle of Tetefoulques a grand but 
gloomy and dilapidated pile. All the gates were 
closed, and there reigned over the whole place an air 
of almost savage loneliness and desertion. I had 
understood that its only inhabitants were the con- 
cierge, or warder, and a kind of hermit who had 
charge of the chapel. After wringing for some time 
at the gate, I at length succeeded in bringing forth 
the warder, who bowed with reverence to my pil- 
grim's garb. I begged him to conduct me to the 
chapel, that being the end of my pilgrimage. We 
found the hermit there, chanting the funeral service ; 
a dismal sound- to one who came to perform a pen- 
ance for the death of a member of the family. 
When he had ceased to chant, I informed him that 
I came to accomplish an obligation of conscience, 
and that I wished him to perform a hundred masses 
for the repose of the soul of the commander. He 
replied that, not being in orders, he was not author- 
ized to perform mass, but that he would willingly 
undertake to see that my debt of conscience was dis- 
charged. I laid my offering on the altar, and would 
have placed the sword of the commander there, like- 
wise. ' Hold ! ' said the hermit, with a melancholy 
shake of the head, ' this is no place for so deadly a 
weapon, that has so often been bathed in Christian 
blood. Take it to the armory ; you will find there 
trophies enough of like character. It is a place into 
which I never enter.' ' 

' The warder here took up the theme abandoned 
by the peaceful man of God. He assured me that I 
would see in the armory the swords of all the war- 
rior race of Foulquerres, together with those of the 
enemies over whom they had triumphed. This, he 
observed, had been a usage kept up since the time 
of Mellusine, and of her husband, Geoffrey k la 
Grand-dent, or Geoffrey with the Great-tooth. 

' I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. 
It was a great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic- 
looking portraits, of a stark line of warriors, each 
with his weapon, and the weapons of those he had 
slain in battle, hung beside his picture. The most 
conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Taillefer, 
(Fulke Hackiron,) Count of Angouleme, and founder 
of the castle. He was represented at full length, 
anned cap-a-pie, and grasping a huge buckler, on 
which were emblazoned three lions passant. The 
figure was so striking, that it seemed ready to start 
from the canvas : and I observed beneath this pict- 
ure, a trophy composed of many weapons, proofs of 
the nuinerous triumphs of this hard-fighting old cav- 
alier. Beside the weapons connected with the por- 



850 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



traits, there were swords of all shapes, sizes, and 
centuries, hung round the hall ; with piles of armor, 
placed as it were in effigy. 

'On each side of an immense chimney, were sus- 
pended the portraits of the first seneschal of Poitou 
(the illegitimate son of Foulques Taillefer) and his 
wife Isabella de Lusignan ; tlie progenitors of the 
grim race of Foulquerres that frowned around. They 
had the look of being perfect likenesses ; and as I 
gazed on them, I fancied I could trace in their anti- 
quated features some family resemblance to their 
unfortunate descendant, whom I had slain ! This 
was a dismal neighborhood, yet the armory was the 
orfly part of the castle that had a habitable air ; so I 
asked the warder whether he could not make a fire, 
and give me something for supper there, and pre- 
pare me a bed in one corner. 

' 'A fire and a supper you shall have, and that 
cheerfully, most worthy pilgrim,' said he ; ' but as 
to a bed, I advise you to come and sleep in my 
chamber.' 

' 'Why so ? ' inquired I ; ' why shall I not sleep in 
this hall .' ■ 

' ' I have my reasons ; I will make a bed for you 
close to mine.' 

' I made no objections, for I recollected that it 
was Friday, and I dreaded the return of my vision. 
He brought in billets of wood, kindled a fire in the 
great overhanging chimney, and then went forth to 
prepare my supper. I drew a heavy chair before 
the fire, and seating myself in it. gazed musingly 
round upon the portraits of the Foulquerres, and 
the antiquated armor and weapons, the mementos of 
many a bloody deed. As the day declined, the 
smooky draperies of the hall gradually became con- 
founded with the dark ground of the paintings, and 
the lurid gleams from the chimney only enabled me 
to see visages staring at me from the gathering 
darkness. All this was dismal in the extreme, and 
somewhat appalling; perhaps it was the state of my 
conscience that rendered me peculiarly sensitive, and 
prone to fearful imaginings. 

'At length the warder brought in my supper. It 
consisted of a dish of trout, and some craw-fish 
taken in the fosse of the castle. He procured also 
a bottle of wine, which he informed me was wine of 
Poitou. I requested him to invite the hermit to join 
me in my repast ; but the holy man sent back word 
that he allowed himself nothing but roots and herbs, 
cooked with water. I took my meal, therefore, 
alone, but prolonged it as much as possible, and 
sought to cheer my drooping spirits by the wine of 
Poitou, which 1 found very tolerable. 

■ When supper was over, I prepared for my even- 
ing devotions. I have always been very punctual in 
reciting my breviary ; it is the prescribed and 
bounden duty of all chevaliers of the religious 
orders ; and I can answer for it, is faithfully per- 
formed by those of Spain. I accordingly drew forth 
from my pocket a small missal and a rosary, and 
told the warder he need only designate to me the way 
to his chamber, where I could come and rejoin him. 
when I had finished my prayers. 

' He accordingly pointed out a winding stair-case, 
opening from the hall. ' You will descend this stair- 
case,' said he, ' untd you come to the fourth landing- 
place, where you enter a vaulted passage, termi- 
nated by an arcade, with a statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France; you cannot help finding my 
room, the door of which I will leave open ; it is the 
sixth door from the landing-place. I advise you not 
to remain in this hall after midnight. Before that 
hour, you will hear the hermit ring the bell, in going 
the rounds ol the corridors. Do not linger here 
after that signal. 



'The warder retired, and I commenced my devo- 
tions. I continued at them earnestly ; pausing from 
time to time to put v/ood upon the fire. I did not 
dare to look much around me, for I fell myself becom- 
ing a prey to fearful fancies. The pictures appeared 
to become animated. If I regarded one attentively, 
for any length of time, it seemed to move the eyes 
and lips. Above all, the portraits of the Grand Sene- 
schal and his lady, which hung on each side of the 
great chimney, the progenitors of the Foulquerres 
of Tetefoulque, regarded me, I thought, with angry 
and baleful eyes : I even fancied they exchanged 
significant glances with each other. Just then a 
terrible blast of wind shook all the casements, and, 
rushing through the hall, made a fearful rattling 
and clashing among the armor. To my startled 
fancy, it seemed something supernatural. 

'At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and 
hastened to quit the hall. Taking a solitary light, 
which stood on the supper-table, I descended the 
winding stair-case ; but before I had reached the 
vaulted passage leading to the statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished my 
taper. I hastily remounted the stairs, to light it 
again at the chimney; but judge of my feelings, 
when, on arriving at the entrance to the armory, I 
beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who had descend- 
ed from their frames, and seated themselves on each 
side of the fire-place ! 

' 'jMadam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with great 
formality, and in antiquated phrase, ' what think you 
of the presumption of this Castilian, who comes to 
harbor himself and make wassail in this our castle, 
after having slain our descendant, the commander, 
and that without granting him time for confession .' ' 

' ' Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, 
with no less stateliness of manner, and with great 
asperity of tone; 'truly, my lord, 1 opine that this 
Castilian did a grievous wrong in this encounter ; 
and he should never be suffered to depart hence, 
without your throwing him the gauntlet.' I paused 
to hear no more, but rushed again down-stairs, to 
seek the chamber of the warder. It was impossible 
to find it in the darkness, and in the perturbation of 
my mind. After an hour and a half of fruitless search, 
and mortal horror and anxieties, I endeavored to 
persuade myself that the day was about to break, 
and listened impatiently for the crowing of the cock ; 
for I thought if 1 could hear his cheerful note, I 
should be reassured ; catching, in the disordered 
state of my nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts 
never appear after the first crowing of the cock. 

' At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to 
shake off the vague terrors which haunted me. I 
tried to persuade myself that the two figures which 
I had seemed to see and hear, had existed only in 
my troubled imagination. I still had the end of the 
candle in my hand, and determined to make another 
effort to re-light it, and find my way to bed ; for I 
was ready to sink with fatigue. I accordingly sprang 
up the stair-case, three steps at a time, stopped at 
the door of the armory, and peeped cautiously in. 
The two Gothic figures were no longer in the chim- 
ney corners, but I neglected to notice whether they 
had reascended to their frames. I entered, and 
made desperately for the fire-place, but scarce had I 
advanced three strides, when Messire Foulques 
Taillefer stood before me, in the centre of the hall, 
armed cap-a-pie, and standing in guard, with the 
point ot his sword silently presented to me. I would 
have retreated to the stair-case, but the door of it 
was occupied by the phantom figure of an esquire, 
who rudely flung a gauntlet in my face. Driven to 
fury, I snatched down a sword from the wall : by 
chance, it was that of the commander which 1 had 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



851 



placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic adversary, 
and seemed to pierce him through and through ; but 
at the same time I felt as if something pierced my 
heart, burning Mke a red-hot iron. My blood inun- 
dated the hall, and I fell senseless. 



'When I recovered consciousness, it was broad 
day, and I found myself in a small chamber, attend- 
ed by the warder and the hermit. The former told 
me that on the previous night, he had awakened long 
after the midnight hour, and perceiving that I had 
not come to his chamber, he had furnished himself 
with a vase of holy water, and set out to seek me. 
He found me stretched senseless on the pavement of 
the arm jry, and bore me to his room. I spoke of my 
wound, andof the quantity of blood that I had lost. He 
shook his head, and knew nothing about it ; and to 
my surprise, on examination, 1 found myself perfectly 
sound and unharmed. The wound and blood, there- 
fore, had been all delusion. Neither the warder nor 
the hermit put any questions to me, but advised me 
to leave the castle as soon as possible. I lost no 
time in complying with their counsel, and felt my 
heart relieved from an oppressive weight, as I left 
the gloomy and fate-bound battlements of Tetefoul- 
ques behind me. 

' I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, on the 
following Friday. At midnight I was startled from 
my sleep, as I had formerly been ; but it was no 
longer by the vision of the dying commander. It 
was old Foulques Taillefer who stood before me, 
armed cap-a-pie, and presenting the point of his 
sword. I made the sign of the cross, and the spectre 
vanished, but I received the same red-hot thrust in 
the heart which I had felt in the armory, and I 
seemed to be bathed in blood. I would have called 
out, or have arisen from my bed and gone in quest 
of succor, but I could neither speak nor stir. This 
agony endured until the crowing of the cock, when I 
fell asleep again ; but the next day I was ill, and in 
a most pitiable state. I have continued to be harass- 
ed by the same vision every^ Friday night ; no acts of 
penitence and devotion have been able to relieve me 
from it ; and it is only a lingering hope in divine 
mercy, that sustains me, and enables me to support 
so lamentable a visitation.' 



The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually 
away under this constant remorse of conscience, 
and this horrible incubus. He died some time after 
having revealed the preceding particulars of his case, 
evidently the victim of a diseased imagination. 

The above relation has been rendered, in many 
parts literally, from the French memoir, in which it 
is given as a true story : if so, it is one of those in- 
stances in which truth is more romantic than fiction. 

G. C. 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 



At the dark and melancholy period when Don 
Roderick the Goth and his chivalry were overthrown 
on the banks of the Guadalete, and all Spain was 
overrun by the Moors, great was the devastation of 
churches and convents throughout that pious king- 
dom. The miraculous fate of one of those holy piles 
is thus recorded in one of the authentic legends of 
those days. 

On the summit of a hill, not very distant from the 



capital city of Toledo, stood an ancient convent and 
chapel, dedicated to the invocation of Saint Bene- 
dict, and inhabited by a sisterhood of Benedictine 
nuns. This holy asylum was confined to females of 
noble lineage. The younger sisters of the highest 
families were here given in religious marriage to 
their Saviour, in order that the portions of their elder 
sisters might be increased, and they enabled to make 
suitable matches on earth, or that the family wealth 
might go undivided to elder brothers, and the dignity 
of their ancient houses be protected from decay. 
The convent was renowned, therefore, for enshrining 
within its walls a sisterhood of the purest blood, the 
most immaculate virtue, and most resplendent beau- 
ty, of all Gothic Spain. 

When the Moors overran the kingdom, there was 
nothing that more excited their hostility than these 
virgin asylums. The very sight of a convent-spire 
was sufficient to set their Moslem blood in a foment, 
and they sacked it with as fierce a zeal as though 
the sacking of a nunnery were a sure passport to 
Elysium. 

Tidings of such outrages committed in various 
parts of the kingdom reached this noble sanctuary 
and filled it with dismay. The danger came nearer 
and nearer ; the infidel hosts were spreading all over 
the counti7 ; Toledo itself was captured ; there was 
no flying from the convent, and no security within 
its walls. 

In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was given 
one day that a great band of Saracens were spurring 
across the plain. In an instant the whole convent 
was a scene of confusion. Some of the nuns wrung 
their fair hands at the windows ; others waved their 
veils and uttered shrieks from the tops of the towers, 
vainly hoping to draw relief from a country overrun 
by the foe. The sight of these innocent doves thus 
fluttering about their dove-cote, but increased the 
zealot fury of the whiskered Moors. They thundered 
at the portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates 
trembled on their hinges. 

The nuns now crowded round the abbess. They 
had been accustomed to look up to her as all-power- 
ful, and they now implored her protection. The 
mother abbess looked with a rueful eye upon the 
treasures of beauty and vestal virtue exposed to such 
imminent peril. Alas ! how was she to protect them 
from the spoiler! She had, it is true, experienced 
many signal interpositions of providence in her indi- 
vidual favor. Her early days had been passed amid 
the temptations of a court, where her virtue had been 
purified by repeated trials, from none cf which had 
she escaped but by miracle. But were miracles 
never to cease ? Could she hope that the marvel- 
lous protection shown to herself would be extended 
to a whole sisterhood ? There was no other re- 
source. The Moors were at the threshold ; a few 
moments more and the convent would be at their 
mercy. Summoning her nuns to follow her, she 
hurried into the chapel ; and throwing herself on her 
knees before the image of the blessed Mary, ' Oh, 
holy Lady ! ' exclaimed she, ' oh, most pure and im- 
maculate of virgins ! thou seest our extremity. The 
ravager is at the gate, and there is none on earth to 
help us ! Look down with pity, and grant that the 
earth may gape and swallow us rather than that our 
cloister vows should suffer violation ! ' 

The Moors redoubled their assault upon the por- 
tal ; the gates gave way, with a tremendous crash ; 
a savage yell of exultation arose ; when of a sudden 
the earth yawned ; down sank the convent, with its 
cloisters, its dormitories, and all its nuns. The 
chapel tower was the last that sank, the bell ringing 
forth a peal of triumph in the very teeth of the in- 
fidels. 



852 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



Forty years had ])assed and gone, since the pe- 
riod of this miracle. The subjugation of Spain was 
complete. The Moors lorded it over city and coun- 
try ; and such of the Christian population as re- 
mained, and were permitted to exercise their religion, 
did it in humble resignation to the Moslem sway. 

At this time, a Christian cavalier, of Cordova, 
hearing that a patriotic band of his countrymen had 
raised the standard of the cross in the mountains of 
the Austurias, resolved to join them, and unite in 
breaking the yoke of bondage. Secretly arming 
himsell, and caparisoning his steed, he set forth from 
Cordova, and pursued his course by unfrequented 
mule-paths, and along the dry channels made by 
winter torrents. His spirit burned with indignation, 
whenever, on commanding a view over a long sweep- 
ing plain, he beheld the mosque swelling in the dis- 
tance, and the Arab horsemen careering about, as 
if the rightful lords of the soil. Many a deep-drawn 
sigh, and heavy groan, also, did the good cavalier 
utter, on passing the ruins of churches and convents 
desolated by the conquerors. 

It was on a sultry midsummer evening, that this 
wandering cavalier, in skirting a hill thickly covered 
with forest, heard the faint tones of a vesper bell 
sounding melodiously in the air, and seeming to 
come from the summit of the hill. The cavalier 
crossed himself with wonder, at this unwonted and 
Christian sound. He supposed it to proceed from 
one of those humble chapels and hermitages permit- 
ted to e.xist through the indulgence of the Moslem 
conquerors. Turning his steed up a narrow path of 
the forest, he sought this sanctuary, in hopes of find- 
ing a hospitable shelter for the night. As he ad- 
vanced, the trees threw a deep gloom around him, 
and the bat flitted across his path. The bell ceased 
to loll, and all was silence. 

Presently a choir of female voices came stealing 
sweetly through the forest, chanting the evening 
service, to the solemn accompaniment of an organ. 
The heart of the good cavalier melted at the sound, 
for it recalled the happier days of his country. Urg- 
ing forward his weary steed, he at length arrived at 
a broad grassy area, on the summit of the hill, sur- 
rounded by the forest. Here the melodious voices 
rose in full chorus, like the swelling of the breeze ; 
but whence they came, he could not tell. Some- 
times they were before, sometimes behind him ; 
sometimes in the air, sometimes as if from within 
the bosom of the earth. At length they died away, 
and a holy stillness settled on the place. 

The cavalier gazed around with bewildered eye. 
There was neither chapel nor convent, nor humble 
hermitage, to be seen ; nothing but a moss-grown 
stone pinnacle, rising out of the centre of the area, 
surmounted by a cross. The green-sward around 
appeared to have been sacred from the tread of man 
or beast, and the surrounding trees bent toward the 
cross, as if in adoration. 

The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. He 
alighted and tethered his steed on the skirts of the 
forest, where he might crop the tender herbage ; 
then approaching the cross, he knelt and poured 
forth his evening prayers before this relique of the 
christian days of Spain. His orisons being con- 
cluded, he laid himself down at the foot of the pin- 
nacle, and reclining his head against one of its 
stones, fell into a deep sleep. 

About midnight, he was awakened by the tolling 
of a bell, and found himself lying before the gate of 
an ancient convent. A train of nuns passed by, 
each bearing a taper. The cavalier rose and fol- 
lowed them into the chapel ; in the centre of which 
was a bier, on which lay the corpse of an aged nun. 
The organ performed a solemn requiem : the nuns 



joining in chorus. When the funeral service was 
finished, a melodious voice chanted, ' Requiescat in 
pace ! ' — ' May she rest in peace ! ' The lights im- 
mediately vanished ; the whole passed away as a 
dream ; and the cavalier found himself at the foot 
of the cross, and beheld, by the faint rays of the ris- 
ing moon, his steed quietly grazing near him. 

When the day dawned, the cavalier descended the 
hill, and following the course of a small brook, came 
to a cave, at the entrance of which was seated an 
ancient man, clad in hermit's garb, with rosary and 
cross, and a beard that descended to his girdle. He 
was one of those holy anchorites permitted by the 
Moors to live unmolested in dens and caves, and 
humble hermitages, and even to practice the rites of 
their religion. The cavalier checked his horse, and 
dismounting, knelt and craved a benediction. He 
then related all that had befallen him in the night, 
and besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 

' What thou hast heard and seen, my son,' replied 
the other, ' is but a type and shadow of the woes of 
Spain.' 

He then related the foregoing story of the miracu- 
lous deliverance of the convent. 

' Forty years,' added the holy man, 'have elapsed 
since this event, yet the bells of that sacred edifice 
are still heard, from time to time, sounding from un- 
der ground, together with the pealing of the organ, 
and the chanting of the choir. The Moors avoid 
this neighborhood, as haunted ground, and the 
whole place, as thou tnayest perceive, has become 
covered with a thick and lonely forest.' 

The cavalier listened with wonder to the stoiy of 
this engulphed convent, as related by the holy man. 
For three days and nights did they keep vigils beside 
the cross ; but nothing more was to be seen of nun 
or convent. It is supposed that, forty years having 
elapsed, the natural lives of all the nuns were fin- 
ished, and that the cavalier had beheld the obsequies 
of the last of the sisterhood. Certain it is, that from 
that time, bell, and organ, and choral chant have 
never more been heard. 

The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the cross, 
still remains an object of pious pilgrim.age. Some 
say that it anciently stood in front of the convent, 
but others assert that it was the spire cf the sacred 
edifice, and that, when the main body of the building 
sank, this remained above ground, like the top-mast 
of some tall ship that has been foundered. These 
pious believers maintain, that the convent is miracu- 
lously preserved entire in the centre of the mountain, 
where, if proper excavations were made, it would be 
found, with all its treasures, and monuments, and 
shrines, and reliques, and the tombs of its virgin 
nuns. 

Should any one doubt the truth of this marvellous 
interposition of the Virgin, to protect the vestal pu- 
rity of her votaries, let him read the excellent work 
entitled ' Espaha Triumphante,' written by Padre 
Fray Antonio de Sancta Maria, a bare-tbot friar of 
the Carmelite order, and he will doubt no longer. 



THE COUNT VAN HORN, 



During the minority of Louis XV., while the 
Duke of Orleans was Regent of France, a \oung 
Flemish nobleman, the Count Antoine Joseph Van 
Horn, made his sudden appearance in Paris, and by 
his charactei", conduct, and the subsequent disasters 
in which he became involved, created a great sensa- 
tion in the high circles of the proud aristocracy. He 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



853 



was about twenty-two years of age, tall, finely formed, 
with a pale, romantic countenance, and eyes of re- 
niarlcable brilliancy and wildness. 

He was of one of the most ancient and highly- 
esteemed families of European nobility, being of the 
line of the Princes of Horn and Overique, sovereign 
Counts of Hautekerke, and hereditary Grand Ve- 
neurs of the empire. 

The family took its name from the little town and 
seigneurie of Horn, in Brabant ; and was known as 
eaily as the eleventh century among the little dy- 
nasties of the Netherlands, and since that time by a 
long line of illustrious generations. At the peace of 
Utrecht, when the Netherlands passed under sub- 
jection to Austria, the house of Van Horn came un- 
der the domination of the emperor. At the time we 
treat of, two of the branches of this ancient house 
were extinct ; the third and only surviving branch 
was represented by the reigning prince, Ma.ximilian 
Emanuel Van Horn, twenty-four years of age, who 
resided in honorable and courtly style on his heredi- 
tary domains at Baussigny, in the Netherlands, and 
his brother, the Count Antoine Joseph, who is the 
subject of this memoir. 

The ancient house of Van Horn, by the intermar- 
riage of its various branches with the noble families 
of the continent, had become widely connected and 
interwoven with the high aristocracy of Europe. 
The Count Antoine, therefore, could claim relation- 
ship to many of the proudest names in Paris. In 
fact, he was grandson, by the mother's side,_ of the 
Prince de Ligne. and even might boast of affinity to 
the Regent (the Duke of Orleans) himself. There 
were circumstances, however, connected with his 
sudden appearance in Paris, and his previous story, 
that placed him in what is termed ' a false position ; ' 
a word of baleful significance in the fashionable vo- 
cabulary of France. 

The young count had been a captain in the service 
of Austria, but had been cashiered for irregular con- 
duct, and for disrespect to Prince Louis of Baden, 
commander-in-chief. To check him in his wild ca- 
reer, and bring him to sober rellection, his brother 
the prince caused him to be arrested and sent to the 
old castle of Van Wert, in the domains of Horn. 
This was the same castle in which, in former times, 
John Van Horn, Stadtholder of Gueldres, had im- 
prisoned his father ; a circumstance which has fur- 
nished Rembrandt with the subject of an admirable 
painting. The governor of the castle was one Van 
Wert, grandson of the famous John Van Wert, the 
hero of many a popular song and legend. It was 
the intention of the prince that his brother should be 
held in honorable durance, for his object was to so- 
ber and improve, not to punish and afflict him. Van 
Wert, however, was a stern, harsh man of violent 
passions. He treated the youth in a manner that 
prisoners and offenders were treated in the strong- 
holds of the robber counts of Germany in old times ; 
confined him in a dungeon and inflicted on him such 
hardships and indignities that the irritable tempera- 
ment of the young count was roused to continual 
fury, which ended in insanity. For si,\ months was 
the unfortunate youth kept in this horrible state, 
without his brother the prince being informed of his 
melancholy condition or of the cruel treatment to 
which he was subjected. At length, one day, in a 
p.aroxysm of frenzy, the count knocked down two ol 
his gaolers with a beetle, escaped from the castle ol 
\'an Wert, and eluded all pursuit; and after roving 
about in a state of (.listraction, made his way to Baus- 
signy and appeared like a spectre before his brother. 
The prince was shocked at his wretched, emaci- 
ated appearance and his lamentable state of mental 
alienation. He received him with the most com- 



passionate tenderness ; lodged him in his own room, 
appointed three servants to attend and watch over 
him day and night, and endeavored by the most 
soothing and affectionate assiduity to atone for the 
past act of rigor with which he reproached himself. 
When he learned, however, the manner in which his 
unfortunate brother had been treated in confine- 
ment, and the course of brutalities that had led to 
his mental malady, he was lOused to indignation. 
His first step was to cashier Van Wert trom his 
command. That violent man set the prince at defi- 
ance, and attempted to maintain himself in his gov- 
ernment and his castle bv instigating the peasants, 
for several leagues round, to revolt. His insurrection 
might have been formidable against the power of a 
petty prince ; but he was put under the ban of the 
empire and seized as a state prisoner. The memory 
of his grandfather, the oft-sung John Van Wert, 
alone saved him from a gibbet ; but he was impris- 
oned in the strong tower of Horn-op-Zee. There he 
remained until he was eighty-two years of age, sav- 
age, violent, and unconquered to the last ; for we are 
told that he never ceased fighting and thumping as 
long as he could close a fist or wield a cudgel. 

In the mean time a course of kind and gentle treat- 
ment and wholesome regimen, and, above all, the 
tender and affectionate assiduity of his brother, the 
prince, produced the most salutary effects upon Count 
Antoine. He gradually recovered his reason ; but a 
degree of violence seemed always lurking at the bot- 
tom of his character, and he required to be treated 
with the greatest caution and mildness, for the least 
contradiction exasperated him. 

In this state of mental convalescence, he began to 
find the supervision and restraints of brotherly affec- 
tion insupportable ; so he left the Netherlands fur- 
tively, and repaired to Paris, whither, in tact, it is said 
he was called by motives of interest, to make ar- 
rangements concerning a valuable estate which he 
inherited from his relative, the Princess d'Epinay. 

On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the Marquis 
of Crequi, and other of the high nobility with whom 
he was connected. He was received with grea.t 
courtesy ; but, as he brought no letters from his 
elder brother, the prince, and as various circum- 
stances of his previous history had transpired, they 
did not receive him into their families, nor introduce 
him to their ladies. Still they feted him in bachelor 
style, gave him gay and elegant suppers at their 
separate apartments, and took him to their boxes at 
the theatres. He was often noticed, too, at the 
doors of the most fashionable churches, taking his 
stand among the young men of fashion ; and at 
such times, his tafl, elegant figure, his pale but 
handsome countenance, and his flashing eyes, dis- 
tinguished him from among the crowd ; and the 
ladies declared that it was almost iinpossible to sup- 
port his ardent gaze. 

The Count did not afilict himself much at his 
limited circulation in the fastidious circles ol the 
high aristocracy. He relished society of a wilder 
and less ceremonious cast ; and meeting with loose 
companions to his taste, soon ran into all the ex- 
cesses of the capital, in that most licentious period. 
It is said that, in the course of his wild career, he 
had an intrigue with a lady of quality, a favorite of 
the Regent ; that he was surprised by that prince in 
one of "ills interviews ; that sharp words passed be- 
tween them ; and that the jealousy and vengeance 
thus awakened, ended only with his lite. 

About this time, the famous Mississippi scheme 
of Law was at its height, or rather it began to 
threaten that disastrous catastrophe which convulsed 
the whole financial world. Every effort was making 
to keep the bubble inflated. The vagrant popula- 



85i 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



tion of France was swept off" from the streets at 
niglit, and conveyed to Havre de Grace, to be ship- 
ped to the projected colonies ; even laboring people 
and mechanics were thus crimped and spirited away. 
As Count Antoine was in the habit of sallying- forth 
at night, in disguise, in pursuit of his pleasures, he 
came near being carried off by a gang of crimps ; 
it seemed, in fact, as if they had been lying in wait for 
him, as he had experienced very rough treatinent at 
their hands. Complaint was made of his case by 
his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who took much 
interest in the youth ; but the Marquis received 
mysterious intimations not to interfere in the matter, 
but to advise the Count to quit Paris immediately : 
' If he lingers, he is lost ! ' This has been cited as 
a proof that vengeance was dogging at the heels of 
the unfortunate youth, and only watching for an op- 
portunity to destroy him. 

Such opportunity occurred but too soon. Among 
the loose companions with whom the Count had be- 
come intimate, were two who lodged in the same 
hotel with him. One was a youth only twenty years 
of age, who passed himself off as the Chevalier 
d'Etampes, but whose real name was Lestang, the 
prodigal son of a Flemish banker. The other, 
named Laurent de Mille, a Piedmontese, was a cash- 
iered captain, and at the time an esquire in the serv- 
ice of the dissolute Princess de Carignan, who kept 
gambling-tables in her palace. It is probable that 
gambling |)ropensities had brought these voung men 
together, and that their losses had driven them to 
desperate measures : certain it is, that all Paris was 
suddenly astounded by a murder which they were 
said to have committed. What made the crime 
more startling, was, that it seemed connected with 
the great Mississippi scheme, at that time the fruit- 
ful source of all kinds of panics and agitations. A 
Jew, a stock-broker, who dealt largely in shares of 
the bank of Law, founded on the Mississippi scheme, 
was the victim. The story of his death is variously 
related. The darkest account states, that the Jew 
was decoyed by these young men into an obscure 
tavern, under pretext of negotiating with him for 
bank shares to the amount of one hundred thousand 
crowns, which he had with him in his pocket-book. 
Lestang kept watch upon the stairs. The Count 
and De Mille entered with the Jew into a chamber. 
In a little while there were heard cries and struggles 
from within. A waiter passing by the room, looked 
in, and seeing the Jew weltering in his blood, shut 
the door again, double-locked it, and alarmed the 
house. Lestang rushed down-stairs, made his way 
to the hotel, secured his most portable effects, and 
fled the country. Ttie Count and De Mille endeav- 
ored to escape by the window, but were both taken, 
and conducted to prison. 

A circumstance which occurs in this part of the 
Count's stoi7, seems to point him out as a fated 
man. His mother, and his brother, the Prince Van 
Horn, had received intelligence some time before at 
Baussigny, of the dissolute life the Count was lead- 
ing at Paris, and of his losses at play. They des- 
patched a gentleman of the prince's household to 
Paris, to pay the debts of the Count, and persuade 
him to return to Flanders ; or, if he should refuse, 
to obtain an order from the Regent for him to quit 
the capital. Unfortunately the gentleman did not 
arrive at Paris until the day after the murder. 

The news of the Count's arrest and imprisonment 
on a charge of murder, caused a violent sensation 
among the high aristocracy. All those connected with 
him, who had treated him hitherto with indifference, 
found their dignity deeply involved in the question of 
his guilt or innocence. A general convocation was 
held at the hotel of the Marquis de Crequi, of all the 



relatives and allies of the house of Horn. It was an 
assemblage of the most proud and aristocratic person- 
ages of Paris. Inquiries were made into the cir- 
cumstances of the affair. It was ascertained, be- 
yond a doubt, that the Jew was dead, and that he 
had been killed by several stabs of a poniard. In 
escaping by the window, it was said that the Count 
had fallen, and been immediately taken ; but that 
De Mille had fled through the streets, pursued by 
the populace, and had been arrested at some dis- 
tance from the scene of the murder; that the Count 
had declared himself innocent of the death of the 
Jew, and that he had risked his own life in endeav- 
oring to protect him ; but that De Mille, on being 
brought back to the tavern, confessed to a plot to 
murder the broker, and rob him of his pocket-book, 
and inculpated the Count in the crime. 

Another version of the story was, that the Count 
Van Horn had deposited with the broker, bank 
shares to the amount of eighty-eight thousand 
livres; that he had sought him in this tavern, which 
was one of his resorts, and had demanded the shares ; 
that the Jew had denied the deposit ; th.at a quarrel 
had ensued, in the course of which the Jew struck 
the Count in the face ; that the latter, transported 
with rage, had snatched up a knife from a table, 
and wounded the Jew in the shoulder; and that 
thereupon De Mille, who was present, and who had 
likewise been defrauded by the broker, fell on him, 
and despatched him with blows of a poniard, and 
seized upon his pocket-book; that he had offered to 
divide the contents of the latter with the Count, 
pro rata, of what the usurer had defrauded them ; 
that the latter had refused the proposition with dis- 
dain, and that, at a noise of persons approaching, 
both had attempted to escape from the premises, 
but had been taken. 

Regard the story in any way they might, appear- 
ances were terribly against the Count, and the noble 
assemblage w.is in great consternation. What was 
to be done to ward off so foul a disgrace and to save 
their illustrious escutcheons from this murderous 
stain of blood } Their first attempt was to prevent 
the affair from going to trial, and their relative from 
being dragged before a criminal tribunal, on so hor- 
rible and degrading a charge. They applied, there- 
fore, to the Regent, to intervene his power; lo treat 
the Count as having acted under an access of his 
mental malady ; and to shut him up in a mad-house. 
The Regent was deaf to their solicitations. He re- 
plied, coldly, that if the Count was a madman, one 
could not get rid too quickly of madmen who were 
furious in their insanity. The crime was too public 
and atrocious to be 'hushed up or slurred over ; 
justice must take its course. 

Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating 
scene of a public trial, the noble relatives of the 
Count endeavored to predispose the minds of the 
magistrates before whom he was to be arraigned. 
They accordingly made urgent and eloquent rep- 
resent.ations of the high descent, and noble and 
powerful connexions of the Count ; set forth the 
circumstances of his eariy history ; his mental mala- 
dy ; the nervous irritability to which he was subject, 
and his extreme sensitiveness to insult or contradic- 
tion. By these means they sought to prepare the 
judges to interpret every thing in favor ot the Count, 
and, even if it should prove that he had inflicted the 
mortal blow on the usurer, to attribute it to access 
of insanity, provoked by insult. 

To give lull effect to these representations, the 
noble conclave determined to bring upon the judges 
the dazzling rays of the whole assembled aristocracy. 
Accordingly, on the day that the trial took place, 
the relations of the Count, to the number of fifty- 



KNICKERBOCKER MISCELLANIES. 



855 



seven persons, of both sexes, and of the highest 
rank, repaired in a body to the Palace of Justice, 
and tool< their stations in a long corridor which led 
to the court-room. Here, as the judges entered, 
they had to pass in review this array of lofty and noble 
personages, who saluted them mournfully and sig- 
nificantly, as they passed. Any one conversant with 
the stately pride and jealous dignity of the French 
noblesse of that day, may imagine the extreme state 
of sensitiveness that produced this self-abasement. 
It was confidently presumed, however, by the noble 
suppliants, that having once brought themselves to 
this measure, their influence over the tribunal would 
be irresistible. There was one lady present, how- 
ever, Madame de Beauffremont, who was affected 
with the Scottish gift of second sight, and related such 
dismal and sinister apparations as passing before 
her ejes, that many of her female companions were 
filled with doleful presentiments. 

Unfortunatelv for the Count, there was another 
interest at work, more powerful even than the high 
aristocracy. The all-potent Abbe Dubois, the grand 
favorite and bosom counsellor of the Regent, was 
deeply interested in the scheme of Law, and the 
prosperity of his bank, and of course in the security 
of the stock-brokers. Indeed, the Regent himself is 
said to have dipped deep in the Mississippi scheme. 
Dubois and Law, therefore, exerted their influence 
to the utmost to have the tragic affair pushed to the 
extremitv of the law, and the murder of the broker 
punished in the most signal and appalling manner. 
Certain it is, the trial was neither long nor intricate. 
The Count and his fellow prisoner v>'ere equally in- 
culpated in the crime, and both were condemned to 
a death the most horrible and ignominious — to be 
broken alive on the wheel ! 

As soon as the sentence of the court was made 
public, all the nobility, in any degree related to the 
house of \'an Horn, went into mourning. Another 
grand aristocratical assemblage was held, and a 
petition to the Regent, on behalf of the Count, was 
drawn out and left with the Marquis de Crequi for 
signature. This petition set forlli the previous in- 
sanity of the Count, and showed that it was a hered- 
itary malady of his family. It stated various cir- 
cumstances in mitigation of hij offence, and implored 
that his sentence might be commuted to perpetual 
imprisonment. 

Upward of fifty names of the highest nobility, be- 
ginning with the Prince de Ligne, and including 
cardinals, archbishops, dukes, marquises, etc., to- 
gether with ladies of equal rank, were signed to this 
petition. By one of the caprices of human pride and 
vanity, it became an object of ambition to get en- 
rolled among tlie illustrious suppliants ; a kind of 
testimonial of noble blood, to prove relationship to a 
murderer ! The Marquis de Crequi was absolutely 
besieged by applicants to sign, and had to refer 
their claims to this singular honor, to the Prince de 
Ligne, the grandfather of the Count. Many who 
were excluded, were highly incensed, and numerous 
feuds took place. Nay, the afiVonts thus given to 
the morbid pride of some aristocratical families, 
passed from generation to generation ; for, fifty 
j'ears afterward, the Dutchess of Mazarin complain- 
ed of a slight which her father had received from the 
Marquis de Crequi ; which proved to be something 
connected with the signature of this petition. 

This important document being completed, the 
illustrious body of petitioners, male and female, on 
Saturday evening, the eve of Palm Sunday, repaired 
to the Palais Royal, the residence of the Regent, 
and were ushered, with great ceremony but pro- 
found silence, into his hall of council. They had 
appointed four of their number as deputies, to pre- 



sent the petition, viz. : the Cardinal de Rohan, the 
Duke de Havre, the Prince de Ligne, and the Mar- 
quis de Crequi. After a little while, the deputies 
were summoned to the cabinet of the Regent. They 
entered, leaving the assembled petitioners in a state 
of the greatest anxiety. As time slowly wore away, 
and the evening advanced, the gloom of the com- 
pany increased. Several of the ladies prayed de- 
voutly ; the good Princess of Armagnac told her 
beads. 

The petition was received by the Regent with a 
most unpropitious aspect. ' In asking the pardon of 
the criminal,' said he. ' )0U display more zeal for the 
house of Van Horn, than lor the service of the king.' 
The noble deputies enforced the petition by every 
argument in their power. They supplicated the 
Regent to consider that the infamous punishment in 
question would reach not merely the person of the 
condemned, not merely the house of Van Horn, but 
also the genealogies of princely and illustrious fami- 
lies, in whose armorial bearings might be found quar- 
terings of this dishonored name. 

'Gentlemen,' replied the Regent, 'it appears to 
me the disgrace consists m the crime, rather than in 
the punishment.' 

The Prince de Ligne spoke with warmth : ' I have 
in my genealogical standard,' sai-*' he, ' four escutch- 
eons ot Van Horn, and of course have four ancestors 
of that house. I must have them erased and effaced, 
and there would be so many blank spaces, like holes, 
in my heraldic ensigns. There is not a sovereign 
family which would not suffer, through the rigor of 
your Royal Highness ; nay, all the world knows, 
that in the thirt)-two quarterings of Madame, your 
mother, there is an escutcheon of Van Horn.' 

' Very well,' replied the Regent, ' I will share the 
disgrace with you, gentlemen.' 

Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, the 
Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi left 
the cabinet ; but the Prince de Ligne and the Duke 
de Havre remained behind. The honor of their 
houses, more than the life of the unhappy Count, 
was the great object of their solicitude. They now 
endeavored to obtain a minor grace. They repre- 
sented that in the Netherlands, and in Germany, 
there was an important difference in the public mind 
as to the mode of inflicting the punishment of death 
upon persons of quality. That decapitation had no 
influence on the fortunes of the family of the exe- 
cuted, but that the punishment of the wheel was 
such an infamy, that the uncles, aunts, brothers, 
and sisters of the criminal, and his whole familv, 
for three succeeding generations, were excluded 
from all noble chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign 
bishoprics, and even Teutonic commanderies of the 
Order of Malta. They showed how this would 
operate immediately upon the fortunes of a sister of 
the Count, who was on the point of being received 
as a canoness into one of the noble chapters. 

While this scene was going on in the cabinet of 
the Regent, the illustrious assemblage of petitioners 
remained in the hall of council, in the most gloomy 
state of suspense. The re-entrance from the cabinet 
of the Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi, 
with pale, downcast countenances, had struck a 
chill into every heart. Still they lingered until near 
midnight, to learn the result ol the after application. 
At length the cabinet conference was at an end. 
The Regent came forth, and saluted the high per- 
sonages of the assemblage in a courtly manner. 
One old lady of quality, Madame de Guyon, whom 
he had known in his infancy, he kissed on the cheek, 
calling her his ' good aunt.' He made a most cere- 
monious salutation to the stately Marchioness de 
Crequi, telling her he was charmed to see her 



856 



WORKS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. 



at the Palais Royal; 'a compliment very ill-timetl,' 
said the Marchioness, 'considering the circumstance 
which brought me there.' He then conducted the 
ladies to the door of the second saloon, and there 
dismissed them, with the most ceremonious polite- 
ness. 

The application of the Prince de Ligne and the 
Duke de Havre, for a change of the mode of punish- 
ment, had, alter much difficulty, been successful. 
The Regent had promised solemnly to send a letter 
of commutation to the attorney-general on Holy 
Monday, the 25th of March, at five o'clock in the 
morning. According to the same promise, a scaffold 
would be arranged in the cloister of the Concier- 
gerie, or prison, where the Count would be beheaded 
on the same morning, immediately after having re- 
ceived absolution. This mitigation of the form of 
punishment gave but little consolation to the great 
body of petitioners, who had been anxious for the 
pardon of the youth : it was looked upon as all-im- 
portant, however, by the Prince de Ligne, who, as 
has been before observed, was exquisitely alive to 
the dignity of his family. 

The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de Crequi 
visited the unfortunate youth in prison. He had 
just received the communion in the chapel of the 
Conciergerie, and was kneeling before the altar, 
listening to a mass for the dead, which was per- 
formed at his request. He protested his innocence 
of any intention to murder the Jew, but did not 
deign to allude to the accusation of robbery. He 
made the bishop and the Marquis promise to see 
his brother the prince, and inform him of this his 
dying asseveration. 

Two other of his relations, the Prince Rebecq- 
Montmorency and the Marshal Van Isenghien, visited 
him secretly, and offered him poison, as a means of 
evading the disgrace of a public execution. On his 
refusing to take it, they left him with high indigna- 
tion. ' Miserable man ! ' said they. ' You are fit only 
lo perish by the hand of the executioner ! ' 

The Marquis de Crequi sought the executioner of 
Paris, to bespeak an easy and decent death for the 
unfortunate youth. ' Do not make him suffer,' said 
he ; ' uncover no part of him but the neck ; and have 
his body placed in a coffin, before you deliver it to 
his family." The executioner promised all that was 
requested, but declined a rouleau of a hundred louis- 
d'ors which the Marquis would have put into his 
hand. ' I am paid by the king for fulfilling my 
office,' said he ; and added that he had already 
refused a like sum, offered by another relation of the 
Marquis. 

The Marquis de Crfqui returned home in a state 
of deep afthction. There he found a letter from the 
Duke de St. Simon, the familiar friend of the Regent, 



repeating the promise of that prince, that the pun- 
ishment of the wheel shouUl be commuted to decap- 
itation. 

' Imagine,' says the Marchioness de Cn'qui, who 
in her memoirs gives a detailed account of this 
affair, ' imagine what we experienced, and what was 
our astonishment, our grief, and indignation, when, 
on Tuesday, the 26th of March, an hour after mid- 
day, word was brought us that the Count Van Horn 
had been exposed on the wheel, in the Place de 
Greve, since half-past six in the morning, on the 
same scaffold with the Piedmontese De lilillc, and 
that he had been tortured previous to execution ! ' 

One more scene of aristocratic pride closed this 
tragic story. The Marquis de Crequi, on receiving 
this astounding news, immediately arrayed himself 
in the uniform of a general officer, with his cordo. 
of nobility on the coat. He ordered six valets tr 
attend him in grand livery, and two of his carriages, 
each with six horses, to be brought forth. In this 
sumptuous state, he set off for the Place de Greve, 
where he had been preceded by the Princes de Ligne, 
de Rohan, de Croiiy, and the Duke de Havre. 

The Count Van Horn was already dead, and it 
was believed that the executioner had had the charity 
to give him the coup de grace, or ' death-blow,' at 
eight o'clock in the morning. At five o'clock in the 
evening, when the Judge Commissary left his post 
at the Hotel de Ville, these noblemen, with their 
own hands, aided to detach the mutilated remains 
of their relation ; the Marquis de Crequi placed them 
in one of his carriages, ^nd bore them off to his 
hotel, to receive the last sad obsequies. 

The conduct of the Regent in this affair excited 
general indignation. His needless severity was at- 
tributed by some to vindictive Jealousy ; by others to 
the persevering machinations of Law. The house 
of Van Horn, and the high nobility of Flanders and 
Germany, considered themselves flagrantly outraged : 
many schemes of vengeance were talked of, and a 
hatred engendered against the Regent, that followed 
him through life, and was wreaked with bitterness 
upon his memory after his death. 

The following letter is said to have been written 
to the Regent by the Prince Van Horn, to whom 
the former had adjudged the confiscated effects of 
the Count : 

' I do not complain. Sir, of the death of my broth- 
er, but I complain that your Royal Highness has 
violated in his person the rights of the kingdom, the 
nobility, and the nation. I thank you for the confis- 
cation of his effects; but I should think myself as 
much disgraced as he, should I accept any favor at 
your hands. / hope that God and the King may 
render to you as strict justice as you have rendered 
to my unfortunate brother.' 



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